Toddler Nursing (take one)

I say “take one” because I didn’t nurse the rest of them as long as I’ve nursed Buffalo — 21 months and counting. Because I used a lot of donor milk to supplement her for the first year, I wasn’t even sure that she would continue nursing into toddlerhood. But — ha! She’s gone through periods of time where she was more interested in the world than my boobs, but like a bad ex-boyfriend, she just keeps going back.

What I am trying — ineloquently, probably because I’m so sleep deprived — to say, is that she is still nursing and she’s a toddler. Which means that while we’re nursing she does the following:

1. Twiddles

2. Kicks

3. Sings

4. Pinches

5. Climbs

Or everything simultaneously. She also wants a snack at any time of the day or night, with my nipple available — pointing directly at her mouth — whenever she wants.

How self-centered!

 If this didn’t interrupt my sleep, I wouldn’t give a shit. But it does. She doesn’t want to sleep unless she’s attached to me — and not just my nipple. After a long day of… what is it I do? Oh yes, being a mom!… I’m ready not to be touched by sticky hands at 9pm. I want to be left the hell alone with the DVR and My Chemical Romance and my Kindle and a bath and People Magazine. I want to glance at my calendar and note what we’re doing the next day (today’s agenda: get knives sharpened at Farmer’s market, take everyone to gymnastics class, cook dinner) and go to sleep.

It’s like having a newborn again. I remember dreading bedtime, because I was so tired, and I just wanted to GO TO SLEEP, but I couldn’t just GO TO SLEEP because SHE WHO MUST BE COMFORTED had to be comforted to sleep first. By the time I got her comforted, I was keyed up and wired and unable to sleep, myself. Then she’d wake up and want to nurse (insert any of the girls’ names for SHE. Or even the boys.) Except this SHE isn’t a baby, she’s almost two!

/sleep-deprived-attached-mommy-rant

Dear High School Friends

Are you one of my Facebook friends? I don’t mean a fan of this page; I mean one of my friends. Probably not since I keep it down to my closest 250. Also, I generally don’t stay friends with people who are quiet on Facebook — or those who are too loud and post too much, or those with whose political views I disagree or those who put their 3-year-old child in a backless booster seat.

Also, I’m particular about people with whom I attended school.

I attended two different high schools, both with around 1000 students — the Facebook friend possibilities are endless. But back then, I was just another self-conscious teenage girl who never felt good enough. I wasn’t thin enough, smart enough, cool enough, funny enough or pretty enough. Can you believe that — I thought I WASN’T FUNNY ENOUGH!! For their part, the kids at my schools were pretty snobby, so my feelings weren’t entirely unfounded. Anyway, If I didn’t like you in high school, chances are I’m only accepting your friend request so I can examine some current pictures of you, make fun of you and then unfriend you, feeling smug.

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Clearly I’ve matured a lot since high school.

But a funny thing happened for those who have made the cut: after being subjected to my endless links about homebirth, nursing, homeschool, not vaccinating etc, I have become the go-to person for questions about attachment parenting.

(I’ve also answered a few colorectal surgery questions, and recommended 50 Shades of Grey On the Island by Tracey Garvis Graves.)

This is so awesome! I am so honored when people ask my advice. And also envious — my first three kids were not parented in the way I now advocate, so anyone who “gets it” before their fourth child is doing better than I did.

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Keeping me accountable and honest is another factor. I don’t want to pretend I don’t struggle with my kids; I don’t want to espouse the virtues of gentle discipline when I’m screaming and hitting my kids. If someone asks me for advice and I suggest How to Talk So Kids Will Listen, I better interact with my kids in such a way that would make Alfie Cohn proud.

My latest parenting trick is apologizing when I’ve screwed up. This is revolutionary, right? When I lose my temper, or behave in a way that makes me uncomfortable because it’s not up to my standards as a parent, I tell my kids I’m sorry.

I don’t make excuses because that gets in the way of the sentiment of being sorry. Apologizing while simultaneously explaining why I screwed up in the first place only serves to attempt to absolve ME of regret; I think it cheapens the apology.

So, my latest advice is the following: say you’re sorry when you make a mistake. Your kids will learn that you’re human, and that all humans screw up — and deserve forgiveness.

And also, homebirth, breastfeed your baby til he’s 7, don’t circumsize or vaccinate, cosleep, coshower, wait on introducing foods, don’t use antibacterial soap and when in doubt, put some coconut oil on it.

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What I Would Tell New Moms

1. It doesn’t matter how you gave birth — you have a baby now.

That may sound surprising for someone who has had two homebirths and advocates strongly for midwifery care, but once the baby is out, it’s kind of a moot point. However, for your sake I hope you didn’t have to have cesarean surgery, or if you did, I hope that the recovery is easy and it doesn’t interrupt your nursing relationship.

2. You need more clothes and diapers than you think — but less of the other stuff.

Things I found essential include a My Breast Friend, a Miracle Blanket, a Moby wrap carrier and nipple shells to protect your nipples from anything touching them… and that’s about it. I had two My Breast Friends, one for upstairs and one for downstairs. Newborn babies poop and spit up a lot, though, and I’ve always been shocked at how much laundry I do each day. So get some extra clothes.

3. Nursing can be very challenging — but gets better after a while.

I’ve been lucky enough to have two really good experiences with nursing, but my first three kids were barely breastfed at all. I regret that tremendously. I wish I’d been armed with more knowledge than I have breasts and they have mouths. There’s a lot more to it than that! I wish I’d been more supported by family members, and I’d been more confident — or even insistent — in my decision to breastfeed. Because at 3:00AM when your baby is crying and has been nursing for the last seven hours in a row, it’s easy to think that making a bottle will be okay just this once. And there’s so much SUPPORT for bottle feeding. Dad can help! Mom can rest! Grandma can feed the baby! Mom can get away from the house without baby! Bottle feeding is awesome!

4. Take All the Time That You Need — don’t worry about bouncing back.

Having a baby is a big deal. It takes more than two weeks — or even two months — to get used to it. People seem to expect that a new mom should just bounce back in every way: physically, emotionally, intellectually. But you don’t have to think that way. Having a baby changes your entire life, and puts you in charge of someone else’s life. It’s a big deal. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad if you take months to get used to your new life.

5. Ignore the Advice — Even the well-meaning advice.

Just focus on meeting your baby’s needs. Everyone — including me! — has suggestions on how to make your life easier, better, less stressful and things that worked perfectly for our children (or didn’t work at all, so you should avoid it). Try to tap into your mom intuition. Remember that crying is the only way a baby can communicate with you, and baby truly doesn’t want you to be a sleep deprived, bloody-nippled zombie.

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Gentle Discipline for the Middle Child

Alternate title: How I Learned to stop Arguing and Love The Informant.

Did you see THAT video? You know the one of the dad who finds out his daughter was writing rude things about him on Facebook and so he SHOT HER LAPTOP?!?!?!

I was both intrigued and appalled.

Intrigued because I have been known to let my temper get the better of me. When a nerf bullet hit me in the head, I put the nerf gun in the trash. When one of the girls threw a barbie during a temper tantrum, I broke barbie’s neck.

Sorry, Babs. (Flickr/SamJUK)

But seeing that dad on the video nervously smoking a cigarette, absolutely seething with anger — and I’ve read comments that he was sooooooooooo relaxed, but personally, I didn’t see that. I saw a dad who was incredibly agitated and mad as hell — stopped me in my tracks. It was really appalling. His absolute lack of control really shocked me.

I don’t want to ever get there. I will happily embrace my approximately 100 page views per day on this blog, rather than get a million hits for doing something really traumatizing to my family.

This relates to The Informant because she’s a very… challenging… child. She is contrary. She is sneaky. She likes attention, and she probably gets less than her siblings, especially from others. She’s not an identical twin, and she’s not a cute baby (or a cheerful 4-year-old).

Already, at almost-7-years-old, disciplining her is difficult. She totally smirks at me — and if I rip the head of an inanimate object who merely smiles blank-eyed at me, you can imagine what I think of doing to an almost-7-year-old who smirks and rolls her eyes at me.

Angry Bale! (Flickr/Nomadic Lass)

Meanwhile, I try to avoid threatening my children. Not because the threats are empty, but because I don’t see the point. I want my kids to LEARN not to blow their nose on the couch (true story!), but if I say, “Don’t blow your nose on the couch or I’ll XYZ to you!” they’re only learning to avoid punishment. They’re not learning why not to blow your nose on the couch.

Hand to God, I was literally speechless at the nose-blowing-on-the-couch incident, which happened Friday. I really did not think I’d ever have to explain to my children WHY YOU SHOULDN’T BLOW YOUR NOSE ON THE COUCH. I mean, really? And no, it was not the 1yo, 4yo or 7yo who did it, nor was it the 9-year-old you’re thinking of! It was Animal! 

But old habits die hard, and I find myself threatening occasionally. Most often with The Informant. My Chemical Romance gave me a list of things I should take away from her as a consequence of various infractions, but again, that’s just teaching an avoidance technique.

One day, she was arguing with me, and I found myself searching for something to threaten her with. It was one of those rare moments where you really see yourself for a second, and I thought

This is totes cray-cray.

"Crazyhouse Welcome!" (Flickr/Tom Ravenscroft)

I keep upping the ante and upping the ante, and one day, I’m going to find myself saying, “Wipe the toothpaste off the bathroom counter or I’m never letting you brush your teeth again!” (You’re welcome, future dentist) or “Pick up that jacket, or it belongs to me now!” (Size 7/8).

This is totally crazy.

I walked out of her room, back into my room, and decided to stop threatening her. At some point, she’s going to learn that toothpaste on the bathroom sink is gross — or not — and I can’t force her to see that. And if I try to force her by blackmail/threatening/consequence, it’s only going to make her resent me, and that will drive a wedge into our relationship. And while I don’t want toothpaste on the bathroom sink, or jackets on the floor, I want a positive relationship with her MORE.

What I am doing rather than threatening is (1) telling her my expectation and (2) walking away if she argues/objects. It’s surprisingly difficult (again, old habits). But I’m finding that it’s way more effective than threatening/blackmailing/consequence. And I feel better about our relationship when she’s free to be herself and I’m free to be myself.

A Letter to the World from Cousin It

Dear World,

I am Cousin It. My hair is as straight and fine as a pin, and if my mom doesn’t put it in a ponytail, it falls directly into my eyes. I also have a bit of a mullet thing going on in the back, but my mom isn’t yet ready to take me for my first haircut.

See that hair?

I nurse 235235 times a day, for about 10 seconds each time. When I want to nurse, I stick my hand down my mom’s shirt and squeeze her chest. She usually gets the hint.

When I’m done nursing I simply walk away, leaving my mom’s boob hanging out. This is also convenient during those times when I’m not done nursing but simply distracted, and I want to come back for more nursies in a few minutes or an hour or three. I like it when my nursies are ready for me immediately. Lifting up her shirt takes such effort.

Although I will nap easily I do not like to SLEEP; even when I’m in my parents’ bed I try my best to avoid it. I would much rather walk around their room, opening up every dresser drawer and removing all the clothes.

Who me, tired? NONSENSE!

I especially do not like to sleep when I’m tired, and it’s dark and everyone else is sleeping. 

Some people have suggested that my mom stop nursing me. To which I reply, “Are you kidding me?!?!?!” Nursing has a lot of benefits — especially for my mom. She still counts milk-making as an excuse to eat 2325 extra calories per day

“I’ll take a large pizza with cheese and bacon. And a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Kthnxbai.”

Those same people think I should sleep through the night by now — especially because I was sleeping a good stretch of eight hours per night several months ago. To which I reply, “I’m just trying to keep it interesting!” Usually I wake up around 1am and my dad brings me into my parents’ bed, where I nurse and invade my mom’s personal space until the alarm goes off at 6am, at which point I spring to life.

To those who disagree with how I live my life, I eagerly await your direction on these matters. Please bear in mind that I am not yet 14 months old, so try to use small words. My parents recognizes this, which is why they continue to meet all my needs in a (relatively) timely manner. 

Sincerely,

Cousin It

My sisters and me. How cute are we?

Leaving the Museum with Five Kids

I’m lucky to have moved to a very kid-friendly area. There are TONS of parks (and as you have read, it’s my goal to go to each and every park in the county while we live here), museums, fairs and festivals and the like.

Some people ask how I can possible go anywhere with five kids, and the answer is that I have to or I’ll go nuts. Also, my youngest non-baby is four now, so they’re all old enough to be responsible. When we go somewhere, I make sure we have water and if I’m really organized, I bring quesadillas to eat.

Here’s an example of my day at a local kids museum. Getting there is the easy part; keeping track of everyone is another story. I don’t mind if Animal and Mineral run off, since they’re older, and The Informant can usually be found doing arts and crafts. My Masterpiece stays with me (by her choice). Porcelain is usually in the Ergo or another such baby carrier.

Aside: baby carriers have made my life more manageable. Without my carriers, I could not get anything done. Porcelain loves being so close, and I love the use of my hands! I was totally obsessed with baby carriers when I was pregnant and now I know why. I’m considering selling my Becco and buying a Boba. My Ergo is the go-to, but she likes to lean back and nearly fall out.

So, we’re at the museum, everyone is having fun — including me — and it’s a great day. Then it’s time to go home. This is where life gets challenging.  The process of leaving takes about forty-five minutes. First I find My Masterpiece, who has to pee. As I take her to the bathroom, I come across Animal who is running off somewhere. I tell him we’re leaving in five minutes, and ask if he knows where Mineral or The Informant is. He shakes his head and darts off. I have 2/5 children.

After My Masterpiece’s bathroom trip, she wants to go to the baby area for a few minutes while I gather everyone else. I make her promise to stay there. I have 1/5 children (and that’s a given since the one is attached to me).

I find Mineral playing on a replica of a battle ship. I drag him away. He has no idea where Animal is — I’m always like, “You’re an identical twin! Use your twin intuition!” and they both look at me like, “How the eff would I know where he is? You watch way too many Lifetime movies. Twintuition isn’t real.” I have 2/5 children.

Mineral and I find My Masterpiece at the arts/crafts table, away from the baby area where she promised she’d stay. I have 3/5 children.

Mineral has to pee. I tell him to stay in the lobby after he uses the bathroom, and I’ll meet him there when I have everyone. I have 2/5 children.

I look for Animal and The Informant, certain that every time I go upstairs, they’re behind me going downstairs and we’re just missing each other. I cannot find either of them. I still have 2/5 children.

I have officially looked EVERYWHERE for Animal and The Informant. I can only hope that Mineral is staying in the lobby. I still have 2/5 children.

I finally find Animal in the middle of the lobby. He wants to go off while I look for The Informant, swearing that he’ll stay where he says, but I insist he stay with me. He pouts. I have 3/5 children.

We catch up with Mineral, who is not in the lobby like he said he would be, but instead has gone back to the battle ship. Animal shrieks about the unfairness that Mineral gets to play while he has to be dragged around, so I give them both five more minutes on the battle ship while I look for The Informant. I have 2/5 children.

I have really really looked EVERYWHERE for The Informant. She is not at the arts/crafts area. She is not in the dress up area. She is not in the bathroom. She is not in the baby area. She is not in the stuffed animal area. She is obviously just behind me, going upstairs when I go down, and vice-versa. I head back to the battle ship. I have 2/5 children.

Porcelain needs a diaper change. My Masterpiece wants to wait in the lobby while I change her. I have 1/5 children.

After the diaper change, I catch up with My Masterpiece, and we pick up Animal and Mineral at the battle ship. It’s a damn miracle. I have 4/5 children. The most unfortunate part of this scenario is that we’re at the very back of the museum, which means we have to walk through the entire museum to get to the entrance/exit, and my chances of keeping track of all four children while walking through the entire museum with its enticing exhibits and fun stations are not good.

We manage to make it to the lobby without incident, and with promises of coming back in the next couple weeks (we have a membership). The Informant is still missing. The museum isn’t THAT big. I literally have no idea where she is, so I sit and wait in the lobby, sure that eventually she’ll show up.

Five minutes later we’re still waiting, and I make my children swear upon pain of drinking baking soda and Floradix that they will stay there while I go find The Informant. I ask them all to look me in the eye while they promise. (Will it work? Maybe. When I get serious and it’s time to go, they usually understand.)

I finally find The Informant at the giant chess and checkers station. She has 234523525 pieces of artwork she wants to bring home. She makes a pile and carries it, and we walk to the lobby, where — it’s a miracle! — my three other children are waiting somewhat patiently. I treat them each to a candy bar from the gift shop.

Now we just have to go outside and walk to the car, crossing several main streets, and we’ll officially be on our way home.

Parenting the Fill-in-the-blank Child

It takes all kinds, I’ve discovered, when you have a large family.

When Animal and Mineral were babies, I remember telling My Chemical Romance that I wish we’d had two of Mineral — or maybe it was two of Animal? I hardly remember anything about their babyhoods. It was all a blur of bottles and biting. Now I have five babyhoods to try and remember. Here are a few anecdotes I recall clearly:

1. Holding a teething Mineral, who bit my arm, HARD, after which I immediately put him down (gently) and he began crying hysterically. My Chemical Romance picked him up and said, in a sing-songy voice, “Oh no! Did mommy leave you on the side of the road? Did mommy put you out with the trash?”

2. Animal vocalizing in a way that sounded like he was saying, “Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!”

3. The Informant’s first word was I’m telling “doggy.”

4. My Masterpiece started sucking her thumb regularly at five months old.

5. Porcelain loves overhead fans, she stares at them and coos adorably. We call them her “buh.”

Sometimes I feel like my kids get a bad rep. Yes, they sometimes drive me crazy, yes, my house is LOUD, LIKE WOULD EVERYONE PLEASE STOP SHRIEKING THE SMOKE DETECTOR COULD BE GOING OFF AND I WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO HEAR IT OVER THE SOUND OF SOMEONE YELLING ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE BREATHING ON THEM PURPOSELY – and no, I don’t get a lot of time away since I homeschool, but I feel I should make it abundantly clear: I love my children.

They are all challenging in their own ways: they challenge my ideas of nature versus nurture and they challenge all the parenting books I’ve read (really, I think Alfie Kohn would take a look at them and throw up his hands). They challenge me to parent the way I want versus the way I think they need versus the way I haven’t had enough sleep and have changed seven sets of sheets and do not have the patience for another game of Memory today nor do I want to fight about homeschooling again.

But I love them. They each have a unique take on the world, they each have their own beautiful characteristics and attributes, and although sometimes those traits don’t mesh with what I want from them, it’s not about me – yet another parenting thing I’ve learned. I didn’t choose them — nor do I believe that uber-crunchy concept that they chose me, like, really? Did they want to live in a house with weak A/C and a mom addicted to MTV reality shows?!?!? Was that appealing to the little blastocysts in some way???? — but we’re coexisting, usually happily.  I give myself a lot of license for hyperbole as I am an artist.

Large Families Suck aka “My Husband Was Out of Town For Two Days and All I Got Was This Blog Post”

Okay, Life, I agree — I’m ruining the earth with my overpopulated family! We’re wasting valuable resources that should be used on children who don’t consider Spongebob Squarepants the height of culture! I’m unschooling them just because I’m too lazy to to actually teach them anything that requires me getting off Facebook! – and to that end, My Chemical Romance is getting a vasectomy in March. But, in case you’re curious, let me just tell you why being a mom in a large family sucks:

1. The laundry never ends. I am not even exaggerating. I wish I were exaggerating. If the dishes get overwhelming, I can always contribute further to global waste by using plastic/paper, but I have yet to find any plastic/paper clothes that my children will wear.

2. There is always stuff on the floor. Always. Recently I watched Stitches’ son for a morning. I thought, “What’s one more kid?” He came over and everything went fine. The next morning I got a message from Stitches which said, “Soooooooooo, I found a glittery yellow bead in his poop this morning. Do you know anything about this?” When I told The Informant about it, she shrieked, “Is she going to give it back?!?!? That’s my FAVORITE bead!!!! Tell her to wash it and give it back!!!!”

3. I do half of something, one-quarter of something else, and one-sixteenth of vacuuming. You know what I mean: I start a load of laundry, forget to put in the laundry soap; wipe the counter in the bathroom but not the actual toilet; and change one of the boys sheets and then forget who has clean sheets and who has dirty…

4. … and yet, I always find the time to eat. A lot. Those 20 extra lbs I’m still up from my fighting weight? Breastfeeding 24/7, two months postpartum, it’s down — to like 19 extra lbs.

5. When My Chemical Romance isn’t home at night, it’s like Lord of the Flies in here. Recently he went on a trip for two days (don’t worry, I’m going to write about it) and he came home to find me sleeping surrounded by clean laundry (I hope), vodka, candy wrappers, and tears, clutching my cell phone for updates that he was going to be home soon. He’s been here all day, working from home, and I still feel like a recently released POW.

A Baby Only A Breastfeeding Mother Could Love or Attachment Parenting an Infant Part Two: Le Suck.

So, I had this baby, did you hear? I call her Porcelain because she was born on the toilet on Christmas Morning. (And like a modern-day Mary, I was attended by some wise women and a dog.) We’re nursing, of course. Although I barely breastfed my first three children, My Masterpiece only stopped because I wanted to have weight-loss surgery, and I hope Porcelain nurses for at least two years, which is what the World Health Organization recommends.

The problem is that Porcelain hates everything and everyone but nursing. Really. We’ll nurse, and she’ll be content to stare at the ceiling fan in milk-coma, and as soon as I try to pass her off to My Chemical Romance, she starts screaming and only nursing will help. And when Porcelain starts screaming, heaven help me if I take more than 2 minutes to whip out a boob. I am punished by the squawking and squalling. Heaven help any other person who wants to hold her, whether she is happy or not. Porcelain does NOT like you. Porcelain does NOT want you to cuddle her. Porcelain wants boob.

My Chemical Romance is getting a vasectomy in March.

The Five Stages of Grief Over Sleep Deprivation or “Attachment Parenting a Breastfeeding Infant.”

Although Elizabeth Kubler-Ross may have had loftier ideas in her head about these stages, she has admitted that they can apply to any personal catastrophe. I think this qualifies.

1. DENIAL

I’m getting enough sleep. Of course I’m getting enough sleep. The clock is wrong. Who needs 7 hours of consecutive sleep?– not me!

Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual.

2. ANGER

Why does everyone else’s baby sleep but mine? Why me? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!! I hate all the moms whose babies sleep!

Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy.

3. BARGAINING

I will nurse you from 6pm to 10pm without stopping if you’ll just let me sleep. Just let me sleep four straight hours. Just let the older kids sleep til 7am.

The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay the inevitable. Usually, the negotiation for an extended sleep time is made with a baby in exchange for a reformed lifestyle.

4. DEPRESSION

Why even bother going to sleep? I’m just going to be awake in 2 hours. I’m not even going to bother watching The Bachelor while I’m nursing.

During the fourth stage, the sleep-deprived person begins to understand the certainty of sleep-deprivation. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed.

5. ACCEPTANCE

It’s going to be okay. At least I’m not operating heavy machinery other than a car with five children in it while this tired. I’ll get used to functioning on so little sleep.

In this last stage, the individual begins to come to terms with her sleep deprivation.

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