If you don't have Netflix, GET IT. Then go watch the show HEAVY. There is an episode that is so powerful where she states "I've been choosing FOOD over my grandchildren." and that is what I have done my whole life.
I have let my frustrations with weight loss, crash diets, excuses and ultimately my bad relationship with food and my body ruin my future with my hypothetical children. But they aren't hypothetical anymore. I am a mother and I'll be damned if I let food dictate my relationship with my child. I'll be damned if I choose to eat over having a long active life watching my child grow.
I broke down in tears yesterday because once again a CHILD pointed at me in the grocery store and said "WOW, thats one BIG MOM." Not nearly as bad as the previous instance and the mom did lean down and quietly reprimand him in his ear but I'm stalked by children's honesty. This time all I could think was "this is going to be Matthew's friends someday and I'm going to be the reason he is made fun of...for having the "fat mom." FUCK THAT.
That little handle I got on dieting while struggling with fertility? Losing 46 lbs? that was a drop in the bucket compared to the undertaking I'm fixing to launch. Unfortunately food is not like drugs...you can't just quit it. You have to have it to survive so you are faced with your addiction EVERY.SINGLE.DAY multiple times. But it will not win. It will not win out over my baby.
Food, you have no power over me and my body anymore. Healthy living, hi my name is Krista and I'll be joining you from here on out.
I choose to live and live well, actively and a long time. I CHOOSE my child and my family over my past of bad choices.
Goodbye fat, gluttony and sloth. Hello food scale, points and calorie counting. Hello treadmill. Hello life. Hello my baby boy growing into an amazing man. Hello LIFE.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
I feel the Earth Move..Under my feet
The sky comes tumbling down....tumbling down.
This song has so much meaning for us East coasters this week. As many things as I have to blog about, it had to be said today: (and I'm pretty sure everyone's sick of hearing about it by now but I'm a little "shook" up:P )
WE HAD A MOTHER EFFING EARTHQUAKE! In North Carolina! WTF? the last one to be felt (and it was milder than this one was in 1972...before I was born and was not felt nearly as widely as todays). there was a small isolated tremor very localized in Greensboro in 2006 but so few people felt it I think it was more the scientists imaginations).
I work near a local college that was evacuated today for a bomb threat. As we sat in our desks and everything started shaking and rattling, several people jumped up with an "OH SHIT, the college blew up" but as the rolling continued we were actually more freaked out that it was an earthquake instead of a bomb. It's the South...fire arms and bombs we understand...Earthquakes...not so much. (twisted I know.)
To top it off, Hurricane Irene is headed our way....earth moving, sky tumbling down?
Yea.
::headwall::
This song has so much meaning for us East coasters this week. As many things as I have to blog about, it had to be said today: (and I'm pretty sure everyone's sick of hearing about it by now but I'm a little "shook" up:P )
WE HAD A MOTHER EFFING EARTHQUAKE! In North Carolina! WTF? the last one to be felt (and it was milder than this one was in 1972...before I was born and was not felt nearly as widely as todays). there was a small isolated tremor very localized in Greensboro in 2006 but so few people felt it I think it was more the scientists imaginations).
I work near a local college that was evacuated today for a bomb threat. As we sat in our desks and everything started shaking and rattling, several people jumped up with an "OH SHIT, the college blew up" but as the rolling continued we were actually more freaked out that it was an earthquake instead of a bomb. It's the South...fire arms and bombs we understand...Earthquakes...not so much. (twisted I know.)
To top it off, Hurricane Irene is headed our way....earth moving, sky tumbling down?
Yea.
::headwall::
Friday, August 19, 2011
Accidentally On Purpose
Where the Hell has this TV show been all my life and Thank You Netflix. I'm so glad I ditched DirecTV and got Netflix. Not only does it save at least 60 dollars per month but I've opened up a whole new world of TV addiction with NO COMMERCIALS on my own time! BRILLIANT.
It does beg the question though, why can my life not include perfect comedic timing on a daily basis? How fun would life be if I were LIKE Jenna Elfman (aka Billie)?
I need to work on my postive one liners in a cute flirty voice and deliver it in an awesome quirky wardrobe to boot!
It does beg the question though, why can my life not include perfect comedic timing on a daily basis? How fun would life be if I were LIKE Jenna Elfman (aka Billie)?
I need to work on my postive one liners in a cute flirty voice and deliver it in an awesome quirky wardrobe to boot!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sofa Surfing and subsequent wipeouts
I've developed a bad habit. When the baby wakes up at night, I stumble to the livingroom and turn on the TV for light and watch the early morning news on CBS while he feeds. Since I usually only have an hour or two left of night, I typically just lay on the couch with him snuggled on my chest until DH wakes us up at 6.
My child is officially too big and restless to sleep with me anymore. This morning I woke from a very wierd and vivid dream to his whimpers. A disoriented me found him head first towards the floor with only his feet left on the sofa. He had not hit the floor but was wedged between the sofa and the bouncy chair slowly sliding towards wiping out on the carpet.
I immediately grab his feet with one hand and rescue him with the other. He never woke fully up but snuggled back into my chest and snoozed. I on the other hand stayed stock still and awake for the next half hour until I heard the alarm going off from the bedroom.
Catastophe averted but my lazy sofa surfing mornings are officially over. I knew it was coming but I'm definitely going to miss it. Since I feel like worst parent of the year after this mornings episode I'm not willing to try and stretch it out either. One time is one time too many even if no injuries were sustained and he never woke up enough to remember it!
My baby is growing up way too fast, getting so big and all my little infant joys are being stripped away one by one. ::cries::
My child is officially too big and restless to sleep with me anymore. This morning I woke from a very wierd and vivid dream to his whimpers. A disoriented me found him head first towards the floor with only his feet left on the sofa. He had not hit the floor but was wedged between the sofa and the bouncy chair slowly sliding towards wiping out on the carpet.
I immediately grab his feet with one hand and rescue him with the other. He never woke fully up but snuggled back into my chest and snoozed. I on the other hand stayed stock still and awake for the next half hour until I heard the alarm going off from the bedroom.
Catastophe averted but my lazy sofa surfing mornings are officially over. I knew it was coming but I'm definitely going to miss it. Since I feel like worst parent of the year after this mornings episode I'm not willing to try and stretch it out either. One time is one time too many even if no injuries were sustained and he never woke up enough to remember it!
My baby is growing up way too fast, getting so big and all my little infant joys are being stripped away one by one. ::cries::
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Politically Incorrect-the Real Me
I've tried to be politically correct on my blog as much as possible, writing so as not to offend any readers or insite a hater club following. The thing is though, I write for me. I write to relieve tension, express emotion, remember events. I don't go all out to make it perfect. I typically write on paper first and then when I have a chance, grab an entry and type it in. I type fast...like 150 words per minute fast (the advantages of being addicted to yahoo chat rooms in the mid 90's) but I also make mistakes. there's a slight disconnect between my fingers and my brain. So when I re-read posts (usually at a later date when I'm reading comments) I notice the mistakes: adn instead of and. An S on the beginning of a word instead of the end of the previous one. Little things that I SHOULD take the time to correct!
I don't do the sponsor thing. I'm not writing to bring in money though I wouldn't be opposed to it if someone (like Lane Bryant, yoooohooooo over here fat fashion gods!) came along and offered me something I could use in exchange for a teensy weensy badge...yea I would sell out, but I don't see me going out and actively soliciting every etsy seller for pennies just to look cool. I probably won't ever write well enough to illicit a following big enough to justify that anyway. ::shrugs:: Not the point of why I write.
Yes, of course I wish I had more readers because I've developed some kick ass relationships with some of them! (although google is still being a bitch and not letting me post on google blogs thus why I'm in the process of transitioning to Wordpress!) I still write for me though. So why do I continue to hide parts of myself from everyone? If people quit reading because I express views they disagree with then I don't need closed minded people in my life. They don't hide thier views from me and a few tend to shove them in my face even. I disagree with bloggers all the time but I respect that they have an opinion and freedom of expression and I keep my mouth shut.
So I'm agreeing to be more honest, with myself, with my blog, with the few dedicated readers I have (and hopefully the don't run screaming when they find out my number on the scale, my religious confusion or the fact that I'm a conservative pro-life republican ---GASP!)
In the end, I'm still me, the girl who struggled with weight (and continues to do so) and fertility, new mom, working gal, living in the crazy world, paying bills, loving my husband, adoring my son,and trying to put down the lemon pound cake. I just sometimes have a little more to say on subjects. I'll never be a Dooce or a Pioneer Woman. God forbid I'm ever a Under1000amonth blogger either. I join blog sites to find new things to read but never promote myself. Maybe I should to find more kindred spirits to keep me motivated. I'm inspired daily by people and their commitment to honesty on their blogs. Holding themselves accountable like skinnyemmie.com. With my current life, I strive to be more like that, for the sake of me.
So beware. I'm letting down my hair...a little at a time. (My courage comes in small doses because like everyone I still have a desire to be liked even by a few.)
I don't do the sponsor thing. I'm not writing to bring in money though I wouldn't be opposed to it if someone (like Lane Bryant, yoooohooooo over here fat fashion gods!) came along and offered me something I could use in exchange for a teensy weensy badge...yea I would sell out, but I don't see me going out and actively soliciting every etsy seller for pennies just to look cool. I probably won't ever write well enough to illicit a following big enough to justify that anyway. ::shrugs:: Not the point of why I write.
Yes, of course I wish I had more readers because I've developed some kick ass relationships with some of them! (although google is still being a bitch and not letting me post on google blogs thus why I'm in the process of transitioning to Wordpress!) I still write for me though. So why do I continue to hide parts of myself from everyone? If people quit reading because I express views they disagree with then I don't need closed minded people in my life. They don't hide thier views from me and a few tend to shove them in my face even. I disagree with bloggers all the time but I respect that they have an opinion and freedom of expression and I keep my mouth shut.
So I'm agreeing to be more honest, with myself, with my blog, with the few dedicated readers I have (and hopefully the don't run screaming when they find out my number on the scale, my religious confusion or the fact that I'm a conservative pro-life republican ---GASP!)
In the end, I'm still me, the girl who struggled with weight (and continues to do so) and fertility, new mom, working gal, living in the crazy world, paying bills, loving my husband, adoring my son,and trying to put down the lemon pound cake. I just sometimes have a little more to say on subjects. I'll never be a Dooce or a Pioneer Woman. God forbid I'm ever a Under1000amonth blogger either. I join blog sites to find new things to read but never promote myself. Maybe I should to find more kindred spirits to keep me motivated. I'm inspired daily by people and their commitment to honesty on their blogs. Holding themselves accountable like skinnyemmie.com. With my current life, I strive to be more like that, for the sake of me.
So beware. I'm letting down my hair...a little at a time. (My courage comes in small doses because like everyone I still have a desire to be liked even by a few.)
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Pumping Fiasco
This has been a rough past two weeks. First week of daycare, first postpardum AF, unbelievable exhaustion, and decline in milk supply AGAIN!I'm sleeping but it's compounded by mental fatigue and stress. On top of all that, I have almost fallen asleep while driving, have almost wrecked my car on the highway which further frayed my nerves.
With much relief, I entered Friday with slightly more optimism. Tomorrow I would get to hang with my son. No schedules and packing bottles. Just relaxing with him while cleaning the house and maybe weeding the flowerbeds, spending time with family.
Then disaster and mortifaction slapped me up side the head. I pump in an obscure closet of a conference room perched on top of an office in the middle of a warehouse. (tall shelves housing mechanical parts, shipping center and forklifts with men busily going about their day as I climb the tricky metal stairs 2-3 times per day.)
As I sat in my quiet little room with the gentle sound of the whoosh whoosh of the pump, I was lulled into a catatonic state. A few moments of blissful slumber until the dry suction made my poor nipple scream in protest sending pain signals to my brain which triggered me to wake suddenly. I glanced at the clock to see I had been in there for over 45 minutes so I rushed to wipe the sleeping drool from my face, throw my pump gear in the bag and dash out the door.
I recieved a few odd looks but kept on my determined path back to my office. Halfway there, I looked down...my boob was hanging out.
Granted my bra was covering it but there it was...this massive bright white cotton covered boob shining as pretty as you please out of the deep vneck of my dark green printed shirt.
If I could have melted into the concrete floor like kitty from the XMEN (dork alert!) I would have...in a heartbeat.
This has NOT been my week!
With much relief, I entered Friday with slightly more optimism. Tomorrow I would get to hang with my son. No schedules and packing bottles. Just relaxing with him while cleaning the house and maybe weeding the flowerbeds, spending time with family.
Then disaster and mortifaction slapped me up side the head. I pump in an obscure closet of a conference room perched on top of an office in the middle of a warehouse. (tall shelves housing mechanical parts, shipping center and forklifts with men busily going about their day as I climb the tricky metal stairs 2-3 times per day.)
As I sat in my quiet little room with the gentle sound of the whoosh whoosh of the pump, I was lulled into a catatonic state. A few moments of blissful slumber until the dry suction made my poor nipple scream in protest sending pain signals to my brain which triggered me to wake suddenly. I glanced at the clock to see I had been in there for over 45 minutes so I rushed to wipe the sleeping drool from my face, throw my pump gear in the bag and dash out the door.
I recieved a few odd looks but kept on my determined path back to my office. Halfway there, I looked down...my boob was hanging out.
Granted my bra was covering it but there it was...this massive bright white cotton covered boob shining as pretty as you please out of the deep vneck of my dark green printed shirt.
If I could have melted into the concrete floor like kitty from the XMEN (dork alert!) I would have...in a heartbeat.
This has NOT been my week!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Nothing so needs reforming as other people's habits. ~Mark Twain
I'm a terrible hypocritical mother. I judge harshly parents who use the tv as a babysitter ALL the time (and video games). You know the ones. The TV is ALWAYS on tuned into the kid's channel with Dora the Explorer chanting about going to Grandma's house in the two languages. The Zombie Apocolypse is on the rise not from a government experiment gone wrong but a generation of mindless bored children staring at tv screens/game consoles/and computer screens all day.
My husband (who is tv/computer obsessed) and I agreed that our children would have limited access to these items. That means giving up our favorite shows, satellite tv etc. We can't tune in without little one doing so. I'm not sure he has realized that there really isn't going to be time to watch all these shows anyway. I can't tell you the last time I actually watched a whole show all the way through. There's too much to do.
After bragging on my child sleeping through the night for pretty much a few months, he has gotten off schedule this week. he doesn't want to sleep in his crib. He wakes up screaming, like he's having nightmares, needing to be held. So I've spent the whole week getting very little sleep and increasing my back pain by sleeping propped up on the sofa with him.
This morning even his feeding schedule was off so in order to get out the door on time and because he was in a good playful mood, I put him in his bouncer...with cartoons on the TV. He was one enthralled happy boy. Legs bouncing 90 miles per hour, eyes glued to the TV, happily slobbering all over the spinning rattle and his fists.
It was like a knife to my heart. What the hell have I done? I've noticed him watching the TV and computer screens a few times before. We've even put on the Baby Einstein once or twice to see if it captured his attention but he's only good for about 5 or 10 minutes max preferring to enteract with us or a toy.
I'm kicking myself for setting him up to watch TV this morning just so I could eat breakfast while getting dressed, but I can't promise I won't do it again either.
Satellite is officially cancelled as of today. Broadcast TV is what we have (with the basic Netflix and Hulu Plus as side options). No more Teen Mom, Food Network or marathons of NCIS.
No TV heads in my house, except for that 20 minutes on a weekday morning when I need to bathe in coffee and get ready for work. ::headwall::
My husband (who is tv/computer obsessed) and I agreed that our children would have limited access to these items. That means giving up our favorite shows, satellite tv etc. We can't tune in without little one doing so. I'm not sure he has realized that there really isn't going to be time to watch all these shows anyway. I can't tell you the last time I actually watched a whole show all the way through. There's too much to do.
After bragging on my child sleeping through the night for pretty much a few months, he has gotten off schedule this week. he doesn't want to sleep in his crib. He wakes up screaming, like he's having nightmares, needing to be held. So I've spent the whole week getting very little sleep and increasing my back pain by sleeping propped up on the sofa with him.
This morning even his feeding schedule was off so in order to get out the door on time and because he was in a good playful mood, I put him in his bouncer...with cartoons on the TV. He was one enthralled happy boy. Legs bouncing 90 miles per hour, eyes glued to the TV, happily slobbering all over the spinning rattle and his fists.
It was like a knife to my heart. What the hell have I done? I've noticed him watching the TV and computer screens a few times before. We've even put on the Baby Einstein once or twice to see if it captured his attention but he's only good for about 5 or 10 minutes max preferring to enteract with us or a toy.
I'm kicking myself for setting him up to watch TV this morning just so I could eat breakfast while getting dressed, but I can't promise I won't do it again either.
Satellite is officially cancelled as of today. Broadcast TV is what we have (with the basic Netflix and Hulu Plus as side options). No more Teen Mom, Food Network or marathons of NCIS.
No TV heads in my house, except for that 20 minutes on a weekday morning when I need to bathe in coffee and get ready for work. ::headwall::
Thursday, August 11, 2011
And Don't Call Me Shirley
or Matthew. I spent months agonizing over the perfect name for my child, arguing the merits and flow of combinations with my husband. As beautiful as the name is, we call him everything but.
Monster is the most prevalent and courtesy of his father (in utero making it the oldest used nickname and probably the "official" nickname.)
Pee-turkey (something random I spewed that has stuck)
Suger boog (a southerN thing as my aunt calls him this too)
Punkin (My sister tends to use this one as well)
Cuteboy
Monkeybutt (especially in his outfit with the monkey face patch on the bottom)
Cuteness
Fussybutt
Booboo
Wiggleworm
Squirmy pants
Slobber box
And I'm sure a myriad of other names that pop out of my mouth randomly...but never Matthew.
I'm pretty sure he's going to think his name is Monster, but I would have been majorly sideeyed had I put that on his birth certificate!
Monster is the most prevalent and courtesy of his father (in utero making it the oldest used nickname and probably the "official" nickname.)
Pee-turkey (something random I spewed that has stuck)
Suger boog (a southerN thing as my aunt calls him this too)
Punkin (My sister tends to use this one as well)
Cuteboy
Monkeybutt (especially in his outfit with the monkey face patch on the bottom)
Cuteness
Fussybutt
Booboo
Wiggleworm
Squirmy pants
Slobber box
And I'm sure a myriad of other names that pop out of my mouth randomly...but never Matthew.
I'm pretty sure he's going to think his name is Monster, but I would have been majorly sideeyed had I put that on his birth certificate!
Monday, August 8, 2011
The Diet War
I had a mini meltdown this weekend. I decided to take advantage of the sales during tax free weekend and supplement my dwindling wardrobe (despite the fact that I feel our staste needs the revenue during these bleak economic times.)
After many trips to the dressing room, I ended up with one pair of black dress pants, and bile rising in my throat. I cannot begin to tell you how bad my body image is right now. Any false confidence I had despite my obesity was apparently sucked out wiht my placenta. I was so disgusted looking at myself in that mirror that I couldn't fathom buying anything even if it fit and was a good price. Nothing looked good on me.
After I left, I had to go pick up dinner. DH wanted Panera. I fought a war with myself the entire way there. "Don't eat you fat cow." "But you have to eat to make milk for Matthew." I got a chicken pannini with an apple, but was in tears before I got home. It felt like the world was crashing in on me. Everythign was wrong.
When I walked in, matthew was asleep for the night and I knew he would be up in a few hours as he never sleeps that early. So I went straigh tto bed...without eating. DH knew something was wrong, but I wouldn't talk to him. I laid in my bed and sobbed. I was hoping he would come in and lay with me (like a typical girl) but him being a typical male, he just grabbed his dinner and dug in.
When I couldn't breathe from the snot blockage and my stomach was in knots from hunger, I got up and ate some leftover chicken and rice casserole. (DH ended up eating my sandwich too!) I told him what was going on and he suggested we go shopping together on Sunday...which never happened, once again dissappointing me.
On an up note though, I finally conquered the laundry monster residing in my bedroom and found a few articles of clothing I had been missing so that improved my wardrobe!
I'm better today. i have on a jean skirt, royal blue silk tank with silver chain trim, white ruffled shrug and sandas. I feel like its flattering and I lost 2.4 lbs. I laid out my clothes for the whole week and put together a few cute outfits including accessories so I feel like my odl put together self.
I still have an internal war raging though. The one part that wants to hit dieting hardcore to drop the weight (milk supply be damned since he drinks formula anyway) justifying it by being a healtheir smaller prettier mom sooner to make his life better vs the part that says chill out, you won't be able to breastfeed much longer, do whatever to keep your meager supply up, you can diet later.
It's tough. My son is the most important thing in my life so I want to give him the best start but I also want to live as long as possible to watch him grow. I also want to be a pretty mom because pretty moms are more popular, therefore their children have more playdates, friends, etc. but thats a shallow society conversation for another day. For now, I have enough to worry about fighting with myself. I seem to have a lot of wars raging in me on different subjects. It's amazing my brain is still sane.
After many trips to the dressing room, I ended up with one pair of black dress pants, and bile rising in my throat. I cannot begin to tell you how bad my body image is right now. Any false confidence I had despite my obesity was apparently sucked out wiht my placenta. I was so disgusted looking at myself in that mirror that I couldn't fathom buying anything even if it fit and was a good price. Nothing looked good on me.
After I left, I had to go pick up dinner. DH wanted Panera. I fought a war with myself the entire way there. "Don't eat you fat cow." "But you have to eat to make milk for Matthew." I got a chicken pannini with an apple, but was in tears before I got home. It felt like the world was crashing in on me. Everythign was wrong.
When I walked in, matthew was asleep for the night and I knew he would be up in a few hours as he never sleeps that early. So I went straigh tto bed...without eating. DH knew something was wrong, but I wouldn't talk to him. I laid in my bed and sobbed. I was hoping he would come in and lay with me (like a typical girl) but him being a typical male, he just grabbed his dinner and dug in.
When I couldn't breathe from the snot blockage and my stomach was in knots from hunger, I got up and ate some leftover chicken and rice casserole. (DH ended up eating my sandwich too!) I told him what was going on and he suggested we go shopping together on Sunday...which never happened, once again dissappointing me.
On an up note though, I finally conquered the laundry monster residing in my bedroom and found a few articles of clothing I had been missing so that improved my wardrobe!
I'm better today. i have on a jean skirt, royal blue silk tank with silver chain trim, white ruffled shrug and sandas. I feel like its flattering and I lost 2.4 lbs. I laid out my clothes for the whole week and put together a few cute outfits including accessories so I feel like my odl put together self.
I still have an internal war raging though. The one part that wants to hit dieting hardcore to drop the weight (milk supply be damned since he drinks formula anyway) justifying it by being a healtheir smaller prettier mom sooner to make his life better vs the part that says chill out, you won't be able to breastfeed much longer, do whatever to keep your meager supply up, you can diet later.
It's tough. My son is the most important thing in my life so I want to give him the best start but I also want to live as long as possible to watch him grow. I also want to be a pretty mom because pretty moms are more popular, therefore their children have more playdates, friends, etc. but thats a shallow society conversation for another day. For now, I have enough to worry about fighting with myself. I seem to have a lot of wars raging in me on different subjects. It's amazing my brain is still sane.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Breastfeeding vs. Formulafeeding
This post is not intended to start a debate between breastfeeders vs formula feeding. It is merely to express my emotional journey between the two. I have no problems with formula feeding (for other people), though I will admit that I side eye people who HAVE milk and CAN breastfeed but choose to formula feed for no medically necessary reason (boob jobs, medicines etc.) as well as those who give up because it hurts or is hard. Those opinions also are closely tied to my own journey though and I realize this.
Breastfeeding (especially in the first weeks-err months) is one of the hardest things I've done. There was a weekend that I resorted to exclusively pumping because of how painful it was, but I went back to it and gritted my teeth through the pain. I'm 4 months in and my nipples are still tender and sore but not to an unbearable degree. I can still enjoy the act of breastfeeding at this point and appreciate the bonding experience.
I have fought, cried, and emotionally abused myself to breastfeed. Thanks to PCOS, my body does not produce enough to meet my sons needs. In four months my supply has not increased at all. Period. When my milk came in, I could pump 2 ounces. Which was fine for a 3 day old. Not so much for a 3 month old. I have worked with Dr's, lactation consultants, gadgets, pumping regimens, natural remedies, foods and prescription drugs. To this day, I can still only get 2 ounces every few hours. Which means he gets 2-4 ounces of formula every few hours (except at night).
the first time I gave him formula he was 5 or 6 days old and I cried the entire time. I think I cried the whole first week while giving him a bottle. I felt like a failure as a mom and to this day, those emotions and that memory of that moment haunt me.
(Here's where formula feeding moms will really gnash their teeth.) I'm EMBARRASSED to BUY FORMULA. I won't look the cashier in the eye. It's like being a teenage girl buying a pregnancy test or condoms. I'm embarrassed to give my baby a bottle in public because people can see me mix the powder and water and know its formula. (On the other hand I won't breastfeed in public either. I will whip them out around female family members or in a public retail women's lounge or mother's room, or even in my car parked at the edge of a prking lot away from everyone but won't find me on a bench int he mall with my boob out flapping in the breeze for the world to see.) (So there I have offended both types of moms with my prudishness equally!).
I have a negative image of formula feeding (that I never had before) due to my own struggle and desire to breastfeed. I'm projecting my own fears, experiences etc. into this one act of parenting becaue of my own dissappointment. The studies and articles about the benefits of breastfeeding over formula swim through my subconcious brain to give me nightmares.
I KNOW its okay. The Dr's tell me his fine and healthy and I'm doing a good job. Everyone comments on how alert and strong he is; How good his disposition and behavior are; how clear his skin; how beautiful of a baby he is. He is getting the immunities and benefits of breastmilk and the intimate bonding of nursing two ounces at a time.
I can go on like this as long as my body produces. If I can make it to 6 months he will still have recieved a lot of benefit from my meager supply. I, however, need to reconcile with myself this negativity. I tell myself that my body sin't a failure. It gave me the most amazing little boy after years of struggle, but this is one more black mark against it. Maybe thats part of the scars of being a bitter infertile. We never quite learn how to love ourselves again (and forgive our bodies) and automatically self loathe when our bodies don't perform the way we want.
I will always struggle with breastfeeding, the way my birth went, and with my body but just as I haven't given up with breastfeeding, I won't give up on trying to forgive me, even while I die of shame when purchasing formula.
Breastfeeding (especially in the first weeks-err months) is one of the hardest things I've done. There was a weekend that I resorted to exclusively pumping because of how painful it was, but I went back to it and gritted my teeth through the pain. I'm 4 months in and my nipples are still tender and sore but not to an unbearable degree. I can still enjoy the act of breastfeeding at this point and appreciate the bonding experience.
I have fought, cried, and emotionally abused myself to breastfeed. Thanks to PCOS, my body does not produce enough to meet my sons needs. In four months my supply has not increased at all. Period. When my milk came in, I could pump 2 ounces. Which was fine for a 3 day old. Not so much for a 3 month old. I have worked with Dr's, lactation consultants, gadgets, pumping regimens, natural remedies, foods and prescription drugs. To this day, I can still only get 2 ounces every few hours. Which means he gets 2-4 ounces of formula every few hours (except at night).
the first time I gave him formula he was 5 or 6 days old and I cried the entire time. I think I cried the whole first week while giving him a bottle. I felt like a failure as a mom and to this day, those emotions and that memory of that moment haunt me.
(Here's where formula feeding moms will really gnash their teeth.) I'm EMBARRASSED to BUY FORMULA. I won't look the cashier in the eye. It's like being a teenage girl buying a pregnancy test or condoms. I'm embarrassed to give my baby a bottle in public because people can see me mix the powder and water and know its formula. (On the other hand I won't breastfeed in public either. I will whip them out around female family members or in a public retail women's lounge or mother's room, or even in my car parked at the edge of a prking lot away from everyone but won't find me on a bench int he mall with my boob out flapping in the breeze for the world to see.) (So there I have offended both types of moms with my prudishness equally!).
I have a negative image of formula feeding (that I never had before) due to my own struggle and desire to breastfeed. I'm projecting my own fears, experiences etc. into this one act of parenting becaue of my own dissappointment. The studies and articles about the benefits of breastfeeding over formula swim through my subconcious brain to give me nightmares.
I KNOW its okay. The Dr's tell me his fine and healthy and I'm doing a good job. Everyone comments on how alert and strong he is; How good his disposition and behavior are; how clear his skin; how beautiful of a baby he is. He is getting the immunities and benefits of breastmilk and the intimate bonding of nursing two ounces at a time.
I can go on like this as long as my body produces. If I can make it to 6 months he will still have recieved a lot of benefit from my meager supply. I, however, need to reconcile with myself this negativity. I tell myself that my body sin't a failure. It gave me the most amazing little boy after years of struggle, but this is one more black mark against it. Maybe thats part of the scars of being a bitter infertile. We never quite learn how to love ourselves again (and forgive our bodies) and automatically self loathe when our bodies don't perform the way we want.
I will always struggle with breastfeeding, the way my birth went, and with my body but just as I haven't given up with breastfeeding, I won't give up on trying to forgive me, even while I die of shame when purchasing formula.
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