I’ve neglected to write this post for months. In fact, I haven’t even uttered (pun intended) the word breastfeeding on the blog in quite some time (September 2008). I’ve struggled with how to say it, when to say it and even why I felt like I needed to say it. The fact is that LittleBrother weaned awhile ago.

I won’t give you an exact date or even the exact length of time of his nursing career. I will say that it was over one year but under two years. (Obviously as his second birthday is just under two months from today.) I will only say that much about the length of time. Why? Some will say that anything over the year mark was too long. Some will say that anything under the two year mark was not long enough. And I will tell both camps to fluff off. Kindly, of course.

Our nursing experience was wonderful. Once we got his tongue tie fixed and learned to ignore the doctors regarding slow weight gain, it was smooth sailing. I could have kept right on nursing for much longer. LittleBrother had other plans. At first, when he stopped, I thought we were going through the inevitable nursing strike. Those happen. I was prepared for it. And then it didn’t stop with the strike. He got some pumped milk for awhile, in a sippy cup because we just never did bottles. Plus, he wanted to be like BigBrother. But he absolutely refused the breast. Pushing, hitting. Screaming, demanding. “Milk. Cup.” He didn’t want to stop to be with me. He wanted to be just like his older brother. He didn’t have time to snuggle and cuddle with me anymore.

I continued to offer for awhile. I continued to pump for awhile, watching my supply tank over a three week period. I resigned myself that it was over when a month had passed and he had fought me any time I had offered. I don’t even recall the date of our last legitimate nursing session; I wasn’t expecting it to be the last. I was expecting months more of time alone with my last baby. Not so. I’m sure it was a lovely time together.

Then the guilt hit, of course, when the frozen breast milk supply ran out and we switched fully to whole milk. And he had some intestinal issues and was diagnosed with mild lactose intolerance. Great, I thought. If I had just forced the issue, if I had just gotten him back to the breast, we wouldn’t be having these problems! Of course, we would have in the end. I found out after that diagnosis that I make a lot of meals with milk. At the worst of his issue, even mashed potatoes made with milk resulted in a horrible intestinal problem. I learned to cook without milk for quite some time. I kept beating myself up over the issue but I learned. I kept hoping that our doctor was right, that somewhere near the age of two he might outgrow the lactose intolerance.

We had been planning on waiting until the month of his birthday to reintroduce milk products. Then I accidentally made a huge meal with milk and cheese and basically just a volcano of dairy. Mommy brain implosion, apparently. After we ate and even the day after, LittleBrother didn’t have his normal explosive reaction. A few days later, we offered him some of the cottage cheese that BigBrother eats every day with lunch. He liked it. No reaction. We continued to offer the cottage cheese while on vacation last month. No reaction. Upon returning home from said vacation, we offered a glass of milk. He drank it. He liked it. No reaction. No reactions at all for the past month. In fact, he’s had better bowel movements since returning to milk than he had on the rice milk. Color us shocked.

Cooking is easier again. As usual, he’s my good eater so he’s been enjoying all of the recipes that I had to avoid during our months of anti-milk propaganda. He’s happy, not that he ever wasn’t, doing things just like his brother. My guilt is lessening. I really felt horrible for the interim months when we kept dealing with stomach issues. I kept beating myself up for not sticking it out, for not forcing the issue. Not that I feel that I could have; he was determined to keep up with his brother. I was just weighing him down.

I’m happy to see him as a very independent toddler. I know that our months of breastfeeding and bonding helped that along. I do miss our moments together but, more so than his brother, he’s a lover and cuddler. He will be running by and stop to kiss or hug me. Or his daddy. Or anyone sitting still. A lover, indeed. I have my moments of nostalgia and sadness when I see my friends nursing their young ones, knowing that I’ll never experience that closeness with another baby. But mostly I’m just trying to keep up with two very quick, very busy, very energetic little boys who are constantly trying to out-do one another.

And that’s okay.

A big Fire Family “WELCOME!” to the September Carnival of Breastfeeding readers. Glad you found your way over here as it is our first time participating in the Carnival! Be sure to check out the links at the end of the post for other Carnival posts. This month’s theme is “Learning to Breastfeed.”

Learning to breastfeed. Seems strange, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t something so natural just be an automatic response? One would think. However, as a book lover and book-based-learner, I found that reading about the process of breastfeeding really helped me get a handle on what to expect, what to look for and what to reach for goal-wise. I read more than the following three books, but these are the three that I suggest, in order, to mothers who are just starting out in their breastfeeding research. I normally suggest this kind of thing to my other book-loving, book-based-learning type friends. If that’s you, read on!

1. Mama Knows Breast by Andi Silverman. If you’re already familiar with breastfeeding, you could probably skip this book. If you’re unsure whether you want to attempt breastfeeding, are kind of scared at the prospect or have absolutely no prior exposure to breastfeeding, this might be the book that gives you the gentle push towards nursing. There’s no guilt. There’s no big scare tactics. It’s a book that I’ve reviewed before and that put my mind at ease regarding several aspects. It’s definitely not a how-to manual but it’s a great place to start. (This book is not pictured as it is currently on loan to a friend who needed a gentle push! Also, it’s blue, not pink, which I find interesting!)

2. Breastfeeding Made Simple: Seven Natural Laws for Nursing Mother by Nancy Mohrbacher and Kathleen Kendall-tackett. I can’t promote this book enough. Similar to Mama Knows Breast, this book doesn’t thrown any harsh judgments or guilt at you. However, this book picks up on what the other leaves out: the how-to-stuff. I learned a lot about proper latch, the importance of breastfeeding on demand and other important tips that help mothers reach their breastfeeding goals. This book is able to do all that without making you feel like a heel for either experiencing problems or having questions. I think every expectant mother should be given this book. It was an easy-quick read and one that I kept on hand during those first two months during that learning-to-nurse phase.

3. The Breastfeeding Book: Everything You Need to Know About Nursing Your Child from Birth Through Weaning by Martha Sears. This book picks up where the prior on leaves off and addresses every possible thing that can go wrong in minute detail. And that’s why I have to put a warning on this book: don’t read it first. It’s long. It’s harder to read than the previous two. And when you get into the thick of what can go wrong in breastfeeding, it can be overwhelming. Keep in mind that a large majority of mothers and babies don’t have horrible problems with nursing. It was this book, however, that gave me enough information about LittleBrother’s tongue tie that I was able to figure it out on my own and bring it up with my son’s pediatrician. I do believe that this book really is a must-have-on-hand book for those chance times that something does go wrong.

My book-based-learning self would love to tell you that reading these books taught me everything I needed to know and that nothing went wrong and that it’s just as easy as reading a book. But, for me, it wasn’t quite so easy. We struggled initially. In the hospital, I had some help. But something wasn’t working right. By the time my milk came in, I knew something was wrong. But I couldn’t quite tell what. It was through the third book and the help of a local lactation consultant that LittleBrother was diagnosed with a (severe!) tongue tie. Thankfully we were referred to a fabulous set of doctors at Children’s Hospital. Immediately after his frenotomy, I felt relief and LittleBrother was able to stay latched. Without the help of that lactation consultant, I don’t know if I would have had the nerve to discuss it with my doctor.

Finally, the biggest key in my nursing success has been an amazing group of online friends. Yes, online. Not many people in my immediate, local life have nursed. But my online support group? They’re the best. Let me tell you, they have heard me whine, complain, over-think, panic and generally freak out about everything from engorgement, the tongue tie drama, supply issues and issues with weight gain. They have offered advice and experience-laden stories when needed. They have given me the swift kick in the pants when needed. And they have simply let me “let it all out” when I needed to vent, having been there at one point or another themselves. Without such an amazing group of women, I don’t know if I would have made it through some of our challenges.

All of these things combined, from the books to the lactation consultant to my friends, have taught me so much about breastfeeding. Without each playing off the other, I don’t know if I would be where I am today, just under two months from LittleBrother’s birthday with no real obstacles (knock on wood) in our path. I hope that other expectant mothers are encouraged by some of these suggestions. If you need some online encouragement, I’m your best cheerleader. Trust me! Just hit me up via comments or the contact form! I don’t bite. LittleBrother does but I don’t!

For more on breastfeeding education in this month’s Carnival of Breastfeeding, hit these great posts: Breastfeeding Education at Hobo Mama | Breastfeeding Education at Breastfeeding123 | Learning to Breastfeed at Breastfeeding Mums | So, You Want to Work in Breastfeeding Support at The Motherwear Breastfeeding Blog | How I Learned to Breastfeed at The Beautiful Letdown | Carnival Post at Momopoly | Let’s Take Our Perverted Society to School at Babyfingers |

I had every intention to talk about weight loss today but I’m postponing that until next week. Why? Two reasons. 1) I think I’m about to finally break past this plateau of weight and 2) This is more important. What’s more important? Breastfeeding, Failure to Thrive, LittleBrother and some ranting, raving and a bit of tooting my own darn horn.

Remember my big rant about people referring to LittleBrother as tiny? Let me tell you, that was a good post. I got so many comments and e-mails and instant messages telling me that, no, LittleBrother is not tiny. But you know what? When someone plants a seed of doubt, man, that thing just takes hold and sprouts a huge tree with roots in places like your heart and mind and soul. And so. I broke down.

I stepped on the scale with LittleBrother. And my heart sank.

The scale, non-digital and not new, didn’t read any different than the doctor’s office scale for his four month appointment. And this was just days before he turned six months old. Panic set in. But I put it off for a day or two, asking some trusted nursing mothers their opinions on whether or not to trust my old scale. I did well ignoring my fears until our Wii Fit arrived. One day after I weighed myself, I picked him up and reweighed us together. After he finally stopped squirming around and the balance board stopped yelling at us to hold still, my fears were reaffirmed. No difference.

And so on the Saturday morning that he turned six months old, I took LittleBrother to the hospital for a weight check with the lactation consultant. I fed him all night the night before as he started his six month growth spurt. I put him on the scale. And it read exactly one pound higher than two months prior. From four to six months, babies should gain at least four ounces per week (two pounds per month). And LittleBrother only gained two ounces per week.

My mind started spinning as things like Failure to Thrive were mentioned and I was told to call my doctor on Tuesday morning to schedule an appointment. I started doubting everything I had done over the past two months. Wasn’t I eating enough fat in general? I mean, yes, I like salads, but I also like pizza. Should I be eating more fat? Would healthy fats help? Like avocado? And nuts? Should I add Fish Oil to my diet?

FireDad shrugged the whole Failure to Thrive off, reminding me that the kid had been rolling with consistency since he was two months old. He’s a mover and shaker. FireDad also mentioned his own metabolism. (In case you haven’t noticed, FireDad isn’t rotund.) But I was in panic mode. No amount of “he’s fine” was going to suffice.

As we had just started solids (more on that next week!), I mashed up some avocado and fed it to him. I ate a bunch of avocado. And some pizza rolls. (What? You don’t eat when you’re stressed?) And I nursed the heck out of the kid. And finally his appointment arrived. He weighed in three ounces heavier than he was five days earlier. I mentally knew this to be a good thing but I wanted the lactation consultant’s scale to be wrong. I wanted him to be two pounds heavier.

As I sat and waited our Pediatrician, Dr. S, to enter the room, I felt like I could vomit. I didn’t want to be told that something was wrong with my baby. I didn’t want to be told that I should supplement with formula. I wanted everything to be fine. I wanted to provide for my child. I wanted him to be healthy. And I wanted everyone to STOP CALLING HIM TINY.

Dr. S came in, asked a few questions, looked over LittleBrother and said, “He’s fine.” I breathed for the first time in five days. He gave us some possible reasoning. Perhaps he was moving and shaking it off. Perhaps he did have his Dad’s metabolism. Perhaps he was just a smaller (not tiny!) dude. And all of that was okay. No mention of formula. Instead, we were told to continue on as we had been doing and just add solids as we had been planning. No rush on food. No set schedule. Just go about our parenting business.

And while I’m relieved, I’m writing this to tell you: trust your gut. If you feel that your child is just fine, he probably is. If he’s hitting appropriate milestones and happy and doesn’t seem to be freaking-out-hungry after you finish a feeding, trust that your body is providing all the right stuff for your child. It’s so easy to freak out and feel like your body is “failing” your child, especially when someone mentions “Failure” to Thrive. But, chances are, you’re doing just fine. And your child is doing just fine. And everything will be just fine.

I mean, honestly, does this kid look like he’s failing to thrive?

Failure? Pfft!

I think not.

Everyone in BlogLand is writing about the three things they are proud of regarding their mothering. And I’ve been mulling it over. I talk about the struggles I have as a mother here, there and just about everywhere. BigBrother won’t nap. He has regressed in various ways in this potty training/learning experience. LittleBrother can’t decide if naps are for good or evil. Sometimes I’m the Screamy Mommy. And I haven’t showered yet this morning… and I don’t know if I have plans to do so.

But there are things I’m proud of in my mothering experience. Surely I can come up with three.

1. I love all of my children equally. Once upon an archived webpage, I had a dramatic e-run-in with another birth mother who said that we, as birth parents, shouldn’t love our relinquished children as much as our parented children. This made my eyes pop out of my head. Without calling her stupid, I told her that her argument didn’t hold much water, at least or especially with me. She was arguing the point from the vantage point of a birth mother who is not actively parenting another child. As one who was at the time and continues to do so, now with more kids under my roof, I can tell you that I do not hold one child over another, no matter where they live, eat or create havoc. And yes, I do take pride in this fact. I love that Munchkin so very much. I am super proud of all of her accomplishments. I would lay down my life to protect her. And I will never be fully able to explain how vast my love is for her. And the same goes for the boys. I marvel at their daily accomplishments and boast about their milestones. I’d throw myself in harm’s way simply to protect them from danger. And I don’t think they’ll understand how much I truly love them. Perhaps I’m unique in this fact but I really don’t think so… but I’m still proud of that unconditional and equal love.

Babywearing at Old Work2. I don’t hate being a work-slash-stay at home mom and I don’t feel guilty about leaving the “workforce.” When I was pregnant with BigBrother, I went on and on about how I was going to remain a working mother. I looked down my nose at mothers who chose to stay home. I thought that they lacked ambition and that they were setting a poor example for their children. (Wait! Stop throwing tomatoes! I get my come uppance in a second! Keep reading!) Then BigBrother was born and my world was turned upside down. I went back to work and hated every moment of it. Okay, not every moment. I loved the thrill of the live newscast. And that one time that I wore BigBrother in a front carrier while switching a live newscast? Yes, that was a good moment. (See photo.) But the other moments sucked. When he neared eight months old and was crawling, babbling and hitting a million milestones per day, I ate crow, turned in my two weeks notice and came on home with my tail between my legs. And oh, being home, whether I’m just mothering for an entire day or throwing in one of my many freelancing jobs into the mix, is a million times harder than I ever thought it would be. So, while I’m not so proud of the judgment that I previously tossed at mothers who stay home, I am proud of the fact that I am thriving in my role as a stay-slash-work at home mom and enjoying almost every minute of it. (Really? Did I mention that BigBrother peed on my lap last week? Not my favorite moment.)

3. I am not too scared OR too proud to try new things. I am constantly learning about this parenting thing. I am the first to admit that I am mostly flying by the seat of my pants. But I am proud of the fact that I don’t really ever let “good enough” become my motto. Right now, for example, I’m reading books on positive discipline so that I might be a better guide for my (strong-willed) two year old and, eventually, his little brother. And if those things don’t work for LittleBrother like they are with BigBrother, well, I’ll read some more books. The biggest examples of this, of course, are in the few changes we made on initial things done with BigBrother to how we did the variations of those things with LittleBrother. For those who don’t know, BigBrother was not breastfed. (No throwing stones. There were reasons and they were worked out in therapy. Thank you.) LittleBrother will hit the six month milestone of exclusive breastfeeding on the 24th of this month! Furthermore, BigBrother wasn’t cloth diapered until night-time at around 18 months of age. I thought it would be too much work. Pfft. I got schooled on that one, didn’t I? And as such, LittleBrother started out in cloth from the get-go. I learn from everything I do as a parent, whether it’s something I perceive as a mistake, something that I could simply have done better or something I did pretty darn awesome that I’d like to repeat in the future. Even better, I constantly learn from my Mom-friends. I am (usually?) not offended when someone offers up advice. I ask a lot of questions (really, I do). And I constantly push myself to be the best mom I can be… which involves going back to the drawing board at times and starting over. And that’s okay.

I’m proud of a lot more. Really. I am. I’m not bragging. But darn it, I’m a great Mom in so many different ways. Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I have bad days. (Weeks. Months?) But my children are all thriving in age appropriate ways. And I love watching them all experience new things in their lives.

And, there you have it. What are YOU proud of?

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