I had the good fortune to come across a comment to one of my recent posts (http://nolabelmama.blogspot.co.nz/2015/01/its-not-competition.html) somewhere in the land of Web. A woman saying that it confused her and, essentially, made her think that perhaps she should avoid complimenting others for fear of unknowingly upsetting others.
So, let's talk about that.
I think compliments can be wonderful. They can turn an ordinary day into a glowing one; one where your stand straighter, walk with purpose, smiling all the while, bolstered simply by a few kind words. They can turn a dark day into one of hope and resolution. Please, don't stop your kindness!
But, I believe, that they can be constricting: compounding limitations that are put on us but society.
So, if you're compliment involves, for example, telling a woman how great she looks, then consider adding something like 'and how are you feeling?' Or, 'but have you had much time to *insert personal hobby here*?' Giving genuine opportunities for women to talk about themselves as a whole, rather than assuming that, because she looks good to you, she must be happy (it's so easy to do, we are constantly bombarded with the message that, as a woman, all else pales in importance compared to our appearance) is a really tangible thing we can all strive to do for each other.
I say: keep on complimenting! But, mix it up. Look for beauty where you don't usually; notice the things about people that you love...and tell them; open yourself up to genuine curiosity about other people's lives; personalities, dreams, hobbies, worries, talents; get to really know them.
I say this with an air of someone who has perfected this, but that's far from the truth. I am a work in progress, and always will be.
Wednesday, 28 January 2015
Sunday, 25 January 2015
It's not a competition
'It's not a competition' : it's something my husband sometimes says, quite rightly (though whether I ever admit that at the time is doubtful), when we're both exhausted and stressed, or hurting. These kids bring with them many challenges as well as many blessings. As things stand, he is the bread winner and I am the stay at home parent. At this point, we can never truly understand the intricate difficulties each of us face in our different roles. I wish we could.
Similarly, women - I address women only as that is who I have this experience with - often have inner conflicts that others don't really know about. I believe that our society places a huge amount of damaging pressure onto girls and women about their appearance, to the extent that looking 'good' can take precedent over all other aspects of life. As a mother, I experience this on a different level to what I have done previously, although there are reflections of my pre-parenthood life within those experiences.
It would seem that I am naturally slim. And even writing that, I feel that I am somehow showing off...But please, think before you judge. For starters, who exactly decided that slim was best? What is slim for one person may be underweight for another. Does being slim equal good health? Does the person inside the body like themselves? Do they have a good quality of life? Are they healthy?
Here is a brief summary, so as not to dwell, of the things that have been a part of my life...as well as being slim:
Constantly wanting food and often feeling shaky, nauseous etc if I go too long without
Eating disorder/mental health issues ie depression and anxiety that ate away about a third of my life so far; a third of my life that I should have been having adventures, learning who I was, LIVING
Auto immune thyroid disease
Hyper mobility syndrome - prone to injury and chronic pain
Migraines/headaches
Lethargy
Insecurity
Drug abuse
Slipped disc
Emergency c section and accompanying grief and trauma
Intense second birth that seemed emotionally healing but has left me physically struggling....
Sometimes, well meaning women tell me 'Wow, you don't look like you've had two kids!' (Which evidently I do, because I have, but anyway...)
And I know they think it's a compliment, so thank you, but when was the last time that any of them complimented me on something intellectual or creative?
And, why do I feel that I want -need, even- to tell them how this body that doesn't look like it's had two kids FEELS? Because it definitely feels like it's had two kids, enduring nearly 6 hours of pushing with a posterior baby for the last birth, having left my tailbone battered and -this is the bit I struggle with most- a prolapse. So, now I can't readily lift my children without feeling I'm worsening things, jumping feels horrible, running is for urgent situations only, I can't skip or dance properly. Yeah, I feel like the world's most boring mum. And I feel like fitness and physical fun are miles away...maybe even just a dream.
And why do I feel like, to tell this side of things, is taboo? How many women needlessly suffer in SILENCE? A prolapse is, to many, embarrassing, disempowering, limiting, uncomfortable, depressing..
Why is it OK to make judgments, even seemingly positive ones, about other women's appearance without expecting, wanting or enabling that woman to feel comfortable to give an account of her WHOLE self?
Why, oh why, must we be seduced into believing that our self worth and the definition of ourselves is rooted in our appearance?
It wastes so much of our collective, and personal, time and energy. I look back at the decade or so that I fought with the devil in the guise of an eating disorder and I shudder. What a horrible, disgusting waste of MY life. Nobody else's. MINE. I don't get that back. It's gone. And it's shadows still flit across my life from time to time. Since this whole prolapse business, I've felt those shadows gather into clouds and I am trying to ward off any impending storms.
So, it saddens me when women who are, for example, going to the gym regularly each week, jumping merrily on trampolines with their children, and are healthy....don't LIKE themselves...because they aren't happy with how they look, or feel they need to lose more weight. Because, right NOW this is YOUR life. Whether or not you believe in after life, multiple lives, one life and then oblivion...THIS life is yours and it's happening right now...please, try to love yourself. Liking and respecting yourself is a good start.
In ten years time, you don't want to look back and realise how much time you wasted dwelling in the mode of 'I'll be happy when...'
So, in summary, let's stop competing; be it to look better, or to be the one with the best cake making skills....let's also stop competing about how hard things are...because we just don't know what hides behind what we view as desirable. Let's be honest, about it all! The experiences, the highs and lows, our actual feelings...let's be open to hearing things we didn't expect or that make us reasses our own thoughts and perceptions. And let's be compassionate.
Let's waste less time concerned with the aesthetics and live more fulfilling lives; showing our sons and daughters just what a woman can be: anything, everything...whatever she chooses.
Note: New post relating to this uploaded today ( 28/01/15)
Similarly, women - I address women only as that is who I have this experience with - often have inner conflicts that others don't really know about. I believe that our society places a huge amount of damaging pressure onto girls and women about their appearance, to the extent that looking 'good' can take precedent over all other aspects of life. As a mother, I experience this on a different level to what I have done previously, although there are reflections of my pre-parenthood life within those experiences.
It would seem that I am naturally slim. And even writing that, I feel that I am somehow showing off...But please, think before you judge. For starters, who exactly decided that slim was best? What is slim for one person may be underweight for another. Does being slim equal good health? Does the person inside the body like themselves? Do they have a good quality of life? Are they healthy?
Here is a brief summary, so as not to dwell, of the things that have been a part of my life...as well as being slim:
Constantly wanting food and often feeling shaky, nauseous etc if I go too long without
Eating disorder/mental health issues ie depression and anxiety that ate away about a third of my life so far; a third of my life that I should have been having adventures, learning who I was, LIVING
Auto immune thyroid disease
Hyper mobility syndrome - prone to injury and chronic pain
Migraines/headaches
Lethargy
Insecurity
Drug abuse
Slipped disc
Emergency c section and accompanying grief and trauma
Intense second birth that seemed emotionally healing but has left me physically struggling....
Sometimes, well meaning women tell me 'Wow, you don't look like you've had two kids!' (Which evidently I do, because I have, but anyway...)
And I know they think it's a compliment, so thank you, but when was the last time that any of them complimented me on something intellectual or creative?
And, why do I feel that I want -need, even- to tell them how this body that doesn't look like it's had two kids FEELS? Because it definitely feels like it's had two kids, enduring nearly 6 hours of pushing with a posterior baby for the last birth, having left my tailbone battered and -this is the bit I struggle with most- a prolapse. So, now I can't readily lift my children without feeling I'm worsening things, jumping feels horrible, running is for urgent situations only, I can't skip or dance properly. Yeah, I feel like the world's most boring mum. And I feel like fitness and physical fun are miles away...maybe even just a dream.
And why do I feel like, to tell this side of things, is taboo? How many women needlessly suffer in SILENCE? A prolapse is, to many, embarrassing, disempowering, limiting, uncomfortable, depressing..
Why is it OK to make judgments, even seemingly positive ones, about other women's appearance without expecting, wanting or enabling that woman to feel comfortable to give an account of her WHOLE self?
Why, oh why, must we be seduced into believing that our self worth and the definition of ourselves is rooted in our appearance?
It wastes so much of our collective, and personal, time and energy. I look back at the decade or so that I fought with the devil in the guise of an eating disorder and I shudder. What a horrible, disgusting waste of MY life. Nobody else's. MINE. I don't get that back. It's gone. And it's shadows still flit across my life from time to time. Since this whole prolapse business, I've felt those shadows gather into clouds and I am trying to ward off any impending storms.
So, it saddens me when women who are, for example, going to the gym regularly each week, jumping merrily on trampolines with their children, and are healthy....don't LIKE themselves...because they aren't happy with how they look, or feel they need to lose more weight. Because, right NOW this is YOUR life. Whether or not you believe in after life, multiple lives, one life and then oblivion...THIS life is yours and it's happening right now...please, try to love yourself. Liking and respecting yourself is a good start.
In ten years time, you don't want to look back and realise how much time you wasted dwelling in the mode of 'I'll be happy when...'
So, in summary, let's stop competing; be it to look better, or to be the one with the best cake making skills....let's also stop competing about how hard things are...because we just don't know what hides behind what we view as desirable. Let's be honest, about it all! The experiences, the highs and lows, our actual feelings...let's be open to hearing things we didn't expect or that make us reasses our own thoughts and perceptions. And let's be compassionate.
Let's waste less time concerned with the aesthetics and live more fulfilling lives; showing our sons and daughters just what a woman can be: anything, everything...whatever she chooses.
Note: New post relating to this uploaded today ( 28/01/15)
Monday, 23 September 2013
Labels, schmabels?
So, as the overall blog title suggests, I don't care to label myself, especially in the parenting game. But, are labels useful? It's something that I've seen debated amidst parenting groups I have/am a part of.
The argument against them seems to be, essentially; why assign labels when everyone does things differently, and when certain labels can make others feel negatively. For example: there are many parenting groups under the labels 'natural', 'gentle' and 'conscious'. By not feeling a part of those groups, does that mean you are unnatural, aggressive and not thinking about your choices? Well, no. And I can see why it may feel somewhat offensive.
BUT, I do actually think they have a purpose, these labels. On the crazy journey that is parenting there is absolutely truck loads of information out there. Some good, some bad, some ugly and some that's neither here nor there. It stands to reason that, amidst all the madness, many of us will find philosophies that appeal to us. And often, once you start finding bits that you want to take on board, they might lead you onto more. They can often open the door to a whole way of thinking that will then shape the way you try to parent.
Children don't stay the same. They are ever changing, ever challenging, lovable yet frustrating creatures. So, it goes that once we have found some pieces of the puzzle that work for us, we are going to need to find new ones as the puzzle unfolds. And what better way to search for them, if you feel the need to search, than to find information that sits under the same umbrella philosophy you were already following?
And without labels that give an idea towards the way of thinking behind certain information you are considering delving into, things would get rather tricky...not to mention time consuming.
The important thing, in my humble opinion, is to be open minded. I do believe there are many books etc out there with advice that is downright harmful, and it angers me that it is allowed to be sold to people who are just trying to find their way and do their best for the people they love the most. But, if you are certain that the information you have read, and try to follow, is based on the best research, that doesn't mean that you have to disregard parents who do things differently. The heat between different 'sides' can get pretty intense, and people can so often judge, scorn and worse. But, if you truly wish for others to learn then you need to be understanding and open so that they can be too. It needs to be a conversation, not a lecture. Nobody wants to listen to someone tell them they've made bad choices, especially in something so important. We're more receptive when we don't feel too defensive. Passive information sharing is a nice little phrase I've just come in to contact with which bodes well with me. Much better than telling someone what you think they should do.
I can't say I'm perfect, who is? And I would love to figure out better ways to impart information that I believe to be important without offending. But, I do try to always keep in mind, like a mantra almost, that: MOST parents are just trying to do their best for their child, a person they love more than any other person can.
And, that, I reckon, is the crux of it.
Thursday, 19 September 2013
Breastfeeding, the struggle continues...
So, if you read my post titled 'Breastfeeding: Aversion's Loot' you may think that my breastfeeding days with my, now, 18 month old are over. Well, no.
It wasn't so simple.
Not least because, despite how hard it was I didn't want it to end - for her sake. But, also because she came down with a cold that very day. She couldn't breathe well through her nose that night and was tired, unhappy and unsettled. We all needed sleep. So, I think that was the first time that my husband began his new role: masseuse! If my neck/shoulder/head area (an area I tend to carry a lot of tension anyway) is massaged firmly enough it seems to help override much of the overwhelming aversion I suffer otherwise.
We still had some daytime feeds, well, only one a day maximum. Usually when she was tired and wanting sleep. But as time went on it became obvious that I couldn't hack it long enough to actually get her to sleep, which often ended with her beginning to drift off, me having to unlatch her and her breaking down into tears of despair and rage. Not a good look, especially with a pregnant mother who is bone tired and also desperate for sleep!
So, now it seems it's either no nap, or wait til she's starting to get short tempered with tiredness, and hope she'll fall asleep in the buggy (if I can drag my sorry self out of the house by that point)! If only we could be in synch with each other. Or, if I could just feed her like it seems so many other mum's still do.
Is it wrong that I have started becoming slightly bitter towards supposedly beautiful breastfeeding photos? I saw one the other day: a very pregnant woman in the sunshine, sitting in shallow waves with her toddler breastfeeding whilst she reclined on her hands smiling up at the sky. Gorgeous. But I just felt sad and envious. That won't be me, I thought.
Who'd' have thought that breastfeeding could stir up so many emotions?
It wasn't so simple.
Not least because, despite how hard it was I didn't want it to end - for her sake. But, also because she came down with a cold that very day. She couldn't breathe well through her nose that night and was tired, unhappy and unsettled. We all needed sleep. So, I think that was the first time that my husband began his new role: masseuse! If my neck/shoulder/head area (an area I tend to carry a lot of tension anyway) is massaged firmly enough it seems to help override much of the overwhelming aversion I suffer otherwise.
We still had some daytime feeds, well, only one a day maximum. Usually when she was tired and wanting sleep. But as time went on it became obvious that I couldn't hack it long enough to actually get her to sleep, which often ended with her beginning to drift off, me having to unlatch her and her breaking down into tears of despair and rage. Not a good look, especially with a pregnant mother who is bone tired and also desperate for sleep!
So, now it seems it's either no nap, or wait til she's starting to get short tempered with tiredness, and hope she'll fall asleep in the buggy (if I can drag my sorry self out of the house by that point)! If only we could be in synch with each other. Or, if I could just feed her like it seems so many other mum's still do.
Is it wrong that I have started becoming slightly bitter towards supposedly beautiful breastfeeding photos? I saw one the other day: a very pregnant woman in the sunshine, sitting in shallow waves with her toddler breastfeeding whilst she reclined on her hands smiling up at the sky. Gorgeous. But I just felt sad and envious. That won't be me, I thought.
Who'd' have thought that breastfeeding could stir up so many emotions?
Monday, 16 September 2013
Imperfect (another older blog)
So, I figured I'd get this out of the way sooner rather than later: my disclaimer.
After reading back another post I wrote on another forum (which was written on a hectic day; attacking a few shelves in the kitchen which - if truth be told - had begun to appear like they might be breeding alien life forms, as well as warding off the ever growing pile of washing. All the while, of course, caring for my wee baby who happened to think the world was ending if I so much as vanished from view for a minute) I realised that, without writing a whole book, I will probably never post anything that is a complete and 'correct' as I would like.
For example: in that post I mentioned dolls and trucks in relation to girls and boys toys, without clarification that I do not personally see these toys as being either feminine or masculine. I was just going with the assumption that society tends to hold about such toys. Was this a faux pas on my part? Perhaps. I think I see it more like laziness. Being quite honest; I simply don't have the time or energy to edit every post I write to make it as 'correct' as I might like, or others might think I should. So, I guess I'm saying; bear with me, I am not perfect; I am merely an explorer in my own mind, within a crazy world. And I welcome comments, as long as they're not, y'know, telling me to get back to the kitchen where I belong. Seriously, you haven't seen me in the kitchen.
After reading back another post I wrote on another forum (which was written on a hectic day; attacking a few shelves in the kitchen which - if truth be told - had begun to appear like they might be breeding alien life forms, as well as warding off the ever growing pile of washing. All the while, of course, caring for my wee baby who happened to think the world was ending if I so much as vanished from view for a minute) I realised that, without writing a whole book, I will probably never post anything that is a complete and 'correct' as I would like.
For example: in that post I mentioned dolls and trucks in relation to girls and boys toys, without clarification that I do not personally see these toys as being either feminine or masculine. I was just going with the assumption that society tends to hold about such toys. Was this a faux pas on my part? Perhaps. I think I see it more like laziness. Being quite honest; I simply don't have the time or energy to edit every post I write to make it as 'correct' as I might like, or others might think I should. So, I guess I'm saying; bear with me, I am not perfect; I am merely an explorer in my own mind, within a crazy world. And I welcome comments, as long as they're not, y'know, telling me to get back to the kitchen where I belong. Seriously, you haven't seen me in the kitchen.
Pinkification (a new, old post - from old blog- originally written 13th August 2012))
Ok, let’s get this straight. I do not believe that pink itself is bad. It is not evil. It holds not one conscious thought; projects no malice. I even own some pink things myself. Pink is just a colour, after all. Or at least it should be. Like all colours it should ‘belong’ –for want of a better word- to everyone, regardless of gender.
Sadly, this is not really the case. Sure, you could argue that nobody is stopping people from using, wearing or liking pink...But, is that wholly true? I grant you this: there are no Pink Police out arresting people for crimes of Pinkish wrongdoing. But, actually, I am amongst many – and you thought I was just a lone whacko! – who believe that pink has become more than just a colour. I see that it has become a symbol for all that is supposedly female. And, by being such, it labels what is forgirls, steering girls down narrow paths whilst still letting them believe they are choosing their own way. (That boys are affected by this is also true, in my opinion, but let’s not get carried away just yet. Perhaps another blog, another day?)
So, firstly, we shall we take a gander into the past; to see where all this pink for girls, blue for boys nonsense came from. Yes, I said nonsense. I figure there’s not too much point pretending I think it is otherwise. But, stay with me.
Well, to begin with, it wasn’t about blue or pink at all. Instead boys and girls were dressed in white dresses that were practical: easy to change nappies as well as bleach everything clean. According to my sources*, boys tended to wear these until about the age of 6, at which point they would usually have a haircut and a change of outfit.
Pastel colours were next on the menu, but still the distinction was not as it is now. In fact, did you know that at some point pink was deemed more for boys and blue for girls? Here’s an excerpt from smithsonianmag.com :
“For example, a June 1918 article from the trade publication Earnshaw's Infants' Department said, “The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.”
And regarding the setting of pink for girls, blue for boys:
“Today’s color dictate wasn’t established until the 1940s, as a result of Americans’ preferences as interpreted by manufacturers and retailers. “It could have gone the other way,” Paoletti says.”
---------------
Ok, so here’s the thing: Dividing kids into gender for their clothes, toys and so on, is a marketing strategy. It means companies can make even more money off parents if they happen to have children of different sexes. Cha-ching! Awesome! (For them.) But, not only does it leave the average parent more out of pocket than otherwise necessary, it also has big knock on effects to the children themselves. This may not have been intended, who knows? But it certainly doesn’t seem to be something those companies are too worried about. Why would they be?
What are these knock on effects I hear you ask? It’s gender stereotyping. We lump girls and boys into their gender roles before they’re even born by assigning them these colours. If you walk into most children’s clothes retailers the shop will be divided into ‘boys’ and ‘girls’ clothing. By way of motif’s and slogans, young girls learn that they should like flowers, unicorns and want to be princesses (a whole other story!) and boys learn that they should like cars, dinosaurs and want to be hero’s. In toy stores, the colours pink and blue leave labelling toys ‘boys’ or ‘girls’ downright unnecessary. Children learn pretty early on what sex they are, and are keen to identify with that sex - which is pretty natural. It’s not long before they just know that the candy pink aisles are for girls, the bright blues for boys. And within those aisles the division intensifies. Cooking sets, tiaras, pretend pushchairs and the like for girls and action figures, construction sets and light sabers for boys. By the way, dolls for girls I’ve noticed have become increasingly frightening – when I first saw a Bratz doll I was still in denial about the idea of ever being a mother, yet I was appalled: their huge eyes and pouty lips, not to mention the skimpy clothing that would do well on some classy prostitute on a rather hot evening. And what do these dolls do? Nothing, that I’m aware of. Oh, they look‘pretty’. Fabulous.
The general notion I get whilst walking through a ‘girl’s toys’ aisle – apart from general queasiness – is that girls want (or should want) to spend their days imitating the supposedly old-fashioned roles that women once held: cooking, cleaning, looking pretty and all in the hope to one day catch the eye of the Prince/Knight-in-shining-armour type male, who can then provide for her and the many children she will bear. (Note: I AM a stay-at-home-mum, I DO look after our child and even do some cleaning and cooking, but that’s not to say that’s the extent of my prospects, or that my husband wouldn’t want to do it himself if it were suitable for us. And, in fact, he does his fair share of domestic duties more than willingly.) Whereas, walking through the ‘boys’ aisle’s, I feel that there is a sense of adventure, of exploration. We are male, we can do anything (as long as it isn’t overly domesticated, or requiring some level of emotional depth of course). Ahhh, so modern, don’t you think? No? Nor me.
Of course, from then on, it just gets worse. Young girls wearing t-shirts with the Playboy Bunny on them (presumably unaware exactly what that symbolises – but, surely the parents know), fretting over how their hair looks in between lessons, worrying about their weight at increasingly younger ages. Having suffered an eating disorder myself, for at least 10 years in total, this provokes many feelings in me, most notably: rage, nausea and disbelief. I am angered that things seem to be getting worse; that nobody seems to be protecting these kids. The nausea is probably a throwback to how I used to feel myself if I had eaten something yummy and was regretting what it might do to my figure (because my figure was more important than my health and actual happiness), as well as a sickening fear that my daughter could be prey to this cruelty. Disbelief: that there aren’t more people feeling enraged by it all!
I see it all reinforced by unwitting, well-meaning people all the time. Including parents. I once worked at a mini-golf kiosk. On a few occasions, when asked to pick a ball, a young boy would pick a bright pink ball (they were new and particularly shiny!) only to have his parent tell him to pick something less ‘girly’. ‘What? He’s a child!’ The voice in my head would shriek. ‘You’re closing doors to him already, telling him that his choice was wrong?’ And I would pass over the golf clubs and try a smile. Likewise, and this happened even more frequently, parents would not even give their young daughter’s a choice! They’d just say ‘oh, pink for you’ and pass it on over. Well, maybe she does like pink, but maybe today she would’ve chosen something different? At least, if nothing else, let her be allowed to make some decisions. Choosing your golf ball isn’t exactly life or death, but the passive behaviour that seems to be encouraged here doesn’t seem fair to me.
We’re made to think that women and men are equal in Western Society. But, you only have to look at the lack of women in power, or the gap between average salaries for men and women, or the amount of women compared to men who suffer eating disorders to see that something is amiss. It’s all done so cleverly. These ways of thinking are so engrained in society that it’s largely unseen. The girl who wears make-up because she wants to? I ask her: why do you want to? Did you just grow up with a desire to draw on yourself, or did you learn somewhere along the lines that to look ‘beautiful’ was akin to being successful; that what you look like prevails all your other attributes? Once again, I could go on. But, I think I should try to keep each post more succinct than my heart would allow if it were left to its own devices.
However, a book that touched me immensely, and helped me change from being a victim into a voice, as well as helping me realise that I actually wanted children – I had just been so afraid of being a stereotypical female! – is Naomi Wolf’s ‘The Beauty Myth’. It’s quite old now, but still very relevant.
So, in summary: Pink is a colour. It has been hi-jacked by marketing companies to make parents spend more money and, as a lovely by-product of this, plays a huge part in dictating the ‘choices’ our children will make. I don’t hate pink, I hate what is being done with it. And, I believe that it doesn’t have to be this way. I believe all children should – and could – see the world as their oyster, whatever colour its shell.
* http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/When-Did-Girls-Start-Wearing-Pink.html
Tuesday, 20 August 2013
Breastfeeding: Aversion's Loot.
20th August 2013
Today is a big day for me. A sad day. Today is the day I’ve accepted that I am coming to, if not at, the end of my breastfeeding relationship with my daughter; my first born.
Today is a big day for me. A sad day. Today is the day I’ve accepted that I am coming to, if not at, the end of my breastfeeding relationship with my daughter; my first born.
I knew, before she was born, that there could be problems; that breastfeeding didn’t always come as naturally to women as one might think. I spent time in the lead up to her birth collecting small syringes of colostrum so that, in the event of any issues in her first days of life, she would still be able to have some of that ‘liquid gold’.
During her first week, her appetite proved to be just as it has continued to be: big and enthusiastic! Due to the fact she was getting plenty and my milk was coming in fast, I think the latch was overlooked somewhat. This led to a battle against pain and tears while feeding and learning the correct way to latch her on. About a week in and I’d got my first dose of mastitis.
I seemed to have an oversupply but always felt grateful that, at least, I had milk. 6 weeks in and I got mastitis again, badly. It came on overnight and by morning I was a feverish wreck!
Still, on we went, it was only a minor set back in the grand scheme of things. Somewhere along the line we discovered I also have Raynaud’s. I assume it is a relatively mild case, but it could still be uncomfortable at times. However, for the most part, I enjoyed it. I remember the overwhelming flood of hormones that, at the extreme, could leave me almost breathless; it was a rush. A love rush.
There were times, too, when I longed to be free from her latch. Lying for unknown amounts of time in the dark, trying to get her to sleep, wishing I was doing something else. Anything.
But, mostly, it just carried on. I thought the hard parts were over. Aside from a few adjustment issues when her top two teeth came in, she fed well, I had a good supply and all was good and I envisaged feeding her til she was 2, at least, and maybe until she weaned herself.
At about 9-10 months in, I started to have trouble. Sometimes when she’d feed, as well as a bruised feeling when she was latched, my body would recoil. I would be overwhelmed with conflicting feelings: anger, disgust, claustraphobia. I’d have to bundle her hands away so that they couldn’t touch me. After a month and a half of this, my period arrived. Aha! I thought. Hormones! Surely now it’ll start to even out?
From then on, it came on and off and, I gathered, in synch with my cycles. So, I’d get about two weeks of it and then a couple of weeks respite. This, coupled with some pretty rotten night time wakings (we considered night terrors, amongst other things) was leaving me pretty exhausted and my nerves were frazzled. During a 6 week trip to the UK to visit my family (my husband had to stay behind, so night’s were mostly a solo adventure) I came to the realisation I needed to do some kind of night weaning, or risk losing my sanity altogether.
We took it slowly, but were making progress. To be honest, though, much of it came from my aversion to feeding increasing and causing me to have little choice in the matter at times. But, as our night feeds dropped dramatically, I had a surge of energy. I felt alive!
Then, I got pregnant. Which is fine. But…..
The energy disappeared. I probably felt human for about a week, two max. And then, of course, there was the aversion. The sickly, creeping, crawling aversion. One feed I let go on too long ended with a sudden explosion of it, mostly in the form of rage, and I abruptly unlatched my daughter, rolled away and punched a wall. My husband said it was time to stop. But, I wanted to keep trying. I wanted to keep providing the one thing that I knew was meant to be perfect for her, through sickness and health.
About 6 weeks into the pregnancy and the nipple pain started, then increased. So then, the feeds went like this:
30 seconds of eye watering, groan-inducing pain and then, as it subsided, the aversion crept in. Well, I say crept, it was much more of an assault. So then I’d be left with the trapped feeling; the body clenching, breathing-madly-through-the-teeth, pillow-punching disgust/anger medley. If I lasted two minutes before having (and I mean having) to unlatch, I was lucky.
And now, here I am. I never envisaged it like this. I imagined her gradually wanting less and less milk from me, and gently, in her own time, she’d have had enough. And that would be that. Instead I feel as if I’ve been prised away from doing something I really want to do for her, and she really yearns for, by my own body…in a most unpleasant way. I am grieving. I am lucky in many ways, I know, but I am still grieving for the moments I thought were still to come, which are now just a dream.
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