"She has milk in her boobs" A comment I have heard a few times in my life. As a midwife, mom and friend my view on breastfeeding is not a secret. I try stick to my pro choice about everything in life but on this topic I find it difficult. Yesterday my son of near 5 ran up to a friend of mine that was feeding her baby. He went to lift the blanket to see the baby and say hello. Immediately I said wait she is feeding him, not because I did not want my son to see but because I was not sure how the mom felt about it. And of course little boys comments have little tact, " He is drinking milk from her Boob", with that naughty, I think this might be rude giggle. Then he ran off to go play.
This got me thinking to a few of my experiences and how I felt about. One that sticks out is sitting at my in laws house, off to the room to feed baby; because public feeding makes others uncomfortable; my niece asked if she could help, she runs to the kitchen to fetch a bottle, confused that I dont have any she follows me to the room. She sits quietly next to me just watching, I am waiting to answer the questions that I can see spinning through her brain, she gets up and says she just needs to tell her mom something. I hear her announce to the lounge that "she has milk in her boobs".
When it was time for baby number 2, I thought best to do some research on how to handle the topic with your toddler. The advice ranged from letting your toddler resume breastfeeding and dual feed to only bottle feed the 2 to avoid the uncomfortable topic. So advice was no use, I thought I would just wait and see what happend. It started off as mild interest, sometimes jealousy, then intense need to know. What does the milk taste like? I expressed some into a cup for him and it was met with a Ugggh that is yuck with a I just poisoned him face, sometimes jealousy, can I drink from your boobs? My choice on this topic was NO! You have had your turn. Then there is the ever funny and I have great video footage of the breast pump attached to his boob and he trying desparately to extract some milk for his brother, his 21st is going to be so much fun. Ultimately he found feeding time either boring or a time when mom can sit and build puzzles, lego or read books as she has 2 hands and her boobs can stretch in all sorts of directions. The baby of course goes into monkey mode, hanging on for dear life so as not to lose out.
I loved breast feeding my kids, it was hard at times, I moaned sometimes but when it came to weaning my youngest I felt so sad, he was ready a while before I was. I cried the day he took the bottle willing from me and never asked again.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Dumping the Dummy and bottle
We were having coffee at Jungle Junkies, a kiddies play area, and we got to chatting about our kids removal of dummies and bottles. My favourite of the day was one mom that tied her child's dummy to the bed by a long string, allowing access just into the TV room, then slowly shortened the string until the child was having to lie in bed, lift up for a few sucks, then lie down again until she gave up on the idea completely. Some sad tales of the little ones stealing dolls plastic dummies and hiding in corner to give it a few sucks.
This got me thinking back about my eldest, a great but sad day. He gave up his dummy at 9 months on his own, but after weaning got really attached to his bottles. A few months after my 2nd son was born I tried unsuccessfully to remove the bottle. After 3 days of all of us crying I gave it back, to try another time. About 6 months after that my son came to me asking for a Duplo fireman set. He said that he really needed it. My evil mom saw this as an opportunity. I explained very carefully that mom and dad had no money left, so the only option was to use bottles to buy the fireman. He thought about this and decided No, not worth it. A few weeks later he came to me and said he was ready, he really needed the fireman. Calm on the outside, jumping for joy inside and full of trepidation knowing that this time regardless I had to follow through. I said no problem, after school next day we will go to the Lego shop and buy the fireman with the bottles. We discussed it in bed that night while he was drinking, ensuring he understood his decision, yes he needed the fireman. The next morning he came to me and asked if he could have 1 last bottle please before we go. With a tear in my eye, I made him the final bottle. He took it to his room, lay on his bed and savoured every moment down to the last drop. He then gathered all the bottles, gave them to our cleaner, asked her to please wash them nicely for him as he was going to buy a fireman with them after school. At this point, it was taking all my power not to burst into tears and tell him it was alright he can keep them and get the fireman.
I fetched him from school, bottles clean in a packet, ready, Not! We drove to the Lego shop where I again confirmed he understands that this means he can no longer have a bottle, he assured me he knows. He ran to the Lego shop, grabbed his Fireman box, ran to the till, handed his packet of bottles over. The staff at the shop were amazing, without blinking she took the bottles, rang up the fireman, put it in a packet and gave it to him. This beaming exited child popped his packet in the pram and went to play at the tables. I gladly slipped the assistant my credit card, she carefully hid bottles in a different packet and slipped them under all bags in the pram.
That night expecting the worst, bedtime came, a slight tear from my son, but clutching his fireman he went to sleep. He never asked for his bottles again. I was so proud of him, I still get teary thinking about how much he loved something, but when it was time to move on, he did, with maturity, appropriate mourning, a smile.
This got me thinking back about my eldest, a great but sad day. He gave up his dummy at 9 months on his own, but after weaning got really attached to his bottles. A few months after my 2nd son was born I tried unsuccessfully to remove the bottle. After 3 days of all of us crying I gave it back, to try another time. About 6 months after that my son came to me asking for a Duplo fireman set. He said that he really needed it. My evil mom saw this as an opportunity. I explained very carefully that mom and dad had no money left, so the only option was to use bottles to buy the fireman. He thought about this and decided No, not worth it. A few weeks later he came to me and said he was ready, he really needed the fireman. Calm on the outside, jumping for joy inside and full of trepidation knowing that this time regardless I had to follow through. I said no problem, after school next day we will go to the Lego shop and buy the fireman with the bottles. We discussed it in bed that night while he was drinking, ensuring he understood his decision, yes he needed the fireman. The next morning he came to me and asked if he could have 1 last bottle please before we go. With a tear in my eye, I made him the final bottle. He took it to his room, lay on his bed and savoured every moment down to the last drop. He then gathered all the bottles, gave them to our cleaner, asked her to please wash them nicely for him as he was going to buy a fireman with them after school. At this point, it was taking all my power not to burst into tears and tell him it was alright he can keep them and get the fireman.
I fetched him from school, bottles clean in a packet, ready, Not! We drove to the Lego shop where I again confirmed he understands that this means he can no longer have a bottle, he assured me he knows. He ran to the Lego shop, grabbed his Fireman box, ran to the till, handed his packet of bottles over. The staff at the shop were amazing, without blinking she took the bottles, rang up the fireman, put it in a packet and gave it to him. This beaming exited child popped his packet in the pram and went to play at the tables. I gladly slipped the assistant my credit card, she carefully hid bottles in a different packet and slipped them under all bags in the pram.
That night expecting the worst, bedtime came, a slight tear from my son, but clutching his fireman he went to sleep. He never asked for his bottles again. I was so proud of him, I still get teary thinking about how much he loved something, but when it was time to move on, he did, with maturity, appropriate mourning, a smile.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
I just went to the toilet!
The toilet and bathroom used to be associated with quick business, feminine hygiene, long queues and the rare sexual encounter. That was BC (before children). It now has so many more references.
I went to fetch my oldest from school one day and his teacher looked tired. She said that today was one of those that she needs to lock herself in the bathroom for 10 minutes before she can deal with her own kids. This got me thinking about the time spent in the toilet lately as opposed to previously never thinking about that room much.
Firstly it is rare that it is private, for the most part I have an audience starting with the loyal staffies that dislike closed doors in any form, then the oldest in the words of Isabella " what you doing?" This followed by a discussion on plan of action for the rest of the day. Never to be left out toddles in the little one that is immediately excited as this is a very exciting room. He usually starts the assault by flushing the chain, turning it into a more Eastern experience than you prefer, then he turns to the roll of toilet paper, leading with " wipe mommy" and sticks his hands between your legs in the most helpful manner. This generally leads to a "Get Out", the oldest sulks off as he feels he was in his rights to be there, the youngest leaves but grabs toilet roll on his way out and you helplessly watch it unravel at an alarming pace; at least the dogs make a quit exit as they have now learnt that they can catch the brunt of a mommy tantrum.
The toilet can also be a place of much excitement. It is a difficult balance that must be achieved between not letting a toddler wreck the room, drown or otherwise injure oneself; and making it a place that he feels confident to use during that exciting potty training time. The first wee in the potty or the toilet creates load squealing noises and unequalled praise. There is often a potty dance and treat to mark this momentous occasion. The enticing of the pooh is also very exciting, hours are spent sitting on the floor next to the toilet using words of encouragement, reading books, singing or any such tactics.
My more recent thoughts about the toilet are somewhat different. My boys have discovered that there are times in the day that mommy needs to go to the toilet and leave them unattended or more unsupervised for minutes at a time. I am yet to discover if their exploits are spontaneous or pre-meditated. They will be sitting eating breakfast watching Phineas and Ferb quietly, I mistakenly think here is my chance, I dash out the room to the toilet. I come back moments later to empty seats, discarded breakfasts and a sinking feeling in my stomach. I then follow the trail of destruction, the dog food poured into the water bowl, the arts and crafts draws open and blobs of glue still wet but drying all over, the action figure box strewn across the room as a search for the hero of the day started and find the boys in a power struggle over 1 item that both feel is needed to be played with at that precise moment. The only thought I have is that I just went to the toilet ...
I went to fetch my oldest from school one day and his teacher looked tired. She said that today was one of those that she needs to lock herself in the bathroom for 10 minutes before she can deal with her own kids. This got me thinking about the time spent in the toilet lately as opposed to previously never thinking about that room much.
Firstly it is rare that it is private, for the most part I have an audience starting with the loyal staffies that dislike closed doors in any form, then the oldest in the words of Isabella " what you doing?" This followed by a discussion on plan of action for the rest of the day. Never to be left out toddles in the little one that is immediately excited as this is a very exciting room. He usually starts the assault by flushing the chain, turning it into a more Eastern experience than you prefer, then he turns to the roll of toilet paper, leading with " wipe mommy" and sticks his hands between your legs in the most helpful manner. This generally leads to a "Get Out", the oldest sulks off as he feels he was in his rights to be there, the youngest leaves but grabs toilet roll on his way out and you helplessly watch it unravel at an alarming pace; at least the dogs make a quit exit as they have now learnt that they can catch the brunt of a mommy tantrum.
The toilet can also be a place of much excitement. It is a difficult balance that must be achieved between not letting a toddler wreck the room, drown or otherwise injure oneself; and making it a place that he feels confident to use during that exciting potty training time. The first wee in the potty or the toilet creates load squealing noises and unequalled praise. There is often a potty dance and treat to mark this momentous occasion. The enticing of the pooh is also very exciting, hours are spent sitting on the floor next to the toilet using words of encouragement, reading books, singing or any such tactics.
My more recent thoughts about the toilet are somewhat different. My boys have discovered that there are times in the day that mommy needs to go to the toilet and leave them unattended or more unsupervised for minutes at a time. I am yet to discover if their exploits are spontaneous or pre-meditated. They will be sitting eating breakfast watching Phineas and Ferb quietly, I mistakenly think here is my chance, I dash out the room to the toilet. I come back moments later to empty seats, discarded breakfasts and a sinking feeling in my stomach. I then follow the trail of destruction, the dog food poured into the water bowl, the arts and crafts draws open and blobs of glue still wet but drying all over, the action figure box strewn across the room as a search for the hero of the day started and find the boys in a power struggle over 1 item that both feel is needed to be played with at that precise moment. The only thought I have is that I just went to the toilet ...
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Sifting through the Ashes to find my bra
I spent some time over the holidays with my Women's Rights are everything cousin. Listening to her admonish me for giving my son a white marshmellow and his girl cousin a pink one, I thought how much hard work it is to have such strong beliefs. I recently have increased my work hours as the kids become a little older, lying in bed exhausted in evenings have made me wonder about these so called equal rights.
Did these hairy legged bra burning women think about what they were doing to the next generation; could there have been a man behind it all, railing these women up while he sat back and laughed? Here we are 20 years on from her marching at rallies, are we better off?
I find myself not only feeling the instinctual guilt over not being the best mother, but now I have added to that the guilt of not fulfilling my potential in society and not contributing financially equally to my partner (and realised just called him partner vs. husband). So if I choose career and motherhood that means working a full day and week, leaving my kids for majority of the time with a caregiver, that is good at her job but would rather be spending all day with her own kids as opposed to mine, or I have option of a creche with all the other working mom's kids. This is being done too early for the mother instinct to have evolved out of me, so all the time at work I am feeling guilt over not being there for my kids, no time to prepare show n tell, or have play dates ... This is why I chose not!
Many women are also then coming home in the evenings to a stressed Dad that is frustrated and depressed that he is not fulfilling his potential or financial obligations as there are now 50% less jobs and opportunities for men in the workforce.
Could it be time to compromise? Could it even out? Can it be equal without having to do same jobs? We probably needed to have burnt the bra's so that we could move forward then soon settle back. Until then I will stay home with boys in the day; work more and more in the free hours; and just read all the fantasy porn about being submissive to my husband...
Did these hairy legged bra burning women think about what they were doing to the next generation; could there have been a man behind it all, railing these women up while he sat back and laughed? Here we are 20 years on from her marching at rallies, are we better off?
I find myself not only feeling the instinctual guilt over not being the best mother, but now I have added to that the guilt of not fulfilling my potential in society and not contributing financially equally to my partner (and realised just called him partner vs. husband). So if I choose career and motherhood that means working a full day and week, leaving my kids for majority of the time with a caregiver, that is good at her job but would rather be spending all day with her own kids as opposed to mine, or I have option of a creche with all the other working mom's kids. This is being done too early for the mother instinct to have evolved out of me, so all the time at work I am feeling guilt over not being there for my kids, no time to prepare show n tell, or have play dates ... This is why I chose not!
Many women are also then coming home in the evenings to a stressed Dad that is frustrated and depressed that he is not fulfilling his potential or financial obligations as there are now 50% less jobs and opportunities for men in the workforce.
Could it be time to compromise? Could it even out? Can it be equal without having to do same jobs? We probably needed to have burnt the bra's so that we could move forward then soon settle back. Until then I will stay home with boys in the day; work more and more in the free hours; and just read all the fantasy porn about being submissive to my husband...
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Does The Hulk have green pooh's?
Does The Hulk have green pooh's? This is a random thought of a 4 1/2 year old boy while driving on a Sunday. I tried counting the other day how many times in a day I heard the words pooh and butt, it is not possible. Especially when the count is doubled by the 22 month old parrot that then runs around shouting " pooh pooh pooh".
It was really stressing me out in the beginning that my son vocabulary now only consisted of 2 words. I was impressed at how he was able to integrate the word butt into every single discussion. First line defense was stop it now before it progresses to other words. Each attempt exponentially increased the volume. Not working as giving words attention. Second line defense, ignore the problem as if did not hear it. Worked for a while but no real improvement. Going to bed singing the homemade pooh butt song not good for the sole. Reading an ecard about Men that think about sex every 9 seconds or some stat like that, got me thinking that it clearly starts at young age, only topic is butts. Yip! Instead counting words, took note of space between the thoughts. 9 second intervals is quite accurate.
New game plan! Not gonna change nature so use to my advantage. Some concerns about perpetuating a cycle rather than stopping it, no, my needs first. " I am not bathing today, moan whine ..." Lets try a language you understand, " get your stinky pooh butt in the bath you pooh pooh head" not proud of myself, but this laughing happy child ran and jumped in the bath. Tested it in various situations and have not failed to get a smile and action.
My private strategy in place and a happy home we continue on. Play dates are designed to expose, shame and make you so happy that you are not alone. Listening in to interaction of my son's friend and his mom made me smile, " pooh pooh head mom butt butt ... " . The mom turned to me, apologised for her son, with the defeated look of I don't know what to do. I smiled, turned and kissed my poop head boy while he still lets me.
It was really stressing me out in the beginning that my son vocabulary now only consisted of 2 words. I was impressed at how he was able to integrate the word butt into every single discussion. First line defense was stop it now before it progresses to other words. Each attempt exponentially increased the volume. Not working as giving words attention. Second line defense, ignore the problem as if did not hear it. Worked for a while but no real improvement. Going to bed singing the homemade pooh butt song not good for the sole. Reading an ecard about Men that think about sex every 9 seconds or some stat like that, got me thinking that it clearly starts at young age, only topic is butts. Yip! Instead counting words, took note of space between the thoughts. 9 second intervals is quite accurate.
New game plan! Not gonna change nature so use to my advantage. Some concerns about perpetuating a cycle rather than stopping it, no, my needs first. " I am not bathing today, moan whine ..." Lets try a language you understand, " get your stinky pooh butt in the bath you pooh pooh head" not proud of myself, but this laughing happy child ran and jumped in the bath. Tested it in various situations and have not failed to get a smile and action.
My private strategy in place and a happy home we continue on. Play dates are designed to expose, shame and make you so happy that you are not alone. Listening in to interaction of my son's friend and his mom made me smile, " pooh pooh head mom butt butt ... " . The mom turned to me, apologised for her son, with the defeated look of I don't know what to do. I smiled, turned and kissed my poop head boy while he still lets me.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Coffe please! Hold the babychino
I was lying on my couch on Sunday afternoon in my half hour Dad's home and grandparents are here bliss. My mom in law offered to make coffee and tea. Despite my horizontal bliss I jumped up, dont be silly I will make it. Partly because it is polite to make guests coffee but largely because I have come to cherise my coffee time, and tea drinkers dont make good coffee.
One of my favourite times of day is around 11h30, oldest at school and toddler is down for day nap, and I make myself coffee. Something I have learnt the hard way and is a teaching point in my antenatal and postnatal classes is the timing of the cup of coffee. As you sneak out of the room avoiding the creaky floor board, silently close the door and take a deep breath; you might be tempted to do the chores before you sit down, DON'T! Dont unpack the dishwasher or do invoices or anything else. Turn on the kettle, sit down enjoy your coffee first because may be the only time you get.
Even at a restaurant that hot yummy cappuchino can be elusive. All is going well until the waiter arrives with the cup in hand. Your kids appear out of no where, they were happily playing on jungle gym 30 seconds ago, now they are on your lap with spoons in hand. The invention of baby chino's has done wonders for the hot cup of coffee. Sugar all over the table, half milk spilt at least you get a fighting chance at that coffee.
Forget the chores, forget work and just sit and have your coffee.
One of my favourite times of day is around 11h30, oldest at school and toddler is down for day nap, and I make myself coffee. Something I have learnt the hard way and is a teaching point in my antenatal and postnatal classes is the timing of the cup of coffee. As you sneak out of the room avoiding the creaky floor board, silently close the door and take a deep breath; you might be tempted to do the chores before you sit down, DON'T! Dont unpack the dishwasher or do invoices or anything else. Turn on the kettle, sit down enjoy your coffee first because may be the only time you get.
Even at a restaurant that hot yummy cappuchino can be elusive. All is going well until the waiter arrives with the cup in hand. Your kids appear out of no where, they were happily playing on jungle gym 30 seconds ago, now they are on your lap with spoons in hand. The invention of baby chino's has done wonders for the hot cup of coffee. Sugar all over the table, half milk spilt at least you get a fighting chance at that coffee.
Forget the chores, forget work and just sit and have your coffee.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Mothers Guilt Oh She Is A Bitch!
I heard my one year old waking from his midday sleep and I quickly ran and gave the maid the monitor and bolted for the car. Well sleep is a strong word, when it takes an hour to put him to sleep and 20 min later he is awake again, I think power nap is a better description. Jump in car and rush out the garage. I dont even make it to the gate when the guilt hits me with full force. I stop the car and decide if I should go back and get him, I then think that it will take 15 min to get him changed and in car then I will be late in fetching my 4 year old from school and he will be upset. I decide that just keep going as quicker without him.
Guilt is a subject of my thoughts a lot these days. I got so upset watching Private Practice the other night, here I am running out on my son and these people, yes on TV, daughter has been stolen and they might never get her back. I should spend every waking (which is more than necessary) moment with my boys.
Then I have good days, my son arrives at school on dress up day, dressed in his home made Peter Pan outfit and all teachers gush over the inventiveness of costume and applaude me for the simple outfit that he clearly helped me make. With a beaming heart I look at other kids costumes, then I see the kids whose parents did not dress them up today. The sad looks on their faces makes me want to cry. I am not sure why they are not dressed up, did the parents forget, were they too busy, do they lack means or simply not care. I wish I could have brought extras for them. On way home I wonder if my guilt on leaving my son for 20 mins, or not putting them to bed every night when I work nights or the worst is that monthly book club drinking guilt laced wine, is actually selfish because most parents dont have options. Their kids have to go to creche or spend all day with the nanny. Maybe the guilt is heightened because of this, I dont work so I should spend all day uncomplaining with my kids.
Chatting to a few other moms I notice it is not uncommon. Guilt over working, not working, sending kids to school early as baby 2 is on the way, not breastfeeding, having a c-section, not carrying baby to term, not allowing teenager to go to party ... Even my mother still has guilt and we are all grown up feeling guilt over our own kids.
All the websites, someecards, psychologists, FB pages and those in the know say forgive yourself you doing a good job, but sure that I will run out on my kids, hide in the bathroom and continue to feel guilty.
Guilt is a subject of my thoughts a lot these days. I got so upset watching Private Practice the other night, here I am running out on my son and these people, yes on TV, daughter has been stolen and they might never get her back. I should spend every waking (which is more than necessary) moment with my boys.
Then I have good days, my son arrives at school on dress up day, dressed in his home made Peter Pan outfit and all teachers gush over the inventiveness of costume and applaude me for the simple outfit that he clearly helped me make. With a beaming heart I look at other kids costumes, then I see the kids whose parents did not dress them up today. The sad looks on their faces makes me want to cry. I am not sure why they are not dressed up, did the parents forget, were they too busy, do they lack means or simply not care. I wish I could have brought extras for them. On way home I wonder if my guilt on leaving my son for 20 mins, or not putting them to bed every night when I work nights or the worst is that monthly book club drinking guilt laced wine, is actually selfish because most parents dont have options. Their kids have to go to creche or spend all day with the nanny. Maybe the guilt is heightened because of this, I dont work so I should spend all day uncomplaining with my kids.
Chatting to a few other moms I notice it is not uncommon. Guilt over working, not working, sending kids to school early as baby 2 is on the way, not breastfeeding, having a c-section, not carrying baby to term, not allowing teenager to go to party ... Even my mother still has guilt and we are all grown up feeling guilt over our own kids.
All the websites, someecards, psychologists, FB pages and those in the know say forgive yourself you doing a good job, but sure that I will run out on my kids, hide in the bathroom and continue to feel guilty.
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