I Hate Breastfeeding,

Please don't tell me it's beautiful.

Please don't remind me how fortunate I am to be able to do it.

Please don't show me evidence of how beneficial it is for Lily.

Please don't explain to me how it will get better.

We're over seven months in, and I still hate breastfeeding. I have a freezer stash that's ridiculous (we're not even into our August milk and it's mid-September); I pump enough most days that Jeff barely has to give a bottle that's not fresh while I'm at work; we have a designated "Mother's Room" at work, and my boss has no issues with the breaks I take to pump.

I still hate breastfeeding.

So, more than seven months later, why do I do it?

1) It's economical. (Formula costs a lot more than what I produce.)

2) It's "best" for Lily. (Read the campaigns. There's no overwhelming evidence to encourage formula.)

3) It soothes our daughter. (Even though it usually hurts me like a bitch.)

Yes, I've seen the lactation consultants. Yes, I've discussed--and tried--changing her latch, switching the flange size, or altering positions. Yes, I've read every article and soaked up every post on how to make breastfeeding more comfortable/rewarding/enjoyable.

None of that has changed how I feel. I resent the fact that I'm Lily's primary nutrition source. It pisses me off that every day ends with me pumping... and the next morning starts the same way. I hate the guilt I feel from a "pump and dump." I have such intense anger about the way my body has become the property of my daughter instead of the property of me and my husband.

So, I will continue to breastfeed--because I understand the benefits, because I logically see why I should, because our finances dictate it.

But for anyone out there reading this post and experiencing what I am, I have to reassure you that you are not alone. That I don't know if it's okay or appropriate or approved, but that I, too, hate breastfeeding.

P.S. This post doesn't include a photo. Because I'd prefer none are taken of Lily nursing. Because, again, I don't find that action, or myself doing that action, beautiful--and I have no desire to preserve it for posterity.

(I originally wrote this post Saturday night but removed it this morning, embarrassed of what I'd written. However, at Jalara's encouragement--who saw it before I took it down--I'm trying to be courageous and repost it. I haven't changed any of the original post.)

Tears & Fears

I hesitate to write this post, but I also know that I've always chosen to be honest on this blog, through the moments of joy and of pain. And while everything holds true from my last post--because who wouldn't be smitten with our sweet girl?!--there are some realities facing me right now that are causing a great deal of anxiety, fear, and tears.

Today, I took Lily to school with me. We just went for an hour, just long enough for me to set up the classroom I haven't inhabited in over six months. And while there was an incredible sense of gratitude in watching my daughter play in a room I truly never believed she'd enter, there was also both a real and a metaphorical dichotomy going on. I found myself trying to balance rehanging pictures and restocking my desk with running across the room to pick Lily up or to sing to her for a moment, trying to race down the hall to get something from my office before she started to squeal too loudly, trying to--in short--be a mom and a teacher at the same time. Within just a few minutes, it became clear just how tenuous a tightrope I'll be walking as I return to work next week.

Yes, I "signed up" for all of this--for being a mom, for continuing to teach, for breastfeeding through at least her first year, for being on an opposite schedule from Jeff so we can avoid the astronomical cost of daycare. However, as a dear friend reminded me, signing up for it doesn't mean I'm not overwhelmed or anxious or questioning each step of the journey. And in moments like this one--moments when breastfeeding is suddenly quite difficult and I have no idea how to schedule pumping into my teaching day and I fear I'll never get a stack of papers graded in a timely fashion--it's easy to lose sight of reality.

Reality tells me everything will get done. Just like every tech week I ever did before a show, just like every mountain of Odyssey essays in the winter, just like every week of meal planning and buying and preparing, things get done. But, just now, just today, the trees are pretty thick, and there's no forest in sight.

So, I write this post because... Because I need to tell myself that being scared of this transition isn't something to be ashamed of. Because it's okay that I'm still breastfeeding not necessarily because I enjoy it but more because I'm grateful that I have the supply to save us the cost of formula. Because I can be smitten with the little girl napping in the next room while still dreading the thought of putting her to bed by myself most nights. Because I need to know--and I need other moms to know--that it's okay to be frustrated and scared and wondering how you got here even when this is the life you prayed for and dreamed of for so many distressing years.

These are neither the first nor the last tears I'll shed over transitions in our family--I know that. But, for me, they are significant today, so I'm sharing them with you.

Because it's all part of our journey.

Dear Lily: We're smitten with you.

Dear lil' Lil',

It's true--we're smitten. We greet pretty much every day by saying, "gosh, you're adorable!" and then delighting in your broad grin and sparkly giggle that you always offer as a response. Though we're still not quite sure how we got from these milestones a year ago to the ones I'm about to share, we are fairly certain that no parents have ever been as blessed or as head-over-heels in love as we are.

So, without further ado, may I offer just a few of the reasons we're so smitten?

You are so delighted by water.

When you were itty bitty, the bath was a battle, and your poor dad feared he'd never get to share his love of the water with you. With the arrival of summer, though, your attitude completely changed, and it's so much fun to watch you explore pools, bathtubs, and even your sippy cup!

You're such a person.

We're realizing that you've transformed from this helpless little creature who would nestle on our chests with feet that didn't even reach our bellybuttons into a little girl who loves to stand and bounce whenever given the chance. (And despite your vertically-challenged mom, you're sprouting into the 75% for height!)

You're always game for trying something new.

Much to your granddaddy's delight, your first equine encounter produced no tears, only curiosity. Watching you stretch out your hand first to meet Rocky, my childhood horse, then to grasp the horn of my saddle was just incredible. Your granddaddy is going to have a pony waiting for you in Connecticut by next summer, we're pretty sure!

Your messy face (almost) always makes the clean-up worth it.

You seem a lot less sure of cracked wheat cereal than you do of avocado, but that makes sense to us: your fierce independence means you'd far rather mash that squash into your mouth than have us spoon it in. Despite being so tiny in your high chair, you readily slide in for family dinner every night, much to our great joy.

You squeal at the sight of your kitties.

(And you've also apparently worked out some system of zone defense / quadrant restrictions with them on the bed.) They are so patient with and tolerant of you--Rosie lets you tug on her ears and even Guillie occasionally allows you to catch her tail. And when you're happily bouncing away in your Jumperoo, nothing makes you more delighted than catching sight of Ozzy streaking by.

Your smile is infectious.

We know we're more than a bit biased, but this one is universally agreed upon by friends, families, and strangers alike: nothing makes that sad-faced lady at the grocery store break out in a grin faster than your exuberant smile. There's nothing stingy about your joy--you just want to share it with the world!

You want to be just like us.

First, you wanted our water bottles, so we got you a pink sippy cup. Next, you went after our phones, so we let you slobber all over the cases. Lately, the best food seems to be the morsels on our plates. Yet, as frustrated as we may get pulling each object out of your (remarkably strong) grip, we take secret delight in watching you watch us and in knowing that we have the great privilege--and terrifying responsibility--of being your role models.

You make us "we three."

Our little love, our sweet and salty peanut, our pumpkin-a-tor, our sweet pea of joy: you have added to our lives in ways we always dreamed of and ones we never could have imagined. We are so blessed by you, so smitten with you, so in awe of you.

Thank you for allowing us to be your mom and dad.

With all our hearts,

The Bubs and the Beard

My First Shower (or Why I Finally Joined the Pinterest Movement)

 

Two of Jeff and my best friends are getting married this August (which is a whole story in and of itself--they met when she was the maid of honor and he was the best man at our wedding!). From the day L called to tell me they were engaged, I've been excited to plan her bridal shower. I knew it would be a small affair, and I also knew I wanted to keep it in line with their backyard, low-key, country wedding. But that was about all I knew... I'd never planned a shower of any kind before.

Thanks to a great deal of peer pressure from another one of my best friends, Jenn (who blogs over on The Canadian Housewife), I finally started to explore Pinterest--with a little excitement and a lot more trepidation. However, as I began to create the board for the shower, I realized just how many wonderful, inexpensive, lovely ideas I could find with a quick and simple search. I was hooked!

So, here's the photo tour!

We threw the shower in L's sister's backyard, and she had a lovely side deck that was perfect for our "drinks station." For the favors, I had purchased Mason jars with handles, added cute chalkboard stickers with every guest's name, and popped a pretty floral paper straw in each one. We then filled the table with the glasses and assorted beverages: Pimm's, mimosa makings, assorted non-alcoholic juices, white wine, and water.

Thanks, once again, to Jenn (seriously, she inspired so much of this party--from Canada!), I made colorful tissue paper luminaries to hang. (Jenn did them on her blog here, and this is the link to the Martha Stewart instructions I used.) I alternated white tissue paper with the paper the colors of the shower (green, yellow, and white). Since I had to travel to Baltimore for the shower, I simply did the folding and twist-tie stage ahead of time, then had L's niece poof them out and hang them. She did a great job!

Throughout these photos, you'll see the floral centerpieces. I didn't want to spend a lot of money, so I spent a few weeks collecting tin cans (mostly from some of my favorite slow cooker recipes), then bought a $1 spool of white tulle at the Dollar Store. We tied a pretty bow around each can, then filled them with sunflowers and other simple flowers. The grand total for 6 floral centerpieces? $16!

The majority of the food I ordered from Fresh Market (a sandwich platter, fruit and cheese tray, and cupcakes), but I found this adorable idea on Pinterest and just loved it! Essentially, it's a popcorn bar--you grab a brown paper bag, fill it with plain popcorn, spray on some butter, and then shake on your favorite toppings (I brought cayenne pepper, salt, sugar, and a powdered herb mix). It was great for everyone to snack on as they were mingling at the beginning!

L wasn't big on games, and not everyone brought presents, since she's only registered on Honey Fund. As a result, I wanted a few activities people could do during lulls in the conversation, but nothing formal or organized. In the picture above, you see the "Date Jar"; people wrote cute date ideas on popsicle sticks which L then took home to share with her fiance.

On the drink table, I had a "Memory Vase" where I encouraged people to write down silly or sentimental memories they had of times with L that she could read when she was feeling stressed in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

Finally, I created an "Advice Tree"; I'd cut green poster board into leaf shapes and asked people to write pieces of advice, then attach them to the tree with the clothespins provided.

All in all, I'm quite proud of my first shower! The planning was really fun, but I couldn't have pulled it off without the help from the other bridesmaids who purchased items, set up on the day of the shower, and co-hosted beautifully. And I stayed within my budget goal: the grand total for everything was $300, which was very reasonable when split three ways.

I'm hooked on shower planning! Anyone got an event coming up that I can help out with? ;-)

The Family You Choose

For various reasons, this has been a tough weekend for Jeff and me. We'd planned to attend a wedding in Connecticut tonight, but, as the week drew to a close, it became abundantly clear that the trip just wouldn't work for Lily. Much to our dismay--and the sadness of our friends--we cancelled the trip at the last minute and decided to stay home. And so, while we are desperately missing those friends we love in Connecticut this weekend, we are simultaneously finding ourselves surrounded by such love from a "chosen family" who surrounds us here in Virginia.

The first in that bunch is Lily's godmother, M. Perhaps you remember her from this post when she offered me incredible support in the wake of our first loss? She has been by my side since the beginning of this journey, and watching Lily's little hand grip her finger so tightly is such a joy for me; Lily knows this is someone we need to hang on to!

This group photo is from a festival we attended in town today; it was a last-minute decision (since we only decided to stay home on Thursday night). The picture is tremendously joy-full for Jeff and me. In it, Lily is surrounded by men and women who love her and her parents so deeply. Throughout the afternoon, Lily was "stolen" from us repeatedly--just long enough for Jeff and I to sneak away and get a glass of wine or enjoy a pulled pork sandwich without juggling Lily in the other arm. We have chosen family all over the US and beyond--and we are deeply grateful for all of them--but today we realized just how incredibly blessed we are by this particular group.

It's the eve of Father's Day, which is perhaps even more poignant to me than Mother's Day. When we returned home this evening, Jeff gave Lily her bottle while I put things away, and this is the pair I found upon my return to the living room. I'm not sure who is more contented or more peaceful, but I know that Jeff is marveling that he will hold his little girl in his arms tomorrow, that he will remember his lost children, Blueberry and Beanster, even as he celebrates the one who snuggles with him first thing tomorrow morning.

We are so very, very blessed by the family we choose--and, if you're reading this, it's likely we count you among that number. Our hearts threaten to swell and burst on days like today, and we are in absolute awe of the fact that you all love us so much.

Thank you, for loving Lily and us to such unfathomable depths.

Days, Weeks, Months, Years, Decades...

Wherever we go, I'm asked how old Lily is. My response elicits all kinds of reactions: "Oh my--so tiny!" or "I can hardly remember when mine were that small!" seem most popular. But the question has meant that I've been thinking a lot lately about how time is measured. As we hit the start of summer and look forward to Lily's growth--both physical and mental, I'm also so aware of the dwindling number of days I have at home as just us two before I go back to teaching in the fall. And so, once again, my mind falls to that measurement of time.

Days...

It's hard now to remember back to early February, to recall those sleepless nights in the hospital (right above) or that first trip to the pediatrician (left above), when everything was measured in days (and sometimes in hours). When someone would ask, "How old is she?" and I'd say "four days" and think "what was life like five days ago?" A tiny life measured in such a small amount of time, yet we were so aware of how blessed we were to have held her in our arms for two days, or three, or four.

Weeks...

Lily's life inside me began by being measured in weeks--weeks that began almost a year ago now. When she came out, it was no different; I was so grateful when another Saturday had passed, when she was another week older, when she seemed just a bit less fragile and bit more ready for the world. Each set of seven days inched by ever so slowly, and I was so ready for it to be the next week every time. I think I'm starting to understand now, though, why everyone says that time flies faster than you can ever realize when you're mired deep inside of it.

Months...

After Lily passed twelve weeks old, I realized that counting in weeks no longer mattered and that it truly was the months that marked the passage of time. I began reading books that would tell me what developmental milestones I might see in the next month or how I could help her develop new skills. Now, at nearly four months, it's hard to believe that she's rolling (both ways!), reaching for her toys on her activity mat and pulling them to her, and happily bouncing on her chubby little legs to whatever is playing on the radio as we support her torso. I'm shocked that the months are starting to fly, that I'm having to imagine leaving her for several hours a day when she's just six months old.

Years...

The photo above is from my 35th birthday. We'd lost Blueberry earlier that year, and the age just felt devastating to me, as it's when the medical community classifies a woman as AMA: Advanced Maternal Age. I was supposed to be having a baby at 35, not wondering what treatments would cost and facing a slew of tests and possible surgeries. It felt like such a lost cause that another year had passed without the ability to achieve the one thing I wanted so desperately. (Jeff's surprise of a weekend in southern Virginia and a special chocolate cake certainly improved the memories, though!)

Decades...

On Tuesday, my mum turns 70. She marks the start of a new decade with her granddaughter, with her daughter becoming a mom herself, with watching her husband take on the role of Granddaddy. As I watch my mom age by a decade but be in awe of her granddaughter aging in days, weeks, and months, I can only pray I grow old with such grace, such beauty, and such faith. 

I look forward to the decades to come--and the days, and the weeks, and the months, and the years.

A Family Portrait

Easter 2014

Picture: a painting, drawing, or photograph of someone or something

Portrait: a detailed description of someone or something

Since Lily was born, there have been a ridiculous number of pictures taken of her--on phones, on cameras, and on iPads. We've captured her smiling, screaming, squirming, and squealing. Her sweet face has been posted on blogs and Facebook and has been sent via emails, letters, and texts. We love pictures of Lily--and it seems our friends and families do, too!--but the picture above is something more. The picture above is a portrait.

Taken Easter morning at our church by a very talented church member who is a professional photographer, it's not the pastel colors or Lily's Easter seersucker that catch my eye; instead, it's the joy written all over Jeff and my faces as we snuggle together over Lily's little head. It's her little hand gripping my finger, it's Jeff's chin resting on her soft hair, it's the grouping of the three of us as a family. For me, it's a description of where we've been (for I am, of course, wearing my Blueberry and Beanster necklace) and a hope for where we'll go. It's a reminder that our history is not something to erase even while our present is something to celebrate.

In short, it's our family, and that's an Easter miracle.