TIME to Stop

We all saw it.

Plastered on news stands, Facebook, and The View.

That riot-inducing TIME magazine cover photo of a pretty, blond model mama breast-feeding one behemoth of a 3 year old, with the overtly offensive and cruel headline, "Are You Mom Enough?" splashed along the front of it.

On Friday morning, when I finally sat down at my computer, I was blown out of the water by the huge stink that people nationwide were stirring up over one very sensationalized piece of news on parenting.

I'll admit, I had my back up, initially, over the downright outlandish and rude comments I found attached to the cover.

I was also equally mortified that, once again, the mainstream media had boiled down a style of parenting - that, admittedly, works for my family - to something freak-ish.

And as someone who has a bachelor's and master's degree in journalism - and who has worked for newspapers and magazines - I was absolutely livid at the so-called "interest piece" that TIME was masquerading as news.

I couldn't figure out where to turn; everyone was infuriating me when it came to that stinking article and cover.

The mean-spirited souls calling children like mine "entitled" and "wussy" and the mothers who parent them "sick" and "depraved." The crazy extremists who make the rest of us who use attachment parenting look like whack jobs. And let's not forget the supposedly "unbiased" news media throwing around words and opinions that were nothing short of judgmental and condescending on both sides of the argument.

I was so mad I could spit.

I almost did the unthinkable and published a ranting blog post all about it on Saturday.

But then my husband calmed me down with his always simple, "Our kid rocks. Why do we care what other parents are fighting about? Our kid is doing great."

So, now that I've regained my composure, and can look at this a bit more from the perspective of a journalist and not an attachment-parenting mother, I am ready to comment on it.

I am ready to set the record straight about what, exactly, ticked me off when it came to TIME.

And I'm ready to explain why everyone - the moms and the media and the crazy people who spend endless hours bombarding message boards with their educated and uneducated opinions alike - needs to stop.

It's time to get real about parenting. And it's time to stop waging a war on mothers.

***

First off, let's be clear about two things.

One, I could care less what you, your neighbor, my neighbor, and the freaking President do with their children.

I parent how I do for a reason. I assume you do the same. We can agree to disagree on a lot of things, and our children may have absolutely nothing in common when it comes to their upbringing.

But it is none of my darn business what you do with your kids. As long as you aren't starving them or beating them, I'm pretty sure you're a decent mother or father, and as I'm not starving or beating Ella, I'm fairly certain I'm a decent mama, too.

So if Mrs. TIME Magazine Cover wants to nurse her kid till he's in grade school? That's fine by me. World research shows that it's normal and healthy to do so; it is not abusive or sick.

So go for it, lady.

Now, I don't intend to nurse my child till she's almost 4. It's just not in our big plan, though we are fairly certain we'll let Ella self-wean. And, for the record, I would not allow a national magazine to publish a photo of me nursing her on the cover of their magazine.

But this week's cover toddler is not my son, so again, I say, go for it, lady.

People who feel the need to call that mother out for her "poor parenting," use nasty, politically incorrect names for her and her son, and critique her desire to nurse her toddler, need to get a hobby. She made a difference choice than you - a choice you have every right to disagree with.

But I don't think she's a bad mom because of it.

Second, the issue isn't really about breastfeeding at all.

This has turned into a breast v. bottle battle because, simply put, nursing children make Americans uncomfortable. The act of nursing a toddler isn't "sick;" people perceive it that way because our culture has made it uncomfortable for them.

Which is why the name-calling starts. Then, people start quoting science. Then, some crazy person brings up the anecdote everyone and their uncle has of "that one kid who nursed till he was 14, slept in his parents bed, and ended up completely incompetent, wussy, and living under his parents' roof when he was 35."

It's stupid, silly, and trite.

No one cares if your kid was bottle-fed and never had an ear infection in his life. And no one cares if my kid was breast-fed and ended up joining Mensa at age 5.

Once and for all, let's all agree to disagree on the "Is breast really best?" campaign and move on to what's really bugging us.

Mothers are a great source of controversy in today's society, and the national media is capitalizing on us all.

***

Ask any nursing mother, and she'll tell you she never nursed her child with her hand posed defiantly on her hip while he was standing on a chair.

We cradle our babies. We nuzzle them into us. In fact, most mothers, when nursing, show little to no breast at all, such is the position of their baby's head.

But that's not what the TIME magazine cover looks like.

It is, however, what the 6+ other cover options looked like that TIME considered and passed on.

Those photos, which got some, but not enough, media attention last week, had other mothers nursing their toddlers.

Cradling them. Cuddling them. Showing little to no cleavage.

None brought up quite the gut reaction that the actual, editor-selected cover elicited.

Which is precisely why TIME magazine didn't chose those other options in the first place.

A journalist's job is to sell magazines. While media ethical boards will often quote a journalist's job description as "seek truth and report it," that is simply not the case currently.

But when it comes to today's dog-eat-dog, Even-The-New-York-Times-Is-Struggling-To-Make-It world? Well, you've got to sell your product if you want to keep your job and your publication.

Controversy sells magazines. Period. End of story.

Which is exactly why TIME magazine ran a posed, overly dramatic photo of this modern-day Madonna and child with the challenging headline "Are You Mom Enough?"

Listen carefully, here. Because this is, likely, the one absolute truth we can glean from this situation.

TIME wanted to make people mad.

They wanted us to see that headline and that picture and react.

They wanted us to call each other names and demoralize that mother on the cover.

They wanted us to read that article and think, "Wow! This is insane!"

They wanted to make a spectacle over something as simple as parenting.

And, ladies and gentleman, TIME magazine succeeded.

No one yelled at them because everyone was too busy yelling at each other.

Now, I'll admit that after reading the article initially, I wanted to do some yelling myself.

TIME made attachment parents look like some cross between crazy and fundamentalist, with our children always tied to chests, constantly suckling at a boob, while we munch on hemp granola and organic kelp in our family beds.

They depicted AP moms as women who'd given up every ounce of themselves for their children, leaving them unable to have hobbies, interests, or normal sex lives. They went so far as to use words like "extreme" when describing them (and I'm not talking about op-ed pieces and bloggers; I'm talking about TIME and other legitimate news organizations that are supposed to produced unbiased journalism for mass consumption.)

I'll be honest with you: I wanted to slap TIME when I read it.

Because not only could that be further from the truth, but it also gives reason for people to attack me, and others like me, personally.

Heck, a few weeks back, I got a comment on my blog akin to "You have no other interests besides attachment parenting. You have a problem. Loosen up and get a life."

I'll admit, I barely paid attention to it at the time, mostly because it was so off-base it wasn't even funny. I knew that person didn't know me; if they did, they'd know how active I am in my community; they'd know about all the other things I do in my day, and they'd know about how invested I am not only in Ella but my many other friends and family.

Plus, if the most insulting thing you can say about me is that I'm too into parenting my child? Well, than so be it. Sling that mud because that's not an insult to me.

But, with the publishing of TIME last week, I realized why I, and others like me, get a reaction like I received from good old Mrs. Anonymous on a seemingly innocuous, personal blog post about my life.

No one knows what "real" AP looks like. No one gets that, yes, we wear our babies in slings, but we also own strollers. And use them.

And no one gets that we co-sleep with our children, but we also lay them down when we can, wherever we can, so we can get some work done.

And no one gets that we don't let our kids cry it out, but our kids sometimes still do cry. They're kids, after all.

Instead, what we're faced with - what the media is telling us - is that attachment parenting appears to be some completely insane, and completely impossible, concept, where parents give up every single ounce of themselves to raise a child who is allowed to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and who never has to walk, talk, wean, or sleep without his mother's too-tight embrace wrapped around his self-indulgent little middle.

Child, please.

The media is selling everyone a bill of goods.

And it's waging a war with it.

***

Good moms stay at home. And other good moms work.

Good moms use attachment parenting. And other good moms don't.

Good moms breast-feed. And other good moms use formula.

None of these things are mutually exclusive, either. I know formula moms who use attachment parenting. I know "breast is best" moms who let their kids cry it out. We have the ability to pick and choose what works for our family, and we do.

I stay at home, use attachment parenting, and breast-feed my child. According to my research and my knowledge of my child, those are the best choices, I believe, when it comes to parenting.

But that has no bearing on how you, your neighbor, my neighbor, and the President parent their kids.

And I don't feel a need to comment on anyone's Facebook posts telling them what they are doing is right or wrong.

Just like I don't feel the need to tell the mother I see in the grocery store, with the 2 year old talking around a pacifier, how bad I think that is for their speech development. (For the record, I don't actually think that. Just an example, people. I don't need an attack from all you pacifier-praising mommies.)

I can blog on my blog about my opinions; I can give people my honest opinion when I'm asked for it. And I can show respect and honor to someone who completely disagrees with me when they answer my questions honestly or blog about their opinions.

But what I truly don't understand is the need for someone, anyone, to attack a mother they don't know, and will never know, for a choice that is not abusive or cruel toward children.

Why do people feel the need to ask me, in a snarky tone, "Aren't you worried she'll never be able to be OK without you if you spend all your time with her?"

Why do people ask my a friend, who adopted her son, why she doesn't breast-feed?

Why do people ask mother's of twins, "So you were on fertility treatments?" or mothers of boys, "Did you circumcise him?" completely unsolicited.

I don't feel the need to question other parents, as alike or un-alike as we may be. I don't think many parents do.

So why does everyone else feel the need to pop out of the woodwork at the first hint of a debate, brought about by a mother nursing her child on the cover of a magazine of all things, and have their say?

The only answer I can come up with is that darn absolute truth again.

Because "they" want us to fight about it.

Here's the thing: If we're fighting with each other, we're not focusing on the real problem.

We're buying into the sensationalism that is selling news, but at the cost of pitting one mom against another.

Never mind that our country has a sad excuse for maternity leave. Never mind that our country doesn't provide enough time for working mothers to pump, bond, and nurture their babies. Never mind that our country has poor educational standards when it comes to daycare and pre-school curriculum. Never mind that, day after day, our government is failing families.

No one talks about it, but it's true. Compared to other Western cultures, our country is abysmal when it comes to supporting a healthy mother-child relationship.

But we don't discuss that. We don't campaign to change that. We don't yell at the government and our employers.

Instead, we yell at each other.

We argue that you're a bad mom if you don't breast-feed your child. Or you're a bad mom if you breast-feed your child "when they are old enough to ask for it."

We scream that co-sleeping can kill babies. Or that cribs can, too.

We yell that one parent's choice is done to make us feel bad. Or we feel bad because we question ourselves after seeing a different choice another parent made.

No change comes. We just keep getting more angry, more defensive, and more frustrated.

We're afraid to embrace what we believe and tell everyone else, "To hell with your recommendations! This is my child; go parent your own how you see fit!"

We're afraid to get mad when it really counts.

We're fighting with each other, and we're letting the TIME magazines of the world win.

They are making spectacles out of our children, and we're letting them. In fact, they're just pitting each of us against each other by polarizing our parenting styles and forcing everyone to choose sides.

When, really, we're all moms. We're a powerful consumer force; we're a powerful parenting force.

We're a powerful force, period.

But we're just too busy name-calling to clearly state what the problem is.

We prefer to point fingers and laugh at the freaks who let their 4 year old sleep in their bed, or, on the other side of the spectrum, manage to sleep train their 4 week old.

It's the eye rolls and the sideways glances and the not-so inward thoughts of "Why the heck is that mom doing that? If that was my child..."

It's those of us holding up TIME magazine going, "This gives attachment parenting a bad name!" while the other half of us yell, "This is what is wrong with attachment parenting!"

It's not just mom competition anymore. It's an all-out war; a war where we're not even fighting the real enemy.

It's where we've been missing the real problem all along.

The truth? Mothers - all mothers - aren't supported in our culture. Period. End of story.

It's as clear as the headline on TIME.

And we need to stop fighting with each other so we can muster up our numbers and finally, hopefully, do something about it.

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

A Military Child

It's May, and slowly but surely, I'm starting to see the military pride coming out of the wood-work.

There are flags hanging on base and nearby houses; there are posts on Facebook thanking husbands, brothers, and cousins for their service.

It's Military Appreciation Month.

Plus, we're just coming off of April, which is also called The Month of the Military Child.

That, plus the last few crazy months we've been through, have put my own military family on my mind and heart a lot lately.

Obviously, I love my husband and his dedication to the U.S. Navy. I love my brothers and cousin and every other service member in my family.

I also appreciate what people do to go out of their way and thank us for our service.

I love that I can help, in some small way, but making sure my man in uniform is cared for and supported, so he can go care for and support others with his job.

While it's not a lifestyle many understand, there are some aspects of it I really, truly love.

What I don't love is what the military does to its children. Or, at first glance, I didn't.

You see, before I had Ella, I wanted her so badly, it hurt. She was the missing piece of our family I was waiting and praying for.

But when she got here, and we emerged from the newborn chaos of, "Is she breathing? Are you sure she's breathing? Are you absolutely, positively 100-percent sure she's breathing?", I began to have internal moments of panic over the life we'd brought her into.

After all, it's the life of a single mother. It's the life of a disappearing father. It's the life of inconsistency. It's the life where her home will move four times before she turns 10. It's the life of worry and whispered bedtime prayers for safety. It's the life of new friends, new schools, and new teams every time she just gets settled. It's the life of hard questions and wondering why "the bad guys" have children, too. It's the life of books read via tape and e-mails read aloud at dinner-time.

It's the life of a military child.

I nervously asked a fellow Navy wife of mine, who had grown up as the daughter of an active-duty sailor, too, if she remembers missing her father a lot. If she remembers hating that they had to move. If she remembers leaving behind friends and coaches and homes and memories.

She maintained it wasn't that bad.

And yet, I worried.

I've watched mothers of four or five kids handle Navy life. Some did really well, planning day-trips, activities, and special projects to keep their children occupied while their father was away.

Others? Not so much. Those were the houses filled with yelling. Filled with mothers so stressed they took it out on their children. Kids who acted out at school after a sudden move, a quick deployment, or a letter left unanswered.

I wanted to be the first kind of mother, but, as much as I hated what the other mothers were doing to their kids, I understood why.

It's hard to be alone, with no help and family, and no real outlets other than your children, most of whom are young. Resentment can arise, when it's just you, again, scrubbing pee off the bathroom floor for the 18th time that day.

I didn't want to resent my children, though, because of the lifestyle my husband and I chose.

So, yes, I worried.

I worried, and I kept on living.

And then, as I was bathing Ella last night, by myself, for what felt the 19,431st time, I realized something.

The worry had started to disappear.

And, as Ella babbled happily away, and I said, yet again, for the 7,453rd time this week, "We sit on our bottoms in the tub, Ella. No standing," it hit me.

I have a military child, and she's thriving.

Our last move may have taken years off my life, but for her? She simply kept rolling, crawling into moving boxes and happily embracing a new bedroom with a new arrangement and new places we had stashed her toys.

She's extremely flexible; I can take her, literally, anywhere.

She's super social; she loves people, and when we walk into story-time, the grocery store, or even the JAG's office, she'll charm the pants off the room and talk to them all while gesturing emphatically. I have never seen any other human being turn "it" on quite like my girl does. It's enamoring.

She's well-behaved; she rarely cries in public, and she doesn't ever scream.

She's physically and mentally acute. She masters a lot of physical situations I can't believe she'll handle at not even 11 months old, and she's super inquisitive and intuitive all at once.

For awhile, I maintained she was like this simply because God was rewarding me for surviving such a horrific pregnancy. When you puke enough to lose 20 pounds in a month and are so weak you have to crawl around your house for almost 22 weeks straight? Well, I figured Ella's amazingly well-behaved, easily pleased baby self was compensation for all that.

But in reality, part of it is also just genetics - we got an easy, happy, well-adjusted baby. My Type-A genes combined with my husband's laid-back, easy-going vibe made Ella the way she is.

However, a part of me realized that there was more to it than that.

God gave me a military child.

A kid who is flexible and easy-going. A kid who can make friends anywhere. A kid who is happy in all manner of situations. A kid who can behave in public. A kid who finds change adventurous. A kid who knows how to communicate what she wants. A kid who has patience. A kid who has fun. A kid who doesn't forget her daddy and loves her mommy even when Mommy wants nothing more than one hour to herself.

She's a military kid.

I couldn't have asked for a better model.

***

The fact is, there are perks to this lifestyle. There are absolute benefits to raising a child in a town where all the daddies (and some mommies, too) believe and practice duty, freedom, and pride every day of their lives.

Ella will grow up knowing she's loved. She'll have letters from her Daddy telling her so.

She'll grow up knowing that sometimes, you have to do something, even if you don't want to do it.

She'll grow up knowing there's a world bigger than her, and that it's just as important as her school play or her fifth birthday.

She'll grow up knowing her home is not always the same four walls and a roof, but it is a mother and father (and sisters and brothers, eventually) who love and take care of her no matter what city, state, or country she lives in.

She'll grow up with friends all over the place, and when she's grown, she'll be able to remember when she lived next door to her best friend and then the next year, moved away and met her first crush who lived just across the street.

She'll grow up appreciating other cultures; their food, their accents, their beliefs. She'll understand people are different in so many ways, but are all the same in the ones that really matter.

She'll be a military child.

***

I was reading some article that said military kids are some of the most well-adjusted kids, who have very special abilities to make friends fast while also being good independent entertainers from a very early age.

Not sure how true all that is, statistically speaking, but so far, even as just a baby, Ella is exhibiting those behaviors loud and proud.

And, while I hate the thought of sitting alone through her kindergarten graduation, or watching her and her siblings unwrap Christmas presents without their daddy playfully asking, "What did Santa bring you?", I am slowly learning there are trade-offs; things my girl will get that other kids can't learn quite as easily.

It's not a perfect exchange, but it is a bright spot in what could seem to be an incredibly depressing family portrait if you refuse to look beneath the surface a bit.

I will be forever grateful Ella has what it takes to live in this lifestyle. I will never stop thanking God for that gift.

And I promise that, as her mother, I will always be here to remind her that, when this lifestyle seems unfair, there is always a bright side, a positive, an amazing homecoming to look forward to.

I will always remind her that she has what it takes to be a military child.

***

Happy Military Appreciation Month everybody!

Yes, More Baby-Led Weaning

A lot of you were intrigued by baby-led weaning.

Furthermore, some of you raised some very good points and suggestions about baby-led weaning and feeding babies, in general.

So, I thought I'd answer the questions you all had and point out some of the things you all lent to the conversation, too.

***

Lindsay: Do you all steam your veggies?

No, not all of them. I steam a lot of things - sweet potatoes, peas, green beans, broccoli, cauliflower, squash, zucchini, and other veggies you can't eat unless they are cooked. I also roast some things with garlic and onion and give those to her, too, like asparagus. When I feed her beans, I cook them in water or stock and herbs. I scoop them out of whatever we're eating, too, so they are seasoned with whatever they were cooked with, like soup or chili. There are some things I give her both raw and steamed, like carrots. And then there are things I just hand her raw, like green peppers, cucumbers, and avocado.

Karen: The apples Ella eats..are they cooked so they are softer, or are they just regular apples?

I give Ella raw apples. Sometimes I cut her slices from them. Sometimes I take a bite out of the whole apple and just hand it to her - we call this "starting it" for her. And man alive. She can chow down on a whole apple like a champ, two teeth and all. However, I do sometimes bake apples for the hubs and I for a healthier dessert. And I'd have no problem giving her those, too.

Lindsay: Do you take the skin off your apples?

I actually debated this a bit myself. The skin, when Ella first started eating, could sometimes cause her to gag, very little, but still it was a gag, which made this new mama nervous. But I had read that so much of the nutrients for food are in the skin, plus baby-led weaning is all about giving the child the food you eat, the way you eat it. And I don't peel my apples. So yes, Ella gets the skin.

And you know what? She's never choked on it. If she gets a piece of skin too big to swallow, which has happened, she simply spits it out. It's like her little tongue knows, "Oh, I can't handle this!" and she just pushes it right out, all while chewing up the flesh and swallowing it down no problem.

Now, there are some things I do take the skin off of - like cucumbers, mostly because the skin is just too thick for her two baby teeth. And then there are some things I peel after I steam them, like sweet potatoes. That way she gets the nutrients from the skin, but doesn't have to eat it.

Jess: I would be interested to know if BLW children can handled pureed-type of foods later in life. Mashed potatoes, pudding, yogurt, oatmeal, applesauce, etc. Because of my health problems as an infant, I went from a feeding tube to solids. There was no "baby food" for me. My entire life, I have never been able to eat those above items. While I *love* the taste, the texture makes me gag. Every so often, I'll try something to see if I can handle it but within a few bites, I'm on the verge of throwing up. We've always assumed that it was because of my lack of baby food.. Maybe it's not, but it made sense to us. I wonder if there's a similar trend with BLW babies?

I have to admit, I was stumped by this. I've never heard of that happening to a BLW child. But it does seem to make sense that it could.

That being said, when BLW says you shouldn't mash anything up for a baby, that doesn't mean you can't mash something that's supposed to be mashed.

For instance, you can give them yogurt if you eat yogurt. You can give them soup if you eat soup. You can give them mashed potatoes if you eat mashed potatoes. Will it be messy? You bet. But most of them will dig right in because thanks to BLW, that's what they learn to do when food is presented to them. So I'd think, if you truly are introducing an array of foods to your kid, including things of a pudding-like texture (again, because you eat them at a pudding-like texture) then you might be able to avoid this predicament.

Karen: Do you make or buy your banana-blueberry-oat bread? If you make it, what's the recipe?

I do make it. It's an old one I've adapted from a recipe my mom gave me.

You mix together the following: 1/2 cup coconut oil, 2/3 cup agave nectar or raw honey, 2 eggs, 2 mashed bananas, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1/2 cup rolled oats, 1 cup blueberries, and 1 1/2 cups flour of choice (I grind up my own oats to make oat flour. But if you're not opposed to gluten, you can just use whole wheat.) Then bake at 350 degrees for 55 to 60 minutes.

***

A lot of mamas commented that they did a partial baby-led weaning, of sorts. They did some purees and then did some finger foods. I think, for a lot of families, this is a great approach.

For instance, Meredith said that her daughter "mostly ate whatever we were eating, but sometimes she ate purees too because sometimes (like when we were out and about or didn't know how food had been prepared) they were just easier for us."

And Amy said, "I guess I'm a mixture of lots of concepts. I was gifted a Beaba and loved it! I enjoyed creating new "recipes" and all that. However, I did a lot of the BLW concepts too, it seems. Whatever works!"

I agree with these ladies, and I don't think baby-led weaning is an all or nothing approach. You can pick and choose the parts you like.

I, for one, think those little squeezable packets of fruits and veggies are a great way to travel with toddlers and not feed them animal crackers all the way there and back. It's healthier, but it's not baby-led weaning.

And that's OK.

Now, some babies may force the issue.

Mrs. B's daughter was not interested at purees at all. And currently? "...Going on 15 months [old], she eats solids great, we've never had a choking issue - and she's been BLW-style eating from 7.5 months - and she still nurses just as much as she did as a little baby - 6+ times a day. It's great! I talk it up to everyone I know," she said.

I do find that a lot of kids who out-and-out refuse the purees, will eat the exact same foods they were turning their noses up at if they are in their puree form. So, for those of you desperately hoping your baby will eat something - anything! - look into this approach a little more.

You'll just be one of those mamas who doesn't get to make her own baby food.

Welcome to the club.

***

As always, any other questions? I'll email you with answers. Thank you all, again, for being so receptive to this topic.

For my original post on BLW, again, feel free to go back here.

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

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.

Just This Once

My husband walked in the door almost nine hours later than he was supposed to last night.

Exhausted, he stared at me cooking a dinner I'd had on hold for him and asked, in his booming Southern drawl, "How was your day?"

And just like that, we both heard it. A little mewing cry of a 9 month old baby from down the hall, as well as crackling through the tinny baby monitor.

Immediately, the hubs' face turned to mush and - half asking, half pleading - he said, "Please? Can I go get her?"

The poor guy hasn't seen his daughter since he reported to his new boat a week ago. They've been working him to the bone and getting them all ready to deploy soon. He adores what he does, as anyone can tell when they see him because he can't shut up about it.

But he also misses his kid like whoa.

And, so, I did something you're not supposed to do.

Instead of quietly sneaking into Ella's room, where I'd normally nurse her and rock her back to sleep in three or four minutes flat, I let him go.

He positively giddy-up-ed down the hallway, got her out of the crib, and immediately, I heard her giggle and saw bed-time disappear out the door.

By seeing her daddy, Ella knew it wasn't time to sleep. Just like he always does the few times he's gone to get her from her crib, he signalled to her that it was time to wake up and get ready to party.

And party they did.

In they walked to the kitchen, my baby, wearing only a cloth diaper (our AC still isn't fixed), perched atop her dad's shoulders, squealing in joy and patting his military-shaved head.

While I finished dinner, she clapped her hands and yelled, "Dada! DADA!" at me, as if to say, "Look, Mom! He's here! He's really here!"

He'd talk to her, and from her perch atop his shoulders, she'd bend down and peer into his face and laugh hysterically.

She'd scamper over his shoulder to get ahold of his security badge. She'd point to his face and repeat "mouf" (mouth) and "nas" (nose) while he coached her.

And then, while we ate our dinner together - the only meal we'd have together till next week - she sat in the high-chair waving about a broccoli stalk he gave her and turning around to look at him while giggling.

And then, after we cleared the table, and he hopped into the shower, I nursed her back down for the night, and she went back into her crib without a fight.

And, as I lay her little sweaty body under her ceiling fan and into her bed, I couldn't help but adore the rules we'd broken that night.

A baby up two hours past her bed-time.

An unclad little one clambering about the kitchen because she wanted to.

A 9 month old throwing around our side dish when she should be snug in her bed, per the schedule that is best for her.

But if that had happened, my girl wouldn't have got to see her daddy.

In two weeks, she wouldn't have got so much as a hug.

It would have killed him, and the fact that he was so thrilled to get to just pick her up out of her bed - a chore for dads who do it every day, but a treat for the guy who hasn't so much as seen her other than when she was sound asleep - well, that just made me melt like butter in my un-air-conditioned house.

So, yeah, we broke the rules.

We bent the schedule.

We let Ella run the show, and I don't regret a minute of it.

***

The other side of this sweet little tableau is the reality that her daddy doesn't get to see her a lot.

It's the sadness that comes with being the only parent to lift her in and out of that crib after every nap and during the middle of the night wake-ups.

It's the tears that come with eating your dinner alone with an infant.

It's the realization that you are living a life all about your baby girl, thanks to her father. And he doesn't even get to enjoy it most of the time.

Thank God the man loves his job. Because it wouldn't be worth it if he didn't.

It's what we discuss every time we talk about settling on the military as "career." (Doing 20 years or more in the Navy.)

The perks are many for him - pension, job security, a love of what he does.

But the fact that he has to come and go from his child's life? Well, that he struggles with.

So those moments? Those moments where she kisses his cheek and crawls up to his boots, holding up her hands to be picked up?

Those aren't every day.

Those are special.

Those are rare.

And so, sometimes, we go against the grain and break the rules.

Just this once.

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

Another One

Last Thursday, at midnight, I got a phone call.

It was my neighbor and good friend down the street; she was in labor.

Quickly, she and her husband, and my hubby and I, sprang into action.

We set up the pack-n-play, and they drove down, installed an additional car-seat into our car, and brought in a laundry basket full of clean, toddler-sized cloth diapers.

Then, my 39-week pregnant friend carried in her almost 2 year old, who was half way between asleep and awake.

She rocked him and tried to put him back down before finally leaving and heading over to the birth center where Ella was born almost 6 months ago.

I heard her leave with tears in my eyes.

I then spent the rest of the evening alternating between my baby and her toddler, neither of whom really slept well, thanks to the middle-of-the-night interruption.

Finally, at 4:30 a.m., we all fell asleep, Ella in bed with me, and our friend's toddler, K, asleep in the pack-n-play, with my husband stretched out on the floor next to it.

It was not yet 7 a.m. when I heard the patter of little, footie-pajama-d feet and saw a toe-headed toddler boy push open my door, look up, and exclaim, "Baby!" pointing gleefully at Ella.

We were awake to start the day with two children.

The hubs helped but quickly had to get ready for work, both of us knowing but not saying that I'd be alone with two under age 2 till midnight, when he'd return from his shift on the boat.

And, so, I spooned up some oatmeal for K while nursing Ella, still in my pajamas.

Both babies were surprisingly happy, considering how little sleep we'd all gotten.

I, meanwhile, felt like I'd been run over by a truck.

But I was distracted from the pain by K chasing Marvin the Dog while Ella giggled endlessly at it.

Then, knowing I had no choice because I'd already committed to hosting a play-date/crafting afternoon at my house that day, I loaded both kids up into my car and headed out for the art-supplies store.

It was slow-going leaving the house. It was slow-going getting them both out of the car, too. And it was even slower-going pushing both of them in the cart through the crowded craft-store aisles.

Ella, who likes to bounce in the cart's front seat covered in her cart-cover (How did she get so big that she can actually sit in the cart?), was blowing spit bubbles while K, who was in the bigger, back portion of the cart, kept chewing on the packaging of the supplies I'd throw back there, as the poor boy must have been teething.

And I can't even tell you the looks I got as older woman saw me and clearly thought "Oh, you poor thing, with two little ones like that."

It could have been a harrowing experience.

Except it wasn't.

Because, as loaded them back into the car and drove away, Ella fell asleep, and K looked over and whispered adorably, "Baby! Hush!"

You could have melted my heart right then and there.

Later that afternoon, my friend came back for her toddler. She'd dilated to 5 centimeters and then stopped contracting. She wasn't yet in active labor, so the midwives sent her home, still pregnant, still like me - a mother to only one.

And, as I watched her walk away, I felt it. Something I didn't think I'd feel. Something I'd actually worried I'd never experience.

Jealousy.

Not green-eyed or evil.

But simple envy that soon, very soon, she was going to have two babies to love and not one.

Despite all the work and the hassle and the chaos that it is to have two whole little beings in your complete care 24-7, it's also kind of awesome, too.

I actually, honestly, liked it.

I liked laughing at the toddler with the baby on my hip. And reading to K while Ella sat in my lap. And watching Ella watch K watch Ella as we all sat around on a blanket with some toys.

Granted, there were moments where it came quite the brouhaha - both babes literally blew out their respective cloth diapers within seconds of each other, and at one point, poop was on me, them, and several changing table covers - but it was still actually something I enjoyed.

It felt, well, right.

And, honestly, I didn't expect that. Not in the least.

I love kids. I love K. I watch him all the time.

But after having my own child, I had - have? - real fears over having Baby No. 2.

Will I love them like I love Ella? Will Ella resent sharing my love? Will I get along with one better than the other? Will Ella feel replaced? Will I start to resent them both when I have even less "me" time? Will I ever be able to do anything with two under my roof? Will my house ever be clean again?

Can I parent more than one child?

It's silly, but when I actually think about having another baby, I feel the urge to turn to Ella and apologize. To say, "I promise. You'll be happy about this when you're older."

To try and explain my choices to a 6 month old.

The thought of being away from her while I'm in labor; the thought of her sharing my lap, my love, my bed, my snuggles, my everything? Well, it makes me cry.

And, yes, I know love is infinite. And I know siblings are some of the best gifts we can give our kids. After all, I adore my brothers.

But the love I have for my daughter is unlike any other love I've ever experienced.

And it's so new and special that the thought of that lessening or changing scares me.

But last week, that changed. Last week, for the first time, I realized I could do it.

I realized I could love doing it.

I realized that I wasn't meant just to have one baby. I realized that my heart and mind had the ability to care for more than Ella.

I realized that, at some point, I'd have another one.

***

Now, before you all get any whacky ideas, let me assure you: I don't think it's a good idea to have another one right now.

Ella is still a baby and is still exclusively breast-fed and pretty much attached at my hip. She's not ready to share that, yet.

So, unless we get really lucky, I'm likely not going to be announcing Baby No. 2 any time soon.

But, while life would be easier if Ella was potty-trained and sleeping in a toddler bed before she finds out about a new baby brother or sister, I'm not guaranteeing that will happen, either.

All this to say that Baby No. 2 is still only a theoretical concept, at this very moment.

Right now, my whole point is this: Last week, I renewed my capacity to love. I started to get just the tiniest bit excited about bringing our next child into this world.

I finally started to believe in another one.

***

This week, I'm writing a brief series on motherhood. A lot of these posts have been weighing on me lately, and I figure now's the time get them out there. So stay tuned this week for more on mommies. (And suggestions/questions are, of course, welcome.)

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Eyeball

I am a total geek when it comes to my kid.

Each month, as she grows older, I get so excited to whip out the child-development books and see what milestones she has achieved or will achieve soon.

I love watching her grow and charting every new little thing she does.

And, sometimes, when I get worried, I even enjoy spending hours poring over books and Web sites and forums, seeking reassurance that, if she's not above average, she's at least normal. (Even if her mother isn't.)

Not to make it all clinical, but sometimes, I feel like raising Ella is the biggest, most important science project I've ever been entrusted with.

And, gosh darn it, I want to make sure my poster-board isn't barely hanging on by a thread at the science fair. (Not because I care what others think, mind you, but because I'm pretty fond of the subject matter herself.)

Sigh. I really wish I was better at science.

Anyway, now that I've really turned parenthood into something creepy, let me just say this: I'm very intense about my child.

So, a little over a week ago, when she hit 5 months old, I put her to bed and then whipped out my books.

I read all about what Ella will be doing over the next few months. And then, I spent some time browsing the suggestions the "experts" made for helping your child grow and learn.

One suggestion, in particular, caught my eye.

It said that, because most babies Ella's age are babbling prolifically, that, to help them develop language skills, we should start saying words that start or sound like the noises she makes.

So, for instance, if she's chanting, "Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa," I would say to her "pal" or "pan."

You get the idea.

Being that Ella is already a social butterfly and talks from sun-up to sun-down (and sometimes in her sleep, to boot) I figured this was a good tool to have in my back pocket. And later that evening, I re-iterated what I'd read to my wonderful husband.

So, the following evening, when I walked in to check on him as he got Ella ready for bed, I shouldn't have been surprised at what I saw.

Ella, getting a bit cranky, screeching, "Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay!"

And my husband, intently holding her, looking deep into her eyes, with the world's most serious expression on his face, repeating back, "Eyeball. Eyeball. Eyeball, Ella. Eyeball!"

I bet even the experts didn't see that one coming.

***

Later that evening, after both the hubs and I had a good laugh about it, we realized that, perhaps, the experts hadn't accounted for something else, either.

Because Ella was tired and getting upset while my husband was steadfastly yelling "Eyeball. Eyeball. Eyeball!" at her, we began to worry that not only would she associate the sound she was making with the word, but also the emotion she was feeling.

So, in the future, when I have a really tired, ticked-off 2 year old walking around screaming "EYEBALL!" at the top of her mad little lungs, you'll know who to blame.

***

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

How It's Going

When we made the decision to parent using attachment and natural parenting techniques, my husband and I had no idea how exhausting it would be.

There have been moments where, much to my chagrin, I thought, "This is why people let babies cry it out."

Because dude, sometimes all Ella wanted to do was cry it out.

Even when I was holding her. Even when I was nursing her. Even when nothing was wrong, she'd cry.

A month into Ella's life, and we'd come to two very sound conclusions:

1. Parenting is hard.

2. Attachment parenting is harder.

However, just a few short weeks later, I started to notice the benefits of our parenting practices.

I'd get calls from friends who had babies a few weeks after I had Ella, wondering how I recommended getting your newborn to stay asleep for longer than 45 minutes at night.

And, honestly, I had to shrug my shoulders and say, "I don't know."

And I didn't know. My child had been in bed with me from the moment she was born and basically got up once or twice a night from birth.

That's it.

She'd easily go four to five hour stretches at night no problem. We had no issues with sleep at night almost from the get-go.

So, because I've raised the issues here before, and because I still get e-mails asking me how everything is going, I thought I'd catch you all up on how we parent and tell you what exactly has worked for us.

Exclusive and on-demand breast-feeding

I had a really harrowing breast-feeding journey. Ella was five weeks old, and my nipples still looked like a cat had bitten off a chunk of them. They'd bleed daily, if not hourly. I felt like her latch was piercing me with knives. You all heard the story.

Meanwhile, Ella was nursing all the time, gaining weight like a champ, and had a supremo latch. As one midwife said, "She's one of those baby's who'd latch onto a wall and nurse."

The problem didn't lie with her. The problem was me. My pain. My breasts.

Thankfully, I'm very stubborn, and I continued to nurse Ella through what I can safely say was one of the worst experiences of my life.

Many friends tried to help me when I'd finally come clean to them about the pain, but a lot of the advice I was given included three things my midwives had warned me against: pumping, supplementing, and using a nipple shield.

I was at my wit's end, in serious pain, and I didn't know what to do.

So, finally, I called the midwives. My voice cracked when I described my pain to one of them over the phone, and I realized I was actually begging them for help.

The woman that delivered Ella didn't let me carry on too long before she immediately gave me a prescription for a cream that would help. It was yet another instance in which I wanted to run and snuggle into the arms of the women who took care of my pregnancy and delivery. They were life-savers, once again.

So, I took the prescription. Not without some reservations, though.

This is, to date, my first prescription. It's my first treatment I've taken that wasn't a natural alternative. And I'm talking in my entire lifetime, people. This was my first conventional drug.

But the time had passed for all natural solutions; I'd tried them all, and they weren't producing results. So, thank God, it worked. The prescription cream worked.

Within a week, my wounds were healing. Within three weeks, my nursing pain was at 2 when it had been at a 10. Within a month, I was forgetting to use the cream because my pain was so negligible.

And now, I only dot a bit on when Ella's had a banner nursing day, and I experience a little soreness. Most of the time, I feel no pain nursing anymore.

Zip. Zilch. Nada. Praise God.

My wounds are healed; my kid nurses like a pro, and to date, she's only ever been given a bottle of pumped breast-milk three times, and she's never had any formula.

She is an exclusive breast-fed baby, and, though I never thought I'd feel this way about something I considered as simple as breast-feeding, I couldn't be prouder.

Labor and delivery was easy compared to the breast pain I experienced. That was a war. My war. And I won.

Thank God.

Now, we use breast-feeding to nourish her, but also to help her sleep. I nurse Ella to bed at night and to ease her into almost all of her naps. It works beautifully, and I find there is nothing wrong with comfort nursing. It's kept me from having to introduce a pacifier in our home.

Ella does use a pacifier in the car, mostly because she hates her car-seat, and the car-seat is the one place I can't rescue her when she starts fussing. However, she does not use a paci to go down at bed or nap-time, and she does not suck on it for fun. (I do, occasionally, let her have it when she has gas pains and is too full to nurse. A few minutes sucking on the paci seems to get things moving for her and helps calm her down enough so she can have a bowel movement. But that's a rare exception.)

Currently, my supply is great and really responsive to all of Ella's needs. Finally, I've stopped constantly leaking milk. (Though at night time, I still wake up soaked. But that's better than being a 24-7 fountain.) I only pump for about three minutes every morning, just to even out my breasts so Ella and I can walk into work unashamed.

However, because I still technically have an over-supply, most mornings I get an 1 to 1.5 ounces per minute of pumping. So our freezer is rapidly filling up with milk Ella will likely not need, and I'm starting to research my donation options. My milk is dairy-and soy-free, plus the only caffeine I consume is in the occasional piece of chocolate, so I know someone can benefit from it.

Co-Sleeping

For eight weeks straight, Ella slept directly on my chest. Literally.

When she went to bed, I went to bed, and we'd sleep peacefully like that all night, waking up once or twice to nurse then falling right back asleep.

I could have continued on like that forever.

Until she started kicking me in the sides. And punching me with her hands. And I started attempting to roll over without shaking the bed too much, which is next to impossible when you're sleeping next to a 2 month old. Plus, she likes to go down between 6:30 p.m. and 7 p.m. - a time that, as tired as I am, is not exactly an appropriate adult bed-time, most nights.

So, finally, I decided we'd reached that point.

I took out the pack-n-play and pushed it up level to my side of the bed - a term called "side-car-ing" in the co-sleeping world - and that's where she's currently sleeping. Nothing but a tiny piece of mesh netting separates us.

And we stay like that for at least half the night.

She still gets up once or twice a night to eat, and normally, I just reach over, swoop her into me, and she latches right on.

Neither one of us even fully wakes up to nurse, which is why I rarely remember to put her back in the pack-n-play once she's done eating.

Nine times out of 10, I wake up to find Ella next to me in bed in the morning.

So, technically, yes, we are still co-sleeping. She's literally next to me in some form the entire night.

Now, Ella does nap in her crib by herself with almost complete success during the day.

And at night time, she nurses and goes down without a hitch in the pack-n-play.

Come to think of it, Ella rarely cries in the middle of the night at all. She wakes up - again, once or twice a night- and makes enough noise to wake me up so I'll nurse her. But it's not a cry. It's more a snuffling and snorting and grunting sound.

I truly attribute her good night-time sleeping habits to the sense of security she gains from knowing her parents are right there should she need us.

I am thrilled with the good night's sleep we get thanks to co-sleeping, and I know that when she transfers into her own bed - I'm not sure when that will happen right now - she'll be able to take that with her.

Baby-wearing and on-demand carrying

Sometimes, I feel like I haven't peed alone since Ella's been born.

Why? Because my baby wants nothing more than to be in my arms every day.

And, if she's crying, I simply pick her up.

I truly believe you cannot spoil little ones by holding them too much. So if she's happy when I pick her up, then pick her up I shall.

I also put her in a wrap or a sling when I need to get things done, and she's being clingy. And I've gotten really good at doing things one-handed if I need to.

I wear her in grocery stores, at get-togethers, in church - basically, everywhere. Again, Ella is not a big fan of the car-seat, but because she's currently weighing in at 15 pounds, a wrap is very effective at helping me support her while we're out, and I can still be hands-free enough to meet people, grab a bite to eat, or vacuum.

Still, sometimes - very rarely, but it does happen - I have to write off entire days because she's simply in no mood to be put down. Maybe she doesn't feel good, maybe she's over-tired, maybe she's just feeling insecure, but whatever it is, Ella wants to be held. A lot.

So, I hold her.

I have to admit, as a new mommy and a former mover-and-shaker and to-do-list maker, I found this portion of attachment parenting exhausting.

I'd literally spent two days straight just holding my baby. I couldn't get anything done. I was - dare I say it? - bored. Tired.

And at least desperate for a bit of adult conversation.

But now, just recently, I've started noticing the benefits of on-demand carrying.

My child's rarely fussy. My child knows I can help her. And my child now has the ability to play on a mat or with toys while I'm doing something else, simply because she has the security and knowledge to know that if she needs me, I'll come get her.

She'll sit in her Bumbo and watch me cook, or she'll play in her bouncy seat while I fold laundry. Granted, I'm close by and talking to her, but she's happy, and I'm getting stuff done. Stuff I used to have to do while I was wearing her or when my husband was home to help.

Baby-wearing gave Ella a sense of a security early on. And it's a sense of security that's growing every day.

Cloth-diapering

There is nothing easier than cloth-diapering for me right now.

I do three extra loads of laundry a week, but considering they aren't like the typical load - which you have to wash, fold, and put away - I actually look forward to washing diapers because it's so easy. It takes less than 10 minutes out of my day to run the cycles for the diapers, hang them up, and put the dry ones away.

Ella's cute little tush is beautiful and healthy, and to date, the only diaper rash she's had was when we spent a weekend away and I switched her to disposables.

In addition, I've read that cloth-diapering can save an average family thousands of dollars per child.

I'd have to admit that that estimate is probably on the low end. Even with several splurges on custom cloth-diapers (What? Your child doesn't have a diaper that boasts your alma mater's mascot? Just me? Really?) I've still saved probably $400 already.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Anyone can cloth diaper. It's easy. It's cheap, and I honestly touch more poop when changing a disposable.

I will never, ever be able to go back. Cloth-diapering changed my life for the better.

I'm a cloth-diaper addict, and I am proud.

***

It's still too early to discuss the benefits of our delayed vaccination schedule and our dietary guidelines, but so far, attachment and natural parenting has been a worthy investment. It's been a great way to instill physical and emotional health in my child for the long run.

It's made the workload worth it: My baby is healthy, happy, and developing beautifully.

There are, of course, many ways to achieve this. I'm just a proponent of what I know and what I know has worked for me. But if you're interested in implementing some attachment parenting methods in your life, I urge you to read the following article from Psychology Today. (Thanks, Britt, for sharing this so I could find it!)

It helps explain and show the scientific benefits to exclusively breast-feeding, baby-wearing, and co-sleeping with your child. It also clearly shows you why children do their best if they aren't allowed to cry it out.

It's helped reassure me that, though this parenting gig is hard, it's worth it.

It's totally worth it.

***

As always if, you have questions, please feel free to ask. I only know what's worked for us, but if it can be of any help to anyone else, I'd love to share.

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Primal Instinct

I'm a scaredy-cat as it is.

I don't need another reason to carry mace on my person or imagine a scenario in which I'll need to stab the keys to my car into the eye of some predator attacking me in some empty, late-night parking garage.

And yeah, sure, my fears are probably exacerbated by one too many Sunday Law and Order: SVU marathons, but let's face it, the real-life stuff is just as terrifying.

There are bad people out there, and they do bad things, and good people get hurt, and, well, I'm prepared. That's all.

I won't take an attacker lying down, and I avoid putting myself in situations in which I'll need to defend myself by remembering to first go for the eyes, nose, and groin.

But then I had a baby.

A little, defenseless baby who thinks the world is all sunshine and rainbows and breast-milk, and, well, who am I to tell her that there are bad people out there who do bad things, causing good people to get hurt?

I'm happy she's so tiny and innocent, and I hope she stays like that for a good bit longer.

But me? Any last shred of innocence I had is gone.

Because now, I have even more of a reason to use my hair clip as a shank and stab any criminal who dares to so such as leer at my baby.

I am Mom, hear me roar, you know?

The funny thing is, I'm a pretty trusting person. I'm not one to glare at a stranger who peeks in the baby carrier in my grocery cart just a little to long.

And then, last night, I had a dream.

***

In what should honestly be classified as a nightmare, my husband discovered he had a long lost cousin who'd spent 20 years in prison.

For committing crimes against a child.

Oh yes, his cousin was a pedophile.

But in the dream, the hubs had re-connected with the guy and felt bad for him. He told me, "Everyone deserves a second chance" and then made me invite the guy over for dinner the night after he was released from prison.

During dinner, the man keeps staring at baby Ella.

I glare at him, and after the dinner, I tell my husband that I don't trust his cousin, and that he's not allowed in our house.

I feel better now that we've established that, but the next day, my husband goes to work, and his cousin tries to get in our house.

The scenario continues for a few days, until, one evening, I finally fall asleep, and the cousin comes in and takes Ella.

I wake up, find her gone, freak out, and...

...then woke up in real life to my real-life baby, laying in the pack-n-play attached to our real-life bed, crying to be real-life nursed.

I, too, was crying right along with her. I was hysterical, in fact.

Even though it had been a dream, it had seemed so real; I was terrified. Furthermore, it was, quite literally, my worst nightmare, played out before my very (dream) eyes.

I think most mothers have fears of someone taking their baby. And, worse yet, someone hurting their baby.

But to see it play out like that struck me with such fear - a fear that I'd never felt before.

Being a mother is primal. Protecting our babies is instinctual. I have no idea what I'd do if any of the above actually came true, but I can tell you, I'd be a whole other kind of woman.

A hair-clip shank and my sharp set of keys would be the least of that kidnapping pedophiles' worries.

I honestly don't think I could be held responsible for what I'd do to him.

No one messes with my baby.

***

Did having a baby bring up a whole new set of aggressive, primal instincts in your? Share below.

Happy Monday, everyone!

A Soft Spot

I've gotten way more comfortable with Ella as of late.

I understand that not every cry means she's in pain and not every need has to be met right this second for fear she may not survive the hour.

I'm settling into motherhood.

So, Sunday afternoon, I had a baby draped across my lap, nursing. Like it was no big deal.

And, really, it wasn't.

I was sitting on the couch nursing her while my husband sat on the opposite couch, talking to me. Like always.

She popped off, full, and babbled at me. Like always.

I picked her up and put her on my shoulder. Like always.

She burped. Like always.

And then I lowered her just enough and leaned back to let her play on me.

Like always.

Recently, she's discovered her legs. She'll reach down with her feet, plant them on my thighs, and push off - hard - skyward.

I lean back, hold onto her, and let her, literally, climb up me, pushing with her little legs and grabbing on with her arms.

When she reaches my face, she looks up at me, babbles, and beams.

It's the cutest.

So, we were business as usual, Ella kicking at my legs and me talking to the hubs, when Ella got a strong streak.

With unprecedented strength even for an active baby, she pushed off my legs and ricocheted right up.

Directly up.

Straight up and into my chin.

She hit it so hard my head bounced back.

But, unlike her normal squeals of glee, she didn't make a sound.

Protectively, instinctively, I reached my hand down to the top of her head and said, calmly, "Oh, poor baby! That had to..."

But before I couldn't even get out "hurt," I felt it.

A spot. A concave spot. A spot caved in way more than any spot on her head should have been.

Immediately, I panicked.

I looked at my husband, stricken, and yelled, "Oh my gosh! My chin just went right into her soft spot! And it's stuck like that! It's really concave! Way more than it should be! Oh my gosh, I just dented my baby's head!"

Meanwhile, I was groping that deep groove my chin had damaged on my baby's skull, near tears.

My eyes were clenched shut, afraid to look down, afraid to look at what I'd done.

Until, finally, my husband managed to get out, "Babe, calm down.

I listened just enough to open my eyes and look at what I assumed was my precious angel with a huge dent in her head - the huge soft spot I was groping away blindly at with my hand.

And, sure enough, I saw it.

A huge concave spot right smack dab on her head. A giant dent I was rubbing my fingers along.

It was her left eye socket.

***

Poor Ella. She actually humored me while I rubbed her closed eyelid. She just stared up at me with from the other huge dent in her head - her right eye socket - as if to say, "Mom, seriously? Get a grip!"

The hubs and I had a good laugh about it then returned to business as usual.

You gotta have a soft spot for new parents.

***

Happy Monday, everyone!

When It All Comes Rushing Back

A good friend of mine here just had her baby on Monday.

We're close and share many of the same values, so it's not shocking that she gave birth with the very same midwives and at the same birth center as I did.

Within six hours of having her baby boy, she was home.

And within the next 10 hours, she was in a sheer panic.

Ever polite, she called me at 9:30 p.m. - something she'd never do unless she'd really lost track of the time - which she had - and really needed help - which she did.

Her little man, it seems, wasn't nursing. Less than 24 hours after his birth, he'd latch on and then fall asleep. Nothing seemed to be working, and he was on a bit of a hunger strike, turning his newborn nose up at colostrum and all other boob-related food products.

Meanwhile, I was nursing my 8 week old, who could drink a boob dry at any time of day these days.

And, as I listened to her voice and her concerns and her general new-mama worries that her perfectly healthy baby wasn't getting what he needed because he refused to nurse, it all came screaming back to me.

It had literally been only two months before, but I'd forgotten.

I'd forgotten how scary it is.

How intense it is.

How all-consuming it is to be in charge of a helpless little being's life.

Ella had done the same thing as my friend's little guy. She was so pooped from labor and delivery, we'd all but have to prior her mouth open with the jaws of life to get her to eat.

She had no interest in it. But then, on the afternoon of day three, it was as if the girl woke up, decided she was hungry, and basically hasn't left the breast since.

And though it was only weeks ago, I'd totally forgotten all about it.

I forgot how I pinched and prodded my nipples into her teeny, tiny mouth, begging her to eat, waiting to see her jaws work.

I forgot how I didn't sleep for the first two days of her life simply because every peep she made and every twitch she acted out grabbed my attention and made me think, "Is she OK? Is she supposed to do that? For heaven's sake, is she breathing?"

I forgot how I was convinced - absolutely, positively convinced - that I was doing this whole motherhood thing wrong, right out of the gate.

So, getting out of bed - Ella still nursing - I paced my house and talked my friend through it, trying to tell her my baby had done the same thing. Trying to assure her that she wasn't as crazy as she felt but that her irrational emotions were 100-percent justified and real.

I chuckled, relieved both Ella and I had survived those first few days, and that I'd now learned to sleep while my baby lays in the pack-n-play next to me.

I didn't envy my friend; now that it was all rushing back to me, I was thanking my lucky stars that things like nursing, changing, and comforting my baby had become much more rote, much more organic, much more natural.

And then, the next day, I laid down on the floor with Ella to do some tummy time.

As usual, I watched her play, lift her head, etc. And then she began her attempts to roll over.

She kicked her legs and tossed her body to the side. But, as usual, no luck.

She'd rolled over once before - front to back - at 6 weeks old. But she'd never done it again.

Instead, she just tried to strong-arm her way into it, always unsuccessfully.

It was in those moments that I just happened to remember a friend's Facebook status from earlier that day, which had proclaimed her baby was already proficient at rolling front to back.

And he was the exact same age as Ella.

I tried to fight it, but the panic began to set in.

Was she developing OK? Was there something wrong with her brain? Was she delayed physically? Had I hurt her unknowingly, thus causing her obvious physical malfunctions? Was that giant cloth diaper she always seemed to get marooned on impeding her actions?

I worked up a sweat freaking myself out.

Meanwhile, my baby just babbled away on her tummy, kicking her legs and squealing in frustration that she couldn't roll over, jump up, and run away from her crazy mother.

It took some time on Twitter to calm me down, plus a peek at one of my child development books.

I had moved past it when I got another text from my brand, spanking new mama friend, panicking about the fact that her little man still wasn't effectively sucking at the breast all that often.

And then, I realized something.

It never gets easier. It never stops worrying you.

Babies. Children. Teenagers. They all come with their own sets of concern.

There she was, freaking out about her 2 day old, while I was freaking out about my 8 week old, while elsewhere in the country, mothers everywhere we were freaking out about their kids, ages 1 to 100 years old.

There really is always something to worry about. To stress over. To convince yourself you're doing wrong. To freak out about for fear you're harming your child.

And, yeah, the baby stage is hard. Because the signs are so difficult to decipher and because, as cute as they are, they don't communicate all that effectively yet.

But I know many a teenager who still mystifies their parents.

And a bunch of 10 year olds who scaring the living daylights out of theirs.

And don't even get me started on the toddlers. Mothers of 2-and 3-year-olds have nerves of steel by the time it's all over.

Simply put, parenting is hard. It's scary. It's filled with sleepless nights and breath checks and prayer after prayer that you're not seriously screwing your kid up.

Still, we adjust. Certain things get easier while others things get harder. And, as mothers, we just learn to cope. To deal. To ask for help and make late-night phone calls to other mothers. Or to Tweet our concerns and get reassurance that our babies are perfectly and completely normal.

It's a little bit trial and error. It's two steps forward and one step back.

It's parenting at its finest.

***

What's the scariest thing you find about being a parent? Share below!

Happy Thursday!

Back to the Board Room

Today is the day.

Today, Ella and I go back to work.

Honestly, I am terrified.

Now, let me be the first to say that I am the luckiest woman alive, as I have a part-time job that allows me to not only take my daughter to work with me, but keep her with me for almost all of my work-day.

So, really, I have no earthly reason to be scared.

But then again, I do.

You see, I've spent the last eight weeks exclusively mothering this little girl. I adore her. My concerns, first and foremost, have been all about her. She's come before everything else.
But as soon as I walk in the doors of the gym this morning, my concern is going to be split. My focus will be divided. I will have to think about not only my daughter but on the many other post-partum and mommy clients I train.

And, honestly, I kind of hate that.

I really love what I do, and I love the women I work with. That's the reason I'm even going back.

But, truthfully, my family is my top priority, and I know that, if put in a position where I had to choose between my clients' needs and my daughter's needs, I'm going to have to choose my daughter.

A part of me wishes I could be the type of mom who could overcome all that and leave her in a daycare, so that I would be able to focus on my job 100 percent while I'm there.

But I'm not. I'm simply not.

Last week, I left Ella with the hubs for one hour a day - I started teaching my daily spinning class last week because the hubs had the week off - and being away from her for 60 minutes hurt. Physically, it was painful.

I knew she was in good hands. I knew that - worst-case scenario - if she screamed the entire hour, it wouldn't kill her. But still, I hated it.

But I also loved teaching my class. Seeing my old clients and exercising was great.

But once the class was over, I sped right out of there and rushed home to my baby - who was perfectly content in my husband's arms - and grabbed her right up.

In that moment, I knew: I'd never be able to put her in child-care. I know other mothers can. I applaud them for that.

But I can't. I simply can't.

Thankfully, my husband helps support this decision. We cut our cell-phone bill. We gave up certain luxuries. We've given up subscriptions, cable packages, nicer things, and eating out.

Our lifestyle changed so we could make this parenting decision happen.

It stinks. But every time I look at Ella, I know, for me, it's worth it.
It might not be the same for each mama, but because I can only speak for myself, I can safely say that it's the only way I know how to parent.

Heck, when she's in her swing or sleeping, I miss her. I want to hold her.

I still hate when she cries, and I can't always make it immediately better.

I'm used to nursing her right when she wants to nurse. I'm used to picking her up right when she wants to be held. I'm used to rocking her to sleep and talking to her and rubbing her little back until she calms down when she's upset.

I am the anti-Ferber-izing mother. Ella doesn't have the ability to self-soothe. I don't believe in letting infants cry it out. And, while I understand that life can't be all about her all the time, right now, it's OK that it mostly is.

She's a tiny baby. She's not got the ability to be spoiled and selfish. She's only two months old.

And it would kill me to know that someone else is taking care of her needs. I want to be the one who helps her, who disciplines her, who feeds her.

Heck, I've yet to give her a bottle of pumped breast milk, mostly because I like that I can take care of her hunger. I like that I'm the one who can feed her.
But despite all that, Ella and I are going back to work. I've equipped myself with a great stroller, multiple wraps and baby carriers, and she and I have been practicing nursing on the go.

She's still so little that carting her around while I run circuits for clients shouldn't be that hard.

But I just keep thinking, What if she cries? What if she needs comforting? What if she hates the gym or gets sick or gets over-heated in her jogging stroller?

The mother in me wants to swoop her up and care for her. But the trainer in me is more likely to shoosh her, reach for a pacifier, and hope and pray she can hold off another 20 minutes for that diaper change.

I'm just not sure how it's all going to work.

There are stay-at-home moms. There are working moms. There are even work-at-home moms.

But what about moms who work with their babies, outside the home?

I don't know anyone who's done it.

And that makes me think that, maybe, that's because it's not possible. That, honestly, I'm going to be largely unsuccessful. That mothers aren't meant to pick one or the other. Their work or their babies.

I'm worried that, as women and mothers, we have to choose.

A good friend's mother once told me, "Women can have it all. They just can't have it all at the same time."

But, right now, that's exactly what I feel like I'm trying to do.

I'm trying to have it all.

At the exact same time.

***

Happy Monday, everyone!