Baby-Led Weaning: The Lazy Mom's Guide to Feeding Her Kid Solids

When it came time to even think about introducing food to Ella, I'll admit, I had a mini panic attack.

I was incredibly anxious at the thought of her eating anything but breast-milk.

Was she ready? Would she be allergic? How do you make sure she enjoys her food? What can I give her? What can't I give her? How do I know if she's getting enough?

The questions were coming at me from all angles. So, I did what I always do when I'm faced with something big in our lives.

I read and read and read and read everything I could get my hands on. Books. Blogs. Doctoral guidelines. I read about making my own baby-food. I read about what brands had the best purees. I read about what to introduce first and what to hold back on and how many prunes a kid could eat before they'd blow their diaper clear off.

I also read about the concept called "baby-led weaning."

Largely practiced in Europe, baby-led weaning, or BLW, is the child-initiated and-led practice of giving your kid solids. There is no baby food. There are no purees. It's simple and straight-forward and old-school.

Better yet, it involves little to no work for yours truly.

Baby-led weaning tells you to, in a nut-shell, give the baby what you're eating (mostly.) You don't have to be a short-order cook, prepping for baby, separately, and then the rest of the family.

It's the lazy woman's way of getting her kids to eat.

As a woman who constantly marvels at how mamas who use bottles go through all of the hassle of making and cleaning them, especially in the middle of the night - and who has honestly said before, "I breast-feed because I'm lazy. I don't have to pack food, and I never have to wash bottles," - this was right up my alley.

Now, baby-led weaning really isn't anything new. A lot of moms gave their kids solids in this manner and just didn't realize it had become an en vogue parenting technique. My own mom said, "Hey! I did that! I just didn't know it had a name!"

Caveat: It's also not something for everyone, at least according to my estimation. I do have some hard and fast lines when it comes to parenting. But this is not one of them.

By and large, this has worked for us, though I don't follow protocol exactly. In general, Ella and I work best if I take her lead; we nap, eat, nurse, play, and do everything according to her cues. She has set her own schedule, and it works great. I am a believer that the child tells you what they need when they need it, and baby-led weaning, for us, is an extension of that.

BLW is also a proven way to protect a healthy nursing relationship. And preliminary studies show that kids who are introduced to solids via baby-led weaning aren't picky eaters in their toddler and childhood years. Both of those facets are very important to our family, as I hope to nurse Ella for another year, if she wants to, as well as invite her to join in on family dinners filled with lots of flavors and foods; picky eaters don't fair too well in this family, let me tell you.

So, with that being said, let me compile our experiences with baby-led weaning, along with all the research I read, and explain the basic tenets of BLW, along with how we modified the technique to work for our family.

***

Honestly, when you really get to the core of baby-led weaning, you realize how brilliantly simple and hands off it is.

Literally, I kept researching, wondering where the hang-ups were - what, exactly, made this so tough? Introducing food was supposed to be a chore! - and I couldn't find them. A few simple rules is all baby-led weaning really is.

1. No mush

There are no purees in baby-led weaning. You present the food to the child like you would eat it - spices and all. You can cut it up if you choose, but you shouldn't mash up a banana, for instance, or blend steamed carrots or veggies. Give them to child in a manageable form that you would (and should) eat.

2. No spoon-feeding

While there is nothing wrong with the spoon itself, you should never place food in your child's mouth for them, either on a spoon or with your fingers. When a child can bring the food to their mouth, get it in there, and keep it there, then they are ready for the food. If they can't do that, then they aren't ready to eat that food, simply put. A lot of baby-led weaners use a technique called "loaded spoonfuls," where they hand their child a spoon filled with something like oatmeal, for instance, and let the child put the spoon into their mouth. But, again, it's always child-directed.

3. No clean plates

Actually, there's no clean anything when it comes to baby-led weaning. The practice ascribes to the adage, "Food is for fun at least until 1," meaning that, until your child turns 1 year old, their solid foods are really about the experience, not the nutrients, meaning they shouldn't be receiving much nutrition or calories from them, necessarily. That's what breast-milk or formula are for. This also means that kids are literally going to play with their food. They will smear it, squish it, draw with it. They will put it on their face and in their hair. They will eat some and spit out some and toss aside most of it. They are learning temperature and texture, as well as taste. This isn't a bad thing. This is how kids learn.

4. No choking

One of the scariest things about BLW for me, initially, was the fear that, when handing my child a a slice of green pepper, let's say, she'd rip off a piece and choke. It petrified me. But there's a lot of BLW literature dedicated to this very fear, and honestly, it helped me a ton. Basically, your baby has far less of a chance of choking on "real" food than a puree. Feeding children purees with a spoon teaches them to suck back the liquid toward the back of their throat without chewing; an action that actually puts them at a direct risk of choking. But chewing is an instinct, and it prepares the body to swallow food. So when you give children actual solid solids, they will instinctively chew and swallow. Now, this doesn't mean they won't gag. Gagging is a normal response to a new taste and texture in the mouth. But gagging isn't dangerous. It may be loud and dramatic, but it's not harmful. Nothing is blocking your child's airway, and they aren't turning bright red or blue - a definite sign of danger. Gagging is part of learning to eat; choking, where a child cannot breathe and needs help, is not.

5. No early eating

Baby-led weaning strictly lets the child decide when they are ready for solids. They strongly encourage you don't start even introducing food till a minimum of 6 months of age, when the gut is fully sealed (a way to keep allergies from initiating.) After 6 months, they challenge parents to watch for several other signs of food readiness, like mimicking chewing motions while you eat, the ability to sit up unassisted, and the loss of the tongue-thrust reflex (where a child immediately pushes anything foreign out of their mouth with their tongue) before you consider solids, as well. Then, it cautions you to remember that, during the first year of life, solids are not meant to be a replacement for breast or bottle. They are an addition to them, meaning you will still be nursing and/or feeding your baby a bottle just as much as you did prior to starting solids. All this to say that, honestly, most baby-led weaners don't start eating till closer to 9 months, and even then, they aren't ingesting that many calories from their food. Ella was 9 months when we started, and she was almost 10 months before she really ate anything substantial.

6. No force

If a child doesn't want or like something, then don't keep pushing it on them. Don't make them eat it. If they aren't showing an interest in eating at all, then stop trying and revisit it later. If they gag every time food touches their lips, lay off for a while. If they don't have the ability to bring it to their mouth, get it in there, chew it, and swallow, then don't panic; present them with the option, but don't expect them to eat anything. Trust me, when they are ready, they will eat.

***

In the beginning, I was a Doubting Thomas myself. I sat pouring over these articles in European journals and Web sites going, "This can't work! There's got to be something else! This just can't work!"

I didn't believe Ella would ever eat anything, as I presented her with white beans, peas, avocado slices, and carrots. She just had no real interest, and she very rarely put anything in her mouth and actually ate it. Sure, she had a grand old time finger-painting with sweet potatoes and smashing pear in between her fingers, but eating any if it? It was a rare occurrence.

Honestly, I started to have visions of myself raising an exclusively breast-fed 6 year old, and as pro-boob as I am, I was none too happy about that thought.

And then, all of sudden, about a month ago, she ate.

While she didn't just stop smearing the food around or trying to give it to the dog, she did start to put more and more of it in her mouth.

It was adorable. She'd very rarely gag, but instead, she'd put bits and pieces in her mouth, chew, and occasionally even say, "Mmmm!"

Now, she eats all types of beans and peas; she eats carrots, avocados, and squash. She eats every veggie imaginable and every fruit, except for bananas, which she never even gets in her mouth, as the texture freaks her out, it seems.

She'll eat things cooked in garlic, onion, cumin, oregano, paprika, and even chili powder. She likes things raw, steamed, or cold. She'll eat apples and plums whole, and she'll gnaw away at a whole carrot or chomp down aggressively on a stalk of roasted asparagus.

Finally - finally! - she's started eating.

Honest to goodness, she's still only at one meal and a snack a day, where she probably ingests 1/8 to 1/4 cup food total. She nurses just as much as she did before, and other than little pea skins or broccoli pieces sprinkled in her poopy diapers, life is exactly the same.

She has never had purees or mashed food in her life. She instead gets her veggies and fruits sliced and sometimes diced; she likes to gnaw on big pieces, as well as put little bits in her mouth, so we vary the size, making sure it's easy enough for her to handle, while also not posing a choking hazard.

That being said, we are not 100-percent purists when it comes to baby-lead weaning. We do a few things differently, too.

1. She doesn't eat exactly what we eat

Ella is still not eating meat or eggs, not even fish yet. While I will introduce egg yolks and fish probably next month, I know these mega proteins can be hard to digest for an exclusively breast-fed baby, and I want to give her tummy a little more time to adjust before springing them on her. In addition, when she does eat off my plate - for instance, today I made a saute of peppers, onions, and Navy beans for lunch for myself, which she ate - I do not salt my food while cooking anymore. If I want salt, I salt it at the table. I don't want to introduce her to too much sodium too fast. The same goes for sugar. Other than the natural sugars found in fruit, she doesn't get anything that has added sweeteners of any kind in it.

2. She doesn't eat grains

This is a choice based on two different approaches I found that have nothing to do with baby-led weaning. One is the fact that grain-based foods are often linked to a plethora of allergies, and because allergies run in my husband's side of the family, I figured we'd be safe rather than sorry, and she won't get anything grain-related, even oats or millet, until she's 1. The other concept I've been reading has been in several different books about how Europeans - the French, the Dutch, etc. - raise kids. While a lot of the concepts I out-and-out don't agree with (apparently, most of the French don't even consider breast-feeding) this one component I do: They introduce grains last, rather than first, like Americans do, with our rice cereals, etc. Delayed introduction of grains is linked to a whole host of benefits, but it's mostly recommended because grains are so incredibly hard to digest that babies just aren't ready for any grains of even a high nutritional value - whole oats, quinoa, millet, etc. - until about 1. Americans encourage rice cereal first, which is actually not nutritionally very rich (even brown rice cereal), and can be linked to blood-sugar spikes and drops. All that to say that, while I can't wait to share my blueberry-banana-oat-bran bread with Ella, we have to wait a month or so.

3. She does follow a few American stand-bys

American pediatricians warn parents away from several allergenic foods: nuts, strawberries, honey, citrus, dairy, and egg whites, to name a few, until the child turns 1. BLW doesn't specify that this is necessary. (Some BLW-ers say you only need to avoid them if your family has a history of reaction, but in general, it's kind of implied that you can go for it if it's in what you're eating.) I don't agree with this tenet, so Ella has not had nuts, strawberries, honey, citrus, or egg whites. And we'll likely wait till she's 1 for those, too. (She'll never drink milk and will wait till she's of school age, likely, before she'll have any other dairy, per our family's history of intolerance.)

***

So that, in and of itself, is baby-led weaning. Honestly, I just beat a really simple concept to death.

Really, it's just all about letting the kid lead and presenting them with a wide array of options straight off your plate.

Like I said, it makes it OK to be the lazy mom.

If you have any questions, please ask. If there's enough response, I will do a Q&A. If not, I'll just email you privately.

It really is as simple as it looks. And I am here to tell you that, so far, for us, it works.

And I haven't even had to use my blender once.

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

It's Like Shoes For Babies

Over half of my mommy friends here cloth-diaper.

In my military community - where everyone is trying to stretch a buck - it's just that common.

And, honestly, it's also just that cool.

One of my child-less friends sat around listening to us talk pockets and fitteds and flats one day for about 45 minutes straight when she finally exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! It's like shoes for babies!"

And, in a way, it kind of is.

Cloth-diapering isn't just a means to an end; for many, it's a passion. It's a collection.

I have a friend who has well over 100 cloth diapers. That's easily four to five times the amount she could ever possibly need for her one child, but she's just that into them. She buys every new color, print, and style she can find.

If you're not careful, cloth-diapering your child can indeed become downright addictive.

Still, for those mamas who don't "CD," cloth diapers can easily hide behind a veil of mystery and baby feces.

It's hard to understand how anyone could possibly wash and re-use something that is expressly designed for a child to pee and poop in. And like it.

But we do. And, in all honesty, most of us love it.

So today, I'm going to walk you through how I cloth-diaper. There are a million different methods to doing it, but I've recently got what works for me down pat, and I don't mind sharing, especially since I basically learned everything I know from the cloth-diapering mamas who have gone before.

I am not going to belabor why we cloth-diaper; there are a bazillion places on the interwebs that can tell you why it's cheaper, better for the environment, healthier for your babies' skin and nervous system, and helps improve their fertility later in life.

I'm just going to tell you what we do and how we make it work.

Cloth-diapering has come a long way, and I want to share.

We may pay homage to those who have braved plastic pants, diaper pins, and big cotton pre-folds all for the betterment of their child's bum, but we're a new generation of CD-ers.

Our methods have improved, and we adore cloth-diapering all the more and everything it entails.

We're also pretty proud of the fact we let our babies rock out with their cloth out.

So, we share what we know and love. And that's why today, we're talking cloth.

***

The Stash

There are about 18 billion different choices when it comes down to the modern cloth diaper. Pockets, pre-folds, hybrids, fitteds.

There are covers and all-in-ones. Their are doublers and soakers and inserts.

People write books on this stuff; there are classes on how to cloth diaper.

If you let it, it can be crazy overwhelming.

Luckily, I started cloth-diapering with the easiest method: One-size pocket diapers.

There's Ella at 7 week old rocking a pocket diaper

It's a fleece diaper, with a waterproof shell attached that forms a pocket down the middle of the diaper. In the pocket, you stuff inserts that add to the diapers' absorbency.

It has snaps up the front and around the waist so you can adjust the size of the diaper to fit the baby as they grow. My diapers all fit a baby from 8 pounds until 35 or 40 pounds.

Another shot of a typical pocket-diapered bum

During the day, my baby girl wears these, stuffed with a microfleece insert. (Imagine a giant, fluffy maxi-pad.)

I am not a brand snob; I have BumGenius, Fuzzibunz, Happy Heinys, and many cheap-o diapers that cost a third of what the name brands do.

Pockets are so easy, even husbands can change them. (In a power outtage, no less.)

And honestly? All of them work the same. All of them. It doesn't have to be a huge investment if you don't make it one.

I probably own about 22 pocket diapers, and I change Ella's every two hours or sooner, poop-depending.

But at night-time, things get a little heavier. Literally.

Ella wears one of two combinations: An organic cotton pre-fold (pictured below), stuffed with a Flip Stay-Dry insert (imagine that maxi pad again), closed off with a Snappi (it's the modern era's diaper pin), and covered with a Thirsties cover or a fleece cover a local woman made for me.

There's a pre-fold, closed with a Snappi. It's the cheapest way to cloth-diaper and quite effective.

Our other bed-time diaper entails me folding a Hemp Babies flat, which looks a lot like the cotton pre-fold pictured above, underneath the Flip Stay-Dry insert, then laying it in a Thirsties cover and snapping it all on.

My baby girl is a heavy wetter, and therefore, microfleece inserts and pockets don't cut it at night. She needs organic cotton and hemp - more absorbent, natural materials - to help soak up and draw the pee away from her. The Flip insert helps wick away moisture to keep her skin rash-free.

I have six pre-folds and four Thirsties covers - a waterproof shell that snaps around the baby's diaper, much like the Flip shell pictured below.

This method is more absorbent and more labor-intensive. It's also quite bulky and not practical for day-time use unless I just use the pre-fold diaper.

Lastly, when we travel to a place where I don't have access to a washing machine, I use the Flip hybrid system.

There's Ella at 4 weeks old wearing her Flip shell. Look at how little she was! (Quick Note: A Thirsties cover looks pretty much the same.)

It's got a protective shell that can hold either re-usable inserts or disposable ones. I use the disposable inserts while we're away and just hand-wash the Flip shells should she have a real blow-out.

I have four Flip shells. Most of the time, I can make it through a day with only using one to two Flip shells, as the disposable inserts catch and absorb all the mess, leaving the shell clean for the next insert.

You'll notice I don't use fitted or all-in-one diapers. They are awesome, but they are simply to expensive for my budget, as they require more diapers to get the same job done.

In total, I own more than 30 diapers. This is a decent-sized stash, and I'm never worried about running out of diapers. I do not do laundry every day, either.

***

The Extras

It's not just about the diapers. It's also about a few other things that all cloth-diapering mamas need to make things run a bit more smoothly.

I also use cloth wipes, wipe solution, wet bags, pail liners, and cloth-specific diaper cream. Let's break these down, shall we?

Cloth wipes - If you're washing diapers, why not wash wipes? They are simply pieces of flannel or cotton, cut into squares and serged. You can even use wash-cloths if you'd like. Make your own; I have. They are far more effective at cleaning than regular wipes, as well. I normally only need one to get the job done. And it's just another way you can cut the cost of wipes from your budget.

Wipe solution - If you need to moisten the wipe with something, you can buy a solution to use. The cloth-diapering companies make them. Or you can make your own. I do the latter by mixing 2 cups water to the following: 2 tablespoons olive oil, 2 tablespoons non-allergenic baby wash, 2-4 drops tea-tree oil (a natural germ-killer), and 2-4 drops lavender oil. I keep a miniature spray bottle of the stuff in my diaper bag and a regular bottle on our changing table. It cleans away every last drop of anything left on her skin.

Wet bags - These zippered, water-proof bags fit into your diaper bag so you can throw dirty diapers and wipes in them. I have three, and when one is dirty, it goes in the pail with the dirty diapers, as it's washed with them, too. Then, I just throw another, clean one in my diaper bag.

Pail liners - I use a regular trash-can, with a step-pop lid, as my diaper pail. But I line it with a waterproof pail liner. (I use the Planet-Wise brand.) I own two. And when I go to wash diapers, I simply throw the dirty, used pail liner in with them. It washes right with the diapers, and my second, clean liner is ready to set up in and line the pail.

Diaper cream - You will get build-up, and therefore ruin the absorbency, of your diapers by using creams not specific for cloth. So I use a cream made for a local lady here, or the more nationally recognized brand CJ's BUTTer. Both are completely natural and have kicked even the slightest hint of redness on Ella's bum in the tush, so to speak. But, for those of you looking to save a few bucks, take note: Coconut oil is a natural anti-microbial and amazingly healing and softening for the skin. It also kills yeast, especially if you pair it with a few drops of eucalyptus oil. So, in other words, you can make your own cloth-friendly diaper cream, too. Just another way to save money (and stick it to the man, as my hubby likes to say.)

***

The Laundry

When you get past all the pee and the poop and the initial sticker-shock of cloth-diapering, it all comes down to one thing: The laundry.

If I had a dollar for every person that's told me, "But I just don't have time to do that much more laundry. It would never get done," I'd be rich.

Ask any cloth-diapering mama, though, and they'll tell you that's simply an excuse.

The laundry, in reality, is not that bad. In fact, my workload has not increased by more than 20 minutes a week, I'd say, when it comes to laundering diapers.

The trick, honestly, is having a routine: Wash on the same days, at the same time, every week.

For me, I do diapers every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 11 a.m. I run my four cycles (a cold rinse, a hot wash with soap, another hot rinse, followed by a cold rinse) then I throw all hemp and microfiber inserts, plus my pre-folds and cloth wipes, in the dryer while laying my diaper covers, wet bags, pail liners, and pockets on a drying rack - outside if it's sunny – to dry. In the evening, right after my daughter goes to bed, I stack everything up and put it in it's respective places in her room.

To keep myself accountable, I pencil it all into my planner, and I set timers so I remember to go back and turn on the next rinse cycle on my washing machine.

Thanks to the sun, my diapers don't have a stain on them, and my washing machine is as clean as can be, too. (For those of your grossed out by washing pee and (liquid-y baby) poop in your washing machine, run a cycle through it with a cup of white vinegar once a month, and you'll never notice the difference.)

Detergent-wise, I don't use expensive cloth-diapering detergents. I've tried them, but there are cheaper solutions that have the same ingredient make-up. My favorite is free-and-clear Dropps, though I've also heard ECOS and Trader Joe's detergents work just as good or better than more expensive options. Regardless of your preference, as long as your detergent is enzyme-and scent-free, it's safe to use on cloth diapers.

The only time washing diapers can be a bit labor-intensive is when you're stripping them, which I do once every six to eight weeks.

Basically, you start your diaper laundry like normal: A cold rinse, followed by a hot wash with detergent. Then, you run another hot cycle with a cup of white vinegar in it. Then, you keep running hot rinses until, when you look in the washer mid-cycle, you no longer see suds, bubbles, or film on the water. (This normally takes me four to five extra hot rinses or short wash cycles.) Once you've achieved that, do a cold rinse and dry as usual.

Stripping helps keep detergent and other things out of your diapers, maintaining their absorbency and keeping them clean against babies' bums.

***

OK, so, that's my daily life, regimen, and roster as a cloth-diapering mom.

So, tell me, what are your questions? I will answer them, and I may even do a post answering them if enough of you are interested.

Also, check out my pal Callie Nicole's blog. Yesterday, she had me and a few other mamas talking about how we cloth-diaper, and today, she's got more of the same. As I said, all of as CD-ers do it differently, and there's no "right" way.

Do your research; ask questions, and figure out a method that works for you.

***

Happy (Diaper) Wednesday, everyone!

When It's Hard to Be a Mommy

On the morning of the Fourth of July, I woke up with Ella on my chest, thinking I was dehydrated and hungry.

I'm still figuring out this whole "eat and drink more for nursing purposes" thing, and I just thought it was that combined with a fair bit of exhaustion.

So, I got up, nursed Ella, had the hubs bring me some food, and I tried to ignore the fact that it took every ounce of strength I had to keep my eyes open and hold Ella to my breast.

I was so weak, and, worse yet, I was in so much pain.

My head was pounding. I couldn't even look out the barely cracked window. Standing up made it seem like my world was going to explode.

It took all of about an hour for me to realize what was going on.

I had a migraine.

My first one ever.

Holy cow. I've never felt such pain. And I experienced natural childbirth, people.

I couldn't be around lights. I couldn't stand up. My head was radiating with such pulsating aches that, while nursing Ella, my husband had to hold me, and my head, up.

It was a nightmare.

Especially considering I had a 3 week old to take care of.

Still, before the morning was up, I knew I was in trouble. I was having to crawl from room to room. There was no way I could change my baby's diapers.

Frankly, I was afraid to hold her, simply because standing up made me so dizzy and pained that I was afraid I'd drop her.

Luckily, it was a holiday, and the hubs was off work. And, by lunch-time, we'd ascertained that all I was good for was laying in bed, so he took Ella, bringing her into me every two hours or so to nurse, or as she demanded it.

Which, as the evening came on, seemed to be happening more and more frequently. She'd basically scream if she wasn't at my breast.

Nothing my husband could do would help her.

But the second she'd nestle in next to me to nurse, she'd hush right up, suck a bit, then fall asleep.

After a day in which she only spent about 30 minutes with me, every two hours, to nurse, she was revolting, it seemed. She's used to being with me all the time, and while she loves her Daddy, she wasn't really thrilled to have spent that much time away from me.

So, she just kept demanding to nurse.

It was a really rough day, culminating with the fact that I finally had a breakdown, crying and sobbing to my husband, "I just want to be able to take care of my baby, and I can't even do that!"

I felt like a total failure.

Now, thankfully, my husband was home, so I could sleep off the migraine in our dark-dark bedroom in between nursing Ella.

But what if he hadn't have been? Would I have been crawling around our house, with Ella in tow? Would I have been able to change her diapers, play with her, put her down for a nap? What would I have done if my husband wasn't home? (Or, better yet, what will do if this happens, and my husband is deployed?)

While this made me all the more grateful that I won't have to go through life as a single mother, it also made me scared.

How do we take care of our kids when we can barely take care of ourselves? How do we make sure our babies are safe and happy when we ourselves are physically debilitated? And how do we push through our pain to help our kids avoid theirs?

If mommies don't get sick leave, what happens when we get really sick?

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Flouting the Rules

I have always been a rule-follower.

If you tell me to boil noodles for nine minutes, I will do so.

Not eight minutes. Not 10 minutes.

I will boil those carbohydrates for nine minutes to the second, and be ready to dump and drain them with pot-holders in hand the minute that timer dings.

So, really, it should come as no surprise that I've approached motherhood the exact same way.

When I was told to breast-feed Ella every three hours, by golly, I was gonna have her on the boob every three hours on the dot. No questions asked.

Especially after pediatricians and the books, etc., warned me that a lack of consistent, three-hour feedings could result in a sugar crash for the baby, extended jaundice, and an increased risk of SIDS.

Enough said. I was ready to follow the rules.

And then, at 3 days old, my child went on a 12-hour hunger strike. Right when my milk came in.

I. Was. Terrified.

I cried, paced about my house top-less, shoving my boobs in her screaming little mouth over and over and over again, to no avail.

She was protesting.

Finally, 12 panicked hours of yelling and begging with a newborn later, she latched right on and ate for an hour. When she was ready, she ate like a champ. And she continued on eating like a champ every three hours the rest of the day.

Until the next morning, when she went almost five hours without stirring. She slept peacefully and didn't want to eat. Waking her up made her scream but no hungrier.

Finally, again, she latched on when she was ready and went to town, eating for an hour and then doing repeat performances every two to three hours for the rest of the day.

It took a call with the midwife, and a look back at one my favorite breast-feeding books, to learn that this was totally normal. That, indeed, most babies have a long hunger strike when their mother's milk comes in. In addition, in every 24-hour period, most babies have one four to five hour stretch where they don't wake up to eat.

Apparently, Ella's behavior was all sorts of normal.

As were her antics the next day, when she ate every three hours until dinner time, when she began to latch on and eat me dry every 60 to 90 minutes or so on. The kid was an eating machine until about 1 a.m., when she finally returned to her three-hour meals, and then, in the early morning, went down for her now-infamous 4.5-hour nap-and-fast.

The funny thing was, even with her frequent bed-time snacking, this was, by far, her best day ever.

She cried the least, had less gas pains than days before, and slept better in between feedings.

I, too, felt more relaxed.

I was super excited about how well it had gone.

But it took me awhile to realize what the key had been.

Even at one-week-old, my baby was smarter than me. She knew what she needed, and she knew when she needed it. She laughed in the face of the idea that any baby would, like clockwork, be able to eat every three hours.

The poor girl isn't a machine, after all.

And she proved it to me all the more when we got to the pediatrician's Monday and found she was five ounces more than her birth weight. At only a week old.

Which is why, on Tuesday, I put her down for a nap on her belly. Even though babies are "supposed" to go on their backs - a position she never, ever sleeps in, thank you very much.

And, though I watched her like a hawk the entire time - picture me, reading blogs while sitting on my bed and steadfastly peering into her pack-n-play counting her breaths - she did great.

She stayed asleep and even picked her head up and turned it to the other side when she wanted to.

In an unprecedented stroke for me, I simply flouted the rules.

I laughed in the face of all I'd been told, of every handout I'd been given on how to handle a newborn, of every rule and regulation laid down by the experts that be.

And it worked. She slept. She ate and gained weight. She cried less and was alert more.

She was thriving.

For this rule-follower, it's been hard. I worry incessantly. I cry over her perfect little sleeping body, freaked out something might be wrong.

I want some to guarantee me she'll be fine. That I'm doing OK. That babies are not as delicate as they seem.

But motherhood isn't like that.

I woke up this morning with her little body curled in my left arm, completely trusting of me, and I just stared at her, worried I'd let her down, worried she was trusting the wrong mama.

Still, every day gets easier. Every step I take makes it clearer.

She knows what she needs - to eat whenever she's hungry, to sleep on her belly or on my chest, to cry when she wants to be held, and to stare at us with those little, wandering newborn eyes while she tries to learn the ways of this big, old world.

She trusts us, and it took me about a week as her mother to learn that I need to trust her, too.

That if I take her lead, she and I will be all right together.

That I'm going to worry about her no matter what, but that she's mine for the keeping, and I have to do what she needs, not what the experts recommend.

And that, when it comes down to it, there are no hard and fast rules for being a mother.

All we can do is love them and trust them and know that they will do the same in return.

***

What rules have you broken with your children? Are you glad you did? Or do you wish you'd listened to the experts after all?

Share below!

And Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Birth-Order Anxiety

I am a first-born.

This probably comes as no shock to you, seeing as how I am all things typical when it comes to being a first-born.

I'm a leader. I'm bossy. I'm Type-A. I'm a worrier. I'm talkative. I'm a perfectionist. I'm a teacher's pet. I'm reliable and timely to a fault. I'm a cope-r. I'm driven but a bit of a steam-roller. I'm maternal. I am, and have always been, going on the approximate age of 65.

I've lived my whole life this way. It is in my nature. And, honestly, I've never thought much about it.

Until I got pregnant. With our first child.

Our first-born.

Baby Girl here is going to have the same role in our family as I did in mine: The loud, bossy, old-at-heart big sister.

Just ask my two younger brothers. They'll tell you. They'll tell you all about what it's like to have me as the family's oldest.

Just be warned: They may gripe a little.

Still, I have to admit, I like it. I've always liked it. I have lots of friends who are babies of their families. Heck, I married one. And while I adore them and their care-free natures, I swear, sometimes, they make me want to give them all a lecture on timeliness and punctuality.

And then, those middle children. Those poor, sensitive middle children. I don't understand them. I'm empathetic toward them, true. But I just don't get them, you know? When my brother - the classic middle child - talks through something or justifies a certain action of his, I just end up staring at him as if he's got two heads. I love him, but I also think he's bizarre.

Still, the fact remains that this child in my belly is not going to be my only child. We want at least four kids, whether they come from us or are adopted. So I will have to raise middle children and a youngest child. I will be the mother of more than just my first-born.

This, frankly, terrifies me.

Just a few weeks ago, at my baby shower, after all was said and done, I actually got a bit emotional about it.

I had just finished sorting through beautiful, home-made baby blankets; sweet, hand-sewn baby blocks and toys; a one-of-a-kind quilt, and - the final nail in my emo-pregnancy coffin - a beautiful book named "Who Loves [Our Baby Girl's Name?]"

In the book, our family members and close friends had scrap-booked pages together, filled with pictures of them and us and perfectly written letters to our first-born Baby Girl.

The letters brought tears to my eyes almost immediately. They were funny and sweet and told our daughter all about who they were and how much they already loved her.

It was one amazing gift, and I knew that, as long as she lived, my daughter was going to treasure that book.

Then, it hit me.

What about our next baby?

Our future-future son or daughter.

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my family and friends would love our second child just as much as they loved Baby Girl, but my concern lay more along the lines of, "Will that child know it?"

After all, as a toddler, it's easy to count grapes in a bowl and yell, "Sissy has more than me!" But it's not always so tangible to see the love that we adults carry for the younger generations in our families.

I can almost picture the day when I'll be sitting on the floor of my living room, two or three kids around me, digging through the memory boxes I've started for them all.

Baby Girl will pull out her baby blankets. Her homemade quilt. Her precious family book.

And Child #2? He or she will be left with holding an old teddy bear and wondering, "Where's my book? Where's my letter from Aunt Sarah?"

It's enough to break my heart, honestly. Even if I, as a first-born, never really had to experience that.

I am the child in the family with memento after memento. My mother has more pictures of my first year of life than any other time in our family history. There are photos of me smiling, not smiling, sitting, standing, laying down, pooping, eating watermelon, laughing, crying, and crawling around with a Christmas bow stuck to my butt.

My brothers? Not so much. Somewhere, in some box, my mother does have some photos of them. But, especially for the baby in the family, they are much fewer and far between.

Even those that she does have tend to also bear her other children in them.

Poor Brad, my littlest brother. I doubt he so much as has one infant photo of himself where he's not surrounded by a 6-year-old yours truly and a somber toddler. (In true, middle-child fashion, the second-born in our family was a bit shy around the camera.)

Not that my parents didn't try. They adored us all and loved us all and never played favorites.

But my mother was too busy to scrapbook pictures of her third child. She was running around driving her first-born to kindergarten and potty-training her second.

It got so bad that, when Brad was but 4 or 5 years old, my mother had signed him up for pre-school soccer. She was taking him to his first practice, and on her way, she dropped 10-year-old me off at gymnastics and my 7-year-old brother at basketball practice.

Brad then promptly threw a fit and refused to go to soccer. My mother couldn't figure out why until she finally wheedled out of him, "Why don't Brittany and Brett have to come watch me at my practice? It's not fair!"

The poor kid had a point. He'd been dragged to our various events and practices and games and recitals since he'd popped out of the womb. He'd been breast-fed on bleachers, napped on auditorium chairs, and entertained and fed into submission during birthday parties.

And finally, just when he thought he was going to get revenge - we were going to have to wait on him for a change - his dreams were dashed.

Poor, poor baby.

It's the burden you bear, I guess, not being the first-born child.

Then again, there were definite advantages to being the baby, too. Especially on the flip-side.

By the time Brad's teenage years hit, my parents had mellowed out quite a bit.

He got away with things I'd never gotten away with. He spent years and years alone with my parents, something I hadn't done since I was 2.5 years old. He didn't have to fight over Friday-night pizza toppings or share his ice cream.

The kid had the house and our parents all to himself.

Still, I have a box full of memorabilia. His isn't so impressive.

I graduated college and shared the spotlight with no one. When he finishes college, he will share the spotlight with our new baby and my other brother's recent wedding.

You could chalk it all up to the fact that life's just not fair.

Then again, that seems a bit cruel. Especially when you're talking about children.

So, yeah, I worry.

I look at how immeasurably blessed Baby Girl has been - with gifts and love and people calling and checking in on me and her daily - and I worry that my other children won't have that.

My other kids will be old-hat by then. We won't be new parents. My parents won't be new grand-parents. Baby #2 will be born into the shadow that's inevitably cast by every first-born.

Not that he or she won't be any less loved.

And not that he or she won't be any less wanted.

Even now, sitting here, barely able to contain the immeasurable love I already feel for this baby in my belly, I know my heart will grow enough to fit the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that.

It's common knowledge that we don't simply run out of love.

But the fact remains that, when my subsequent children dig through their boxes of life, will they know it? Will they figure out that we - and all those around us - wanted them just as bad as our first? Will they know that, even if their receiving blanket was a hand-me-down, that we were just as thrilled bringing them home wrapped up in it as we were Baby Girl?

Will they know that we will never love another child more than we love them?

I hope so.

I think so.

I just wish I was sure.

***

I have made vain attempts and promises to myself, as I sit and sew Baby Girl's quilt or work on her scrapbook, that I will make myself do the same thing for our subsequent children.

But history and logic are not on my side. Too many moms have tried and failed.

And, yet, when you ask my brothers, my friends who are the babies in their family, and the middle children I know and love, if they felt any less love and affection from their parents, they will most likely tell you "No."

Or, at the very least, not when they look back on their childhoods as adults.

So how do we do that? How do we let our children know that we love them all equally? That life just means second-and third-born kids may not get as much one-on-one affection but that they are equally important to our family structure?

Am I the only one who worries about this? Is this just another manifestation of my first-born personality? Or is this a legitimate concern carried around by parents everywhere?

I'd love your input on this one! We're all somebody's child, even if we aren't mothers yet. So this is something we can all relate to!

Share below!

***

Happy Thursday, everyone!

What's in a (Real) Name?

You all know my real name.

Occasionally, I'll even post my husband's real name around here.

We're adults, and I started doing so before I even realized how much I'd get into blogging. So, now, though I occasionally wish I'd kept my anonymity, I figure, it's too late to change things around.

You all know me. I know (almost all) of you. You've at least got my first name, and for the most part, I know yours, too.

And that? I'm OK with.

I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. I keep a close watch on my credit score, and I'm not one to take undue risks, like leaving my doors unlocked and listing my address on the blog.

My last name isn't directly affiliated with my blog, either - though, thanks to the fact that I've been a published journalist for the last seven years, it's also not terribly hard to find.

But still. People have left me pretty well alone. I don't exactly have stalkers hunting me down. I don't really know many bloggers who do.

In other words, I'm pretty sure we all sleep fairly well at night.

Or, rather, I did.

Until recently, when the hubs and I re-visited the whole "blog anonymity" discussion, where we hit a bit of a road-block with how it pertains to revealing Baby Girl's name.

My husband brought it up first. Apparently, something about revealing her name on the blog made him little uncomfortable.

Not because of you all. You know who you are. You all. The people who are genuinely kind and interested and not really creepy. I know all of you have no ill intentions whatsoever.

But the fact remains that I have no earthly idea of who exactly reads my blog every day (besides you all.)

It could be fellow moms. It could be relatives. It could be friends. Or strangers. Or creepy people. Or pedophiles. Or the Kardashians, for all I know.

Not that I think I'm all that and a bag of chips. Not that I think the world's weirdos are flocking to my blog on a daily basis. Not that I think that I'm so cool that a whole range of cuckoos - the Kardashians included - want to read about my breast-feeding habits, etc.

But, I suppose, it's a possibility that some creep could stumble by here once and a while.

After all, yesterday alone, someone Google-d "After [a] mini arm lift, my left seems like it's spitting out stitches" and promptly found my blog.

I mean, the Internet has made The Crazy all the more evident in our world.

And it's The Crazy that, to be honest, I don't want anywhere near my daughter.

Mostly because - let's be real here - I'm probably going to do enough psychological damage to her on my own, anyway.

After all, there's the distinct possibility that I'm going to tell some horribly embarrassing story about my daughter, right here on the old blog, which, with just the click of a mouse or a simple Google search, some mean-girl friend of hers will pull up in 13+ years, only to discover that at 6 months old, Baby Girl pooped through her swimsuit during her first swim lessons.

Said mean-girl friend will then print out copious amounts of copies of the offending blog post and tack them up all over school, branding my sweet, innocent daughter with oh-so-catchy nickname of "Poop Suit," which will follow her throughout her formative teen years and probably scar her for life.

And all because her stinkin' mother thought her errant bowel movements were hysterical and just had to tell the world about them. (Not that I won't pay for it myself by having to deal with her during her adolescence, complete with all the eye rolls and the "Mo-om! You're ruining my life!" comments.)

I'm sure it's going to be a lengthy and harrowing ordeal. For both of us.

***

Still, all pre-pubescent embarrassment aside, I realize most of you openly blog with the names of your children. And, unless you all are keeping something from me, I'm pretty sure you don't actually have kidnappers following you through the pre-school drop-off queue, stalking your kids while they play on the jungle gym.

And you've also probably raised kids with thick enough skin to withstand a nickname like "Poop Suit." (Or you've shown more self-control than I ever could by abstaining from telling potentially embarrassing stories about your kids' feces.)

Either way, precedent clearly shows that it shouldn't be a problem to reveal our baby's name here on the blog.

Not to mention that it would just be easier and more efficient to blog with the name we gave her. Or, at the very least, the name we call her.

You see, thanks to the name we've selected, we actually have a bit of built-in protection: Our little girl will actually go by her middle name. That's what we'll call her on a day-to-day basis and that's what most of our friends and relatives will call her.

So, in effect, we could just put her middle name out there on the blog, knowing that's not what you'll find on her Social Security card.

Safe and credit-score smart, you see.

Now if that could only protect her from being called "Poop Suit"...

***

So, I ask you, how and why did you make the decision to reveal, or not reveal, your childrens' names on your blog? How does your husband feel about your decision? And would you change your mind now if you could?

I'm not set on either option as of yet, so I'm game to be persuaded.

***

Thanks to Blogger's serious malfunctions last week, many people didn't see my post from Friday, where I finally posted a belly picture that many of you requested. Here it is, in case you were interested.

Happy Monday, everyone!

I'm One of Those Childless Women

I'm not a woman that often eats my words.

I make decisions; I follow through. Once I've chosen a life path, I rarely debate the coulda-woulda-shoulda.

It's served me well over the years. It's kept me happy; it's kept my sane. It's given me peace in great moments of chaos.

Plus, I'm stubborn as the day is long.

So when I say, "I never watch scary movies," you better believe me that I will not, under any circumstances, watch a scary movie.

Or when I maintain that I refuse to pay retail, you can bet your bottom dollar I haven't bought anything that wasn't on sale for the past year.

I'm crazy dedicated to silly, inane things that mean nothing to normal, sane people.

It's one of my more endearing traits, I like to believe.

Then I remember my most favorite "over my dead body" statement I so frequently make.

And then the worry sets in.

***

You see, I'm one of those women.

Worse yet, up until very recently, I'm one of those childless women.

The one in a restaurant who will play with your baby, compliment you on your sweet toddler, and talk to your kindergartener without batting an eye, then, seconds later, disdainfully ignore a 3 year old who is bashing the back out of my chair with his tantrum-throwing little fists while his parents laugh off with his behavior with a "Oh my! He's so precocious these days!"

Then, once the toddler and parents are long out of earshot, I will promptly turn to my dining partner and say it.

The statement every one of those women knows all too well. And the statement every mother dreads.

"My child will never act like that in public."

Oh, yeah, that's my favorite "over my dead body" statement.

My child will never act like that.

Oh, I know. All you experienced moms out there are rolling your eyes at me right now.

And a big part of me understands you.

I mean, who am I to talk, when I've never been there, when I've never been stuck in an hour-long wait at a restaurant with a cranky, hungry toddler who wants nothing more to do than run around like a wild pony?

I get that.

Because honestly, I have never been there.

Sure, I've taken care of my fair share of children, but I've never been in the prime roll as parent, so I really have no right to make that statement, right?

Right, right?

Well, actually, to that I say, "Wrong."

In fact, being pregnant has done nothing more than solidify my feelings on the subject.

There are certain things my child will not be allowed to do. Period.

Please, don't misunderstand me: I like children. I get children.

For instance, crying babies? They don't bother me. Babies cry. It's natural. People who are bugged by that need to get over it. And fast.

Hyper-active toddlers? A-OK with me. Little ones are not meant to sit still for lengthy periods of time, and I don't look down on a parent who has to run laps with their 2 year old in an airport just to wear them out before a long plane ride.

Heck, any behavior, once in a while, is acceptable when it comes to children.

If traipsing off to camp with vans full of my old high-school students taught me nothing, it's that children of any age are going to push limits. Cry fire in a crowded building, if you will.

Just once. Just to see what it's like.

Sure, it may leave their parent - or English teacher - beet-red in the face and stammering, but that's life. Kids like to push the limits.

Life shows us that even the most well-behaved kids have a wild streak every once in a while. Every child will embarrass the pants off their parents in an extremely public place at least a few times in their lifetime.

I know mine will.

And then I will be forced to call my mother, who will laugh at me, and tell me the story about the time she taught me the word "vagina," which I then managed to scream out in a drug-store at the top of my lungs at the ripe old age of 2, much to her red-faced, toddler-toting chagrin.

She'll maintain it's payback. And, in a way, she's probably right.

We've all got a crazy hair in there somewhere just bursting to come out.

But that's not what I'm talking about.

I'm not talking about kids just being kids.

I'm talking about kids being little monsters. In public. Right smack-dab under their parents' noses. While their parents sit there doing nothing about it.

I'll give you an example:

Yesterday, I was working with one of my post-partum groups. For a Monday, the group was rather large.

There were mommies and babies and toddlers everywhere, most of which were behaving themselves as best they can, considering their age and as of yet fairly undeveloped social skills.

But one little girl - a 4 year old - was not.

She was screaming at kids and adults when they asked her simple questions. For no good reason.

She was pushing other kids over. For no good reason.

She was purposefully stomping on a 10 month old's fingers after he crawled in front of her. For no good reason.

And the behaviors continued on and on and on. For no good reason.

When her mother finally scolded her after she made the aforementioned 10 month old cry, she hauled off and promptly...

...smacked her own mother right across the face. Hard.

Seriously.

In front of everyone.

Meanwhile, her mother? She did nothing. Absolutely, positively nothing.

She laughed, actually.

She even said, "My, aren't you being a meany-face today?"

And then she walked away, leaving her 4 year old to continue to hit, scream, pinch, throw things, and generally terrorize the rest of babies and toddlers left around her for another 25 minutes.

And this? This is an everyday occurrence with this child.

The mother has been my client for almost two months, and every single time she's there - three days a week, like clockwork - some such incident with this same 4-year-old occurs.

The other children are behaving perfectly fine, albeit age appropriate, and she is hitting, screaming, pinching, and throwing things.

Again, for no good reason.

Though, actually, there is a good reason. There's a perfectly good, logical explanation for why it's happening. For why this 4 year old is allowed to stomp around like a little Stalin while her fellow toddlers cower in fear.

It's called poor parenting.

Because no 4 year old comes out of the womb that hopping mad.

Which is why, once the mother and child had finally left today, I turned to another client who is pregnant with her third child, and let it slip.

The phrase I dread saying in front of other mothers. The one I know you all judge me for.

The "My child will not be allowed to act like that."

I also may have added in a few choice words. Something along the lines of, "If my kid so much as thinks of smacking me across the face, she's not going to know what hit her. I will not be afraid to whack her right back, with that kind of behavior." But I'm sure someone would consider that child abuse and judge me a little more than you already are. Luckily, I'd found a kindred spirit in my pregnant-with-her-third friend.

Anyways, I stood there, 26 weeks pregnant, and shocked.

Shocked that parents let that behavior go on. Shocked that, when problems arose in this little girl years ago (because that kind of stuff doesn't just surface all of a sudden) it wasn't dealt with promptly and appropriately.

Shocked that the mother hadn't seen anything wrong with her 4 year old trying to purposefully smash a crawling 10 month old's fingers with her big, light-up shoes.

I then said a little prayer. I thanked my lucky stars I wouldn't be that kid's high school teacher.

Because I may not have raised a toddler, but I sure as heck can tell you what happens to those kinds of kids once they hit the adolescent years.

And, my friends, it ain't pretty.

Which is I why still maintain that my children will have discipline. That my children will not be allowed to act certain ways in public. That long before the age of 4, my children will know there are consequences for their actions, and that there are certain punishments when rules are broken.

I know I sound so old-school, so anti my normal message of attachment parenting and all-consuming parental love.

But the thing is, I say all this because I love my unborn children.

Because I want them to grow up to be successful, well-disciplined adults.

Because I want them to be able to behave in public places.

And because I don't want some pregnant woman looking at them with disgust in a few years time going, "My child will never do that."

***

I don't have all the answers, of course.

And I by no means am saying I'm going to be a perfect parent with the world's most well-behaved children.

But I do know that I see far too many parents setting their kids up for failure at very young ages, when it comes to learning the ways of the world.

I see toddlers out at hours and places that aren't appropriate for little ones. Where that toddler has no choice but to act out to get attention. Where the problem wouldn't have arisen if the child hadn't been there in the first place.

I see parents playing down their childrens' antics or brushing them off as "child-like behaviors." Except for the fact that, once the child hits school age, the behavior is no longer cute. In fact, sometimes, it's quite detrimental to their success in the classroom and their social world.

I see families who are afraid to say "No" and mean it. I see mothers who refuse to punish their child. I see fathers who ignore behaviors.

And then, I see kids who don't know the meaning of "No." I see kids who don't respect each other and their elders. And I see kids who are in no way equipped to deal with the real world that is approaching them ever-so fast once they enter the walls of a pre-school.

The fact remains, though, that I don't blame the kids.

Children are not naturally evil. Children are not naturally malicious. Children are not naturally ill-behaved.

Parents, though, can be bad parents.

Which is why I still say, "My kids will never do that."

Because if they do? Then as a parent, I've failed.

As a parent, I'm the one who essentially taught them to be evil and malicious and ill-behaved.

As a parent, I'm the one responsible.

So I stick to my guns. I hold fast to my "over my dead body" statement.

And I maintain that I love my children enough not to let them fail.

***

Quick Note: There are some childhood (and adult) behaviors that are chemically based. A child with Asperger's syndrome, for instance, is a whole different ball game. And I don't for a second look down on a parent dealing with a child with a delay or disorder that causes them to act out in public - not because of a lack of discipline or respect - but because of an imbalance or issue with the brain. What I find so funny about that, though, is that I've worked with many a special-needs child, and though they have their own set of issues, most were better behaved in public than your mainstream, typically healthy child, who has no logical reason for their poor behavior other than conditioning.

So, tell me, what's your take on parents these days? Do you think, as a whole, most parents have it right? Or, as a society, are we failing our kids?

As a teacher, I debated this one every day. And I often got a different answer every time.

Which is why I'm totally interested in your opinion. I'd love to hear your take below!

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

A Grown-Up Girl Scout

I wasn't allowed to be a Girl Scout when I was little.

My mother spouted off some nonsense at the time about them being "dis-empowering" for women and lacking sound moral values and educational perspectives.

Which is shocking, considering she's probably the very woman who started the heavenly trend of putting Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies in the freezer to up their delicious-ness.

But unless we're talking about Thin Mints, my mom was simply not a fan of the Girl Scouts.

So I remained what felt like the only little girl around who watched her friends traipse off to troop meetings with Brownie badges and super-cool green sashes and skorts, while I played with my little brothers in the front yard and avoided Barbie dolls - another childhood rite of passage my mother poo-poo-d, as she felt they hindered the development of positive body image and self-esteem in young girls.

Come to find out, years later, my parents main reason for saying no to the bi-yearly Girl Scout invitations I received was financial. They simply couldn't justify the expense it would take to keep me in Brownie badges and super-cool green sashes and skorts, especially considering I was already heavily involved in a gymnastics team and other extracurricular activities.

So no Girl Scouts for me; my mother remained stalwart. (Something that can't be said for Barbie dolls, which I did eventually play with, but only because people gave them to me as gifts. My mother would never knowingly support such big-breasted children's toys.)

Anyways, luckily for me and my mother, I escaped my Girl-Scout-jealousy days relatively unscathed.

I grew out of my desire for badges and sashes and skorts, with my empowered female status and good, moral values in tact.

Adulthood hit, and well, here I am.

A fairly decent replica of my own mother, in fact.

Except for one little thing.

When leaving the grocery store, Target, or a neighborhood park at this time of year, I'm drawn to them.

Like a moth to a flame.

Just like when I was a child, I cannot resist their super-cool green sashes.

And before I even know what I'm doing, I'm shoveling out $3.50 for one box, $7 for two, or - gasp! - $10.50 for three boxes of what they're selling.

Girl Scout cookies.

Oh, yes, I'm big talk, what with my nutritious, organic, homemade foods and my ability to drink carrot juice and eat lentils seven days a week.

But as soon as I see those 10 year olds in their jaunty green berets, it all goes flying out the window.

I buy thin Mints, and Samoas, and Peanut-Butter Patties.

I contemplate the Lemon Cremes and the classic Shortbreads.

I even consider the Dulce De Leches or the fairly new and ambiguous Thank You Berry Munches.

I'm an addict.

Or, rather, I'm a little girl again, so desperately wanting to be a part of Troop #42B.

And I'll buy my way in if I have to.

Box after box after box after box.

Forget empowering women. Forget good morals and educational aspects.

I'll trade it all in for a box of Samoas.

Somebody pass me a jaunty green beret; I want to be a Girl Scout.

***

I've been told that, after my time, the Girl Scouts were re-vamped, changing their methodology and mission statement. A regional representative back in Florida actually informed me that they did so to cater to little girls with mothers like mine - they wanted to make the program more grounded in morals and female empowerment.

If only I'd been 10 years younger.

Luckily, these days, I can relive all those Brownie-badge dreams by buying their cookies - a delicious substitute, I might add, for my very own Girl-Scout skort.

Happy Thursday, everyone!

We Birth How We Live

Those we were some of the first words my midwife said to me:

"We birth how we live."

And, in reality, I've found it to be so true.

As I told you all on Tuesday, for me, this pregnancy and my work-in-progress birth plan has had a fairly natural progression.

I have lived what might be called an "alternative" lifestyle my entire life.

And, so, when I saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test, my whole world expanded, and yet, remained kind of the same.

I was now in charge of rearing another human being; that's mind-blowing.

But it took almost no effort at all to come to the conclusion that I wanted to give her the same advantages and benefits I've found from the lifestyle I choose to live.

I truly believe that I am capable of childbirth; I am capable of breast-feeding. To me, it stems as deep as my religious beliefs.

God created me to do such things.

And, thus, He also created a world meant to help me sustain a healthy lifestyle for my family.

Thanks to that guiding light, and some help from my mother, it's been relatively easy for me to seek health in food, in nature, and in simple changes that greatly affect my quality of life.

So, now, I want to show you how someone with my attitude toward living intends to raise an infant.

I say "intends" only because I realize, in just a few short months, my world is going to be rocked. And there will be a time at 3 a.m. where I'm sick and tired of colic and crying and having a baby constantly latched onto my boobs. Where, in a weak moment, I might reach for a disposable diaper. Where I know I will throw all my concerns about "nipple confusion" aside and reach for a pacifier. Where I'm going to break my own "mommy rules."

And, honestly, that's OK.

I am not married to anything.

I'm only married to the idea of doing what's best for my baby.

So here's some of the decisions we've made so far when it comes to infant-raising:

1. Cloth diapers

This one, for me, is super straightforward.

Cloth diapers are cheaper.

Sure, I'm extremely glad that they're good for the environment, and I'm thrilled my baby girl's adorable little tushie won't be touching bleach and chemicals and everything else gross that goes into disposables and therefore gives them the carbon-dating life of approximately 1 billion years.

But honestly, the main reason we're using cloth? More money in our savings account.

In addition, I've changed my fair share of cloth and disposable diapers, and I'll be honest with you: I prefer cloth. It's actually, to me, less poop-y.

Part of the reason I'm such a big believer in cloth diapers is the fact that I intend to make my own cloth wipes. I have several recipes to share if anyone's interested. But with just a few spritzes of natural, homemade solution and a washcloth, wiping down a baby's poop-covered butt is actually easier. To me, anyways. Disposable wipes are less thorough and always end up creating a bigger mess, in my opinion.

So, to be quite honest, the whole "Ew! But you have to touch poop!" excuse? I don't buy it.

There are tons of mothers who do this out there in the blog world, so I won't belabor the point.

But here's links to several of my friends' posts - Lucy Marie, Brittany, and Kristin - who can talk more about it.

2. Vaccinations

We will not be vaccinating our children until they are of school age.

To be quite honest, if I had my way, I'd never vaccinate my children.

But my husband - who grew up with a traditional vaccine schedule - doesn't agree with me 100-percent on this.

So the compromise? Vaccinate our children after the age of 4, when their immune systems have developed and thus are far more capable of handling the results of foreign substances injected into their bodies. (The altered schedule, also, is quite important for our survival as a military family. If we choose to enroll our children in school, a failure to vaccinate will not just come down on their heads, but on my husband's head in his place of work.)

We will also be insisting our children receive mercury-free vaccines, though they cost more, and they will not be injected or inhaling any "live-virus" vaccines. They must be "dead-virus" vaccines, which, again, are more expensive but are notoriously safer and have less negative side effects. In addition, I will never give my child an optional vaccine: chicken pox, HPV, etc.

Lastly, two vaccines, in particular, which are legally required in almost every state, I still plan on getting exemptions for, thanks to a family history of negative reactions to the injections.

While more and more families are choosing not to vaccinate their children, I still always sense frowns of disapproval when I'm brave enough to speak about vaccines in public.

But the fact remains that I feel strongly about them. Or against them, rather. In fact, I openly stand in opposition to the government's stance on legally requireing vaccinations.

Because most vaccines, in fact, are not even done for the child's sake. A child with a healthy immune system should be able to fight off something like measles, mumps, or whooping cough. And by suppressing their ability to fight off said diseases, we are, in essence, squelching their immune systems. We're breeding stronger diseases (research shows that vaccines do not in fact eradicate disease, even though that's the government's intended purpose) and even weaker human bodies.

Frankly, I don't believe the government-sponsored commercials touting the safety and efficacy of these vaccinations, considering the U.S. government alone has already paid out more than a billion dollars to families whose children were vaccinated and had "unexpected, adverse reactions," like the sudden onset of Aspberger's syndrome, immuno-deficiency disorders, and even death.

You cannot buy my silence in exchange for my child's health.

In addition, there is well-documented research to show that the first outbreaks of ADHD, autism, and learning disabilities in this country directly followed the legislation of mandatory vaccinations. Add in the fact that, with every onslaught of more federally regulated vaccinations, the amount of those same behavioral issues in children continues to go up. (As does the deadly nature of previously non-threatening viruses, like the flu or chicken pox.)

Thanks to the metals, animal proteins, and other foreign bodies, which make up our vaccines and subsequently the very substances we're injecting into our children's developing immune systems, many kids aren't strong enough to not show some kind of reaction when they get vaccines, even if it's simply the fact that they run a low-grade fever after a round of shots.

And considering some vaccines have put perfectly healthy children into comas, autistic stupors, and shock, I'm not taking any chances by vaccinating a baby. I want to give them several years to grow immunities and strength before subjecting them to that. Research shows that waiting until at least the age of 2 to vaccinate a child shows a marked difference in the possible amount of side effects and negative reactions they'll experience.

Now that I've gone off a bit, let me scale back and I say that I realize most children react well to vaccines at any age. They show no signs of damage or serious health issues after the fact.

But what about the few that do?

I was talking to another friend of mine, who chose not to vaccinate her son, and as she put it, "It's like playing Russian roulette with your child."

Luckily, children cannot be regulated by the state until they are enrolled in childcare or school. So more and more pediatricians are helping parents like me write altered vaccine schedules for children to help protect their health but keep them legally viable. (Some states will also allow parents to sign "philosophical complaint" waivers, stating that they don't believe in vaccines and therefore don't have to give them to their children. Unfortunately, I don't live in a state with that luxury. And my husband doesn't believe in lying on a religious waiver, stating it's against our faith to vaccinate.)

Lastly, I have done some research on nullifying vaccinations. There are indeed homeopathic remedies that fight off the vaccinations and possible negative side effects.

I'm uncomfortable blogging about them here, as I'm not a medical professional, but suffice it to say that, when I was finally vaccinated as a child, at age 15, my parents used them. And I will be using them, too.

3. Breast-feeding and nutrition

I intend to breast-feed exclusively for as long as I can. There's a host of research out there about why breast-milk is best for babies; intelligent development, strengthened immune systems, etc.

So I'm not going to re-hash it all here.

Needless to say, though, it's important to me that I am able to give my child the advantages attached to breast-milk, assuming I don't struggle with an inability to do so.

My goal, quite honestly, is to breast-feed almost exclusively until a year. This is novel in our culture, as most women are told to start solids with their babies anywhere from four to six months.

But many natural health experts recommend holding off on other foods as long as you can to help prevent allergies and attacks on the immune system.

So that, in fact, is my plan.

When I do start solids, I will only be giving my child organic veggies, fruits, and whole grains, excluding wheat, which I will prepare myself.

My main goal here is to again avoid allergies and immuno-suppressed reactions to foods that normally trigger even adults - mainly wheat, dairy, soy, and sugar. I choose organic-only elements simply because pesticides, hormones, and other chemicals used to grow and process non-organic foods also attack the immune system and can hamper a child's development.

One serving of processed sugar - which can be found in things as harmless as white pasta, cereal, or bread - can suppress an adult's immune system for up to five hours. Imagine what that can do to a baby.

Cow's milk triggers similar reactions and can often be traced back as a factor in chronic digestive issues. (I myself already show lactose intolerance, so I'm particularly sensitive when it comes to avoiding dairy, as my child will already be predisposed to have an allergy to it.)

My husband, in addition, struggles immensely with a host of other allergies, and as a child, he wasn't fed the world's best diet. Though I have no conclusive evidence, I can't help but wonder if the two are related.

After all, children who eat organic, whole-foods diets - and avoid processed food and common allergens longer - also experience less bouts of flu, ear infections, respiratory disease, and strep throat throughout their lives.

I have to tell you, I was raised on this kind of diet, as were my brothers, and none of us struggled with allergies. We never got ear infections, and even the occasional cold that passed our way was easily beaten with a day of rest and a cup of my mom's carrot juice.

In addition, we've all continued eating a relatively clean, healthy diet as adults, and all three of us have had very little health problems to date.

Feeding your kids in this manner helps them make smarter choices later on in life, too. Quite simply, they won't be the child who turn's up their nose up at vegetables and brown rice. (One of my new blog friends and experienced mother of three, Jess, put this into practice long ago and has already reaped the benefits. Check out what she has to say.)

Therefore, I'm trying to teach and give my baby girl sustained health. And in several years, I hope and pray that it's worked.

In addition, I hope to supplement with breast milk till around age 2. While I don't intend for her to get the majority of her nutrition from breast milk after age 1, I do want her to get the immunities of breast milk for as long as she's able. (If I were to get pregnant again before my child turns 2, we are open to weaning earlier, though, for the sake of our second baby.)

4. Baby-wearing and co-sleeping

I intend to "wear" my baby a lot. Personally, I don't subscribe to the philosophy that you can spoil an infant by holding them too much. I believe, in fact, that close contact with the parents in the first year of life actually boosts a child's sense of security and belonging.

Plus, I'm a woman who's always carrying around a to-do list. So if the best way for me to get stuff done is to strap Baby Girl to me and move-move-move it along, that's what I'm going to do.

Honestly, I fear she's going to need to be carted around a lot in the beginning anyway, especially since she goes everywhere with me now. And because she literally sloshes along in my uterus through an hour of spinning, several miles running, and a host of squats and bends and other things that I do at work every single day, I imagine she's used to - and therefore going to crave - movement outside the womb, too.

This then leads me to co-sleeping.

I fully intend to place her in her Pack-n-Play next to our bed from the moment she's born. Standard rules say to keep her there until 3 months old.

But I'm not married to that deadline. If it's easier on me to breastfeed her in the middle of the night if she's right by my side, then I'm going to keep her there far longer than 3 months. In addition, if she sleeps better in the actual bed with us, that's where she'll be until it no longer works for us.

The research on co-sleeping is just emerging, but it clearly shows that co-sleeping does not hamper development and, in fact, increases feelings of security and trust in children.

Both my husband and I were notoriously bad sleepers as babies; the stories both our families tell are infamous about our abilities at fighting sleep.

The whole cry-it-out method? Yeah, that didn't work for me.

I was a stubborn enough baby that I'd cry and cry and cry. For five hours straight. Night after night after night. Just ask my mother.

No one slept when my parents tried using the cry-it-out method with me.

So I'm not terribly hopeful it will work for my child (payback, my friends, payback), and furthermore, I'm not terribly hopeful it work for me as a mother.

If co-sleeping fixes that problem, i.e., allows my husband, my baby, and me to get a decent night's sleep, I say, "Bring it on!"

And if it doesn't work? If, in fact, we're all tossing and turning all night worried about the baby in our bed?

Then off to the crib she'll go. (This, too, is distinct possibility for us, as my husband is the world's most violent sleeper. I have bruises on my legs from where he's rammed into me night after night. Plus, he works very odd hours, and he may disrupt her sleep, just like he already disrupts mine.)

***

I know, at least in the blogging world, I'm not alone in a lot of these endeavors. There are plenty of women out there who practice all of the above and more.

In fact, when it comes to "natural parenting," as my friend Idnar82 was talking about, I'm not even in the extreme.

For instance, my husband believes strongly in circumcising our sons, so (though I have a tendency to lean the other way) I've allowed him to take the lead in that decision.

I also don't plan on doing anything but promptly throwing away my placenta after birth. While I know many women eat or encapsulate it for it's nutritious and hormonal properties, I don't see a particular need or have an interest in doing so. (Not that I'm judging those of you who do. I have read your blog posts about this avidly, and I say, "You go, girls!")

Speaking of nutrition, while I'm strict about diet, I try not to be an extremist. A little girl needs a cookie every once in a while. Treats are allowed. And I want my child to transition well into a world where not everyone else eats like her.

Lastly, I am not 100-percent giving up my job once Baby Girl gets here. I am going to be in the distinctly unique and amazingly blessed position of being a stay-at-home mom who also works part-time. Because of what I do, I can actually bring my baby to work with me every morning, where she will remain under my care and not in daycare, while I work. (I work predominantly with post-partum mothers who also bring their children with them to train with me. So adding my child to the mix is no big deal at this point. I have clients who take nursing breaks in the middle of a set of push-ups. They won't blink an eye at a trainer who's wearing her baby.)

In fact, this is part of the reason we'll be able to maintain the lifestyle we hope to. It takes a lot of work to cloth-diaper, prepare homemade foods, and exclusively breast-feed a baby. I won't pretend for a second that, if I was still working as a teacher, I'd be able to do all that.

So I thank God every day that I'm able to bring in a bit of the income I used to before, without having to place my child in daycare. I am getting the best of both worlds.

But trust me, I understand that for working mothers, this is asking almost too much. So I by no means turn up my nose at those who choose something different for their children.

***

And, now, I'm tired. As passionate as I am about birth and children, I feel like I've been talking, talking, talking non-stop about it for the past week.

Still, I can't tell you how blessed I feel to have received such support and active conversation with so many of you over these posts for the last four days. I've learned from you all, as well. Thank you for that.

Ultimately, at the end of re-capping all our hopes and dreams for this baby, my thoughts still remain the same:

I'm incredibly blessed to be carrying this little girl and to be given the chance to raise her in a manner I see as best. And I am incredibly happy other mothers are given the same gift, even if their manner and method are totally different than my own.

It takes all kinds.

Breast-feeders and bottle-feeders.

Baby-wearers and cry-it-out-ers.

Epidural-lovers and placenta-eaters.

We're all out there, raising our babies and hoping for the best.

***

Please feel free to ask additional questions. I'm sure I've not covered it all, and I'm more than willing to write you back with answers or dedicate more blog posts to certain topics if need be.

Next week, I promise to post a list of resources and research for mothers interested in any of the topics I've discussed this week.

And, lastly, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading my blog, especially this week. You all are truly the best.

***

Happy Friday, everyone! Hope many of you, too, enjoy a long weekend on account of President's Day! Be back around next Tuesday!

From The Least Likely of People

I haven't told a lot of people we're expecting yet.

Especially at work.

My boss doesn't know.

My co-workers don't know.

And almost none of my clients know.

Save two.

I didn't plan on telling those two either, but they guessed.

Or, rather, pried it out of me.

But, honestly, I couldn't be happier about it.

After all, both of them are in their 60s. Both were career military and are now veterans. And both are parents.

The first, a woman, has three children, and a host of grandchildren. The other, a retired Marine, has six children and a few grandchildren himself.

I see them every Tuesday and Thursday. They take my 5:30 a.m. cycling class and then stay for my small group personal fitness class.

And ever since I'd looked a little greener around the gills, both had been conspiring about whether or not I was pregnant.

The woman maintained I was pregnant before I even knew.

It was pretty laugh-able, and once I knew, I kept putting them off.

Until, finally, for some unexplainable reason, I was alone with both of them. We were wiping down spin bikes.

And the woman, who is known for being blunt as can be, said, "So, are you pregnant or what?"

Without hesitation, I just told them, "Yes."

But I was shocked - shocked! - at what followed next.

The woman cried. The man cheered. Both of them hugged me and just kept gushing, "Oh, we are so happy for you!"

It was really nice. And kind of surprising. They had the same reaction our families did.

And I couldn't quite figure out why.

Until the man finally murmured out, "This is the best thing that will ever happen to you.

"Children are my biggest, most amazing accomplishment. I've never loved anything I've done more than my children."

This from a Marine. This from a man who's served our country for 20+ years and performed countless acts of heroism and service. This from a man who still serves in the National Guard reserves, recruits future servicemen, and volunteers as an associate pastor at his church when he's stateside. This from a man who's seen and done more than almost any other American I know.

His six, grown, seemingly normal children were his favorite thing about his life - his proudest accomplishments.

And my other client, the woman, nodded along and agreed heartily.

A woman who was in the Navy for almost 30 years and rose to levels few women ever see in the military was prouder of her children than anything else. (I actually also train her son - a lovely man. She has every reason to be proud.)

Still, it was shocking to see such emotion from people I considered stalwart; people whom I considered career-oriented.

It made me realize just how much this journey we're on is going to be worth it.

After all, when you're so focused on getting pregnant, it becomes all about that baby. More specifically, it becomes all about getting that baby safely in your uterus and then birthed out into this big, old world.

But, in all reality, that is but a slim piece of the parenting pie.

For sooner than I know it, I'll have a toddler, a child, a teenager, and an adult.

And it's going to be hard. And time-consuming. And requiring more than just a sacrifice of a few sleepless nights or a few less free dates with the hubby.

It's going to take a lot. It's going to change me.

But, according to the experts, the outcome is even better. Nothing can compare, in fact.

It's going to be so worth it.

***

Happy Thursday, everyone!