Motherhood Uncensored

The Battle of the Boobs

I have quite a proud left breast. She generally rests quite comfortably in my cotton tagless underwire bra, filling out an entire C-cup with an almost smug perkiness. She never needed tissues, cotton, or a chicken cutlet. And if there was a boob to make any eyes turn, it was old lefty.

I remember the days when she was quite popular. Maybe it's because I dated all right-handed guys. But left boob always got a lot of loving.

So when I breastfed my daughter, I wasn't surprised when lefty became the "go-to" boob. "Old Faithful," I'd call her -- for more reasons than one. No need for manna from the heavens or the dividing of the fish and loaves among the masses. All Jesus would have needed was my one left boob. And none of his "Son of God" powers. That one boob could have sustained every single person.

And with good old left boob there was no need to use an intercom or walkie-talkie. Just give her a squeeze and she'd hit anyone square in the head from a good 200 feet.

My daughter would cough and sputter every time she latched on, but eventually, we both got used to the spray. I'd make sure to grab an extra pile of cloths and a bucket. She'd remember to turn her head away. And it was like magic.

But my son hasn't taken to lefty. I can't be sure why -- maybe it's because she's all used up. Or maybe he can sense her arrogance. And so, he refuses to eat from her. Backwards, upside down, any which way you put it, he doesn't want anything to do with her.

And all of a sudden, righty is perking up. Hooray for the underdog, left to fend for herself under mounds of padding. From his mouth to my right boob, a comeback is being made. And lefty is left to the breast pump -- hard suctioned plastic and ziploc bag. He'll only take her at night time or in the sling, when he can't tell the difference between her and any other boob that might pass by his nose. But even then when she starts to rear up and fire, he turns his nose down (probably so he doesn't get milk in it).

I sort of feel bad for old lefty. But her revenge is sweet because almost everyday I walk around with lovely milkstains halfway down my shirt. And I'm more lopsided than ever. Except now instead of holding her nose high in the air, it's slowly starting to point downward.

Bitch.

The Fast Forward Parent

My mom and dad were fast forward parents. Anything they didn't want us to watch, or really, what they didn't want to have to discuss with us, they would fast forward. And so I became a rewind kid. When my parents weren't home, I'd pop in the video tape, and rewind to all the good parts that I had missed.

Hi. Top Gun sex scene.

My daughter is not yet at the point where she can comprehend all that I desire to fast forward. It's never really sex scenes since other than some passionate lip locking done by Belle and Beast and there's not much sex happening on Little Einsteins and Dora (although I've often wondered why Boots is so damn cheerful). But death is a topic I feel compelled to pretend like it never happened.

How exactly do you explain that to a 2-year-old?

Initially, I would just change the words in her stories - where Cinderella's mother died and then her father died - and make up something else. Hell. I do that with the "happily ever after" stuff (damn those princesses), so why not just say that her father had plastic surgery and needed some respite and TLC at one of those weekend bed and breakfasts?

I'm not sure I've ever felt so awkward as to see the words "die" or "death" in front of me and the big eyes of my toddler drilling holes into my head. She hasn't yet asked me what they are, nor does she discuss why Gaston was on a mission to kill "the Beast." But I think about it. And I'm compelled to do something... except what I'm compelled to do is what my parents did. And I know that the only thing being a fast forward parent did for me was make me even more curious.

Perhaps it's because I'm not comfortable with death myself, or that I am not comfortable with what I believe about what happens after death. If I had a cookie cutter answer or one that I trusted, maybe I'd be able to share it with her. But I still fear death (or really, leaving my children), and I don't really know where I'm going to go (although here would be nice), so what do I say to her?

I haven't yet hit fast forward and I've started saying the words. I suppose it's one of those parenting rites of passage that will just happen. She's going to ask me -- hell, she's already asked me about the fuzz so Lord knows what will be next. Except unlike my parents, I plan on being prepared and open to the discussion. And if she wants to fast forward, she can.

But I'll be there with her when she's ready to rewind.

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Silly Wabbit, Tits are for Kids...

Hooray, my first Motherhood Uncensored post ever ever ever! Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Alright, I admit it. I'm still breastfeeding. My daughter is now 16 months young and she still uses my trusty boob (mostly the left one for those who care) for some type of nourishment/comfort/entertainment. Mostly in the morning and at night - oh *gasp* on the plane. Yes ON THE DAMN PLANE. Who wants to hear a child screaming for a whole plane ride? And, I don't even use a blanket to cover myself up. C'mon, I'd much rather see a BOOB on a plane then some of the ugly mugs walking around these lovely streets (or plane aisles).  So look - before you start flinging comments my way, allow me to at least arm myself with my Wonder Woman arm bands and enlighten you.

As you might have guessed (for those of you who know me, ohplatformwearingminiskirtflashingpushupbraloving KRISTEN), I was the kind of girl who went to the LaLeche League meeting at 8 months pregnant (those were the days, I tell you) and gasped at the moms whose kids were *gulp* standing at their side and nursing, amidst breaks of playing with other children, reciting the Gettysburg Address, and taking the SATs.

Just kidding - but you get my drift. Whipping out the boobie for a child who is tall enough to stand and nurse, and ask for it in another language was not my cup of tea.

With this image embrazened in my mind for eternity, I decided that I would only be breastfeeding for six months. Then six months turned into 12 months, and well, here I am.  She can talk, she can ask for it, and I suppose, if I sat in a chair and allowed her to nurse, she could probably do that too.

So here's my reasoning:

10. ALL the health organizations (including the World Health Organization and the American Association of Pediatrics) have concluded it's the best way to go for at least one year (WHO says at least 2). http://www.who.int/nut/inf.htm

9. It's a great form of weight loss and weight control (I'll discuss the 11 month thanksgiving diet in a later blog).

8. Dare I mention ALL the formula companies who say BREAST IS BEST, plus all the immunities and health benefits for MOM and BABY (lower risk of breast cancer, diabetes - ear infections, major illnesses)? http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20051123/ap_on_he_me/breast_feeding_diabetes

7. My boobs stay big and perky. Hey, maybe YOU never got crapped on by a bunch of 13 year old pre-pubescent girls that were already wearing a 36B in 8th grade, BUT I DID. Damn bitches. Or maybe your poor often times "footinthemouth" husband didn't comment about your small half-Asian boobs when he met you. BUT MINE DID. Bastard.

6. Did I say my boobs are big and perky?

5. It's an instant comfort - for my daughter too. No seriously, the girl will fall asleep, fall back asleep, and maintain sweet silence in an INSTANT.

4. I will have HUGE ammunition for at least 1 to 2 years of TOTAL GUILT TRIPS for when my daughter is older and decides she wants to spend her college trust fund on a Save the Whales excursion.

3. I get boob action at least 3x a day.

2. It's free - yep, totally free. More money to spend on other stuff - like hot dates with my husband. Manolos and 7 Jeans. Yeah right.

1. It's the only way to fend off the post-pregnancy, inevitable boob drop and flop.

So there you have it folks. Come and eat at mom's diner. It's open 24-7, nothing but the BEST stuff on earth...

So it Has a 10 Foot Cathedral Train, But Can I Breastfeed in it?

There are a few things breastfeeding moms should never have to worry about. Okay. Maybe there's just one.

Buying a wedding dress.

Yep. Not something you like to think about while caressing your large brown sunflower nipples with lanisoh and cool gelly pads. But I did.

For some reason that I have yet to figure out (pregnancy hormones, perhaps), I agreed to have a church wedding 3 months after having my daughter. I really wanted it to be later, but I gave into peer pressure (read: persistent husband), and there I was, planning a wedding while trying to figure out why my daughter was pooping green sludge and blood (amongst other things) while rubbing large amounts of prep H on my own poor asshole. What a lovely combination.

I was bitter, frustrated, and um, bitter. My mother-in-law was bitching to my husband about MY flower choices, my sister-in-law was bitching to my husband about the bridesmaid dress choices (choose a black dress you like and wear it... what's there to complain about?), and I was complaining to my husband about not sleeping, not eating (elimination diet), and the worst of all tragedies, not fitting into my wedding gown.

So at about 1-month post-pardum, I stopped my nightly rants and crying sessions and hit the only bridal shop in a 100 mile radius.

A Southern Wedding.

Perfect. Just what I wanted.

NOT.

I admit that the store actually had a lot of lovely dresses (intermixed with some total "My-name-is-Kristen-and-I'm-yer-new-Miss-Mississippi"), particularly in my price range and size - "way larger than I ever wanted to be in a wedding gown or any gown for that matter." But no matter how big you are, nothing beats having to tell the lovely 19-year-old engaged sales girl Amanda-Jean that you "need a dress you can breastfeed in."

I bet she never heard that before.

I mean, like I wasn't under enough stress, I had to buy a wedding dress based soley on whether I could whip my tit out in a reasonably discrete manner and nurse my daughter. On my fucking wedding day. In the cool teal studebaker marked "just married" as we drove off. In the hallway of the boat deck (our reception locale - a large boat). In our honeymoon suite. Ack.

But, the young commission-motivated salesgirl grabbed a bunch of choices, and away I went to the dressing room. And there I was - trying on wedding dresses I wouldn't have even looked twice at and crying at the prospect of having to get my pictures taken looking like a large beached whale in white. Oh, and all while the salesgirl bounced my infant daughter outside the curtain. Let's just say, it was not the wedding dress shopping trip in my dreams - or even in my wildest imagination.

Thankfully, I found a great halter dress (unhooked at the neck - even during my wedding mass... woohoo) with a corset back (great for sucking in the mom scooch) that was rather pretty and relatively inexpensive. And it looked fabulous.

So, if it wasn't apparent to you before this post, it's pretty obvious now. I'm pretty damn talented - you know, nursing in a wedding gown and all.

And I have no shame. But you probably already knew that.

YAY! Photos (sorry, no bfing ones though)

View this photo

View this photo

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Come visit me here for a little potty mouth, er, talk. I need all the help I can get.

News Alert: Mom's Diner Closing Soon - Limited Seating Available

And don't get any bright ideas... Seatings are for my daughter only (and my huz if he's VERY VERY GOOD... <-- unlikely at his rate). Anyway, it's true. I'm cutting her off - not cold turkey of course - but in a very systematic and timely manner. I think I've put in my time (hell it's been 18 LONG months - with many ups and downs) and paid my dues. The BIG W word (weaning, that is) is coming to visit.

It really wasn't a hard deicision - I mean, if you go this long with it, there comes a point in time when you want your body back. You want to wear a bra that doesn't snap closed, or have the little nipple opening. You want them to be BOOBS again, not feeders or food containers, or whatever they have become over the last 18 months. AND (the big kicker for me), you want SOMEONE else (aka DADDY-O) to put her to bed at night. Plus, she's starting to have conversations with me WHILST she nurses.

For example -- M: What do you want to wear today? Q: *pulls off* POOH. M: Did you have a good sleepytimes? Q: *stays on* UH and nods yes - *pulls off* Dada? M: He's at work...

So, methinks I must stop BEFORE she starts picking which boob she wants - and well, spelling it, in Latin...

I will miss it a little, I'm sure. Hell, it's a special time we shared - just us - no one else. I sustained her life for the first 6 months and well, added some pounds, height, weight, and most importantly - massive amounts of brain cells *smirk* to her since then (and I lost all of that stuff, at one point or another). And I never hated it or disliked it or dreaded it.

BUT baby I'm ready. Bring on the lace, underwire, and *gulp*

Chicken cutlet bra inserts... God knows I'm gonna need 'em.

The Neglected Boob

Let's face it - breastfeeding or not, all women have a neglected boob. Don't think to hard - you know which one I mean. The littler one that hangs just a little lower, droops a little further, and needs a little extra *umph* to fill out the old brazzzeeerrrreee.

For me, it's my right one. Poor kid. She has always been the smaller twin. Always needed an extra push - an extra pad - an extra something. The left one was always the favorite. Got all the attention - the hugs, rubs, squeezes, and tugs. But ole rightie... well, she was always just along for the ride.

So, fancy that when I started breastfeeding, ole rightie got neglected again. I had scabs and scars on the left one from overenjoyment. Ole rightie got pushed away - maybe 1-2 minutes of action and it was back to the left one again. Neglected, alone, and slowly whittling away to nothing.

I try to offer her more - request a little 'action' on her behalf - lord knows lopsided breasts are not every woman (or husband's) fantasy. Who gets ONE boob lift or ONE breast implant. Shit, do they sell one-sided wonder bras?

So ladies and gentlemen, give the GIRLS equal time. They worked hard for you (at least mine did) - they deserve your FULL attention.

What's Grosser than Gross?

I have heard all the ANTI-BREASTFEEDING arguments. I've been doing it for almost 2 years, and seriously, people have NO COUTH. I don't say anything to people who choose to formula feed. Hey, it's YOUR choice. Be informed - that's all I ask. So, in the spirit of my post on engaging in the craziness, I am going to address MY FAVORITE "anti-breastfeeding" argument.

Let me preface this by saying that I didn't have the notion (or chance, really) to make this rebuttal in person at the time of the statement, but I will say that it came to mind AT THAT MOMENT, maybe not in this detail, but it was not one of those "I thought about it for 6 days and here is what I have to say" kind of things.

So here it is:

"I couldn't breastfeed. It's really gross. I mean, a baby sucking on your BOOB. It's just not normal."

Here is my response (for those of you who are faint of heart or weak of stomach, do not read on):

Well let's think about what WE consider NORMAL.

1) Allowing a grown man to suck, twiddle, pull, and squeeze (not in any specific order) your NIPPLES, jiggle your jumblies, bounce your bajongas... You get my drift...

2) Putting a PENIS in your mouth (omigawd)- and sucking on it like a tootsie roll pop until stuff sprays out of it. And *gulp* - :)  no pun intended. You do know, he PEES from that thing...

3) Engaging in "ball" games - need I say more here? Only in this MALE-DOMINATED society would women subject themselves to handle, tug, pull, squeeze, and dare I say "LICK" hairy (or not so much) BALLS... (okay, I'm cracking myself up now). Seriously, when have you heard a chica say, "You know what I love?  Sticking a hairy ball in my mouth..." LMAO

4) Or better, allowing said male to stick his PENIS inside you from various angles. I mean sure, it can be FUN for you - or VERY FUN, but someone else sticking something of theirs INSIDE something of yours is inherently disconcerting.

5) Don't want to leave all the ass lovers out - so - yup, you let him stick something i.e  finger, wanger, beads, plugs, etc. IN YOUR BUTT - YES, that's right, the place from which YOU POOPIE...

So, if you think those are normal and natural (as most people, at some level, do - this includes me...), then letting your baby suck on your boob to gain nourishment and life-sustaining properties just doesn't seem so bad.

Thank you -- I'll be here ALL NIGHT...

Oh, and enough of you CLOSET, SILENT readers - make some comments for GOD SAKES!

The Thanksgiving Diet

In honor of today, I have decided to share my secret to my 5-month 70lb weight loss. The name comes from the central foods in this diet - TURKEY, CRANBERRY, and POTATOES. I can't take credit for the IDEA, however, as it's based on Dr. Sears' Total Elimination Diet, the crazy, yet effective means to eliminate colic and gas, as well as determine food allergies and sensitivities in a breastfeeding baby. http://www.askdrsears.com/html/4/T041200.asp

Not surprising to me, doing the TED (as it's fondly called by those on it) is actually better than switching to formula, although the mother makes the ultimate sacrifice. Basically, you eat the least allergenic foods to clear out the baby's symptoms and then slowly add things back in, all the while watching for a reaction (for my dear daughter, it was green poop, reflux, and gas...). The last items added back in are the BIG 7 - wheat, soy, dairy, tree nuts, peanuts, corn, and eggs.

Now, if I were living in a cultural mecca, eating in this manner would be painful, but made less so with the presence of a WHOLE FOODS MARKET. BUT, trying to find "allergen" free foods in Columbus, MS is nearly impossible. AND, my daughter happened to react to everything ON the damn diet, so I was left with my own version, fondly coined by my good friend TMT as "The Thanksgiving Diet."

My main staple diet included the following: Cranberries, sugar <--pure cane, potatoes (regular and sweet), turkey, grapes, spinach, water, organic grape juice, and perrier. Oh, and LOTS of olive oil - lots.

Later I was able to add in the rice products, garlic, green beans <-- oh heavenly, and chicken.

Diet Benefits: Rapid weightloss in a reasonably safe manner; eat in LARGE quantities (okay, so it's the same 5 things, but still, eat, eat, and eat); no worrying about what to cook for yourself for breakfast, lunch, or dinner; you learn about all the crap that is in the food we eat; you rid yourself of ALL toxins - don't get sick - and could possibly shrink a cyst on your back (a small thing I had on my back totally disappeared...); it's reasonably inexpensive, unless you do the lamb thing; other than being a bit gaunt IMO, your skin will look great! Oh, and absolutely NO exercise is involved.

Diet Pitfalls: You eat the same thing for breakfast, lunch, and dinner (for the most part); you can eat NOTHING processed; you can't eat out; you crave everything GOOD; you have to make meals for you and your family; you get a modified eating disorder when it's all over; you cry at least 2-3x a week in self-pity.

Diet Plan WITH RICE:

First, let me thank the food gods who created EVERYTHING out of rice. Pasta, ice cream, milk, cereal, bread... you name it, they've made it. Let me remind you that for 2 months, I could eat NO rice - it's a sad day when you pray for the ability to eat rice milk.

Breakfast: Rice milk, rice puffs with craisins; Hot rice cereal with rice milk and craisins. (eat at least 2-3 bowls of each)

Snack: Craisins, potatoes, Cranberry sauce, turkey patties, rice crackers

Lunch: Ground turkey, potatoes, spinach, rice noodles or rice- fry in pan with olive oil. Top with cranberry sauce. (eat at least 2-3 servings).

Snack: See above

Dinner: See lunch. For variety, make turkey patties or safe turkey sausage (safe being NO allergens AT ALL). Or, turkey breast cutlets or a whole "Thanksgivingesque" turkey breast.

Drinks: Water, Organic grape juice (add some perrier for a special treat).

And, there you have it. For almost a year, I did it. For two months, I could not eat rice products, therefore eliminating breakfast. It's really tough eating the same meal 3x a day. BUT, I survived and on my daughter's first birthday, something healed over in her tummy (it actually happens to all babes - not just mine) and she is fine. It was hard - but it was worth it.

Motherhood does that to you. Makes you do things you think you never could (or would). Anyone who knows me knows this: I LOVE FOOD. I LOVE TO EAT.

Be prepared for at least 2-3 weeks of total gorging post diet, in which you could potentially gain ALL your weight back.

So, on this day of Thanks, gorge yourselves my friends, as you know I will be doing so. AND, surprisingly enough, I can still eat turkey, cranberry, and potatoes, even after eating it 3x a day for 200 + days.