Tuesday, January 15, 2013

You are what you eat

Well, I did it.  I drank a beer.

I'm not proud of it.  I'm not sharing the experience with people.  It's not going to make the Christmas card next year.

It tasted like old men and cigars.

But the long and short of it, is that I'm DESPERATE to make this breast feeding thing happen.  I'm eating my oatmeal, drinking my mother milk tea, taking my supplements.  And I bought ALL the ingredients for those lactation cookies.  They are literally in my house right now, just yearning to be made.

Before, I mentioned that I was not sold on the whole breastfeeding thing.  This isn't because I didn't believe in its power, but just that I felt awkward.  Well.  Forget all that.  I now take great JOY in breast feeding my son if for no other reason that I CAN'T DO IT! 

I put on my Rambo head band and scream like a banshee when you tell me I can't do something.  I smear my war paint and work at it harder and longer.  Oh, you say I can't have a baby because of my PCOS?  One month to get pregnant.  NAILED IT.  Oh, I'm sorry, you say I can't breast feed because my pump is faulty and my supply is low?  Yeah well, I'm taking my fenugreek like a boss.  This is happening.

A friend of mine is a regular milk fountain.  I watched her pump the other night.  It was like one of those punch fountains you see at classy weddings.  TWO, eight ounce bottles in 15 minutes.  I wouldn't have believed it if I wouldn't have seen it with my own eyes.  She's actually able to give some of her milk AWAY, she's making so much.  It's a very cool thing.

The pediatrician is talking about putting Liam on some cereal next month.  Now, let me tell you something.  Every mom does something different when it comes to starting food with their babies.  And every mom is completely correct and every OTHER mom is completely wrong.  And they're not shy about telling you about it.

This is true for lots of things.

Don't get me wrong- I'm not offended.  But every baby is different.  And every mom is the same: they don't want to be told they're doing it wrong.  We're all terrified of messing up these little humans we've been entrusted with.  So I will sip my tea and strongly consider making those cookies tonight, and trust that my strapping, healthy son will some day send me a Mother's Day card thanking me for drinking beer on his behalf.