First Birthdays are Big Birthdays

My son will be two tomorrow. We’re late to the baby game; most of the kids who have called me Auntie over the years are approaching double digits, about to be preteens. And since the first of them was born (15-ish years ago), I’ve had one Auntie Rule: I only attend first birthday parties. That’s it. There are so many kids in my family that if I attended everyone’s parties, all I’d ever do is sit at Wunderland and eat at Chuck E. Cheese – two places that make me want to drink copious amounts of alcohol and jump off the side of a building. So, you get me at your baby’s first birthday, where I’ll photograph cake smashes and bring fun presents; and then I don’t want to be invited to another birthday ever again.

 

Surprisingly to other people, but unsurprisingly to me, I feel the same about my own child. I was really excited to have a big, fun, themed and decorated first birthday party last year, and now I don’t want to be invited anymore.

 

Oh wait; he’s my kid…I have to do the inviting. Dammit.

 

For a planner like me, the actual planning of the big, crazy, themed first birthday wasn’t stressful; it was actually pretty fun. Grant was obsessed with Curious George at this time last year, so we went with that them and held the party at a local park that had space to fit our giant family and all of our friends. I ordered the perfect little smash cake, knowing full well he’s a neat and tidy kid who would never smash a cake in his pristine little fingers (spoiler: I was right; he used the monkey cake topper as a fork and didn't even need his face washed when he was done). I picked up balloons, ordered primary colored tablecloths and paper products; we even made goodie bags for the other kids, even though I hate goodie bags and think most other parents do too. Like, here, have a bag of crap I found at the Dollar Store (just kidding, it was from Amazon); don’t worry, it’s red & yellow so it’s themed! But it was his first birthday, and it was really important to me that he get the day all of his cousins got on previous years – all of them together, having fun, eating cake, playing at the park.

 

The less fun part of planning a birthday party, is that your kid’s first birthday isn’t necessarily a priority to everyone, so much as it’s a priority for you. I was really disappointed by how many of Grant's cousins weren’t there, especially after all of my years of showing up to first birthday parties (sans child of my own) to celebrate with my own cousins and their kiddos. Don't get me wrong, we had a great party and a great First Birthday Week; there were lots of friends and family who were there to celebrate with us - but there were a handful of people who didn't show up, and I had some feelings about it.

I still have some feelings about it.

That feeling left me wondering; are you really throwing the party for your one-year-old, if you’re going to be bummed out when people he doesn’t even really know don’t show up? Or are you throwing the obligatory event because you know that’s what moms are supposed to do, and then a year later, your feelings are still a bit hurt and your now almost-two-year-old doesn’t even remember he ever liked Curious George because now he only cares about horses and moo cows? Grant didn't know it was his birthday, didn't know why we were giving him cake, why we were singing to him or lighting a candle in his face, why we were opening a mountain of toys; he cared specifically about exactly one thing: the swings. He is not the one with memories of the cake topper or the "I'm one" tee shirt saved in his memory box; I am.

I don't think I know anyone who didn't throw a party for their baby's first birthday, or who doesn't plan to throw one. I also don't know any child who now remembers turning one or having a party. But I am willing to bet that moms everywhere would think you were a total psychopath if you didn't through your baby a first birthday party. I've had numerous people ask why we aren't throwing him a second birthday party, in fact.

Well for one, we're in the middle of a global pandemic, and I am trying to not catch a Coronavirus, you lunatics.

None of this is to say that birthdays after turning one are not a big deal. I am actually the queen of going all out for birthdays; I just think parties are not the way to go all out. I'd prefer Grant share his birthday with a small circle, on an adventure that he'll love. Besides, I have the First Birthday Rule, where only first birthdays get big themed, color coordinated parties. We do birthday adventures now. Tomorrow we are taking Grant tomorrow to a local, family-owned farm to have a tour and feed some animals, which will be the adventure of his lifetime at two years old. We'll go get a cupcake at Fat Cupcake too, and I'll probably shop online at Carters with his birthday coupon because he's a giant and growing like a freaking weed. I hung horse and moo cow streamers in the dining room windows last night, and he's thrilled by them - we may have to keep them up for the whole year, in fact. His grandparents & Uncle Tony are coming over tonight for cake - a cake which I decorated myself to look like a muddy barnyard - and ice cream with raspberries. We didn't even get him a present this year - he has too many toys already and really only plays with 3 things anyway: Grandma Horsey, one baby doll, and two green plastic cups from his play kitchen. What else is there, am I right??

Anyway. Have a birthday party. Don't have a birthday party. Risk Covid-19 to prove you're a good party mom, or maybe don't. Buy a six dollar chocolate cake and a bag of candy, and have at it; anyone can be a cake designer in 2020! This topic strays a bit from mom shame brought on by everyone else, and brings to light the fact that moms also tend to invite a lot of shame onto themselves.

There is no reason to do that. Mom shame is unacceptable from other moms, unacceptable from other humans, and is also unacceptable from yourself.

You're a good mom whether or not you throw parties, whether or not you remember to pick up a candle, whether or not you fail at cake design. No one year old knows who was at his birthday party; no two year old likes anyone enough for them to come over and have a birthday party. You're doing just fine, despite what Pinterest tells you about your lack of theme-ing for your parties. You're a good mom because you love your child, because you work hard every day to celebrate his existence, because you provide him with everything he needs to be happy and healthy in the world...even his own face mask, which he absolutely will not wear. You're a good mom because you go to sleep every night only after brushing his teeth, reading him a story, watching the same movie for the 87th time, giving him all of the snuggles and all of the smooches, and scooting yourself to the edge of the bed because he prefers to have his head and all of his hair on YOUR pillow, not his.

These are my reasons; the reasons I know I am a good mom, even if we never have another birthday party in our lives.

Think about it, and add your reasons to the list.

What makes you a good mom??

I promise you, it's not birthday cake and matching balloons.

#endmomshaming

 

 

 

Trying Not to Collide with a Car Seat Mom

Before you throw me over a ledge, my son will be two in two days, and he weighs thirty pounds - that’s more than all three of the three-year-olds I polled, and nine pounds from max capacity for rear-facing in our car seat.

I am now braced for my fall off the cliff.

We turned Grant’s car seat around.

Before his 8th birthday?? What?! How dare I?!

Car Seat Moms are a real thing. So much of a real thing, that I avoid posting photos to social media of my son sitting in one - facing back, front, sideways, or upside down, in a vehicle coming or going.. If you scroll Instagram, photos of kids in car seats are always captioned “don’t worry, not moving yet,” and “not buckled yet, it’s ok” - #nocarseatshameyouguys! 

We turned Grant’s car seat around for several reasons.

One, because he’s two and that’s our only legal obligation here in Oregon. He doesn’t have to meet any legal height or weight threshold; he just has to be two.

Two, he’s huge. Bigger than a three year old. Bigger than the three year olds who are currently facing forward in their car seats.

Three, he started getting car sick and puking all over himself in the back seat. And this one was the real kicker. Toddler barf is truly disgusting; my car smelled like moldy cheese and rotten milk, and all because my poor nugget was reclined backwards in his car seat, unable to see out the window, watching the world zoom by in a mirror. The thought alone makes me queasy!

At his two year well check this week, I braved myself for the doctor to tell me that wasn’t a good idea. Car Seat Mom’s everywhere have convinced me it’s not a good idea (though I did it anyway); the internet would have you believe your kid should graduate from college still rear facing. Instead, our amazing doctor told me that actually it’s also super unsafe for a toddler to be laying down and puking all over himself while his mom tries to navigate off the freeway to clean him up. “It’s fine” was his conclusion. 

Exactly. It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s going to be fine. Whether your kid faces forward or backward, they’ll be fine. So stop being a judgy ass hat!

The doctor was far less interested in what way his car seat faced, and instead offered advice on how to reduce his motion sickness - no dairy or citrus before a car ride, try to give him a banana before hitting the road, give him the Dramamine on long trips, because IT IS FUCKING FINE.

It occurs to me as I type this that I could write a full post on the shaming behind medicating babies...stop letting your kid suffer in teething pain when they make children’s Tylonel to make them feel better. Ugh...next time you have a headache, don’t take anything and then reconsider why you’re making your baby suffer.

I literally gave Grant a dose of Tylonel on Monday because I thought he was getting shots at his well visit. No shots, just a fun little high and a longer nap. Oops. HE’S FINE. Our moms put booze on our gums to keep us from crying and we’re not dead; fill up that medicine dropper and stop being a pain in the ass.

But, that’s for another day.

So. My doctor said turning the car seat around is fine. State law said turning the car seat around is fine. The car seat manufacturer said turning the car seat around is fine. His weight, height, and age all say it’s fine; his lack of curdled milk vomit in the past three weeks says it’s fine.

But the Car Seat Moms know better, and it’s clearly not fine. He’s doomed. I’m the worst.

In the past eight days, there has been a common theme to my posts: YOUR. BABY. IS. FINE. Everyone has an opinion on what you’re doing wrong, how you’re scarring your kid for life, how he’s in such danger, blah, blah, blah. Post a photo of your kid in their car seat and watch the mom groups collectively lose their minds; they absolutely will. They can’t help themselves. You’ll be so aware of the chest clip placement, your brain will turn to mush. And for what? Literally nothing - just to make you feel shitty about the way you are doing the mom thing. 

I have never, in 728 days of being a mom, asked a stranger for help with something. I’m not trying to be shamed by the masses, and the internet is a place where strangers become experts in How to Keep You from Fucking Up Your Baby. I have, however, asked my friends for advice, opinions, and help. Before I flipped the car seat, I asked several friends who have kids slightly older than Grant. Not one of them told me he was going to die in a fiery collision from my decision to flip him around. Two of them said, their toddler got close to two and started getting car sick...apparently that’s a common occurrence. But no mom group will tell you that; they’ll all tell you why you have to drop them off to their wedding still rear facing in the car seat. 

You’re doing fine. Your baby is fine. Your baby is probably really hating staring at the ceiling in the car, and can’t wait to be old enough and big enough to turn around and look out the window. Grant is loving the new view - we are singing, dancing, and laughing all the way to the beach house, and without having to stop and change clothes on the way. But don’t let the Car Seat Mom tell you when it’s okay to turn the seat around (also don’t let me tell you, I’m not a fucking expert). Ask your doctor and your mom friend circle, read your car seat and vehicle manuals, and decide for your damn self. You know best anyway; you’re the one who instinctively knows not to kill the human who exited your own body!

#endmomshaming

You Are Mom. That is All (Apparently).

One of the most shameful things you can do as a mother, is try to have your own existence separate from your child.

Things you can't do when you're a mom, in no particular order:

Have friends

Date your husband

Get a massage, tattoo, hair cut, new pair of yoga pants

Leave your child with a babysitter

Sleep for 8 hours in a row

Drink coffee while it's still hot

Complete any uninterrupted phone call

Go 24 hours without talking about poop

Quit your job to stay home with your baby

Enjoy your maternity leave

Spend any money on yourself

Get a drink with your friend

Go to work

Literally. The only thing that matters now, is the human life you created. You don't get to stay home or go back to work without someone jumping down your throat about how you're going to ruin your baby's life.

Spoiler: whether you work full time, part time, or not at all; YOUR KID WILL BE JUST FUCKING FINE! 

I changed my career path when I had Grant, because the idea of sitting at my desk for ten hours and then going home where I could, at any moment, get a phone call that someone's apartment was on fire or filling with water based on something stupid someone else did; made me want to roll over dead. But I did still decide to go to work and leave Grant in someone else's care. I was thrilled to find a position where I was able to work partially at home, and was even more thrilled that we were able to compromise some financial things so Matt could stay home. But that's just what we decided; it doesn't have to be what everyone decides.

If you are a stay at home mom, good on you - you are working your ass off, and I appreciate you. Being stuck at home the past 100+ days (thanks, Coronavirus), I've watched Matt & Grant exist through the day, and it's exhausting. Toddlers are exhausting. Not encountering another human adult, is exhausting. Keeping the house even sort of clean, with a child who follows you around dumping toy bins you just picked up, is exhausting. So if you are at home, good on you. 

If you are at home and judging me for leaving home every morning, though...fuck you. 

If you are a working mom, hell yes girl; this shit is hard. Good on you for getting up, taking a shower, and prepping for your work day as your toddler is so cute in his jammies and all you want to do is scoop him up for snuggles. Good on you for driving away 5 mornings a week as your little one stands in the window waving, as your heart shatters into pieces wanting to run back in to play with him instead. Good on you for clocking out at 5:00 and trying to find your energy to get on the floor and play with your kid, when you want to have a glass of wine and read a raunchy memoir on the couch instead. And good on you for sitting at the dinner table asking your baby how his day was, getting eight hours of snuggles in all at once as you settle into bed with the toddler who "should be" sleeping in his own room (another mom shame moment: cosleeping). 

If you are a working mom and think stay at home moms are yoga-pant wearing lunatics, fuck you too. 

I recognize that I am in a place of privilege, that allows me to leave Grant with his dad while I go to work; while this has definitely come with sacrifices - renting instead of buying, passing on vacations, holding off on enormous tattoos - for our family, it works. This isn't everyone's perfect scenario. Many, many people send their kids to daycare every day, and that's also just fine. It's what works for those families. Who are we to judge what works for someone else's family? Why do stay at home moms clutch their pearls at moms who work full time? And why do working moms think stay at home moms are giving up a real life? 

Why can't we all just open our eyes and realize, that whether we work full time or stay at home full time, we literally surrender our identity when we become MOM?? 

(kidding, mostly)

The common denominator for all moms, is that there is never enough time. Never. We are constantly running on empty, trying to prioritize everyone else, attempting to lose baby weight but unable to sacrifice yet another hour of the day, struggling to maintain schedules, meet deadlines, make healthy meals, keep the laundry done, and wash our hair before anyone notices how long its been. There is no time leftover for shitting on each other's life, so just stop it! Find something better to do! Go get a coffee with a friend, see a movie with your husband, go get your damn hair cut just so someone will wash it...just stop wasting moments being a judgmental shit! I can assure you, the next time I have an accidental free chunk of time, I'll be getting ink needled into my back; I won't be wasting it telling my fellow moms how much they suck at life. 

#endmomshaming 

I'm Talking to You

Probably the most common question we get asked about our decision to teach Grant to communicate using sign language is, “won’t that delay his speech?”

The short answer: no; it won’t.

There is a ton of science behind why a baby’s verbal speech is not delayed based on using sign language in infancy. I already did my research and don’t need to review it; you can read all about it on Google. Or, even better, you can sign up to take the Parent/Caregiver Workshop we took when we had questions about ASL and babies, you’ll learn a ton, and as an added bonus will be supporting a local small business.

TINY TALKERS << sign up here! 

We were hesitant with signing at first, but several of my cousins strongly encouraged it after using it with their kids...and their kids all seemed to make it out of toddlerhood in one piece, so we gave it a try. We took the two hour crash course for parents, where we learned a lot of science regarding baby brain development and speech, in addition to a packet full of signs I’d forget before we even got home. 

Grant, however, took to sign language as a helpful tool right sway; within a week or so, he was already signing milk and more, two key messages for your mom and dad when you’re ten months old. He would clap for himself wildly every time he did a new sign for the first time, and soon, he became some sort of sign language guru - he was learning several a week, if not a few at a time in a day. We stopped keeping track of his signs at 200, but he has since gone on to add colors, shapes, and numbers to that bag of tricks. He signs complete thoughts and sentences now, will sign along as I sing him songs, and signs his way though his bedtime stories while I read to him.

While I am a huge advocate for teaching sign language to babies, the point of this blog isn’t to convince anyone to agree with me. Teach it to your child or don’t; I’m not big into pressuring other moms into doing things. It works for us, and I’ll always recommend it to new parents as a tool, but I won’t think less of someone who declines.

My point, rather, is to serve a general reminder that it is never okay to ask a mom if something is “wrong” with their kid. Among the same group of people who have wondered aloud whether sign language will delay a child’s verbal speech, are a small group of parents who have asked, implied, or suggested that my son “is delayed” or “has a delay.” 

First, no he doesn’t have a delay.*

If you’re reading this thinking oh shit, I definitely asked her if Grant was okay, you can be reassured by his doctor, his sign language instructor, my mom the Baby Whisperer, the Internet, and every reputable developmental chart out there; he’s just fine. 

Second, MYOB. It is never - and I do mean never - acceptable to ask a parent what is wrong with their baby. It’s mean, and as if parents don’t have enough to stress about, adding the thought of groups of friends & family gossiping about them, is just shitty. 

*Side note; if Grant did have a speech delay, learning sign language would be an invaluable tool, which is another reason why I super-duper encourage it!

Parenting is hard. Being a new parent is hard. Being an experienced parent is also probably hard. Being responsible for raising successful, smart, kind little humans is daunting. We don’t need to make it harder for each other by passing cruel judgments, especially onto our babies.

My cousin had a similar experience, in which another family member decided her son was autistic. Bitch, you're not a doctor. You're barely even a caregiver and hardly know the kid at all. Not shockingly, my cousin's son was never diagnosed with autism - I'm fairly certain his real doctor (you know, the one who went to medical school) never even broached it as a possibility. Not all shy kids have autism, just so we're clear.

And again, so what if he was autistic? The point isn't to place any shame on a medical diagnosis in a child, but rather to remind people that asking a mom if something is wrong with their kid, is absolutely unacceptable. There is nothing "wrong" with a child diagnosed with autism, or who has a language delay, or who has any other medical need, and it's gross for us as adult humans to suggest otherwise.

Let this post serve as a reminder that being a parent is hard enough without feeling a lack of support from other parents around you. Don't ask parents if their kid is "okay;" it's rude as fuck.

PS: We took Grant to his two year well check this morning, and - as suspected - his doctor has no concerns whatsoever about his language development. He's a bright kid, and if you'd take an hour to learn some sign language yourself, you'd be able to engage in full conversations with him about animals, colors, shapes, the weather, his feelings, your feelings, food, our cat, his favorite toys, his grandma, his horse, the beach house, a farm...

Maybe there's something wrong with you.

#endmomshaming

If You Don't Wake Up with Random Bruises, You Aren't Cosleeping Right

I had every intention of my baby sleeping in a bassinet, and then eventually in his own crib; throughout my pregnancy, that was the plan. We bought and set up a bassinet in our bedroom, taking into account that I would be getting up to breastfeed, and would also be recovering from the c-section we’d already planned for. We set up a nursery, with a crib, fully anticipating his transition from said bassinet to said crib; baby monitors were purchased to make that transition manageable. 

And then he was born, and every plan went flying out the window. 

First, while recovering from my surgery, I wasn’t able to climb into our bed; I’d spend my first two weeks home, sleeping on the couch. 

We didn’t move the bassinet to the living room, nor did I have a partner who left me on the couch to go to bed; instead, he created us a cocoon of pillows on the couch, and all three of us (four, if you count the cat) slept as a family while I healed. He would pile the pillows and set up blankets, and help me settle in for the night.

(He's the best.)

I also quit my feeble attempt at breastfeeding around the time that two weeks was up, so by the time we were back to sleeping in our room, I wasn’t nursing, and my amazing baby was sleeping in long, all-night stretches. (Because he’s also the best.)

We are what I like to call, accidental cosleepers. We put Grant to bed in his bassinet, swaddled tightly, every night. When he woke up to eat, we snuggled into bed with a bottle, and then in bed we stayed. 

As time passed, he spent fewer hours at a time in the bassinet; I just wanted to snuggle him constantly. I could not set him down and walk the five feet to my own bed. I found myself actively missing him as I walked away from him in the bassinet; I would just lay in bed fighting the need to check on him. Not because I was particularly worried or paranoid, but more because I just simply couldn’t snuggle him enough.

Fast forward two years (minus a week), ans Grant still sleeps in our bed. We long gave up on moving him to a crib and got rid of it, and instead focused our attention on teaching him how to climb out of our king bed safely. He has a twin bed in his room, and he naps in it by himself without any problems...which probably means he would sleep overnight in it just fine too.

I just don’t want to move him yet.

I love sleeping next to him. I love laying in bed after everyone else has fallen asleep, watching him chew on his bottom lip (we just took his binky away a few weeks ago and he still roots around for it at night), listening to his little breath. I love waking up in the morning to the sound of his feet plopping to the floor, then hearing them run out of the room, down the hall to find his dad. I love watching him roll the corner of the bed sheet around between his fingers as he fades to sleep. I love to lean over and give his sleeping face one more smooch before I fall asleep, and I love to feel him scoot closer to me as the night goes on. It's my favorite.

Mom shame over cosleeping doesn't come from our generation; our generation cosleeps. We got it right in the sleep department. Where mom shame comes with regard to cosleeping, is from our parents' generation and their parents' generation. Grandparents are really annoyed by cosleeping. A friend of my MIL suggested Grant would be sleeping with us until he's 15 if I don't knock that shit off.

I really doubt it lady, but okay.

It's the middle aged white ladies who like to clutch their pearls over a cosleeping family. 

(To be fair, it's also the women my age who don't have sex with their husbands but pretend they're humping like monkeys who ask aloud at parties "but how do you ever have sex?!")

But it's mostly the middle aged white ladies. Because in other cultures, as in my generation of white moms, cosleeping is how it's done.

"He'll be too attached to you." 

Umm, that isn't a thing.

"He'll never be able to sleep alone."

He'll be just fine.

"He'll suffocate."

You tried to slam his tiny face into my huge boobs to make him nurse, and you weren't scared of him suffocating then...why are you on this soap box? 

"He'll be in your bed til he's 30."

I mean, really though, fuck off.  

In my reality, sleep is sleep - whether I got it because my baby snuggled me all night, or because he could lay in bed next to me and drink a bottle, or because we cuddled up for an hour and watched a movie every night, it's all still what lets me sleep. Sleep training a baby is not easy, no matter how you do it. For us, sleeping with him in our bed gets us all the best night sleep, which allows us all to be productive, happy, thriving humans.

And in 25 years, if Grant still sleeps in my bed, you can shame me about it; it'll be June of 2025. Until then, get bent. 

#endmomshaming

Just Feed the Baby, Dammit

The lowest low of mom-ing for me came when Grant was only a few weeks old, and I found myself telling Matt I was dreading him waking up, because I didn’t want to feed him. It was 1:30 in the morning when he next opened his eyes. We were all on the couch; I was trying to get my hungry, screaming, flailing, tiny baby to latch, and we were both just unable to make it happen. I was sobbing, and as Matt brought me a bottle of pumped milk from the fridge, he asked me why I thought I had to keep doing something Grant and I both hated so much.

That was the end of my breastfeeding journey.

Technically, I pumped for a couple more weeks, but soon my baby was chugging bottles so fast, I just didn’t care to try and keep up. I wanted to snuggle him, lay on the floor and play with him, take him out to the park...all things I wasn’t able to do with my boobs literally plugged into the wall.

Moms can't get it right when it comes to feeding their babies, though.

If you breastfeed in public, you're shamed for exposing yourself.

If you breastfeed covered in public, you're shamed for covering up "for societal pressure."

If you bottle feed in public, nursing moms look at you with sad puppy eyes because you should be nursing.

If you exclusively pump, you're shamed for taking too many breaks at work to keep your boobs from exploding all over a room.

If you nurse in front of someone, you're inappropriate...never mind they're at your house.

If you leave the room to nurse, you're antisocial and rude to your visitors.

If you ask a visitor to leave so you can pump, you're rude.

If you pack formula and ask wait staff for cold water to mix it with, you're FEEDING THE BABY COLD WATER??!!? (this one happened to me...often...yes, my fucking baby prefers cold milk, fill up the mother fucking cup please!)

There is literally no way to feed an infant without someone being mad about it.

At my six week visit with my OB, I told him I felt like I had failed, and that I was doing Grant a disservice, because basically everyone on the planet expects you to breastfeed your infant until they turn 25 and graduate college. He looked at me and assured me that Grant was doing just fine; he told me that formula is no longer evaporated milk like it used to be. "It is literally, practically breast milk, and he's fine" was exactly what he told me. I was so grateful in that moment, to hear someone (other than my partner, who was a constant reassurance) tell me I was not a failure. I cried. He told me that it is actually quite normal for moms who deliver via csection before going into labor - and thus actually never going into labor - to not release enough of the hormone needed to produce enough milk for their baby, and that it also makes it harder for the baby to know how to root around, latch, and nurse successfully.

^^ Information that Nurse Eyeliner must have missed in nursing school, by the way. ^^

I went home, armed with the support of my OB, ready to tell anyone who questioned me to fuck off. I could feed my baby formula if I wanted, and he could drink it cold if he wanted, and he would not die from lack of breast milk. Not nursing would have no effect on the bond Grant and I should have, nor would breast milk turn him into a serial killer. I could spend $20 a week on formula for the next 50 weeks, and everyone could just shut up about it.

I am lucky in that I didn't run into a lot of shame around feeding Grant. My circle of support was still a circle of support around formula feeding - even my friends who breastfed for what seemed like years, were encouraging and supportive, and I wasn't as bothered by sad puppy stares by crunchy moms at restaurants who were clearly worried I was poisoning the baby. However, that is not the case for everyone. There is a huge pressure to breastfeed in society, in mom groups, online, and even in the freaking hospital. When Grant was losing weight from not nursing because I had a csection and my body was blissfully unaware that we weren't pregnant anymore, Nurse Eyeliner and Crew used donor milk as a threat.

Night One: "If you can't do it, we'll have to supplement with donor milk."

Okay. Do that then, you fucking ass hole. I don't give a shit. Just don't give him a beer.

Night Two: "If he loses 4 more ounces tonight, we'll have to supplement with formula."

Bitch. Give him whatever you want...just don't come in here and wake me up about it. In fact, give him the beer if you want.

Before letting me go home, they made me make an appointment for the following day with this Lactation Quack, who basically felt me up for an hour while watching Grant struggle to breath as she shoved his nose into my boobs, which were bigger than his head. She wanted to see me every 3 days or something insane, and had a whole plan about nursing and pumping and stimulating and boob grabbing. I never saw her again. Again, someone in the medical profession who missed the class on csections and hormones, who just wanted me to do it The Right Way.

So, as it turns out The Right Way for us was formula. And what do you know, it was fine. Grant didn't die. In fact, at two years old he outweighs most three year olds we know, drinks 2% milk from a cup, and - like his mama - has a bowl of dry Cheerios with chocolate chips for breakfast in the morning. Because we share a bond just by existing, that we didn't need to nurse to form.

#endmomshaming