Baby Fever

   So that wonderful feeling has struck me once more. That internal itch that nags at you and nags at you until you acknowledge it. Every baby you see stirs up an incredible desire as if you are gollum in Lord of the Rings and must obtain your precious. That's right folks, baby fever. It has hit me and it has hit me HARD. You would think that with a sarcastic five year old that is a constant reminder of myself at that age, and a toddler teetering on the edge of the terrible twos cliff would be enough to derail these urges. Nope, not in the least bit it seems. In fact I think that as Milk Monster continues to grow and hit new milestones the urge merely grows.
   When my husband and I had Milk Monster, we discussed the possibility of more children. He was honest in his feelings that he was happy with just our two children. I on the other hand have a strong desire for more children. We recently had to have a new discussion about this since we had a pregnancy scare. He admitted to being okay with having one more, maybe not right now, but one more in the next few years. Well knowing that he would be okay with another child has only increased my desire for another child. I try my best to not voice this desire, so it won't bother him, but it is becoming too difficult. I have one issue though...will Milk Monster be okay with sharing mama's milk? He is a little piglet even at 20 months old. If my husband pretends to reach for my chest, Milk Monster flips out and yells at him. Then immediately after he chases his father off, he has to nurse. As if he is an explorer laying claim to land. Then there's the fact that instead of using a toy bottle to feed his baby doll, he brings her to me to nurse her. So he knows the concept of mommy having the milk for babies. He is okay with his doll having my milk, so maybe he would be okay with a little brother or sister having my milk as well.
    So for now I am filling my baby fever with the adorable babies that come into my workplace. I can't hold them, but I sure can make them smile or laugh. It's not completely working, but it's enough for now. Sadly for my husband it may not work for long. It's like giving decaf to a coffee addict. It's just not the same.

Mommy Panic Moment

  Yesterday I had a major mommy panic moment. One of those dreaded moments where something happens to your child, and in that moment you are the worst mother on Earth. No-in the entire universe. What exactly happened? Well I was cooking dinner, and I asked The Princess to take Milk Monster upstairs to play in their room. Normally this is an uneventful moment. The most that usually happens is a small argument over a toy. Suddenly I heard Milk Monster screaming hysterically, as if he was in pain. Next thing I know, he is downstairs grabbing at his leg and crying for me. His pajama pants seemed bleached out on his leg. I ripped them off and smelled bleach. I don't buy bleach so I didn't know where it came from. The Princess came down carrying a spray bottle of mildew cleaner that Milk Monster had gotten into. Then it dawned on me, the landlord had left the bottle here. So we put it upstairs under the bathroom sink with the safety locks on it. Milk Monster, being the smart little guy he is becoming, had figured out the safety lock. I called their father panicking and had him come home from work. While I waited for him to come home, I put Milk Monster in the tub with cool water to wash the bleach off of him. He instantly calmed downed and started playing. I was in tears when daddy arrived home. He checked Milk Monster's leg and found that other than his eczema being irritated, he was fine. Then he spent the next half hour trying to coax me out of my mommy bashing mood. Even though it seemed terrible in the moment, accidents happen. Milk Monster is okay, alive, and other than his skin being irritated, nothing horrible happened. We want so badly to protect our children from everything that can hurt them, but we also need to accept that sometimes we can't always protect our kids. We can do our best, but when accidents do happen we need to stay calm instead of panicking. I know, easier said than done. Now I was planning on writing more, but Milk Monster is demanding to nurse.

Disney's Frozen

   Recently my bosses gave us free passes to an early showing of Disney's latest princess film, Frozen. We both had the night off, so we figured we'd have a fun night out with the kids. We treated them out to dinner before heading up to the movie theater. Keeping Milk Monster entertained while waiting in line proved to be difficult. We were surrounded mostly by families with older children, but there were also a group of adults our age as well. I sat on the floor with him, trying to get him to play. Then he did what I had been afraid he would do. He climbed into my lap, pulled down my top and latched on to nurse. I looked around to judge the looks on the faces around me. Most people just looked away. Then I noticed the younger adults, the group that was closer to our age. They looked back at me and smiled before continuing their conversation. I sighed in relief. It wasn't much longer before they allowed us into the theater to find our seats.
     Once we got comfortable, the kids shared some popcorn while we waited for the movie to start. Before the movie started, Milk Monster decided he was thirsty again. I was less hesitant to nurse him this time. He sat in my lap nursing until the movie started. The movie was in 3D but Milk Monster wouldn't wear the glasses. Before the actual movie started, there was an old mickey mouse cartoon. This was Milk Monster's first time in a movie theater, so I was worried he wouldn't sit still. He watched the cartoon and laughed. He even clapped in excitement! Then Frozen started, and he was entranced. As the movie went on, he began to become sleepy. He curled up on my lap and nursed for the rest of the movie. He twisted his head though, so he could watch the movie while still nursing.
     Frozen was a great movie. I enjoyed it, my fiance enjoyed it, and both of the kids loved it. At first, I was worried it would be one of the typical princess movies where she needs her prince charming to save her. I was surprised to be completely wrong! It had two strong female lead characters that grew as people as the movie went on. It had humor as well as a good moral story. It had moments that made us cry, and many that made us laugh. The ending was wonderful and it left us smiling. The music was great and weeks later, The Princess is still going through the house singing songs from the movie! My fiance was happy about the strong female roles and I pointed out to him the possible reason it was written that way. A woman wrote the screenplay! That is not very common in Hollywood. All in all it was a great movie, a great time as a family, and I recommend you all go see it! If you go with  your little nurslings, do not be afraid to nurse them! I was afraid, but there was absolutely no reason to be afraid.

Mommy Hell

   I have been in mommy hell lately. I love my kids, I truly do. But the past few weeks have really pushed my limits.  The Princess is in school now which means she is bringing home every germ she comes into contact with. At first, I only got a slight cold. Nothing too hard to combat with honey and herbal teas. Then Milk Monster began to get cranky. Now I do not mean his normal grumpy crankiness that comes with being a toddler. No, I mean he truly showed his fiery spirit that lays dormant under all of that red hair of his. He threw tantrums, clung to me like a second skin, and refused to sleep unless mommy held him. Of course this also meant he was permanently attached to my breasts sucking the life force out of me. Luckily this probably helped him get over his cold much more quickly. Unfortunately for him....he was also cutting two teeth. So he made sure we all knew he was in pain. Then his sister got sick. My vibrant, hyper active little girl became a sloth. She did not want to do ANYTHING except lay down in bed all day. It was a battle every morning, dragging her out of bed for school. Now when she had a fever she was allowed to stay home and be the sloth she wanted to be. With medicine and mommy's milk, the kids began to feel much better.
   Then irony slammed me in the face HARD. While my kids were feeling better, enough to run around getting into everything in sight, I began to feel like all of my energy was drained out of me. I was constantly coughing, ached all over, and just wanted to sleep. Of course I couldn't sleep because I had to work and take care of my kids. At first I tried to treat it with honey and herbal teas. I took some ibuprofen for the fever and the aches. Then my asthma decided it would rear it's ugly head with a vengeance. You see, I haven't taken my asthma medications diligently since I was in middle school. I've done my best to not rely on them. But with this nasty cold, my asthma began to attack. I was waking up every night at 3 am hacking. I couldn't breathe even with my nebulizer. I gave in and bought some cold medicine. I thought perhaps it would do the job along with my asthma medication. Then, one day at work I found myself unable to breathe. I had to give in and go to the doctor. I was given antibiotics and prednisone to open my lungs while fighting the infection. Finally I began to feel better. Now I am left to face the aftermath of two sick kids, my own illness, and two now well kids destroying my house. Literally I am in mommy hell. But you know what?  I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

NIP and twisted nipples

  Recently we've been trying to do fun stuff with the kids. It's summer and The Princess starts kindegarten in a few weeks. Before it got too warm, we took a trip to the zoo. My kids love seeing the different animals, and honestly Daddy acts like a big kid when we're there.
    As we walked, through the water exhibit, The Princess would ask if certain animals nursed their babies. She got upset because. Only the seals and polar bears make milk for their babies. It made me giggle that's for sure, especially because everytime she said milk, her brother would smack my chest. The zoo was a fun learning experience. We walked by the lemurs and The Princess got excited. I thought it was because of her favorite movie, but I was wrong. She exclaimed 'Look, mommy! That one is nursing her baby!' Sure enough a lemur was nursing her baby as it was clinging to her. I thought this would be.the nursing highpoint of the trip. I was wrong. Milk Monster doesn't nurse well with large crowds. He gets too distracted very quickly. I kept trying to find a spot without a lot of people around. We walked over to the bird sanctuary and I spotted something that made me feel like a kid on Christmas. They had a building for nursing moms! Milk Monster and I went in. It was beautiful! There were three private nursing rooms with curtains for privacy. I sat down in a nice, comfy chair while Milk Monster nursed. He nursed for a full session and I could tell he had been wanting to nurse for a while. It was such a relief to be able to nurse him without him being distracted. I was so proud of our local zoo for building that for us moms. I hope to continue seeing more nursing friendly enviroments around my home state.
   As the tempratures continue to rise we've been craving the swimming pools. We went to a pool a little north of our home. It was a fun, kid friendly pool. Milk Monster was tired that day and clinged to me. He began to fuss and pull at my swimsuit. I sat in a lounge chair and laid him on my tummy. I covered him with a towel to keep the sun off of him. I lowered my top slightly for him to latch on and was able to keep most of myself covered. The woman next to me for upset. She kept making disgusted noises at me. I ignored and kept nursing. Her friend came over to sit with her. The upset woman began to loudly complain to her friend. I was dreading having to respond to her negativity. Luckily her friend did that for me. She pointed out that she was exposing more skin with her bikini than I was by nursing. I did my best not to laugh but it was hilarious.
   When my daughter was a baby I gave up quickly on nursing. I never experienced moments like this. I also never experienced what my son did just the other night. He was cuddling with me and it was such a sweet moment. Suddenly he reached into my shirt and twisted my nipple. It hurt like hell and he laughes. He laughed! He is definitely going to be an interesting child.

Dreams Change

    When I was a senior in high school, my anatomy teacher asked us to write about where we saw ourselves in ten years. At first, I wrote about my dream career as an actress. Then I wrote about another aspect of my future. I described how I would be married with three children. When my teacher returned our papers, he commented that my, answer surprised him. I was the only student to mention having a family. He said that he believed I would be a wonderful mother and make any man lucky to have me as a wife. A year later I was married and a mother at age 19. While my marriage did not last long, I began my journey into motherhood with my daughter. Over the course of five years, I have watched my daughter learn and grow. I also have grown over the years.I am not the same person that I was when I envisioned what my life would be like. Many have said that I gave up my dreams, that I failed to live up to my potential.
       Honestly, I believe that anyone who thinks I have failed is wrong. I did not give up on my dreams, but instead I found new dreams. Instead of going off to Hollywood to follow a dream of being a star, I found a dream worth living for. My dream is filled with games, love, hardships, and milestones. I get to watch two people begin their lives. I get to watch as they discover the little things in life that we miss because we are too busy. I get to see as their personalities develop and change as they grow. I get to be the person who guides them as they grow. I get to instill their morals, their ambitions, and their self value in them. That's a huge responsibility to take on, one that not everyone is cut out for. It's a hard journey, but in the end it is the most rewarding. I am a mother, and will be for the rest of my life. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Second opinion

I recently came a news story about  parents having their infant removed from their home. Normally you begin to wonder what horrible things the infant had been subjected to in the care of his parents. You would be thanking the authorities for saving him from something probably much worse. Yet in this case it seems the system may be corrupt. Shocking, a government system being corrupt.
  I know you're wondering why the baby was removed from his parents' care. Well he had been ill, so like any parent would they rushed him to a hospital. While there, a nurse administered antibiotics. Yet when they asked why she said she didn't know why. Later they were told by a doctor that he should not have been given the antibiotics. Then the doctors informed him he needed surgery. The parents were cautious at this point due to the lack of communication between the staff regarding their son. So against the doctors advice, they took their child to another hospital for a second opinion. They were reassured that surgery wasn't needed and a different course of treatment was decided. Shortly after, the police and cps showed up at their home to remove the child. Now they are fighting the system to have their child returned to them.
  Why am I writing about this? It terrifies me! When The Princess was about 8 months old, she had extreme diarreah. She had 8 bowel movements in a 2 hour period. I was a new mom and scared so we rushed her to the hospital. What did they tell me to do? They thought it was a bad reaction to the dairy in her formula. So they told me to give her nothing but pedialyte for a WEEK. Literally they wanted me to starve my child. I was horrified and in my gut I knew this was wrong. I informed them I disagreed and wanted a second opinion. They advised me to not seek a second opinion until after trying their suggestion. I refused. Instead I drive 45 minutes to the next hospital.
  The staff there was in shock by what the first hospital had suggested. The doctor asked a wound of questions, including if she had been on antibiotics recently. The other hospital had also asked this, but did not comment further. Turns out the antibiotics had wiped out the good bacteria in her digestive tract. Their suggested treatment? Ready to laugh? More dairy. That's right, the complete opposite of the other hospital. So she got to enjoy yogurt for the first time and her body returned to normal.
  So had I not gone for a second opinion, my child would have been starving. I would have been endangering my child and going against my instincts. Why should these parents, or any parents be punished for doing what is best for their child? The thought of this happening to someone else terrifies me that next time, it could happen to me. As parents we should not have to worry about this. As someone who was truly abused and endangered, I am angry that innocent parents are being scrutinized. My parents and many others who should be looked into by the authorities are flying under the radar. We need to wake up and change things before it gets worse.

Child abuse prevention month

I find it slightly ironic that both of my children were born in April. Why is that? April is child abuse prevention month, and I was abused as a child. I see my daughter turning five this month and it's stirring up a vast mix of emotions.
  I see her innocence and wonder how someone could ever consider destroying something so incredible. How can someone knowingly and intentionally hurt a child? I also feel robbed as well. I feel robbed of so much and I wonder if I could have been a completely different person if someone had just seen the warnings.
  Watching my children grow, innocent and  unharmed, I also feel my healing beginning. April is the bringer of spring. Spring is the rebirth after a harsh winter. Spring brings hope. Both of my beautiful blessings were born in spring, bringing me hope.

Depression Beckons

  I realize it has been over a month since I last posted. I wish I could say that it is due to being busy doing fascinating things, but sadly it was not a happy absence. Since I was a teenager, I have battled depression. There are long stretches of time where I do not feel any symptoms of it. Then out of nowhere it sneaks up on me and attacks fiercely. It seems that after Milk Monster was born, it began to slowly creep up on me again. This last month it broke free and began to drown my mind in it.
   I found myself snapping at The Princess even when she was not doing anything to cause even a slight annoyance. I would cry for no reason other than perhaps my mind turning on itself. I began to think perhaps my children would be better off without me. I focused on every little thing I did wrong rather than everything I did right for them. One day it got so bad that  I imagined running away from here and never turning back. Of course this would mean leaving my children, which I would never really do. So I called their dad to come watch them for a couple hours so that I could get away.
   When he arrived, I had no idea where to go to be alone. I simply knew that I needed to be alone. It was slightly warmer than it had been recently, so I pulled over to a park. I took a long stroll on the walk path and simply listened to everything around me. I listened to the birds above me, and the water in the creek next to me. I slowed my breathing and released all of my stress as I listened to nature. By the time I made it home two hours later, I felt more at piece. I had a long talk with my partner and admitted how I had been struggling with my anxiety and depression. Just admitting it to him helped me. I am still struggling, and perhaps always will. Now I know though that it is okay to reach out to ask for help. It is not selfish for me to need time away from my children in order to recharge. In fact it is better for my children that I take time for me, instead of ignoring my depression. My own mother suffered greatly with depression but did not seek out help. She ended up taking her anxiety and depression out on me. It is part of my issues with my own depression, and it caused a great rift between us. I do not wish for my depression to affect my children.

Chapped nipples & prudish doctors

 Funny title tonight, bet you're wondering where I have been this past month. I have been struggling to balance children, housework, and my wonderful job as a waitress. On top of my usual chaos, illnesses galore  have been running rampant through my home. The Princess has had a sinus infection, a cold, strep throat, and the stomach bug. Milk Monster had RSV plus a double ear infection, and today was diagnosed with thrush. Not too shabby compare to how it has been for other families I know, but still it wears you out. I myself have had the colds and stomach bugs along with them, so I know why they are so clingy to mommy. With my son having thrush, I have the joy of cracked nipples. Thrush has attacked them and man do they hurt! I mean, my nipples have not been this sore since Milk Monster was born and we were learning how to get the hang of breastfeeding. I wish I could say my partner had been spared the illnesses we have had lately, but sadly he has had worse than any of us.
  Which brings me to the second part of the title of tonight's blog. The other night we attempted a date night, only to have it end in disaster. The stomach attacked him with such fierceness, he ended up ripping a membrane in his esophagus. Milk Monster and I took him to the hospital nearby to make sure that was what had happened instead of something worse. So, Milk Monster was rolling through the emergency room in style in his comfy stroller complete with a stash of toys to entertain him. We followed nurses back to a room where my partner got to lay down on one of those comfy beds hospitals are just so famous for. After a short waiting period (I am being serious it wasn't very long which is surprising), the doctor, a female nurse who was about my age, and an older male nurse came into the room. At this point I was nursing Milk Monster who had become rather impatient. Upon seeing me nursing, uncovered, the female nurse rolled her eyes and scoffed at me. I ignored this and focused on what mattered, my partner. Then the doctor opened a cabinet door and tossed a towel at me and told me to use it to cover up. I cocked a smile and obliged, knowing exactly what would happen. Milk Monster grabbed the towel and flung it off of me without even breaking from the nipple for a moment. The female nurse looked over at me, and at the towel as if she were waiting for me to cover up. I ignored the towel and asked the doctor about my partner's symptoms in order to focus her attention on him. After a short conversation with the doctor, and a prescription later, the female nurse left with the doctor. The male nurse was sitting with the mobile computer wrapping things up, when he started to laugh. He started telling me how his wife breastfed their kids and that he couldn't understand why people were so against doing it in public. He told us how his son is over six feet tall and healthy as an ox, all of which he believes is due to his wife breastfeeding him for two years. He then told us how she is an activist for breastfeeding rights. My partner laughed, then pointed at me saying that I was too. Before he left the room, the male nurse picked up the towel and put it in the dirty linens bag. He laughed as he did so. I find it hysterical that in a hospital, nurses and doctors try to make a woman cover up something that honestly is the best medicine in the world. Best part? As I write this the Luvs commercial that shows a mom nursing in a restaraunt uncovered is playing.

Perfect Parent

    Your baby should be doing this by this age. You need to do it this way. Why on earth do you do that? Oh you shouldn't do that, it's not good for the baby. Those phrases are said to parents over and over on a daily basis. It can make it a little overwhelming at times for any parent, especially a new one. The pressure can make a parent feel like they have to be perfect and if they do one thing wrong they have messed up their child's life.
     With my daughter I strived to do everything the way I was supposed to according to society. I kept track of what other parents did and how their children acted. If I slipped up and did it differently, I mentally beat myself up. If she wasn't doing things the same time other kids her age were, I was worried that I was failing her as a mom. Then her father and I split up. I panicked inside at the thought that I couldn't do everything for her. I would literally have mental breakdowns because I felt like I was a horrible parent because I let her watch more tv than the doctor said I should.
      When my son was born, I began to do it to myself again. I began to worry that I wasn't giving my daughter enough attention or affection. Then she started to argue more and I would have to discipline her when her arguments turned into tantrums. I know this is typical for her age, especially when a new sibling is introduced. I voiced to my partner that I felt like I was letting her down, and that I felt like by working outside of the home I wasn't doing everything I could for my children. He snapped me out of it. He made me sit down and realize that I have two happy, healthy children that have everything they need. They are loved and each get time with me even with my hectic work schedule. I do things in a way that feel comfortable and right to my inner mommy. I do things that society looks down upon. I cosleep with my children, let them watch tv(not much though), and so much more. I am human though and I am allowed to make mistakes. There is no such thing as a perfect parent, but there are plenty of great parents.
       Why do we feel so pressured to be perfect? Maybe it's because we see countless articles about celebrity moms who get their pre-pregnancy bodies back in weeks. We see them buying organic everything for their kids, and we see how their kids are even living their lives. Our society has raised us to pick at each other and tear each other down by comparing each other's lives. We as moms should embrace each other and encourage each other as we raise the future leaders of this world. I read an article in a parenting magazine about how the Unite States compares to other countries regarding parenting skills. We worry a lot more than they do. We feel the need to be on a strict bedtime schedule, milestone schedule, and something must be wrong if we do not stick to them. We separate ourselves from our kids when it feels more natural to have them near us. Mothers are not looked up to like they used to be in society. We give birth(or adopt which is a tremendous step accomplishment as well in my opinion), nurture, teach, and guide little human beings as they grow. We multitask beyond belief in a single day, let alone a lifetime. We should celebrate our roles as mothers, rather than worry if we are doing it exactly as we should. Since coming to this realization that I can never be a perfect parent, my stress level has decreased greatly.

Mommy's Ink

 I have a tattoo...a very obvious one at that. When people meet me and my children they tend to notice the bold ink on my left wrist. Some simply shake their head while others roll their eyes. Those are the ones that usually see it as a fad among us young mothers. Then there are those who criticize me for desecrating my body with ink. I try to ignore them most of the time, because they do not know the truth. They do not need to know it either. If they knew the truth they may not like it, or they might feel sorry for me. I do not want pity, I never have liked pity. I want understanding though and often find myself lacking it. So I think I should write about the hidden meaning behind "Hope."
   To understand why I had "Hope" inked into the skin on my left wrist, you need to know about my childhood. My parents loved me, and it took me years to understand this. I went through psychological and physical abuse by both of parents from about the age of four until I moved out when I was seventeen. Most of the physical happened at the hands of my father. My mother used more psychological abuse than physical, and years later I know why. My mother went through some horrific events as a child and never received counseling. My parents were not always bad towards me, there are some wonderful memories of them. They just needed help and never received it. The most traumatic event occurred when I was about five years old. My father's brother came to stay with us for a visit that summer. In the middle of the night he molested me. My mother woke up, groggy due to her medicine. She was sick after my brother was born. She thought she saw my uncle coming out of my bedroom and adjusting his pants, but she was not sure. The next morning when my parents woke up, my uncle had already left. He had originally planned on being there for three more days. My mother tried talking to my father about what she thought she had seen, but he brushed it off. Nothing else was ever mentioned of it, even despite my drastic change in behavior. For the next twelve years I struggled with the anger, fear, hurt, depression, and hatred that no child can truly cope with on their own. I became very depressed as I got older. I was tormented in middle school by my peers and my home life was not the best. By the time I reached high school I had began to cut myself. My left wrist was my favorite place to cut. Part of me hoped that I would slip and cut too deep. I wrote poetry every day, pouring my emotions out onto the pages. I tried showing them to my mother, but she would simply say I was overreacting. I was alone, at least it felt that way, with dark thoughts I can not describe fully nearly eight years later. I began to rebel against my traditional Christian upbringing. I began to drink smoke, and have sex behind my parents' backs. My grades slipped from straight A's to nearly failing, but I didn't care anymore. I planned on killing myself one night, but my baby sister came into the room. I broke down crying and confessed everything to my friends the next morning. I was sent to a mental health facility where they addressed my cutting, but the underlying problems. I was about to be sent home when I told them that if I went back home I would either be back in two weeks, or they would be reading my obituary. I admit I had a flair for being dramatic. So my grandmother took me in. I was supposed to receive after care, but never did. So needless to say two months  later I was worse than ever before. One night I went into the bathroom and slowly swallowed my sleeping pills, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and my grandmother's pain medication. I then laid down in bed and sent a goodbye text to about fifteen friends. One friend became extremely concerned and called the sheriff department. I was rushed to the hospital where I had to drink charcoal to absorb the toxins. I was once again sent to mental health facility. This one was better than the first one and I was able to address my underlying issues.
   For the next seven years I would struggle with the depression caused by everything I went through as a child. My recovery was hindered by an abusive marriage. I am not healed, I do have moments where I break down. When my daughter turned three I decided I wanted to get a tattoo. I wanted something to remind myself to never give up hope. Despite all of the darkness in my life, there is so much beauty in it. Had my friend not cared enough to call the cops, I would not be here today. Two beautiful children would not exist. Had I not gone through the pain though, I would not be who I am. Instead of scars on my left wrist, I can now look down and see the reminder that here is always hope. Hope will always be there, even when it feels like all hope has vanished.

To spank or not to spank

 This is a very touchy subject, and I risk a lot by posting about it. Spanking. Many parents do it, many speak against it. Some parents keep their opinions about it to themselves out of fear of being judged by their peers and society. So here I go, on a limb to speak my personal opinion and to share my own experiences.
  My parents love me, this is a fact I know now. I say now, because at times I did not believe this. I grew up in a home where spanking was the usual punishment. Sadly my parents often let their anger control them and I received the blunt of their anger. Choking even occurred on a few occasions. I will not go too far into detail, because there are some things I do not feel should be shared with those reading my blog. My brother also received blows out of anger, mostly from our father. I began to ask over and over, "Why?' I wondered why they hurt me. What had I done to make mommy and daddy so mad at me? I internalized the abuse and eventually hurt myself. I struggled with depression and to this day I still do. My brother externalized it...at me and later our baby sister. He became very violent and still has outbursts to this day.
   When I had my daughter I vowed I would not spank her. I failed in that promise. I did spank her and did not realize I was hurting her. I began to catch myself and walk away in order to not take anger or frustration out on her. My husband at the time did not stop himself. When we divorced I was hesitant in him having visitation with her due to his history of violence towards myself. I had to let him have her every other weekend due to our state's laws. I began to notice changes in my daughter's behaviors and she even regressed in her potty training. She was only two at the time. Then she came home with bruises on her legs, and not the normal bruises kids get. That was the last straw. I ended up taking him to court and the judge mandated supervised visitation, which he refused. Fast forward two years and my daughter still struggles with understanding it. I had hoped that with therapy she would heal. It is a very slow process.
    I do not spank her, not even a slight swat on the bottom. My mother finds this absurd and has even told me I was spanked and turned out fine. I remind her of my depression when I was younger and she claims someone must have convinced me that her spanking me was abuse, because she did nothing wrong. When I lived with my parents this past year my father spanked my daughter, hard enough for me to hear it in the other room. He did it out of frustration like he had done with myself and my brother. I had to put my foot down and had a stern talk with my father. Luckily he listened to me about it.
    While I do not spank, my daughter does face consequences for her actions. She loses privileges, toys, etc.  She has to do extra chores(age appropriate) when she does certain things. I make sure she understands why she is in trouble each time as well. It works for us, and she does make improvements. I also encourage her when she exhibits good behavior. So, this is why I do not spank my daughter. I am still the boss in my home, but I do not worry about whether I am controlling by fear. I do not want my child to behave out of fear of being hurt. I want her to behave because she knows right from wrong.

Little Moments

 I am a mother first of all, but I also work outside of the home. I work as a waitress which means I can either work for just a few hours before going home, or I can work up to twelve hours without a break. It is an exhausting job, but honestly I love it. I get to interact with people and exercise all at the time. Carrying those heavy trays and walking all night at a brisk pace is a big work out. So of course by the time I get home I am beyond exhausted. I then clean the house and do all of my motherly duties as well.
  With the exhaustion I sometimes find myself frustrated and feel like I am missing out on my kids growing up. I am in such a rush to get the house clean, pay the bills, run the errands, etc. There are other days where my exhaustion catches up to me and I just want to lay on the couch watching television with the kids. This morning was one of those lazy days. I find myself feeling guilty when I relax instead of cleaning house. I was laying there, curled up under my warm blanket just relaxing. I began to nod off, which was not my intention. The kids had been playing on the living room floor near me. Suddenly I felt someone grabbing my leg and I looked down. Milk Monster was standing there, smiling at me. He just recently started standing up and I could tell that he was proud of himself.
    As I sit here thinking about that moment this morning, I realize my life is full of these little moments. Sometimes with the hectic running around and exhaustion I find myself missing these moments. Milk Monster grabbing my leg this morning was a little reminder to slow down and enjoy these little moments.

Teaching by Example

 The saying we often hear is that children learn from example. Sometimes we find ourselves scoffing at the very idea. Yet if not by our example, then how else do they learn? As I go through this adventure with my children, I can't help but think back on my own childhood. It's not a pretty trip down memory lane, that's for sure. While there are wonderful memories I try to cling to, there a lot of instances where a bad example was set.
  As I grew up, I saw my father spend less and less time at home in order to avoid conflict with my mother. When he was home, he wanted to be left alone or at least relax after working. My mother would try to explain how I or my brother had misbehaved, and often ask him to discipline us. Since he wasn't home when it happened, he often did not grasp her rules around the house. So in my mother's eyes he would undermine her and say something that went against her rules. She expected him to back her up, but it did not seem that he did. So in our eyes we saw a parent completely disregard what the other one said. This is a simple example that shows us how parenting works. It is teamwork that requires both parents to cooperate in order to teach the children.
  A harsher example I learned was how to view your body. My mother had often struggled with her weight, ever since high school apparently. She was rise and fall in a rapid pattern, causing her to be miserable with herself. I would often see my mother looking at herself in photographs, and I would hear her complain about her body. My mother was not a big woman in my early childhood. Yes she did have some curves and a little meat to her, but she was absolutely beautiful. My mother came from Irish and Cherokee heritage and had a broad frame. Her adoptive father often commented on her weight because she was bigger than her sister. He even forced her to go onto a diet when she was younger. Then when she married my father, her in-laws also began to criticize her for her weight. After the criticism, she began to take it to heart. What my mother did not realize, that as she bashed herself over and over in front of me I began to look at my own body the same way. She was constantly watching what I ate, afraid I would begin to struggle with my weight as well. When I began to go through puberty I did begin to gain weight. I became very depressed about my body and felt that a man could never be attracted to me. By the time I reached high school I started to starve myself. It took counseling after a dark moment in order to stop starving myself. I have struggled with my body image ever since. Only after the birth of my second child, and the support of my partner have I come to love my curves.
   I guess my point in sharing this story is to be wise about the example you set. Children watch every little thing you do, and hear everything you say. I have been doing my best to not let my daughter see my struggles with my body image. I tell her she is beautiful the way she is, that she is beautiful inside and out. I want my daughter to be confident in a way that took me years to become. I do not want her to go through the struggles that I went through. I know she is young still, but puberty will be rough for her as it is for any child.

Doubt Arises

  While I am now confident that breastfeeding is best for Milk Monster, and that he is perfectly healthy, there have been times where doubt arose. Milk Monster weighed a little less than eight pounds when he was born and was twenty inches long. He began to gain weight at a decent pace, then had a huge growth spurt within two months. At his four month check up he was about sixteen pounds and twenty-six inches long. I felt confident in him receiving the nutrients he needed all from my milk.
   When I took Milk Monster to his six month appointment, he had not gained any weight or gotten any longer. I was saddened by this, but his pediatrician made no comment about it. Instead she seemed satisfied with him being healthy and breastfed. That following week we had an appointment with WIC to have him weighed and measured. The nurse entered his height and weight into the system that keeps track of it for them. She became concerned by the fact that he was not growing, or so it seemed to her. I tried to brush it aside because his father's family is on the shorter side, and I am not very tall either.
     That night when I went home I began to doubt whether or not my milk was helping him grow. We had begun to introduce him to solids, but he preferred mommy's milk. I kept brushing aside my fears, trying to focus on the fact that breastmilk is best for him. Then a few days later he was fussy and seemed to be constantly nursing. He was screaming loudly, as if he was still hungry immediately after nursing. I broke down crying, believing my milk supply was decreasing. So I gave him a bottle of pumped milk that I had thawed. I began reaching out to breastfeeding communities for advice, hoping I could avoid switching him to formula. It was like going through what I did with The Princess all over again. I bought fenugreek and mother's milk tea in the hopes of increasing my supply. I went to bed that night crying, but hopeful. Luckily my supply had not dried up and after almost three months I have accepted that I am doing what is best for him. I can see Milk Monster has grown, and I am hopeful for his next appointment. Even though he is small for his age, he is happy and healthy. I will do my best from now on to not let others make me doubt my body's ability to provide for my child.

The Princess and I

  Breastfeeding is hard work, and when I first became pregnant with The Princess nearly six years ago no one mentioned that to me. I had dreams of nursing my little one for her first year of life, and was eager to begin my journey in motherhood. I was a young mother, not even twenty years old when she was born. My relationship with my own mother was tattered due to difficulties in my past. My SO at the time was, well, far from supportive. He was not happy about me not working even for the first six weeks of her life, and would often make it clear my affection for our daughter was robbing him of affection.
  I was young and alone for most of the day as well as the night due to my SO working two jobs. The Princess would not rest at night, and instead she was constantly nursing. When she wasn't nursing she was screaming as if in pain. My first night home was horrible and exhausting. I could not understand why she wouldn't sleep for more than an hour at a time. My father came over the next morning to let me sleep and it was the best gift he could have given me at that moment. Once he left though it was back to struggling to get The Princess to sleep or at least stop crying. I began to doze off during the day when she napped instead of keeping our apartment spotless. This greatly irritated my SO and caused many arguments between us. He began to suggest I give her formula so I could get more stuff done. I didn't want to at first, but his persistence wore me down. We began to supplement and it seemed to help at first.
  The formula was a short lived answer to our problem. She began to throw up everything she ate, nearly immediately after she ate. I would frantically call her pediatrician's office trying to describe the projectile vomit that she was experiencing. At first family members and the nurse  all suggested it might be a milk allergy, so we gave her a different formula and cut back on the breastfeeding. I began to notice a lack of my milk supply and became saddened. I took this as a sign that I could no longer breastfeed her if we kept giving her formula as well. The new formula did not help her spit up problem at all. The pediatrician informed us it was quite possible that she had acid reflux so they switched her to a different formula. I was also told I could no longer breastfeed because she would not be able to keep it down. I had no one else to go to for advice so I trusted the doctor. The new formula eased her spit up issues, but not my personal doubts. To this day I wonder if maybe she could have been breastfed. Perhaps if I had been around more moms, had a support system, or a least one person who could help me I might have been able to succeed.
  So while I support breastfeeding as being best for babies, I understand that moms struggle. I have friends who have their milk dry up within a month, and I know others who experienced extreme depression while breastfeeding. Their depression caused them to have to stop in order to not hurt themselves or their babies. I also know there are so many other mothers out there that lack a support system. Young moms and even older moms alike need a support system through this journey. It is a difficult yet rewarding one and sometimes we need someone to offer friendly advice in order to succeed.

  How did my little man become known as Milk Monster? That is a question some have asked me lately, and the story is cute. One night my little man was playing on the living room floor while I was sitting at the computer in the recliner. He crawled over to me and began to tap my feet, making noises to get my attention. So I leaned down to pick him up, and sat him in my lap. He turned himself around so that he could face me. For a moment he was simply staring at me, intensely. He laid his head on my chest and for a moment I thought he was being affectionate towards mommy. Oh how I was wrong. He put his arms on my shoulders and stood himself up in my lap, with his head on my chest. He began to then headbutt my chest, making an "mmmm" sound as he did so. He would then look up at me before sitting down with a grin on his face. This was followed by him smacking my chest repeatedly. He would wait for me to look at him, then he would begin to stand up and headbutt my chest again. So I finally asked "Do you want milk?" He stopped instantly, and laughed at me. That was my sign, well of course I want milk mommy. That was the night Milk Monster came to life.
    Moments like that make it easy to remember why I am breastfeeding. There are times of course that make it difficult to remember why I am doing it. I am talking about those late nights where all I want to do is curl up and go to sleep, but instead I am laying in bed nursing my son. There are nights where I feel like I get less than three hours of sleep due to him waking and wanting to nurse. His pediatrician and others have told me to get him to go back to sleep, or to let him cry it out. Yet something inside of me always felt this was wrong, letting him go without eating through the night. His tummy is so little compared to mine, and he has been continually fed on demand for nine months while growing inside of my womb. Maybe he does just want the comfort of being near mommy. How can that be so wrong? All of you moms questioning whether or not to co-sleep or to simply hold your little one in the night, pause for a moment and consider this. Your little one has been in your warm, safe womb for nine months. He or she has known your smell and your voice for nine months. Why do we suddenly expect them to sleep away from us and through the night so suddenly after coming into this strange world? Babies need reassurance that we are not leaving them, that we are nearby, in order to feel secure. The idea of keeping babies in separate spaces came about in a time when infants struggled to survive and children were treated as little adults. Babies were kept separate so that their parents would not make them ill, and children were expected to grow up very quickly. In most other countries, babies are kept close to their mothers especially at night. Babies do not cry to manipulate us because they do not know how to manipulate. They cry because that is how they communicate with us. Their cries tell us they need us, whether they need us because they are hungry, need a diaper change, or simply need us to comfort them. I did not always know this. I always felt better having not only my milk monster near me at night but also his 4 year old sister, The Princess. My mother co slept with my sister, so luckily she understood it to a point. However it took a lot of research and looking to other mothers on blogs to understand I was not alone. So although I may hear people telling me to not nurse him at night, or to keep him out of my bed, I know in my heart I am doing what is right for my child. We mothers have deep, natural instincts that come from generations upon generations of women making decisions for their children. Do not let someone make you feel bullied into changing how you raise your child. You are a mother and in your heart you know what is best. So even in those weary hours when you feel like you haven't slept in months, stay strong mamas. You are not alone.

 The moment the placed him in my arms I was determined to give him the best a mother can give. He was so small, yet so perfect in every way. He was a part of me, just as his older sister is. I lay there admiring him, admiring the life that had been growing inside of me for nine months. The nurses asked if I'd like them to clean him before letting him nurse. I simply shook my head and moved to latch him onto my breast. I rubbed the nipple against his cheek and instantly his mouth found it. As he nursed, his little hand reached for mine, and his eyes sought out my gaze. The nurses, the doctor, and my fiance were amazed how easily he nursed. My fiance beamed with pride as he watched me feed our son. From that day on I was determined to do what I had struggled to do four years prior. I had longed to breastfeed his sister, but a lack of support and an abusive relationship caused me to feel pressured into giving her formula instead. I understand some moms have difficulty breastfeeding and sometimes formula is necessary, but I felt saddened by not being able to nurse her. I wanted things to be different for my son, and I was a woman determined.
  Eight months later and we are still going strong. My son not only enjoys my milk, he loves it. He is very demanding for it and has been dubbed my milk monster. This cute little nickname sticks to him very easily for many reasons. I am grateful for all of the support I received in the beginning and through all of the rough nights with late feedings. I admire all of the women who blog about breastfeeding and offer advice. So now I will share my adventures with my milk monster in the hopes that I can help at least one other mother. So sit back, relax, and join me on this wonderful journey.