I quit!

Around January 16th, Camm and I had this conversation:

• Me: Oh, Camm! Isn't everything just going so well right now? 
• Camm: Yeah, things are just fine.
• Me: No, I mean, really well. The girls are just doing everything right. Work is going perfectly, everything is just great.
• Camm: um, yeah, I guess so.
• Me: I mean, I can't believe how well things are going.
• Camm: You stopped nursing a week ago. That's the only difference.

It wasn't until he pointed it out to me that I realized he was right. Life actually wasn't going that much better - in fact Ivory had been growing her molars and hadn't slept all week. The only difference was me. I wasn't a hormonal basket-case of PPD anymore. It had only been a week since I'd quit giving Ivory the boob, and it had felt like the best week of my life. It's now been a month--and it feels like the best month of my life. I didn't realize I was in the trenches of PPD until I got out of it. Sure, I knew I was stressed. I knew I cried a lot. But I thought I was stressed because I have two little girls, two part time jobs, responsibilities at church, and blah blah blah. I didn't know that if you took the PPD out of it, my life would seem fabulous.

A few weeks ago that Similac commercial went viral with a message to stop the mommy wars.

Then there was a backlash from the lactation gurus saying that it was perpetuating a myth that bottles are as good as boobs and making people feel guilty for speaking their mind when they know that boobs are best.

I know breastmilk is healthier (why else would I have nursed her?).

That being said, I'm with the Similac commercial. Everyone needs to do what's best for their family.

Nursing is great for lots of women who love it. I know that many women love the extra bond with their breastfeeding child. I think that's great!

On the other hand, I don't think it's really necessary for me to be crying all the time. I don't even think that's best for my kids. With both kids I immediately felt better emotionally within days of quitting. I don't think that's a coincidence.

So rather than making everyone do what we think is best, stop the mommy wars!

"This topic of judging others could actually be taught in a two-word sermon. When it comes to hating, gossiping, ignoring, ridiculing, holding grudges, or wanting to cause harm, please apply the following: Stop it! It’s that simple. We simply have to stop judging others and replace judgmental thoughts and feelings with a heart full of love for God and His children."--Dieter F. Uchtdorf

PS--Here are some other posts I've had on the topic:
This one was written a few months ago
This one is a humorous post from after I quit nursing Ruby

Nursing

I don’t like breastfeeding.

I figure by starting off the blog post that way, super-duper breastfeeding advocates can just stop reading and we can avoid a huge slew of negative comments about my poor mothering skills below (not that I ever have very many comments on any post anyway).

When I was pregnant with Ruby (now 3) I was sick. Typing the word “sick” doesn’t do justice to how I felt. My schedule consisted of grad school and working and puking in between. I’ll spare you the details, but just know that I was sick.

Though I was sick, my pregnancy was a perfectly healthy pregnancy. Baby developed just fine and there were no complications. I’d try to convince myself that I was glad we were “healthy”, but it was hard to remember that when I felt anything but healthy.

I couldn’t wait to have my body back. I wanted to be able to run and swim without throwing up. I wanted to feel normal again. I wanted to be hormonally stable. I felt like those 9 months would never end.

Sometimes (or a lot of the time) I would think about what was on the other side of the 9 months. I knew I’d have my Ruby girl, I knew I’d get to bond with her, I knew I’d get to experience what it is like to love my daughter and I was excited. On the other hand, I was dreading breastfeeding. I knew that though I wouldn’t be puking my guts out, I wouldn’t have my body back to normal for a long time.

I attended two different breastfeeding classes where they filled my brain with information about how much better breastmilk is than formula and gave lists of rules about what I should do to make sure I keep up my milk supply. I read books and articles about what I was supposed to do. Rather than helping me prepare and be at ease, I would come home from classes full of anxiety and worrying about every little thing. I was stressed, to put it lightly.

Months passed and the day finally came where I held my little Ruby girl. I did get to bond with her, I did get to experience what loving a little girl is like, and it was exciting! I started breastfeeding fairly seamlessly. Yes, there were all the normal trials about getting used to it and the nipples hurting. (There were also the abnormal trials like finding out I have a 3^rd lactating nipple—but that’s a story for another time.) I nursed Ruby regularly. And my stress levels were continually on the rise. I kept trying to think of all the things that I’d learned in the classes and books and tried to make sure I did everything right. I kept reminding myself I had to do it for at least a year because that’s what a good mom does. And I drove myself crazy.

When I started school and work again at 2 months, I started introducing formula. By 4 months she was completely weaned. And I felt fantastic. I had the flexibility I needed for my work/school schedule. I continued bonding just fine with the little one. I felt like my relationship with my husband was much better. In essence, I replaced breastmilk with a happy mom.

Three years later Ruby rarely if ever gets sick and is plenty smart. I've never regretted that decision.

The week before Ruby’s 2^nd birthday I found out I was pregnant with Ivory. Again, I had a healthy baby inside me but felt sick. This time I didn’t feel as sick, but it was still hard. It was easier mentally to think clearly as I’d gone through it all before.

I decided to do everything differently in regards to breastfeeding this time around. I would read no books, attend no classes and hardly think about it. I would breastfeed for 1 day and at the end of that day I would decide if I wanted to do it the next day. That was my only goal: 1 day.

I finished that day and did it the next day and the next. Ivory’s now 8 months and I’m still doing it—day by day.

I feel like I’ve learned quite a bit through my two different nursing experiences and I’d like to outline them here. Some positive about nursing and some negative:

• ·         Nursing really has gotten easier as the baby gets older. She latches quicker, drinks faster, and (for someone like me who doesn’t like my boobs in the open) nursing discreetly is easier.
• ·         Since I have another kid, nursing is logistically easier because I don’t have bottles in my already full-of-dirty-dishes sink; I don’t have to remember bottles/formula in addition to the diapers, wipes, crackers, toys, and books on our walks to the park; and when I stumble out of bed in the night to get to Ivory’s crib, I don’t have to make a bottle in the dark.
• ·         Ivory’s still not sleeping through the night. I know that many 8 month olds aren’t. I read blogs about how babies shouldn’t be expected to. I also know this might not have to do with breastmilk. The truth is, though, Ruby was sleeping through the night long before 8 months and that made life so much easier. Knowing I could get a full night’s sleep every night did wonders for my mental health that I’m definitely lacking now.
• ·         I don’t feel any more bonded to Ivory than I did to Ruby. I love both of them. I don’t think that breastfeeding has made any difference on that.
• ·         Figuring out my work schedule is really hard. Pumping isn’t convenient or comfortable or fun. I do it, but I don’t like it.
• ·         When I read blogs or talk to moms who absolutely love it, I can’t relate at all. I do not feel like it is my calling in life. I also don’t feel like every mother should do it. I quit with Ruby because I felt like having a happy mom was more important than her diet. I still think I was right.

 I’m glad I can do it. I’m glad that I’m healthy, that my baby is healthy and that we can do it. I do not think any mother should ever feel guilty for not breastfeeding for any reason. I’m still nursing Ivory one day at a time and we’ll see where it takes us. I don't know how long it lasts. I know though that you will not see me nursing my daughter on the cover of Time or even hear me gush about how much I love it. I just don't really like it all that much (and I know by saying that I'm still opening myself up to that slew of negative comments on my mothering skills if you breastfeeding advocates made it this far).
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BTW: here's a humorous post I wrote shortly after I quit nursing Ruby: http://mlogandclog.blogspot.com/2011/12/so-before-ruby-came-along-camm-and-i.html
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Ivory girl

breastmilk or bombs: which scares you more?

Traveling with Ruby is so much different than traveling alone. When she was younger it was hard for various reasons (as you may have read here or here).

For those who don't know, liquids cannot be carried on to the plane unless it is specifically for the baby. As stated on the TSA website:
"You are encouraged to travel with only as much formula, breast milk, or juice in your carry-on needed to reach your destination."


So when I was flying out here to Oregon (to finally meet up with Camm), I looked in my mom's fridge and realized there was still 3/4 of a gallon of whole milk. Being the cheapskate that I am, I was NOT about to just let it go to waste (that's like $2.00 that I'd be dumping down the drain!). But I was flying in an airplane, so how was I going to get 3/4 gallons of milk to Oregon?

Even though this wasn't formula, breast milk or juice, this is the only thing my baby is allowed to drink (per the doctor's orders at her 1 year check-up), I correctly assumed it would be fine. The problem that I saw was how could I convince them that I needed 3/4 of a gallon for a 1.5 hour non stop flight (not exactly "only enough...to reach my destination"). That's where my creativity had to come in. 
I filled up every water bottle container that I could with milk and put it in a little mini-cooler that I brought with me. When I got to security I gave them this sob-spiel about how I am a paranoid mom that is afraid that our flight will get cancelled and we'll end up spending the night in some random town...yadayadayada. And actually, that part worked pretty easily. (Funny thing is I'm not actually like that at all. I can't even imagine how could I be stuck in a town that has no stores to buy milk? But I can see the headline now)

The TSA man had to take the milk aside to do some testing. Now, I assume that this man has been trained to work with bombs, guns, knives--you know--dangerous stuff.
While he was testing it some spilled on his hand. All of the sudden I noticed he looked really uncomfortable-uncomfortable to the point that I think he actually looked scared. He turned to me and asked,
"Uh, is this store bought?"
I was so confused by the question, "uh, yeah. I didn't milk my own cow if that's what you're asking."
Immediately relief flooded his face and he said, "No, I just thought it was something else."
I began to understand, "Oh, you thought it was breastmilk?"
He stuttered for a second, "Uh..yeah, I did."
I guess to the TSA man he thinks like this:

Anyone else think boobs are scarier than bombs? Because somehow I'm just not seeing it...