DC Metro Moms

Dumb Mom's Guide to Nursing

Actually, this is Dumb Mom's Guide to Nursing your Brand New Hairy Wolverine Baby

1. Get titanium tits nipples. You can do this in one of two ways, 1) walk around with a vice grip connected to your girls for the last three months of your pregnancy, or 2)rub them raw with a Brillo pad, wire brush, or the like. If neither of these options sound appealing, then perhaps nursing is not for you.

2. Check your insurance benefits. Before you give birth you will want to be advised of exactly what your insurance company will cover in regards to your postpartum care. Most importantly, you need to determine if they cover a wet nurse as having one will allow you to completely eliminate yourself from the nursing a-seriously-does-this-thing-have-fangs-baby equation. Should this not be covered, you should ask about the possibility of receiving caffeine injections to allow you to keep up with your you'll-feed-me-when-I-say-so newborn.

I Didn't Miss My Kids When I Went to Vegas

Who would turn down a trip to Las Vegas? Especially when it's tax deductible?

 A couple of weeks ago, I attend my annual Passion Parties Convention. Of my 8+ plus years in the business, I've only missed it once. I even planned my pregnancy around it. Last year I was 6 weeks pregnant. This year, the baby was 3 months old when I left for Las Vegas.

Not only is a ton of fun, but convention re-energizes my business. We have a lot of great seminars and amazing speakers, including the fabulous old-enough-to-be-my-grandmother sexpert Sue Johanson and the very inspiring Chris Gardner, who wrote about his life in The Pursuit of Happyness.

I was gone for five days and didn't miss my kids a bit.

Yes, We're STILL Doing THAT

In my fairly long breastfeeding career, I have been lucky enough that I was never, ever asked to cover up when feeding my children like others have. I don't even recall being looked at askance by anyone outside of my own family (another story, another time). With my first child I covered up, searched out changing rooms, lingered in the car, and did everything I could because I was uncomfortable with my own nursing skills. It took a few more kids to gain my confidence, but now I've nursed in malls, restaurants, libraries, on trains, on buses, poolside, and parkside. I've nursed at my dying grandfather's bedside. I've nursed at festivals and parties and craft fairs. I've nursed in hospitals and nursing homes. I can't say that I've been made to feel uncomfortable for feeding my child - until recently. The difference? My nursling son is a toddler.

The Self-Conscious Public Nurser

I'm not one of those women who walk around naked in the gym locker room. (That statement makes it seem like I go to the gym, but I assure you, it's for illustrative purposes only. I have not stepped into a gym in years.) Generally, I would turn to face the locker/wall/other non-mirrored surface while temporarily topless and/or bottomless. As long as I had some kind of material on, whether it be a bra or underwear, I felt considerably more comfortable. But, that pure nakedness, even among fellow women, was to be avoided if at all possible.

When my daughter was born three years ago, nursing her in public was something I intended to do. I knew mothers did it all the time and, by golly, it was my right! It was natural, nothing to be ashamed of, and I was not about to be confined to the home just because I decided to breastfeed my daughter.

I bought nursing tops (those hideous paneled creations that scream UGLY NURSING WEAR!) and practiced deploying blankets and shawls as visual shields. No sweat, I thought to myself. I can do this.

Pumping Mania (Pumping at work sucks)

Silly me.

I had almost forgotten exactly how much pumping at work sucks. I wrote almost nostalgically about pumping a little while ago when DC Metro Moms held a Breastfeeding Topic Day. Yet, that was in December while enormously pregnant with our second child. Now, one week back from maternity leave, I suddenly remember how STRESSFUL the whole experience can be. As in, how long can I keep this up without A) ruining my milk supply; B) running myself into the ground with exhaustion; or C) going postal?

For the past week, I've found myself in a largely forgotten (possibly from PTSD) state of mind, Pumping Mania. I don't think Pumping Mania has made it into DSM-IV yet as a bonafide psychiatric disorder, but I'm pretty sure it could be. Pumping Mania requires meeting 5 out of 6 of the following criteria: Time Obsession, Ounces Pumped Paranoia, Meeting/Conference Avoidance, Sleep Deprivation, Guilt Schizophrenia, and Pumping Compulsive Disorder. Sadly, I am a textbook case.

The Importance of Being Still

With my two New York City babies, I was out and about within 48 hours of their births. I would bundle them up, grab my favorite sling, and walk a half-block to the bodega, or around the corner to our beloved coffee shop, the Pillow Cafe. I walked to the playground, the supermarket, and in the case of itty bitty Delia, my second-born, to her older brother Elias' preschool, a brisk 15-minute stroll away.

I remember having to trek into Manhattan when Elias was eight days old to visit my then-midwives. My husband and I ate an early-bird dinner at an Upper West Side diner with E in the Baby Bjorn. All the Bubbes came over to ooh and aah over such a small bundle. Nearly three years later, I co-chaired a day-long fund-raiser at Elias' cooperative preschool when Delia was 10 days old. Again, a few people commented at how tiny she was, but no one scolded me for being out of the house. It just seemed the norm -- to me, at least -- that postpartum city mamas return to city living incredibly fast.

Now that I've had my third -- and almost certainly, last -- child (he was born March 13), I want things to go slower. This is my DC burbs babe, Jonah. He was born at home, in a completely relaxed and loving atmosphere. And for the first time in my postpartum experience, I have no desire to run out and do anything.

Guilt Over Not BreastFeeding

I have a confession. 

Michael was not breastfed.

I tried, I really did. A few hours after he was born he latched badly and one of my nipples became black and blue. I spent all day in the hospital asking for a lactation consultant that never came. The next day, one came to my hospital room, and after an hour of trying to get Michael to latch, I was told not to feed him a bottle, because then he would never latch. So he screamed, for days. He wouldn't nurse. He lost weight. The pediatrician finally convinced me to give him formula.

Breastfeeding in a Perfect World

Before children, breastfeeding always seemed like the most peaceful moment shared between mother and child—mom cuddling baby, baby eating so nicely, never any mess to clean up. But those of us who have gone this route know there are some less-than-perfect things about breastfeeding. We can hope that in a perfect world things could be as they are in our imaginations—before we were all inducted into the breastfeeding mom’s club—but most of us know that as modern women of American fast-paced society, breastfeeding is what it is. 

In a perfect world . . . Breastfeeding would be easy to do. For those of us who struggled with one child or another breastfeeding can be a daily or sometimes hourly struggle. One kid can take to the breast like a duck to water and with others it's like mixing oil and water--it can break a mom’s heart. In a perfect world, a baby would pop out, latch on and eat for 10 minutes and be done.

In a perfect world . . . Moms wouldn’t feel nervous or ashamed about breastfeeding their babies in public. We’ve all been there in the situation where you think I have to do it now, right here. Baby is screaming, people are watching and waiting for you to quiet him down. You know that all he wants is the boob. Do you rip your shirt off in the airplane and give it to him or let him cry? Do you risk nipple viewing in a family restaurant? The reality is that most people would probably you rather quiet your baby in a restaurant or plane, and if a breast is what does it then I say go for it. New moms sometimes have anxieties about nursing in public. I remember my friends taking the time to show me in a Starbucks how to drape the blanket over my shoulder and baby’s head. By my second child, I didn’t even care about the modesty.

The labor of love that is pumping

I've dug out The Black Bag from storage in preparation for our new baby due in a few weeks.

You know, that bag.

The "handsome, discreet  black shoulder bag" that EVERYONE knows bears a turbo-boosted mega breast pump inside. The handsome shoulder bag is usually accompanied by a harried-looking woman, walking quickly, who's wearing bulls-eye targets on her boobs, thanks to wonderful contemporary nursing pad designs. (If anyone out there has recommendations for nursing pads that don't make you feel like you're wearing crinkly sandpaper, boob maxi-pads, or slimy lily pads, please share.) It's a dead give-away: The Pumping Professional.

Pumping, for me, was a labor of love.

Eating Sand

When my youngest was eight months old, we went to the beach one weekend to enjoy the end of Summer weather. The boys had a blast, Hollis got dunked by some waves, and Holden ate about a pound of sand. Unfortunately, we didn't find any diamonds in the diaper.

I thought I'd write about our trip, but not just because of the excuse it gives me to post super cute pictures of my kids. Something notable actually happened while we were there. About 30 minutes into our outing Holden stopped eating sand and insisted that I nurse him. Little H was quite the stubborn little guy at 8 months olds (still is) so everyone hears that he is hungry and only Mommy milk will do RIGHT NOW! So, with everyone near us on the beach staring at my shrieking child, I retreated into our beach tent & nursed the baby.