Ta-Tas For Now (Got Boobs?)

 

 

Every woman does, and I have to say - I love mine.  I couldn't wait to get boobs when I was little.  I think I was in second grade the first time I wadded up Kleenex and gave myself a C-cup.  Now that I have real working ones, I have no complaints.  They are far from perfect.  I'm at an age now where I'm starting to learn the gifts of a bra with 'lift,' and Perky hasn't lived here in a decade.  But - these not-perfectly-symmetrical babies have super powers, and so far - they haven't tried to kill me.

(Not me, although I'm a fan of Wonder Woman AND breastfeeding, so...)

I searched the internet for euphemisms for 'breasts' and I got the results listed below, and then some.

Angel cakes - Bonbons - Coffee creamers - Dumplings - Eggplants - Flesh melons - Grapefruits - Honeydews - Jawbreakers - Kumquats - Love muffins - Mangos - Niblets - Oranges - Papayas - Rangoons - Sugar Plums - Tamales - Whoppers - Yams - Zingers

The ones I chose to list were all references to food and there was one for nearly every letter of the alphabet.  Interesting, since my boobs ARE food.  I've been using MY angel cakes to feed my baby for nearly three months, and I'm having a hard time thinking of stopping. 

It's not like I haven't been down this road before.  When we had our first child, I said I'd try it out because I knew it was better for the baby.  But I was raised on formula and felt there was nothing wrong with that, either.  There are not many situations in life where the cheaper option is also the higher quality option, and so with breastfeeding - it's a win, win.  You do learn quickly that life revolves around the pumping/nursing schedule and that lesson can be painful.  When my first daughter was 3 months old, my husband and I were going out one night with friends in Minneapolis, which is about an hour away. I forgot to pump before we left, and ended up bent over a public toilet, squeezing my boobs to relieve the pain and in the hopes I wouldn't lose my milk from sheer stupidity.   So, with all that I learned and put those things through, I thought 6 months was pretty dang good, and stopping didn't seem like a big deal.

I didn't nurse my second daughter nearly as long - only for three weeks.  This was mainly because they were so close in age (15 months) and most days I felt close to a breakdown just getting through the day.  My older daughter wasn't able to understand that I needed to do this for the baby and that I couldn't always give her the attention she craved. Because it was so chaotic, I couldn't pump enough for a full day at daycare, and frankly it was just too hard and I was tired of crying and stressing about it.  We also had a tragic death in the family at the time and the grief added another layer that really made me need to make this one thing in our life more simple. In retrospect, I would've done that differently, since another lesson I learned is that letting your milk go makes hundreds of grief-filled hugs even more painful. 

5 1/2 years later, here's another mouth to feed.  This time, it's different because my daughters are old enough to take notice.  At first, they giggled and stared and asked lots of questions, but now it's 'normal.'  Since I'm not one to flop them out anywhere, no matter who is around (although I support the RIGHT to), it leads to some awkward situations and quick cover-ups when we get unexpected company.  Usually, it's a neighbor kid coming over to play with my daughters, and I'm never sure if they're getting more education than their parents would like!  And, my husband is enjoying his 'party tricks' again.  When we are in public or have friends over, he'll cry like a baby until they swell up and it looks like I'm suddenly sweating -- through my nipple.

Though nursing has been going well, and my son is growing like crazy, I have felt for awhile that he is not quite getting enough from me.  He sleeps less and feeds more often when I'm with him than he does when cared for by others.  He does drink formula also, so it's nice that he'll be able to transition.  But, will he?  He's a smart little guy, and what we've found is that he won't take formula from ME without a strong protest.  He won't even take a bottle of pumped breast milk from me without kicking up a sputtering fuss.  Packaging matters.  It's like if I gave my husband beer in a juice box. 

So, why stop?  We are going on vacation and leaving the baby home.  I could take my pump and do that a few times a day and dump it out so that I keep my milk for when I return and start back where I left off.  That is an option.  But as I said, I don't think he's getting enough and since he'll be three months old, I think it's just fine to stop.  That's the cut-and-dried fact-based decision.  Enter, my emotions.  They are messing everything logical up.  I already had a hard time deciding to leave him behind for this vacation, but that's the subject of another post.  When he was in my belly, I recalled the not-so-convenient things about breastfeeding and pumping and told myself I would give it another shot, but if it didn't work with this busy life - so be it. I did not expect the decision to stop to be so emotional.

The thing is, this is my last baby.  Every 'next step' is going to be more difficult to take.  I kept him in newborn clothes as long as they'd stretch over him.  I know that getting up with him in the middle of the night is short-term in the grand scheme of life.  It's so sweet and quiet, and it's time I get to spend with just him.  He holds my hand or rests his hand on my breast and we are as close as we will ever be.  We both sigh when he latches on, as if this is just what we've been been waiting for.  It's beautiful and it's natural and it's wonderful.  How soon is too soon to stop?  How long is too long to go?  It's subjective.  But I do have to break it off at some point.  I don't think this will be appropriate at his first junior high school dance.

The irony is not lost on me that this is also Breast Cancer Awareness month, and that fact plays on my emotions as well.  I have two healthy breasts.  Shouldn't I use them to their full capacity?  We are very involved with this cause at work, and for the past several years I have been recording the stories of local breast cancer survivors in order to create awareness and raise donations to the local breast center.  The other day, I met and talked with a woman who is in Stage 4 Breast Cancer.  This is her second round.  This time, it has metastasized to her liver, kidney, bones, and brain.  She still has hope, but she is dying.  Her breasts are killing her, at the same time mine are giving life.  I'm worried about the convenience of feedings, and she wonders if she'll live to see her kids walk down the aisle and witness the birth of a grandchild.  After nurturing my three children with my breasts, I can understand - as much as someone who hasn't had breast cancer can - how women are emotionally attached and have a hard time making the decision to remove theirs to save their own life, when that's an option.  By the way, if you're reading this and have boobs of your own, DO YOUR SELF EXAM AND GET A MAMMOGRAM, DAMNIT!  People love you!

I hope I never have to learn the painful lesson that it's not my breasts that make me a good mother, daughter, wife, and friend. If I couldn't use them or didn't have them, I know I would still be all of those things.  Fortunately, so far, I have not had a health reason make this far less drastic, but still big, decision for me.  I have to make it myself and be okay with it.  Should I choose not to nurse my son anymore, I have to tell myself that I am still a good mom.

I think I just talked myself into finding room in my suitcase for my pump.  Even if I don't use it, at least the option is there.  I don't want to spend my whole vacation crying that I'm not only missing my baby, but that I'm also depriving him of nature's goodness!

So, I guess it's TTFN - Ta-Tas For Now!  Soon enough, I will let go of the real purpose for these things on my chest, know they have done their duty, and let them have a nice retirement.  They can devote themselves to their leisure activities: getting me out of traffic tickets and making my husband forget I just spent another $100 at Kohls.

 

Mother Runners

I don't want this to turn into a weight loss blog because it's too much pressure.  In any case, it is part of my life now and over this past weekend these "steps" to losing weight have evolved into - gasp - running.

Let me just say, I HATE RUNNING.  If you see me running, it's a good bet that something scary is chasing me or I am going to miss my plane.  When I was in school and we had to run the mile, I somehow managed to get a note from my doctor excusing me from doing it.  I sat on the bench and watched those other suckers huff and puff around the track.  I felt it was less humiliating than coming in last.  Back in school I was a small girl, but far from physically fit.  I ate junk food and didn't exercise, and it was only when I got to my late 20's that this started to catch up to me.  Being in radio gave me a crazy schedule, a weird diet, and a larger intake of alcohol than ever before.  The drinky-poos may have finally been the thing that brought on the bloat.  Or, it could have been the fact that my drinks of choice were Sex On The Beach, Colorado Bulldogs, and Mudslides.  Not exactly "Skinny Girl" cocktails.

I hear there is a runner's high once you get past a certain point.  I have yet to glimpse that.  I can understand the sense of accomplishment when you start running further distances.  Kind of how I will feel when I can zip some of my jackets again.  SO many moms are taking up the running trend, and taking it further (and crazier) by participating in Mud Runs with obstacle courses and of course - mud.  Lots of it.  I've seen pictures from a color run, where apparently you run across puddles with color in it that splashes all over you.  I don't know if this is supposed to make running more appealing, or just give you physical evidence that you did it, but whatever works!  If it would help, I'd start one of my own, where you attach a pole with a string over your head and have Taco Bell dangling in front of your face.  But I don't think too many people would sign up for the Mexican food runs... 

Anyhoo... The reason I started running over the weekend was just to save time.  My trainer at Rejuv Medical told me she was assigning me just cardio until our next session, no weight training.  Hubby and I had to work opposite schedules quite a bit this weekend, so rather than waste time driving across town to get on a machine at the gym where I'd be doing nearly the same thing, I decided to just hit the pavement and see how far I got.

My 7-year-old daughter saw me putting on my tennis shoes, asked what I was doing, and immediately wanted to come with me.  I had been looking forward to listening to some music and having my thoughts (I hate this, I hate this, I hate this) to myself.  But she was so excited, I couldn't turn her down.  She did great, and it actually made the run sort of fun because she distracted me with her excited little girl chatter.  She asked why exercise is good for you, asked about how the leaves change color, and pointed out every squirrel that scurried by.  One run down.

The next day, my 7-year-old, my 5 1/2-year-old AND our 6-year-old neighbor girl wanted to come with me.  There is a reason you don't see serious runners have children trailing after them.  My 7-year-old decided to be Narrator of the run.  "Look at my mom running.  She needs to get exercise.  My mom is embarrassed right now.  My mom loves the color turquoise.  My mom didn't want to take the dog with because she thinks he would want to chase squirrels.  My mom still has kind of a big tummy because my brother was in there for so long."  My 5 1/2-year-old wanted to hold hands with me and although on any other given day she has more energy than I have in a week, she pooped out about a half a block into it and would only walk.  The neighbor girl stopped abruptly in front of me and bent over to look at a dead worm.  I almost plowed us both over and stopped myself from exclaiming something that sounds similar to "mother runner!"  It wasn't much of a run, but it was an adventure, and we eventually made it around the loop. 

I haven't given up.

The Weight Of The World

When my first baby was born, I loved her more than the universe.  

(Not my actual baby.)

What I didn't realize was, by making her my world - I put myself way out in orbit.  I felt like everything I did had to be centered around her, always, and if I spent time or money on things just for me, I was being selfish.  Pretty soon, I was like a vacant house.  My body became overgrown, my hair went untended, and the only thing that I cultivated was resentment.  Overall, I just felt stuck.  Baby #2 didn't help things.  Life was becoming a blur, and although I wanted to find joy and I loved my husband and our daughters, I felt like a drudge.  My job is to be funny and know what's going on in the world, and although parenting gave me plenty of funny poop-on-my-shirt stories, those only go so far. 
 

Over the last couple of years, it was like I found myself again.  I gave myself permission to just be 'Amy' sometimes.  I am still home a lot, but I have a better balance.  Having another baby hasn't had the same effect that my other babies did.  (My hair isn't looking all that great lately, but I guess something's gotta give when you get up between 3 and 4am for work and have 3 kids.)  The point is, I'm more relaxed now, I spend time with friends, and have actual grown-up shows that I watch and occasionally I go out and stay out past 9pm. 

Yesterday, I went to the gym for the first time since my baby boy was born.  This is something that isn't easy to fit into my schedule, but I know I need to do it for myself.  Now that the baby factory is closed for good (sorry, Grandmas!), I really want to get in shape and stay that way.  I'm not the heaviest person in the world, but I know when I'm uncomfortable in my own skin.  My personality changes and my self-confidence plummets.  I try not to make a big deal about it because I don't want my little girls to develop body image issues.  But it's not very fun when they ask me if I have another baby in my tummy!

 

While I was there, two older ladies chatted with me while we were on treadmills, telling me how great they think it is that I'm ALREADY working out since having my baby.  At first, this was just a nice distraction from the timer on the display and my huge fear of treadmills.  (I swear, I'm going to trip and fly off the back!)  But then, it was amazing to talk with them and have them validating what I was doing.  For one of them, this was the first time she had worked out in 16 YEARS.  And they also told me how much they applauded me taking the time for myself to do it while my children are young.  They both told me stories about how many years they went without taking care of themselves, and how they wished they could go back and do it all over.  This is in contrast to another older woman that I met last year.  I'll never forget her sad look as she told me her husband is away a lot for work, her son was grown and had moved out, and she didn't really have any girlfriends - just her cat.  She said everything she did, she did for her son while she was raising him and never developed friendships or hobbies.  As much as the kids are the center of my world now, someday they will move on with their own lives.  I will always love them more than the universe, but I don't want to be left behind without a life of my own that's full and satisfying.  I felt so great after talking with these ladies at the gym, it was like I'd already lost 10 pounds. (I wish!)