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So on a local bulletin board (specific to my neighborhood & my religion–and most of the posters are Orthodox, to boot), a mom-to-be (age 33, pregnant with first baby) was seeking general advice about All Things Baby. People responded with all kinds of stuff, including a whole tangent about nursing bras. But then someone–who had had two singletons, then twins–did the whole “don’t feel pressure to nurse” dance and then someone else, who described herself as a “breast feeding fanatic” had the umbrage to call people associated with La Leche League “nuts.”
WHOA. THEM’S FIGHTING WORDS.
I got up at 5 fraking 30 to craft this response (names changed to protect the innocent):
“I have a couple of things to address:
First of all, snowing a mom-to-be with solicited advice regarding nursing isn’t, in my opinion, out of line. Considering the population reading this bulletin board (overwhelmingly white, college-educated women*), the likelihood is that Tamar–assuming neither she nor her son have any medical issues; we know already she is having a singleton–will leave the hospital nursing and want to continue for some period of time. Support for that can come in many forms: where to get equipment, info for local lactation consultants, general advice, etc.
I am not saying that formula is bad–it can even be a lifesaver in certain situations**–but trying to set an expectant mom up for breastfeeding success is probably more helpful than saying, “You may not be able to do it, and if you can’t don’t feel bad.” I personally surrounded myself with people who were saying “You CAN do it!” and found that a better tack.
Secondly, I take exception to the charactization as La Leche League members/Leaders as “nuts.”
Somehow La Leche has garnered a reputation as a “militant organization,” anti-formula, anti-working mom, anti-whatever. I can’t speak for other meetings (except for the one in Yonkers), but I have been a dues-paying meeting attendee of the Riverdale chapter for over four years.
I haven’t seen any militancy–in fact LLL is not allowed to officially participate in things like nurse-ins–but I’ve seen a lot of empathy, support, and knowledge. Leaders, who are all volunteers and take time away from their own jobs and families to give help to other moms and babies, have to submit to extensive training and know an incredible amount about human lactation. Meetings are a place for moms to share ideas and tips with each other. I’ve heard everything from remedies for thrush to advice for naps to pumping at work to balancing the needs of a nursing baby vs the needs of older children/partners/societal expectations.
The whole concept of La Leche is mother-to-mother support. There is a cycle of four meeting themes that are repeated three times over the course of the year: Advantages of Breastfeeding, The Early Weeks (focusing on nursing a newborn and adjusting to life with a new baby), Overcoming Difficulties, and Nutrition and Weaning. But pressing questions and difficulties (particularly with new babies and first-time moms) trump everything. I’ve heard a lot of exceptional situations in the past four years, including: nursing adopted babies, cross-nursing, nursing preemies, and nursing twins.
Does La Leche League believe that breastfeeding is the best form of nutrition for babies? Absolutely. But so does the American Academy of Pediatrics and nobody is calling them militant. (The AAP also advises exclusive breastmilk for six months–but how many among us have had pediatricians advise or allow solids at five or even four months of age? La Leche will help moms reach the goals they recommend.)
Is La Leche League a better resource for breastfeeding information than a pediatrician? Probably. A small percentage of pediatricians (Dr. Gold, a member of this group, is among them) have extra training and certification in lactation. The rest of them may not know that much about how it works and in fact give advice that undermines a breastfeeding relationship. What I learned at La Leche gave me the push to leave the pediatrician who was intruding on my “lifestyle issues” (where my baby was sleeping, the fact that she was nursing at night) and telling me outright lies about nursing (specifically, that nursing my 9 month old at night would make her fat).
Now I’ll probably be labeled as militant. Whatever. My point is, La Leche is an excellent–and FREE!–resource for moms-to-be and moms who want to nurse their babies for any period of time, in any situation, to troubleshoot around obligations, medications/health problems/surgeries, poor advice, free formula samples, well-meaning relatives, unsupportive doctors, etc, etc.”
I ended with all the numbers and emails and websites for La Leche, local and international. Because there’s nothing like a manifesto first thing in the morning. And now you get to share! How great!
Hugs and kisses,
me
* Also upper middle class, but I didn’t want to start in with that. But overwhelmingly so, I think.
** I was thinking specifically of Ianqui and Yo, who are getting back on the nursing track due to some amazing perserverance.
(because half the time, I don’t understand this crap myself)
Miss M took an interest in this week’s New Yorker cover.
And so I had to try to explain, to a literal-minded four-year-old (I ASK YOU: IS THERE ANY OTHER KIND?!?!), what it was all about. Metaphor. Fighting with words vs. actual fighting. Why that lady was biting. I don’t think I did very well.
Then she said, apropos of nothing, that she liked John McCain and correctly picked him out of the bunch. My heart broke a little, but I have a theory: he’s the pink one in the drawing. Miss M, despite her coppery hair, is all about Teh Pink.
Here’s a bonus political story from last week.
Miss M (singsongy, waving her wand): “Barack Obama, Barack Obama, Barack Obama!”
Me: “Who’s Barack Obama?”
Miss M (whispering): “She’s a princess. But her real name is Cinderella!”
You thought it was the cigarettes? The cocktails? The $5.99 steak buffets?
The cursing, shady characters, or absolute disconnection from reality?
(I don’t know–I’ve never been to a casino. Losing money doesn’t strike me as entertainment. Maybe I’m missing something?)
Here’s my theory: they can’t keep their drooly traps shut.
Can’t you just imagine? Settle a little golden-haired sweetie on your lap, get dealt a hand of poker…and have that little cutie gleefully shout out your cards. Numbers, letters, colors. All that and a heap of chips as your eyes begin to roll.
Like I said, I’ve never been to a casino, but I developed this idea with Taxman over some rousing games of Rummikub during the many, many, many days of Yom Tov this month. Instead of playing on the table, like normal human beings, we spread out on the floor. So naturally this attracts the buzzards kids. AM likes to help me pick out my tiles, then set up his own board next to mine. He’s been playing (with a lot of assistance) Go Fish with Miss M, so as Taxman and I start playing, a little voice pipes up, “Ema, you have [peering at my tiles] any tens?”
Rummikub requires a bit of concentration, especially when playing with Taxman, who has been playing since, I don’t know, the womb. Recently I’ve been able to beat him maybe 40% of the time, which is a damn near miracle considering that we’re essentially playing inside of a war zone–albeit a friendly one. (The kids are always nearby–even if they’re not butting into the game that particular second–making noise, walking/skipping/dancing through the pool of tiles, squabbling with each other, trying to “help.”)
Somehow we manage to get the game played, even with the little loudmouth reciting tiles to the opposing player.
But of course sometimes you just give into the scene. “Ema, joker!” AM squealed during one game on Tuesday. Knowing I wouldn’t use it until I could get rid of all of my tiles–I gave it to him. He put it on his board.
“Abba,” he slyly asked Taxman, “you have any jokers?”
He got his pair.
This afternoon, we ate take-out pizza* for lunch in our backyard sukkah. (Even more holidays are on the horizon; I am so, so sick of meal-planning and executing I could cry.) One of the very nice things about the location of the sukkah is that it is literally in the playground; it makes up for the fact that we have to walk down a flight of stairs and 200 feet to eat together.**
Miss M and AM ate and were excused to go play. A few minutes later I glimpsed them huddled together over the black playground matting with a piece of chalk. I assumed that she was writing the alphabet for him, a frequent request. But he appeared to lose interest and wandered over to the swing.
Taxman and I finished and packed up, stopping by her creation as we stepped out of the sukkah. Two dress-wearing stick figures with words next to them.
“Wow, what’s this?” I asked.
“This is me,” she said, pointing to the one on the right, “saying ‘No!’” (It was spelled “o – backwards n.”)
“And this person is saying ‘Go to something’–what’s that after ‘Go to’?” I inquired.
“That’s you, Ema. I’m saying ‘No!’ and you’re saying ‘Go to your room!’”***
Life with Preschooler: A Graphic Novel….coming to bookstores soon. As soon as Taxman and I stop giggling about this particular chapter.
* Miss M, who eschews anything with the merest hint of tomato, had an avocado sandwich.
** Minors and women do not have the same obligations to eat in the sukkah as able-bodied men. The kids and I have been eating regularly upstairs, but in order for Taxman to eat a real meal he’s got to be in a sukkah.
*** For the record, sending her to her room is not something I do all that often, because it doesn’t achieve much–other than separating her and AM when things get too physical and he gets hurt. When she was younger she hated to be away from the action, but now she would disappear into her bookshelf. So the discipline factor? Not so much.
Driving to school this morning, I remark to Miss M and A, “Girls, look how pretty that tree is! It’s turning orange.”
Miss M: “Ema, it’s the leaves that are turning orange. Not the tree.”
Ahem. Yes.
But in my defense, she often uses the subjunctive properly,* and she had to get that from somewhere, right? Right?
* For example, “If I were a princess…”
No, not my daughter, who turns up her nose at just about every protein except for hot dogs and plain tofu.
Rather, my husband.
Although I don’t consider myself much of a baker–I don’t do anything fancy–I do like to make desserts from scratch. Largely because store-bought ones are so full of chemicals and yuck. If I make a pan of brownies or a batch of cookies for a shabbat meal, I will throw the leftovers in the freezer, so I don’t necessarily have to bake the next week. Of course, in the Rosh Hashana-Sukkot craziness I’ve gone a little overboard, baking challah in addition to bar cookies, cakes, an apple crisp, and cookies.
The cookies were oatmeal-chocolate chip, a last-minute addition to my Monday litany of Things To Do. They were good fresh out of the oven but lost a little something when they were down to room temperature. I offered one to Taxman when he got home in the afternoon, as we were putting the house together for Yom Tov.
“It’s ok,” he said. “But I feel like it’s missing something. It needs more brown sugar.”
I grinned. “You are something else. As a matter of fact, there is no brown sugar. I thought an oatmeal cookie recipe without brown sugar was odd. So there you go.”
Goes to show: Palates can be trained. And also, not every recipe Moosewood puts out is stellar.
Preparing for a Tuesday-Wednesday Yom Tov + no pre-K/working husband Sunday-Monday = batshit crazy.
That is all.
Oh, but one more thing: does making cookies for Yom Tov count if I eat all the cookies before Yom Tov?
4:44pm
“Honey, I’m going to be late.”
“How late?”
“I just got rear-ended.”
“What? Are you ok?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It was very low speed. We’re waiting for the police.”
“Where are you?”
“95. Between 6 and 5.”*
“Didn’t you say you were going to leave at 4? Shouldn’t you be on the Cross County right now?”
“Yeah, well, you know. Things happen.”
“Ok, enjoy. Candle lighting is at 6:04.”
Everybody wish me luck.
UPDATE: 5:30pm. There is no way on earth, short of sprouting wings, that he’s going to make it home. (Police have not yet showed.) That is the last time I buy him, in absentia, a donut for Kiddush that I don’t like also.
* Anyone who knows where he works, relative to where we live, knows that this is Not At All Close to our house and is, in fact, spitting distance from where he works.
9:06 Aren’t these guys watching the clock? Two minutes!
9:09 Does McCain think he is fooling anyone by getting up into the face of the question asker? Isn’t it just a matter of time until he winds up sitting in someone’s lap?
9:13 Is anyone going to answer the damn questions?
9:14 Meg Whitman? Really? Warren Buffet? Really?
(While putting AM to bed, I heard some lady in the audience ask something to the effect of “Why should we trust either one of you?” Whoever she is, I WANT HER FOR PRESIDENT!)
9:35 Has anyone said anything new? Why on earth are there three debates?
9:39 Zzzzzzz
9:40 I have four loads of laundry to fold and there’s no House. Seriously? Go home, guys. You have boring hairdos, and we can’t mock your patter.
“Abba, do something! Miss M* make a mess!”
* He says her name correctly now. Me sad.
