September 27, 2007

Have Breasts, Will Nurse

Nearly four years ago, when I was pregnant with Dawson, I made the wise decision to breastfeed my baby. In all honesty, I did so because my mother breastfed her four children and I just assumed that was the right thing to do.

In my third trimester I began to research the benefits of nursing. I discovered that my breast milk was like the milk of the gods, and it would nourish my baby better than formula. I learned about colostrum and the antibodies in breast milk, and I was really happy when I read that nursing sheds those extra pregnancy pounds a bit faster.

After my son was born I realized how difficult nursing was. I was clumsy. I had flat nipples. I couldn’t hold my baby and figure out how to make that nipple pop out and achieve a proper latch-on.

I grew frustrated and spent many hours in the hospital trying, failing and crying. But I did not give up. I like to believe this is because I’m not a quitter, no matter how many times I was tempted to dry up the milk machines and switch to a powder formula.

In truth, I didn’t give up because I cared about the baby I just delivered and I felt it was my obligation to at least try. (I am not by any means telling other mothers they have to do what I did, I’m just sharing my reasoning with you for the purpose of this post.)

Before I could leave the hospital, the lactation nurse made me show her that I could breastfeed. I was very insecure and nervous and I just couldn’t do it. She tried to tell me I wouldn’t be able to go home until I could do it. I became very upset and lied to her.

“I’m going to use formula,” I said. “Hook me up with a free sample or whatever.”

I would have said anything just to go home and try to nurse in peace, without all those busy nurses hovering over me. Two days postpartum and already I’m seen as unfit, I thought.

When I got home, the struggle was still there. I tried to use a nipple shield to feed my crying, hungry baby. After several hours I gave up and called my friend who was nursing her seven month old.

“Help me,” I said. “Please just help me, show me, or whatever.”

I was desperate, and my friend could sense this and she came over minutes later with her daughter.

She unhooked her nursing bra and showed me exactly how she got her daughter to latch on. It was all I needed and moments later, Dawson latched on for the first time. I cried tears of joy. Tears flowed for several minutes as I felt what was happening. I watched my child sucking at my breast and nothing could have made me any happier. I heard him swallow and knew that he was being nourished.

All those crazy nurses, trying to show me different methods was such a waste of time. I was so grateful to my friend for helping me with my struggle.

I never nursed in public for fear of people staring at me. I was afraid of the dirty looks and the hurtful words, and I was insecure about my ability to quickly whip out my breast and feed a hungry baby.

I managed to nurse for four months and then pumped for two more.

When I went back to work my milk supply started to lessen, due to the erratic pumping times. I was so busy at work and the pressure I felt to “get back into work mode” made it difficult to keep up. My baby began to prefer the bottle over the breast. At the end of six months I switched to formula.

I felt guilty. I was angry. I felt like I was forced into a decision I wasn’t ready to make.

When I think about all the crap nursing moms take regarding breastfeeding, my head spins like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist.

We’re not supposed to nurse in public. We’re not supposed to post photos of ourselves nursing because it offends others. We’re expected to feed our babies in a bathroom because other people may lose their appetite if we accidentally show our boob in a restaurant.

We’re supposed to apologize because other people are uncomfortable with breasts.

Well I say, “Fuck that and fuck you,” to those people.

Those people who have a problem with breasts used as nourishment for a baby need to seek therapy. You’ve got your heads on backwards my friends, and I highly suggest you rethink your idea of what a breast’s intended use is. Especially you, Bill Maher. My tits may look like pleasure pillows to you, but these beauties fed my baby and will feed any future babies I may have. Get over it.

I’m sick and tired of being told what to do, how to do it, where to do it and who to be careful not to offend.

It’s because of society’s fucked up view on breastfeeding that I was so insecure about my ability to nurse my baby.

I have expressed my views on this subject before. But when will the criticism toward nursing moms end? When will we stop being snubbed and ridiculed and attacked and judged? WHEN?

Oh, and Facebook? Suck my tit:

August 2, 2007

BlogHer Conference Breakout Sessions: Identity and Body Image

The headache I had Friday morning, or Day One of BlogHer, was terribly painful!  After a night of fabulouse cocktail parties, my brain was tired!  But I popped four Advil and made my way to the Grand Ballroom on Navy Pier.

It was amazing.  Seven hundred women in one facility, there to learn, to share and to connect with other women. 

I brought my lap top along but there really wasn’t any time to blog. 

Listening to Lisa, Elisa and Jory speak was empowering.  They were so genuine and inspiring and wonderful.  I struggle with the right words because it was my emotions I was most tuned into.  I couldn’t even focus long enough to take notes!  My thoughts were overwhelming: 

I can’t believe I get to witness this!  It’s unreal! 

I’m here, at a conference with mostly women, and we share a common bond – blogging!!!

How much better could it get? 

It did get better.  I had never experienced anything like that before.  It’s extremely difficult to sort through all the jumbled thoughts about the conference and I’ve been struggling for days. 

In fact, I only wrote about my travel struggles to give me more time to write coherently about the conference.  (Okay, and?  I promised Morra I’d record my Greyhound adventure.)

After the welcome session, it was off to my first breakout session.  I joined in with the Digital Exhibitionists discussion and it was definitely a learning experience. 

While I didn’t make it on time to get my goody bag of dildos (and anyway, we all know now what’s in my goody drawer at home), I did learn that talking about who we are and what we represent is a good thing. 

It’s okay to be a sex blogger, a mommyblogger, or a weight-loss blogger.  If it defines who we are there is no sense in hiding it.

This panel was full of great discussion about privacy and identity and sharing with the world what we write about.  I can’t seem to find a recap on this panel, so you’ll have to take my word for it when I tell you it was great!

The second breakout session I attended was Our Bodies, Our Blogs and Wendy McClure was inspirational in her discussion about obesity and society’s expectations about weight.  It felt wonderful to hear other bloggers stand up and say, “Yes, I’m fat and I’ve come to accept this about myself.”

It wasn’t in a self-deprecating way, either.  I mean what’s the opposite of skinny?  Naturally the word that comes to mind is fat.  And people, all people have fat on their bodies.  Some more than others.  This panel really encouraged me to be more accepting of my body and how I look and to make changes if I’m unhappy.  It’s not about what others think or say.  It’s about how I feel and what I think.

There was talk about the pressure of trying to conform to the air-brushed images we see in magazines, movies and television.  One recent example is when Redbook air-brushed Faith Hill’s photo on the cover of their magazine. 

Another example is the move Little Miss Sunshine.  Little Olive is standing before a mirror sucking in her belly because the other contestants are little Jean-Benet look-alikes.  It sickens me to think about all the girls, LITTLE GIRLS, who already have body image issues at such young ages.

And these images are blatant misrepresentations of what women, REAL WOMEN, look like.  Real women have breasts of all shapes and sizes.  Real women have bellies large and small.  We have hips and asses.  We have thighs.  And we are beautiful for who we are, no matter what our size or shape.

I could go on for days about how infuriating it is to see rail-thin women on the cover of vogue with their rib cages showing.  But I know every woman feels the same way.  You all know how maddening it is to see women going to great lengths (anorexia, bulimia, eating only grapes) to be thin.  

And on the other hand, we have women like myself, who struggle day in and day out with weight.  I’m overweight.

There I’ve said it.  I AM OVERWEIGHT.

At one time I wasn’t.  And the pounds on my body rise and fall constantly.  I can’t seem lose all the weight I think I need to lose.  And perhaps it’s because of my own distorted body-image issues.

As someone who goes to the gym, tries her best to eat healthy and think positively about herself, I still can’t seem to drop all the extra pounds.  Even after having a baby, I’m still holding on to that extra padding. 

I’ve listened as doctors suggested alternative weight loss methods (Gastric bypass, anyone?  Or maybe Liposuction?) I became angrier!  When are physicians going to listen to the facts and then prescribe a solution?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been diagnosed with Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome, what I consider the catch-all diagnosis of women’s health struggles, such as fibroids, infertility, obesity, thyroid issues, etc.  It’s bullshit.

And I didn’t even know where to begin to make it all better.  Until I started blogging.  Just writing about my thoughts has given me the strength to make some changes.  I feel empowered.  I feel ready to change doctors until I get the answers I need.  I feel ready to take on any challenge that comes my way.

But most importantly, I’ve learned to accept myself for who I am both inside and out.