You are currently browsing the monthly archive for April 2009.
I was asked by the lovely woman behind The Breastfeeding Experience blog to contribute something to the site. Although flattered, I told her that I hadn’t overcome any particular adversity (really, nothing more than a plugged duct) and that my breastfeeding story was really as pedestrian and dull as they come.
But then I realized I could credit the people who helped me make my story so “dull”: my mom, my husband, my doula, and my friend Heidi.
So that’s what I did.
Please take a look and check back when the site goes live on Mother’s Day, May 10. The purpose of the blog is neatly explained with this summary: It’s the 21st century, and we’ve forgotten how to nurse. A woman may never see a breastfeeding baby until she’s faced with her own hungry child.
Breastfeeding is a learned skill, and you learn it from other women. Here, in this space, we’ll share our stories. We’ll make sure no one has to learn this alone again.
“AM, would you like to admire my work?”
Maybe we should dial back the praise of artwork. Just a smidge.
Birkat Ha-chama, a rare opportunity to do a mitzvah (once every 28 years).
Birkat Ha-chama is a blessing over the sun–over all of creation, really. One has to see the sun to say the blessing. Taxman saw the sunrise.
I was up before the sun, as usual, and said the bracha later from my neighbor’s terrace, between scuttling clouds.
Stuffed wolves are expert charoset makers.
Almost-five-year-old girls are expert charoset eaters.
We got very lucky with our $17/lb shmura matzah. Taxman cheated a little bit.
Seder for five. Plenty of food if anyone wants to join us tonight.
Our beautiful seder plate from the Vichinsky studio.
Chag kasher v’sameach.
For only the second time in our married life, we will not be having the Pesach seders with my in-laws. (The one year we didn’t we were with Taxman’s aunt and uncle.)
And for the first time, we are leading it, quote, unquote, although as long as Miss M stays awake probably she will be the driving force for what gets discussed.
We’ve stocked up on grape juice (me: extremely low alcohol tolerance; Taxman: wine bothers his stomach), bought a seder plate, and tried to stay low-key, given the ages of the children involved.
The one way I’m trying to shake things up is by adding food elements that are new. We’re going to be eating quinoa during Passover, for one. And for “karpas,” the vegetable-from-the-ground part of the seder, I’m starting a new tradition. Sure, there will be parsley, as from on high, but I’m adding a small glass mug filled with salt water and floating a steamed baby carrot, a boiled mini-fingerling potato, and a piece of raw celery heart in it. If I’m not going to really feed you until 10pm, I’ll at least give you more than a sprig of parsley. Is all I’m saying.
Judith Warner, I hate you.
I hate that you look at the world in a black and white way.
I hate that you would make any mother feel badly about her choices (assuming, of course, those choices are not putting a child in danger).
I hate you–and the New York Times–for publishing this column after the fervor from the Hanna Rosin article had died down in the blogosphere. Because we have to stir the pot once a month; twice in the same month is a waste.
I hate that you want to ban a device that helps women provide nourishment for their children. Who might be separated from them because of work, school, illness, time in the NICU, or a million reasons that don’t necessarily justify dumping breastfeeding or pumping altogether. Because of how it makes you feel. Normal people don’t slam something that they may not personally like but works for others. Could you imagine if the Amish wanted to outlaw zippers for the entirety of the United States? It’s ludicrous.
You know what I tell my children to say if they’re presented with something they don’t like? Not “yuck” or “ew” or “ick.” (Because it’s rude and obnoxious and denigrates what others may like or prefer.) I teach them to say, “No, thank you, it’s not for me.” Or, “Thank you, I’d prefer something else.”
So, Judith Warner, take a lesson from my kids. I hope by the time they’re six they’ll be more open-minded than you are at middle age.
Hat tip to Micaela for interrupting my Pesach prep with the link to my hometown newspaper.
