Thursday 13 - World Breastfeeding Week

Header courtesy of samulli

In honor of World Breastfeeding Week this week, I am dedicating my thirteen to the motherly art that is breastfeeding.

Thirteen Reasons Breastfeeding Is Right for Me

1. It's free.  Seriously.  And I'm as cheap as cheap gets, so naturally this is numero uno.
2. I don't have to worry about running out of breastmilk.  Sure, there can be supply issues.  I know about these first-hand, but if you put a baby to your breast, they can get something out.  You can't make an ounce of formula with an empty can.  It's simply impossible.
3. When I nursed in the night, the baby and I both slept through the feedings.  That thing about not being able to take turns on the night feedings is irrelevant.  When you nurse, no one has to get up with the baby.  ZZZzzzZZZzzz
4. It gives me an excuse to continue eating like a pregnant woman well after the baby was born.  Thanks to my nursing metabolism, I could eat and eat and not gain weight.  (But I also didn't lose it.  This trade-off was okay by me...I love food way more than being skinny.)
5. There was never a need to carry a bulky diaper bag.  Without having to tote around bottles, formula, and water I could put a couple of diapers, a small pack of wipes, and an extra outfit in my (big) purse and proceed with life.
6. I get to hold, feed, and bond one-on-one with my baby countless times a day.  And that's a memory that no one else can ever claim from me.
7. The antipyretic powers of breastmilk can't be beat.  I have witnessed it countless times.  The stuff is as good as Tylenol or Ibuprofen when a fever is involved, only it works much faster.
8. It makes me feel like Super(wo)man.  Faster than a bottle warmer.  More powerful than formula.  I could calm a screaming baby with a single moment of nursing.  I could survive nursing strikes, mastitis, and pumping at work for a year and still come out feeling great about it.
9. The longer I nursed, the healthier my children were.  When I quit at 4 months with my first, he endured ear infection after countless ear infection.  I stopped at 7 months with my second and the same thing happened.  With my third, we're still going at 14+ months and she is, by far, my healthiest child.
10. It decreases my risk of breast and ovarian cancers.  Given my family history, I'll take all the help I can get.
11. Breastfeeding is about as green as it gets.  There is no disposable packaging!
12. Sorry if it's taboo, but nursing delayed my period for nearly a year.  That's nothing short of sweet.
13. I know we all think our babies are the cutest, but my breastfed babies' poop really doesn't stink (as badly as formula poop).  

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Tell-tale Mom Things (Please tell me I'm not alone)

You have had to start patting your child down before you drop her off at Sunday School after she somehow managed to smuggle a pushpin and a pink highlighter in on consecutive Sundays.  And you have to wonder, where is she hiding that stuff?  In her underwear?

You immediately regret purchasing those plastic, light-up princess shoes because you know full well your three year old will never want to wear another pair of shoes again.

Sometimes you feel a little guilty for those white lies you tell your kids.  For instance, for four years running you have been able to convince your son that they didn't have a Power Rangers costume in his size.  (But really, he'll thank you later.  At least this is what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night.)

You've watched your son invent a musical instrument using nothing but a rubber band and his little sister's tricycle.  Then you took a picture of it.

It doesn't surprise you at all to see this in the playroom:

Leave it to your creative three year old to make a bed out of a flip flop and a blanket out of a torn piece of notebook paper.  Who says kids need fancy, expensive toys?

You absolutely love when your fourteen month old wraps her arms around your neck and gives you the biggest, strongest squeeze you ever imagined possible from a tiny, little girl.  What you don't love quite as much is when, a few seconds into that oh-so-sweet hug, she bites you with those razor sharp teeth right on the shoulder. 

When you decide to go on a beach vacation five hours from home with a one month old and you fail to pack a bouncer or swing, you have to get creative.  Believe it or not - this worked (kudos, Sam - I knew I married you for a reason):

You know they were just the ringbearer and flower girl, but seeing them dressed up (and gorgeous) gave you anxiety because as fast as their first few years flew by, you know you'll practically be marrying them off for real like...tomorrow.  *sniffle*

Standing in the school supply aisle excites you - way more than it excites your child.  And despite the explicit directions on the school supply list, you desperately want to splurge and get the 64-box of Crayolas that you never had but always wanted back when you were going into first grade.

Despite the fact that you don't really do birthday parties and you aren't exactly craftsy, you begin researching birthday party themes and possible favors/decorations/games months in advance.  You call it a [Pinkalicious] daydream.
 

Linking up today at...

Flashback Monday? Just go with it.

Now that I got my little "I'm rubber and you're glue" hissy-fit out of my system, I can get on with more important (and more importantly) fun things.  Like my 3-days late Flashback Friday.  But hey, that's who I am.  I'm late.  At life.  I was late to work this morning even.  (Though that one really wasn't my fault.  Have you ever been boxed in at the daycare drop-off line for 15 minutes?   As inconsiderate and rude as it was of those slow-moving front parkers, I think handled it quite well.  There was no horn blowing and my blood pressure didn't even rise...outside of the already elevated norm anyway.  Thank you very much.)

I've always been a creature of habit.  Always.  This hasn't gotten better with age, and I don't anticipate that it will.  So when I got up Saturday morning and did the dishes that I had left in the sink on Friday night (because I always do that), it was all part of the routine.  I got the coffee started, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, and started thinking about what we'd have for breakfast (that would use up the 2 extra loaves of bread I'd gotten to make ham sandwiches for the daycare kids end-of-summer party - how many kids did I think I was feeding?!).  That's when I remembered Saturday morning breakfasts at my house growing up.

During the week, we had quick breakfasts, if we had them at all.  My sister and I were never really breakfast-eaters growing up.  And to call my mom an early-riser would be, well, a blatant lie.  By the time we were old enough to get ourselves ready in the morning, we did.  Before that, our breakfast consisted of a Little Debbie that my mom would hand to us, which we would hide behind the couch in it's unopened glory.  Then we'd lie straight through our teeth and say that we'd eaten it.  (True story.  I'm sorry, Mom.  The jig is up.  Though I'm sure you figured out where those forty Star Crunches came from whenever you moved the couch.)

Saturdays, however, were an entirely different story.  On Saturday, my dad cooked breakfast.  And he did it right.  There's just something about waking up to the smell of bacon frying and coffee brewing to lure you right out of bed when you'd otherwise want to be sleeping.  It didn't matter what was on the menu for breakfast, he cooked it all in the electric skillet.  Swapping flavors and grease between all of the elements.  The list of menu items seemed endless and varied from week to week.  There were fried eggs over-easy (which we lovingly referred to as dip-it-in-it eggs), scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage patties, sausage links, pan-fried ham, and scrapple, that beloved mid-atlantic mystery meat that still makes me salivate when I think of it.  There were the various baked goods made with love by my grandmother who would bring them over when she and my grandfather came over to visit every Thursday night, like peach cake, zucchini bread, and stollen.  And then there were the countless pieces of toast my dad would make in the toaster oven, because for some reason, we never owned a toaster in our house growing up.

I would sit at the bar watching him cook it, no doubt jabbering my little brains out.  When it was finished, he'd set us out two plates (because I was the only one who ever got up with him to enjoy the feast).  Then he would sit down, open the paper up, and work on the Jumble and crossword puzzles in the paper while I read over his shoulder.  Every 60th clue or so, I'd actually know the answer and I'd chime in (though I'm sure he was just letting me have it, like I do with Ben now).

And between the two of us, we consumed an incredible amount of breakfast meats.

I guess this is why, flash forward to now, I cherish my Saturday morning routine so much.  We do breakfasts big on Saturday.  Though the choices are (ever so slightly) healthier and less saturated in crossed-over grease, my kids do love some extra butter.  Among our favorites: waffles, hashbrowns,  pancakes & sausage, bacon (of course), cinnamon rolls, crescent rolls with jelly (or sausage or both), blueberry muffins, jelly/cheese toast, and cheese eggs.  I've even gotten to be a little brave.  There's something about cooking breakfast that isn't at all like cooking dinner.  Could it be because I enjoy it?  (I think so.)  At any rate, I'm willing to experiment and it pays off sometimes.  My favorite new breakfast item is chocolate chip, walnut waffles.  I wish I had one right now.

I guess this is also why I make a concerted effort to serve my kids a good, hearty breakfast every single morning of the week.  And I watch them while they eat it (because I would hate to find jelly toast behind my couch).  Do we have poptart mornings?  Of course.  Do we eat cereal from time to time?  Yes, especially because if given the choice, Abby would subsist on cereal alone.  But breakfast is a meal that I have grown to absolutely love.  Crave even.  It's the most important meal of the day, right?  I don't know about the health and metabolism aspects of that.  But for me, it's important because of the memories.  And I hope I'm creating those for my kids...not just on Saturday.

Because no matter how hard or often I beat that horse...

...it just won't die.

Wait.  That's not the expression is it?

Okay, so I'm not killing horses.  (That's weird and not very nice...even if I'm not a big fan of them.)  What I am doing is going back to that pesky work-out-of-the-home mom (WOHM) topic.  It's on my mind again.  Just when I come to peace with the fact that I don't owe anyone an explanation about my choice to work outside of the home, something (or someone) else pokes at me with a big, fat meanie stick and it all comes rushing to the forefront again.

I grew up in the Mid-Atlantic as a child of the 80's and 90's.  I would venture to say that out of my core group of friends, half of the moms worked outside of the home and half of them stayed home.  It never occurred to me to care about it one way or the other.  My friends were all awesome, mostly well-adjusted, equally quirky, and responsible kids.  Clearly, whether or not their moms worked at a job other than homemaker wasn't an issue to me.  It just didn't seem like a hot-button topic at the time.  Or if it was, my mom surely never let on.  She stayed home with my sister and me, but I don't remember her saying derogatory things about the moms who didn't or maybe couldn't.

Fast forward to now.

I live in the South.  I don't know actual statistics, but I can tell you that it feels like I am the only work-out-of-the-home mom I know.  Surely that is not the case, as my children attend a wonderful, amazing, loving childcare center full of kids.  They can't all be from single-fathers, can they?  I feel alone in my situation most of the time.  The woman I work with (in my male dominated field) is childless, the majority of my friends are childless or stay-at-home moms, and my sister and mother are also in that latter category.  I have an excellent online support group, and I love them dearly for helping me feel normal.  But sometimes, I just don't feel normal here.

[Please wait while I look up said actual statistics.  Due diligence and all.]

My findings (for the U.S.):

72% of moms with children over 1 year old work (about the same as childless women) , vs. 39% in 1976

55% of moms with a child under 1 year old work, vs. 31% in 1976 [source: Happy Worker]

Obviously I was unable to find any specific geographical demographics.  I presume those would have been significantly more enlightening.

I can't speak for anyone but myself.  Despite what others may think, this applies to everyone.  I cannot condemn another family's choices because I have not spent a single moment in their shoes.  I expect the same consideration in return, but I have to tell you, there is a vicious paradigm about this WOHM thing.  People assume a lot of things about me because I work.  Here's a list of some of the most common stigmas attached to work-out-of-the-home moms:

• I am letting someone else raise my kids.
• I work, primarily, so we can have luxuries like a fancy wardrobe, car, and house.
• I am not cut out to be a mom, so I pass them off during the day and live my own life.
• My children must be little discipline-lacking demons as a result of my almost complete absence as a parent.
• I work because we are so deeply in debt that I have no other choice.
• I spend little to no quality time with my children because my days are full of work and my nights are full of chores.
• My children will grow up to be miserable and self-loathing because I put my career ahead of them.

I'm here to tell you those things are all true.

Phew.  

It feels better getting that off my chest.

If it's not obvious that I'm kidding - 

I'm not going to go through those point for point and try to dissuade anyone from thinking such things.  It's a little thing called "your prerogative" (and plus, I've already kind of done that here).  Consider this post my own personal, virtual therapy session, and you've [strangely] been invited to watch it unfold.  

At the end of the day, I am happy with my decision to work.  I feel that I am doing what I was called to do.  I love my kids with all my heart and I know they know it (even when I call them nerds).  I am completely at peace with their caregivers.  I look forward to the evenings when I can go home and play with them and listen to them say off the wall things and read them their bedtime stories, even if it means extra laundry and a sink full of dishes for another day.  We don't live an extravagant lifestyle and wouldn't even if we could, because that's not what we want for our kids.  I am doing the best I can.  I think most of us are.  It's called parenting.

The thing I have to ask myself when I feel that big, mean stick prodding at me is this:

Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.  Galatians 1:10

Then suddenly, I am at peace again.

And isn't it so appropriate that this song just came on the radio?  I think these will be my parting words.

So let's leave it alone, 'cause we can't see eye to eye.

There ain't no good guys, there ain't no bad guys.

There's only you and me and we just disagree.

Today (though perhaps not the best blog post with which to take this leap for the first time - I'm probably alienating readers before they even start!), I am linking up with:

Maybe later I'll break my own personal blogging rule and post twice in one day with a Flashback.  But I just couldn't not write about this today.  Thanks so much for letting me let it out.  If this is your first time stopping by, please come back.  I'm not usually so grumpy!

Thursday 13 - Fun Facts about my Favorite

In honor of my favorite person in the world's 28th birthday today, (WHOA, 28?! That's nearly 30!!!) I am dedicating today's 13 to my dearest husband, Sammy (to me) or Sam[uel] (to others).

I thought about listing 13 reasons I love him, 13 of his many-more-than-that virtues, 13 reasons he is justified by being completed annoyed by me 24/7 but miraculously isn't, 13 strange but lovable quirks.  None of those felt quite right.

So instead, I'm going with generic fun facts.  Who doesn't like random fun facts?  (This might be rhetorical.  Because I like random, and this is my blog, darn it.)

13 Fun Facts about My Sammy

1.  When we were dating, we used to sit side-by-side in my dorm room for hours and play SimCity separately on our own computers, and yet it felt like we were playing together.  These were a few of many moments where I knew we'd be together forever.  Because, well, we were both big nerds.  (And remain nerds to this day.)

2.  We still argue about what our first "official" date was.  He says it's when he asked me to his cousin's wedding.  I say it's when we went to see We Were Soldiers at the movies nearly a month later.  I guess it doesn't really matter...because the rest is history.  (But I'm totally right.)

3.  On the way to said wedding, I was asking about his family (whom I'd never met, except for seeing his mom in the parking lot one time) and he told me, "My dad is really scary."  I believed him.  Then I met his dad.  I'm 99.9% sure that was a big, fat lie, but to this day there's a part of me that's a little bit afraid of him, just in case.

4.  We took a lot of classes together in college.  I studied a lot and took constant notes.  He rarely studied and took notes even less.  And he killed me on every test.  Mr. Smarty Pants.  (Or wait, maybe he's just average and I'm really dumb.  Something to consider...)

5.  He has purchased somewhere around 10 pairs of the exact same shoes since we've been married.  He wears them every day until they wear out and then he buys some more.  I totally approve of this.  (They're really good looking shoes and all the more closet/shoe space for me.)  It'll be a sad day for both of us when they stop making them.

6.  For years when he ordered a cherry coke at Sonic, he gave me the cherry right off the bat.  I always thought it was because he didn't care for them.  I only recently learned that he likes maraschino cherries, but he loves me more.  (It's the same reason I give him the pepperoncini from my salads.)

7.  He can fix anything.  This is no secret.  But one of the most amazing things he ever did (in my opinion) is replace the motherboard on our almost new, but still broken refrigerator.  A) Who knew fridges even had motherboards?  B) Who can even figure out a fried motherboard is the problem?  C) Who knew you could buy spare refrigerator motherboards on ebay?  D) Who is brave enough to tackle this?  The answer to all of the above - My Sammy.

8.  He's not really one for sweets (unlike me, who will eat sweet or savory anytime anyplace), but there are a few desserts he won't pass on:  Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (chilled in the fridge), Molten Chocolate Cake from Chili's, Wilson's or Donna's Glazed Donuts, Cinnamon Rolls at Cici's, Cheese Danish, and Cheesecake.

9.  I've said multiple times before that everything I know about parenting I learned from him.  He's amazing.  What I haven't mentioned is that he thinks of tricks to calm the kids down/distract them/get them to eat their dinner so quickly on his feet, and I see them work so well, that I start to borrow them.  And inevitably wear them out.  (Sorry Sam, but I know you'll be able to come up with some news ones, right?)

10.  He has helped me get over my irrational fears of dentists, calling people on the phone, and canned biscuits.  (Okay, so I'm still a little afraid of all of those things, but he's definitely helped.)

11.  He has survived the phenomenon that is Life with a Pregnant Jennie not once, not twice, but three times.  There are no other words required.  This man deserves a medal.

12.  Back to that first trip to his hometown for that wedding - I noticed the rural night sky and was amazed by the clarity and brilliance of the stars.  Call it the suburbs in me showing, but I commented on how beautiful it was.  A little over a year later, he took me out under those very same stars and asked me to marry him.  And
I'm so glad he did.

13.  Even when I'm in one of my pessimistic moods, Sam has a knack for finding the positive in any situation.  He might be facing an uphill battle for the rest of his life, or he might turn me into an optimist yet.

I am so very grateful to have been blessed with this man's partnership.  We've had some good times and we've had a few bad times, but the best part is that we had them together.  And I can't wait to share more of life's little moments with you.

I love you, Sammy.
Happy, Happy Birthday!

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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others’ comments. It’s easy, and fun!

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