Hazy Days, Not So Lazy Days (the flight of the bumblebee)


She’s one.

My tiny girl, my wonderful little daughter has turned one. And somehow she’s suddenly become taller, wiser and more sophisticated overnight. She’s rather interested in walking backwards aka falling down and getting mad.

we were far from home on her birthday, away on Vancouver island for the wedding of one of my best friends, for which I was a co-maid of honor. Thus, Peppers fist birthday was spent with her dad, largely. I admit, I cried when I left her that morning. The rest of the wedding party certainly thought I was nuts, tears in my eyes as we met for our style appoinments. I bounced back quickly, and Pepper had a lovely day splashing about in mud and salty water with her dad.

I’m not sure why it hit me so hard, somehow it felt integral that I be with her on that day….i know that day, as Pep’s birthday, will be hers for years, with parties and gifts, sleepovers and sugar highs. But for now, as she’s yet so little, she’s still mine, in my eyes, and that day is ours. It’s the day I remember when my eyes first met hers, when I first heard her angry little scream, when I first kissed her cheek, when I first held her hand, when my heart swelled beyond belief and my world became brighter. When she became my world.


It tore my heart a little being away from her that day, and as i stood up next to my friend as she was married to her best friend, I scanned the room and then likely ruined some photos smiling goofily at Peps up on her dad’s shoulders.

we had a good trip, Pep slept and ate and napped like a champ, and only stRuggled with the tinkling of glasses and racous applause at the wedding reception. My homemade cheese crackers were a huge hit and amazingly convenient on airplane rides.

we’re having a BBQ this weekend for Pep, mostly because we have large families and feel obligated to host a party. I’m rather socially awkward and uncomfortable with hosting events, but we’ll make it work. Homemade carrot cakes with cream cheese icing will be on the menu, though I’m already dreading turning on the oven. In northern alberta, we go straight from spring to summer, and,as our winters are so long and dark and cold, we all forget what sunshine os, and no one has AC.

for now, I’ve got roasted peach BBQ sauce simmering on the stove, and I must get started grating carrots while the girl naps. When she wakes up, I’ve got a distraction bin f leaves, sticks and pinecones ready for play. Now, off to rescue a bumble beethats gotten trapped in the house (and by rescue, I mean run around the house with a container and a piece of paper, and scream quietly so as not to wake the girl.)

summer has begun.

(as a side note, I hate using my ipad to post on wordpress, it inexplicably jumbles everything and improperly spellchecks……and I cannot get that damn photo to move)

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The Most Wonderful Shit Show

Today is mother’s day. Peps woke me up at six, crying. By the time I was awake enough to deal with it, she had fallen bavk to sleep. She slept until nearly nine, and though my sleep in plans were crushed, i had a blissful coffee outside with my book. The husband made us breakfast ( with a mimosa for mom). He then had to go off to work. I had high hopes for a fun day with my baby! The weather is amazing!

Today Pepper ate a mouthful of dirt. This sent her into a spiral of gloom.

We tried making adorable footprint crafts. Pepper hated it. As I rinsed her feet in the sink, she opted to plunk her fully clothed self right in the water. I gave her some cups. She played for an hour. We took this time to facetime with grandma and grandpa, as the ipad was within reach. I dried her with dishtowels (also in reach). I got drenched.

Peps got angry with the cat for deserting her.

I tried cheering her up with the wading pool. I started filling it and she climbed in clothes and all. It was ice cold. I carried my panicked baby inside (soaking my own clothes again. )

I dried her, got her suit on and distracted her with cheerios while I added hot water to the pool, kettlefull by Kettlefull.

once in the pool, she played happily for about twelve minutes. Then dissolved into tears and screams. I took her out, set her down to dry her. She lost it. I cuddled her (soaked again!) and sang the itsy bitsy spider until she chilled out.

I got up to take her inside. She screamed manaically, as only a toddler can.

i found myself rocking her in my wet clothes, hiding under a tipped over beach umbrella, sweating amd hungry (missed my lunch window because I was filling that damn tub). My eyes ache from exhaustion,  I’m on my fourth outfit, I have literal dirt on my face. There’s laundry all over the house.

thank the good lord for naptime.

Pepper is now happily chirping and singing and playing with a tupperware container filled with baby spoons.  Her hair is full of sunscreen. It lookslike a mohawk. This is my first Mother’s Day with her.

it has been a real shit show.

I wouldn’t trade it for a thing. This time last year i was a week from my due date and anxious every day. I couldn’t wait to have her safe in my arms.

the year before, I was pregnant. I didnt know that the baby inside me had died.

If I fall into bed tonight in exhausted tears, covered in sunscreen and poop, my house a train wreck and possibly a little wine drunk, I will still have a smile in my heart. This is my very best Mother’s day.

To all the moms, moms to be, moms without children and children without moms: kindness and love. I hope your day was gentle on your soul and that your hearts are full, with love, memories and hope.

i’m too tired to edit this. I hope it makes sense.

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Comfort Food for a Frosty Spring

This week in my kid’s belly:

-homemade tomato soup

-homemade cheddar crackers

-‘green grilled cheese’

I’ve been a blatant fan of Izy Hossack’s lovely blog and cookbook Top With Cinnamon. It’s from her fabulous book that I tracked down my recipe for tomato soup. As a keener, I, of course, made my own vegetable broth a few days before rather than buying the salty concoction you find on grocery store shelves. This way I could control my own flavours and the level of salt involved.

Thy-y-yme is on my side

Thy-y-yme is on my side

This worked in my favour, as I now have oodles of frozen pucks pf flavorful broth in my freezer (freeze in muffin tins and then pop out and store in freezer bag). Her recipe calls for a couple of cans of tomatoes (I used low sodium tomatoes, and though I HATE the metallic taste of canned tomatoes, I recognize that at this time of year, in northern Alberta, our fresh tomatoes are usually from Chile or some such exotic locale, and they taste like nothing at all. I added a couple of handfuls of fresh Roma tomatoes anyway.)

I won’t poach her recipe word for word, but the jist of it is, saute some onion (I added a bit of garlic too) until softened and translucent. A little butter and flour to make a roux, and a bit of milk (Izy calls for almond or soy, I used 1 percent cow’s. Homogenized would lend itself well, with a bit of richness).   Some tangy balsamic vinegar adds a bite of flavour. A handful of torn basil, a tablespoon of sugar, a pinch of salt. A couple of cans of diced tomatoes, a couple of cups of vegetable broth. Simmer and blend with an immersion blender until smooth.

Drizzle of balsamic vinegar, sprinkle of feta and a lil bit o basil for feelin' fancy

Drizzle of balsamic vinegar, sprinkle of feta and a lil bit o basil for feelin’ fancy

On the side? Green grilled cheese. Yes, that would be steamed and chopped broccoli mixed with shredded cheddar and grilled to gooey broccoli cheese soup-ish perfection. Feeling crazy?  Mix in some steamed and minced cauliflower. Pepper loved it! New sneaky veg trick: veg grilled cheese!

The final touch, homemade cheddar crackers.

I got this idea from a blog that pops up on my radar often, focusing on Baby Led Weaning ideas.

I tried their recipe for strawberry crackers, and while it was a new and interesting idea for snacks on the go, I didn’t find them too flavourful, and Peps could take or leave them. SO, I said to myself, I said, Cheese! Cheese it up! My Cheese Cracker recipe:

1 cup shredded cheddar

1 (ish) cups AP flour

4 tbs margarine

4 tbs cold vegetable broth (aha! It comes in handy again!)

Mix cheese, flour and margarine. Just use your hands, pinch it around until combined. Add broth and mix into a soft dough. Add a bit more broth, a bit more flour to get the consistency you like. Not too sticky, firm enough to roll out after resting a bit.

Divide dough into two disks, wrap and store in fridge for 30 min or so.

Preheat to 375 F, line baking sheets with parchment

Roll dough (on floured surface) to about 1/8 in thickness.

Use pizza cutter to cut squares, or be fancy and use tiny cookie cutters. Place on sheets and bake for about 7-10 minutes or until edges brown.

Let cool.

These are delicious. YOu MAY want to triple the batch!

These are delicious. YOu MAY want to triple the batch!

These crackers are soft and cheesy, satisfying and addictive! Next time, I’m making a lot more. They’re an excellent snack to throw into the diaper bag, and Peps adores them!

Admittedly, she wasn’t that crazy about the soup. I don’t think the flavour was the issue, but the ease of distribution. No matter how chunky with crackers I made it, Pep got far more on the floor than in her mouth, and she’s in a phase of fierce independence. There will be no eating from a spoon help by any parent!!

A warm and comforting meal, tomato soup and grilled cheese hits the spot. Currently, I’m mourning the loss of our green grass and budding trees, here in the north. Out my window, the after effects of a random snowfall warning. This is how we do spring, people.

Stay tuned for some tasty sweet treats coming up in a few days.

On a side note; did you know that May 3 was International Bereaved Mother’s Day? Women worldwide are living and grieving without their children. Mother’s Day is salt in the wounds of many. Don’t know what to say (on either day)? Say, I’m sorry your child isn’t here with you. If that child has a name, say it. That child was here, that child lived, that child made an impact, even if (in the case of pregnancy loss, miscarriage, stillbirth) that child on briefly met this world, or not at all. Afraid to make someone cry? Guess what? If it’s a new loss, she’s going to cry anyone, at least you’ll be with her, not leaving her to cry at home alone. If it’s been some time, she’ll be touched that you cared enough to reach out. If she cries, hold her hand, give her a hug. Bring her some tea. Ask her about her child. Be kind. And say something.

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The Strongest Tether

Lately, I’ve been in a conversation with a friend who lost a baby a few years ago, mid pregnancy, due to unforeseen complications. I offered my condolences and my own story of losing a baby due to a missed miscarriage at 17 weeks.


That was almost two years ago, and that child’s rainbow sister will be one in May. I don’t think of my lost baby every day, anymore. Not even every week. I’ve come so far from that grieving soul I once was, crumpled in upon herself in bed. I look back and see that tear streaked face in my mind’s eye, and I have just a hint of a lump in my throat. That old familiar feeling, that heavy quilt of sorrow that wrapped herself around my shoulders, around my life, and pulled me deep into myself.  That sharp, aching pain, that itching feeling of anxiety, the need to run, scream, shout. Break. And the inability to do any of it, as the world held me fast to my spot, watching life go on for everyone else.

I don’t feel that pain, anymore. I think, sometimes, how different life could be. And I think of all the lessons I learned from my time with her, what she taught me, what I taught myself, and who I’ve become, so very different from who I would have been.

My life isn’t defined by my loss anymore, like it once was.

But this conversation had me revisiting my past, my memories and my loss.  I finally watched the Lifetime film Return to Zero today, while Pepper napped. It wasn’t long before I was reduced to tears, before my heart was aching and heavy, before that lump worked it’s way into my throat. Before I felt that old familiar pain again.

The film’s heroine, Maggie (Minnie Driver) makes mention of her attachment to pain. She tells a friend that she loves her pain, needs it, that it’s what connects her to the baby she has lost. That, without that pain, she is afraid she won’t have anything of him to hold onto.

I don’t live with daily pain, anymore. I live a happy life, full of smiles and giggles and sweet potato brownies and staying up too late watching Netflix, and after watching this film, I hugged Pepper so tightly when she awoke, and doused her with kisses. I think of my lost baby, and though my heart holds love for the child we never got to have, never got to hold, never got to bring home with us, I realized, today, as it slowly bubbled to the surface, that the pain is still there.

And despite all that love, for Pepper and for her never born older sister, I know it’s that pain that really does connect me to that tiny baby. Pain is the strongest tether.

I have written previously about my pain and how it felt like a friend to me, a crutch. I found myself clinging to it like a junkie desperate to feel. It felt good. It felt right to sting and burn. It felt like that only thing that mattered. I wanted the hurt and I needed the hurt, and only now, looking back, can I clearly see that being shattered, wounded, crushed and crumbled, in PAIN after being pregnant with my lost baby was the closest I could ever come to being pregnant with that baby again. If I got better…..I would lose her.

Now that years have passed and I live in a different world; one in which I am usually so tired at the end of the day from chasing Pepper about and/or digging rabbit poop that she’s found in the yard out of her mouth, I don’t spend time thinking of my loss. But when quiet moments flutter upon me, sometimes I can hear the tiny echo. A voice calling from the bottom of a well, the whisper of hurt. I know that, pain or no, that baby was mine, ours, and she always will be. I don’t need the pain to have her with me. I am her mother always; my journey as a mother having begun far earlier than the world suspects.

But, today, that pain found me again, if only briefly. She gripped me tightly in that dark and familiar bear hug, her claws retracted, but grazing my back gently, reminding me of her power.

She doesn’t control my days, and love shines brightly in my life, now.

But it truly is that pain that is the strongest tie to my lost baby. No matter how much love and acceptance I have, how far I’ve come, how much I’ve learned, it’s the hurt that holds fastest to my heart and brings me closest to the mother I was when I lost her. The mother I was when I first became a mother, when I became the type of mother with no child to hold. Pain ties me to that child with an unbreakable bond.

Today, that pain returned. Just a little bit.

And, strangely, darkly, unnervingly, it felt good. Like an old friend.

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What I’m Feeding My Kid Today; Sweet Potatoes Revamped

I have worked in a kindergarten for five years. In kindergarten, we make a lot of snacks. We make all sorts pf things and try to toss in lots of fruits and veggies. You know what kids love? Trying new stuff. False. In general, false.

Before that I worked for four years in a group home with adults with developmental disabilities and aggressive behaviours. There were regulated guidelines to incorporate healthy choices. That being said, on more than one occasion, I had been threatened or shouted at for offering vegetables with dinner.

Needless to say, I have some experience tricking unwilling parties into eating healthier options. And I’ve experimented plenty with hiding vegetables.

While I do love to bake a blueberry pie glazed with a sugar wash, or a dense banana cake with cream cheese icing, this post marks the start of a segment called What I’m Feeding My Kid Today.

Aforementioned buttery treats

Aforementioned buttery treats

I’m experimenting with alternative sweeteners ( think dates or applesauce in place of sugar) and making from scratch ( if you can do it, why not!?) and sneaking in a veggie or two where the sugar lover in me is shouting that none belong. Luckily, Pepper, at 11 months, is a reasonably blank slate, and, thus far, has been a good eater…..though the new trend of putting things in her mouth only to open it and let the contents spill out is perhaps a chilling vision of things to come.

Anywho, today’s ingredient of choice: sweet potatoes!

Beginning with a couple of roasted beauties, I whipped up a little puree ( pop a couple sweet potatoes in the oven at 400 F and roast for about an hour, let cool, squeeze off the skins and puree in food processor or blender).

I was inspired to try some sweet potato brownies. I tracked down a recipe and modified slightly base on what i had on hand. This one comes from http://jaybirdblog.com

I followed the recipe pretty closely, though in lieu of coconut flour, I used all purpose, and I added just a skooch more applesauce, and, quite frankly, I never measure cinnamon, and nobody ever complains. I used lovely brown eggs with gorgeous yellow yolks that make every baked good seem richer and more luxurious. I didn’t have maple syrup on hand, but I think I’d toss in that spoonful next time, make them even more of a treat.

The brownies end up less like brownies than a baked pudding. They are velvety and rich, and Pepper eats them up in seconds flat! The bite of cocoa is satisfying and indulgent, and, though truly, these little snacks will never replace brownies, I don’t mind having them living in my fridge. They hit the spot and you don’t have to feel too badly about them.

Now, I ate my fair share of pureed potatoes, which, with the ever present cinnamon are pretty fine on their own. But even Pepper couldn’t be fooled into eating bowls and bowls of it for days. My solution??


Greek Yogurt Sweet Potato Pancakes!

Whisk an egg, add 2/3 cup full fat greek yogurt, 1 cup milk , a few tablespoons full of sweet potato puree and whisk until smoothish (yes, this is how I cook and bake)

add 1 1/4 cups of self raising flour, a pinch of salt and a splash of vanilla. stir together to form a batter, splash in a little more milk if it’s too think (and it might be)

add cinnamon. As much as you like. As previously discussed…..I never measure cinnamon.

Heat 2 tablespoons full of sunflower oil in a skillet and add about 2-3 tablespoons of batter. They puff up pretty good, so keep a close eye on them as they go, don’t let the pan get screaming hot, or you’ll have crunchy cakes that are raw in the middle. I had to thin mine out here and there to get the consistency I liked and keep them from being too thick, but these beauties turned out delicious! The yogurt gives them a richness and moistness, and there is a distinct cake donut flavour about them. Gorgeous. Toss some berries on top, drizzle of syrup if you’re feeling frisky, but Peps eats them dry and nearly inhales them!

Needless to say, we’ve been getting our fair share of the sweet orange beaut that is the sweet potato this week. The last few spoonfuls have been stirred into Pep’s yogurt for breakfast, and are disappearing rapidly.

Stay tuned for future culinary experiments and tricky vegetable disguises!!

Let me know if this is something you’d be interested in seeing more of on the blog! I’d love to hear what you think!

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Breastfeeding, When It Doesn’t Work

About twelve months ago, nearing the end of a nerve wracking rainbow pregnancy (pregnancy after miscarriage, in my case, or other loss of a child), I sat swinging my legs atop the table in the doctor’s office. At the end of my pregnancy, being from a small town, I was transferred to another clinic, where I would be treated by an OB-GYN group. This meant that, in the days and weeks to come, I’d be cycled through a handful of new doctors, made to answer the same questions I’d been answering for months. Is this your first pregnancy? No, this is my second, I lost the first at 17 weeks in a missed miscarriage leading to eventual D and C after I began losing an excess of blood. Always a fun conversation to rehash. How has your weight gain been? Blood pressure? Minimal, and spot on, right until the end when I was induced due to preeclampsia.

Pepper, ten months, enjoying nature

Pepper, ten months, enjoying nature

Are you planning to breastfeed? Not such a simple answer. I know a good number of mothers who struggled, due to c sections, latch trouble, inability to produce milk, what have you. I had always planned and hoped to breastfeed; ‘breast is best’ having successfully been drilled into my head  by this point. That being said, I wanted to remain realistic, it doesn’t always work out, and, at this point I’d noticed that, despite so many pregnant women struggling to adjust to new bras and constant breast changes, I’d remained pretty stable throughout. As a farm-girl cousin of mine put it, I didn’t ‘bag out’. All this in mind, my response was always, I plan to try.

More often than not, this was met with some degree of disdain. What do you mean try? What do you mean if you can make it work? It will work, why wouldn’t it? Some women just don’t get milk till baby comes. You don’t have inverted nipples ( or, you do, depending on the doctors and nurses examining me at the moment. By my understanding of the word ‘inverted’, I don’t ) that won’t be a problem.

Well, lo and behold, the day came when my amazing little girl was born. She was placed screaming on my chest, and quickly whisked away to be wiped and weighed. We were shipped out to another room almost immediately  as the delivery room was needed. When it came time to try to nurse, nothing seemed to be happening. I felt no let down, no tingling, no swelling. Nothing. I seemed to be able to get Pepper to latch, as I understood it, but I was met with screams and frustration. Nurse after nurse through those first few days complimented my technique. It clearly wasn’t my hold that was the issue. I insisted i had no milk, not a drop. They told me, it will come, it will come. I tried pumping, nothing. I tried hand expressing. Nothing. I was met with, It will come, babies have such small stomachs, she’s not that hungry yet. I couldn’t seem to explain that I had been able to produce less than a tablespoon of milk, and only through pumping.

Eventually, after days of hands squishing and squeezing and forcing my crying child’s face into my chest, I was told she has a poor latch, she has a great latch, your milk will come, don’t worry, she’s drinking, you just don’t think she is, she’s not really hungry, she has a tongue tie, she has a lip tie, you have flat nipples, you have inverted nipples, you don’t have inverted nipples……..

We were given a syringe and a feeding tube, and a bottle of formula, and were instructed to feed the baby using the tube attached to my finger. I would hold Pepper and she would, essentially, suck formula from a tube while I used my finger to stimulate her suck reflex (oh, because she has a weak suck, too), while my husband depressed the plunger and fed formula into the tube. This was all done so we wouldn’t need bottles, and there would be no nipple confusion. The dream of feeding your child, warm against your body, as she drifts off to sleep at the breast was crushed with this unnatural, sterile process of tube feeding. It felt awkward and strange and not at all ok.

I continued to try and nurse, and even a week later, at, what had become a routine test for bilirubin levels (Pepper was jaundiced), I still had no milk and was still being told, ‘it will come.’

I had had enough. I contacted my local lactation consultant and within a few days I was pouring out my exhausted heart to her. She was the first of the medical staff I had dealt with to suggest I make my life easier and use a bottle. Finger feeding, a system that requires two adults, is not only unnatural feeling, but inefficient. My husband couldn’t stay home forever, and, she said, nipple confusion is, generally, considered a myth these days. I left her office with a prescription for Domperidone, a medication that, when taken in large doses, can stimulate milk production. Women often require it to start their milk off but can then wean themselves once supply is established. I was never able to go off the pills without losing milk.

I continued to do all I could to give my girl the breastmilk I could. I nursed at the start of every feeding, and then bottle fed her either formula or pumped breastmilk. I then pumped after every feeding for ten minutes. Often this meant that my child would lie screaming on the floor or in her bouncy seat as I pumped and sterilized the pump parts. I recall being in tears as her wails pierced my ears and my heart, thinking, how can this be natural? I’d spend ten minutes nursing and cuddling, but every feeding was ended with ten minutes of leaving my child to fuss or cry while I tried to express more milk. FOr many months, Pepper was receiving at least 75% breastmilk.

I continued this exhausting process until she was about 7.5 months, at which time I resorted strictly to bottle feeding, while still pumping regularly to give her all I could. At about 9.5 months, my supply had dropped so low that she was receiving less than 5 ounces of breastmilk a day. I quit pumping.

Now that Pepper is nearly a year old, she’ll be ready for homogenized milk and will be using cups at meals rather than a bottle. This phase of my life is nearly passed, and while I do miss the closeness of nursing, however short our sessions were, I do not miss the constant sterilizing, the endless pumping sessions, the fussing at the breast and the inevitable breakdowns.

I spent so much of my time as a new mother feeling like a failure. Breastfeeding advocacy groups shoved their slogans down my throat, breast is best, make breastfeeding mainstream, and even, hearttbreakingly, ban the bottle.I knew that people though, seeing me bottle feed my child, that she wasn’t getting breastmilk. I felt that I was constantly being judged, as though I chose not to breast feed, or that I was too lazy. At follow up appointments, doctors and nurses always assumed, when they saw a bottle, that it was formula only. I corrected them constantly and was always met with surprise. ‘Wow, you still pump? that’s a lot of work. I wouldn’t blame you if you stopped.’ I was never afraid of the work. I was always willing to put in the time and effort. It was out of my control. I couldn’t produce enough. I couldn’t breastfeed exclusively. I wasn’t built for it. I did everything I could to feed my child breastmilk, all at the expense, really, of my own mental health.

Now that I’ve broken free of that monkey on my back, and I can step back and see signs of postpartum depression and anxiety. I was on edge and nervous, I was emotional and uncomfortable, and constantly judging myself. I felt I was being judged by the world around me, by doctors, by nurses, by friends, by family, by the whole world that set me up to believe this would be easy. Struggles at first, maybe, but sooner or later, it all falls into place. I know of at least five other mothers in my small town who have had babies in the last year who have struggled with breastfeeding and ultimately had to concede to bottle feed and often strictly formula feed. At least four of them are suspected to have insufficient glandular tissue. Everything I’ve read touts this as a rare issue, a scenario that befalls only 1 in 1000 women. Add to the struggles that come with inability to produce due to a c section, stress, trouble with latch and tongue ties. Add to that the pressure from doctors and health groups to breastfeed, with no acknowledgement nor warning that it truly may not happen, and you’re setting up scores of women who are already riding the roller coaster of hormonal dips and spikes and often postpartum depression to bully themselves further. Women all around me are feeling guilty, feeling like failures, feeling like there is something wrong with them.

When I give advice to these women, who, often tell me they feel bullied by doctors that., above all else, breast is best, I remember how hurt I felt when people would say, oh, you should quit, it’s a lot of work, knowing that some of them had no struggle at all and still found it taxing. Normal breastfeeding is a lot of work, you have NO idea how hard I worked to feed my child and the toll it took on me. I will not tell another woman that she should quit, that she shouldn’t quit, should or shouldn’t take pills to increase supply, should or shouldn’t bottle feed, but I will also never accuse her of being unwilling to work for her child. I know first hand that laziness was not my problem. What I have told some women who’ve discussed this with me, while struggling with their own nursing battles, is that while breast may be best, no one can dispute the value of a happy mom.

Doctors, I beg you to take some time and prepare new moms for this possibility. Don’t shrug off their concerns, don’t act like it will work because it always works. Moms, I urge you to seek a lactation consultant. be kind to yourself, we all know you’re doing the best you can, and if you must stop, that’s your call. You know yourself best, and if you’re anything like me, no matter how often you hear, ‘the milk will come’, you know it just may not. DO what you have to do to stay sane. In the sleep deprived world of being a new parent, you can and should only expend your energy on things that are worth it. Do not get bogged down.
Breastfeeding advocates: do not judge us who have to formula and bottle feed. You don’t know the story. Do not assume laziness, do not assume an unwillingness to experience discomfort. You may have no idea the struggle that mom might be enduring.

There are a few sites that offer support to moms fighting to breastfeed despite the obstacles, or facing judgement, but far fewer than I think there should be. This article spoke to me, and raised some of the questions I found myself asking. La Leche League offers some resources and advice regarding IGT as well. You might find, in discussing struggles with others, that there are more women around you facing the very same problems.

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hey, it’s me

Wow, Ive been blog negligent. Mentally working up to a blog about the myths of breastfeeding, from the pov of those of us ( and i know there are many!) who never fully nail it, or who can’t produce milk at all ( why does the world pretend this doesn’t happen? I know at least ten local women, who, despite meds, were never able to produce enough to stop supplementing with formula. And were left to feel like failures…..).

Thinking a lot lately about how what we do affects our littles; too much junk food, phone time, tv, being judegemental and losing our cool. We’re shaping humans and can be so oblivious to our faults. My eleven month old has started to refuse her veggies when french fries are present……time to cut back on junk!

hoping to find some time to work up to a post about finding a balance between returning to work and being a SAHM. I’ve always dreamed of staying at home, but im getting a lot of encouragement from the wchool to return even part time….can do i both well or will I find I do both things half assed?

More importantly, my beautiful Pepper is eleven months old, nearing her first birthday! This wonderful, glorious rainbow baby of mine is becoming a toddler, running about the house, being very vocal with her favorite word, No, and smiling her huge, four toothed smile. Well be away on her birthday, and are hoping to pick a day to infuse with some vacay fun, while trying to juggle travelling meals and diapers and botched nap schedules.

stay tuned, ive got things to say….really just need a little more time….

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