I Just Wanna Eat Food

I think my heart has finally stopped pounding and my breathing is returning to normal. But man. If you had been a fly on the wall for the last 20 minutes in this house! Frustration after frustration left me clenching my jaw to keep from shouting some f-bombs (I mumbled them instead) and slamming an even more tightly clenched fist onto the washing machine. I set out to prep the crock pot dinner for tomorrow and make a new batch of coconut creamer for my coffee. Simple enough. Except that it's not. It's never simple. And after my fifth trip out to the garage to use the noisy food processor and cleaning up my third spill in as many minutes, well I had just had it. I was slamming doors and fighting back tears and when Ted came in to ask what was wrong I went into a monologue about onions not getting chopped the right way and coconut milk splattering everywhere and and and and.

"What's it really about?" he said. And it hit me. I just wanna eat food. Regular food. Food that doesn't take an hour and half to prepare. Food that doesn't cost double and triple what everyone else is eating. Just food.

I'm so tired of not being able to eat anything. I don't mind giving up dairy while nursing (too much). But having to give up gluten on top of that had been so, so hard. (In case you're lost, both of my kids have dairy allergies that require me to give it up completely when nursing. And I discovered a pretty severe gluten intolerance in myself and Paul just a few months ago. I suspect Hannah has it too.) 

I just want to eat one piece of freaking sausage without having to call the meat packing company and ask if they have gluten in their seasoning. And when I don't bother to call in hopes that it doesn't, I don't want to feel like shit for the next 24 hours. I want to be able to eat a bowl of cereal that doesn't even contain wheat and not walk around with a balloon in my stomach because it had "oat flour" and was probably contaminated with wheat anyway. Captain Crunch, I know you were wondering. I want to feel like there isn't something pushing on my bladder all day long and being nauseous any time I eat something because I accidentally ate egg noodles (with a teeny, teeny bit of wheat) three freakin days ago.

I'm sick of seeing my baby spit up so much that he can't even crawl away because of the spit up pool he's created around himself is so large that he keeps slipping. All becauses the only pumped milk I had in the freezer had gluten. I'm sick of seeing blood in his poop because I ate twelve gluten freakin free almond crackers that I didn't realize had butter in them. I'm sick of feeling like a ticking time bomb ready to blimp up and make my kid miserable if I accidentally eat the slightest bit of off-limits food. I'm tired of telling Hannah, "No you can't eat that delicious treat that all the others kids are having. It will make your tummy hurt. Here, have your one thousandth raisin of the day."

I'm sick of being a burden to everyone I know. I'm tired of double checking every ingredient of everything someone offers me. I'm tired of not being able to eat when I go to baby showers or vacations because no one thought of (or knew about) my food issues. I've been blessed with wonderful, wonderful friends who go out of their way to see that I can eat at least something when they invite me to their barbecues and ladies' night outs. And I know they would say that they don't mind, but it's still a pain in the ass for them and takes so much extra time and energy to accommodate me. I secretly wonder if one day I'll just stop getting invitations because it's too much trouble to include me.

I'm sick of being hungry all.the.damn.time. I'm sick of not being able to go to Mass without packing a snack for the car ride home. I'm sick of the kitchen looking like this three freakin times a day.

I'm sick of cooking every little thing from scratch. I just want to open up a freaking package of hamburger helper and call it a day. I just want to throw some mac and cheese on a plate and move on with my life. Sure, they make gluten and dairy free substitutes. But unless we win the lottery there's no way we'll ever be able to afford them. As hard as I try I just cannot figure out a way to stay within our grocery budget without buying six dollar pints of "ice cream" and five dollar loaves of "bread". Much less with those added expenses. 

 I'm overwhelmed at the thought that this is going to be for the rest of my life. The thought that at every Thanksgiving I'll have to pass up the mashed potatoes and the gravy and the stuffing and probably the corn because someone added butter just eat my dry turkey dipped in cranberry sauce. The thought that I might never get a break. I might never get better.

Yes, I know it's worth it. I don't really have a choice unless I want my kids to be miserable and in pain and I want to feel like I'm about to pop and/or throw up all the time. And I think I actually do a really good job of not complaining and facing this issue head on. I guess the last two and a half years of not complaining has boiled up inside of me and is now showing itself by punching the washer and crying about chopped onions.

Sorry for my rant, unsuspecting internet readers. I don't blame you for not making it to the end of this bitch complain fest (I think there's been plenty of cussing in this post to last quite a while already). I've calmed down since I started writing but I can't say I feel any better. This is just how it is. Whether I want it or not. There are so many days when I want to throw up my hands and shout, "I didn't sign up for this!" until I remember that I did. I signed up for taking care of my children to the best of my ability. And this is my best. Anything less would be cruel to their poor stomachs. And to mine. I have a supportive husband who thanks profusely for everything I do. A husband who, when I apologize for a crappy meal of bland leftover chicken and green beans, says, "It's a heck of a lot better than what I made tonight," and then eats his meager meal with a smile and a sincere thank you.

If you're one of the lucky people who can go out to dinner and order anything off the menu, will you please say a prayer for me? And if you're one of the ones who went out to eat for your five year anniversary and the only thing you could order off the five page menu was the grilled shrimp without the sauce or the seasoning and not even a side to go with it, well can I get an amen? And a promise that it really is going to be ok?

Gotta go. I'm hungry.

Wean

is definitely a four letter word.

We're on day four of stopping cold turkey. And I'm crying waaay more than she is.

Abruptly stopping nursing is one of those things I said I would never ever do unless I was hospitalized with a deadly disease or something. But here we are-seventeen months old-eating my words.

My milk has been gone for five weeks now-it disappeared just five days after conception and never made a reappearance. And although Hannah has held on strong-she is definitely not getting what she wants. She requests nursing all the time but then is frustrated and angry when she doesn't get any milk. She's become very clingy and whiny and nursing doesn't help like it used to, it only makes it worse. And then there's sleep. And my extreme need for a good night's sleep with the exhaustion of this pregnancy. And the only way that Ted can put her back to sleep when she wakes up is if she forgets the boob was ever a possibility.

So we stopped. And I just say no when she asks. And it's so, so hard. She's a champ. And easily distracted by an endless supply of blueberries and puffies (another thing I said I'd never do...). I think weaning off the puffies might actually be harder than weaning from nursing. And when she hurts herself I just kiss her and hug her and give her more puffies. And at naptime I just tell her I love her and lay her in her crib. She cries for about four seconds. I cry for about 40 minutes.

I know it's best. I know it is. But I hate it. Although it would seem like this is the worst time to do this-with her whole little world being upside down and sleeping in a different crib every other week-it's actually working out to our favor. She doesn't see her nursing chair in the living room all day long. She has lots of new toys to distract her. And if everything about her life is going to be different overnight-might as well do everything at once.

Ted has to constantly remind me why we're doing this. He can see it from a different perspective. He knows how much it is starting to hurt me and drain me and cause me frustration. He can see that Hannah isn't getting what she wants. And he ever so gently reminds me that I now have two babies to take care of, even though one cannot be seen.

It just wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be so natural and easy and gradual. "Child-led weaning" right?

I just can't stop crying. I put her to bed tonight for the first time because Ted is at a meeting. I sang her all the songs I usually sing but standing up instead of in the rocker. And I sang them through tears. And she didn't even ask to nurse. In fact, I think she only asked one time today. One. When the girl used to nurse anywhere from five to 12 times just four days ago. And she didn't cry when I laid her down. Instead of my arms and breasts to comfort her, she had her baby doll.

She's too big. Someone please stop time. I love all the new things she's doing. I love seeing her grow and learn and change. But right now I just want my baby back. To hold her and rock her and nurse her as long as she'll let me. And the thought that I'll never get to do that again is paralyzing.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who gets this upset about weaning. And if you aren't already too busy praying for our house to be fixed and for us to find a place to live, could you pray for this situation too? Not for Hannah-she's really just fine. For me.

Quick Takes

-1-

I know I'm late to the outrage over the Time magazine cover party, but I want to throw in my two cents. The two best responses to the horrible cover photo were from Haley and Kate. As Kate said-the only thing "attached" in this picture is the boy's mouth to his mom's breast. And that's simply not what "attachment parenting" is all about. Ted and I have used many tenants of attachment parenting in our own parenting methods because they work for us. Not because I'm "mom enough" or any other reason. And Haley compared the cover to an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary nursing the toddler Jesus. Yeah-I think I'll strive to do it Mary's way....

-2-

And while we're on the subject, I'm so tired of getting asked, "So how long are you planning to breastfeed?" I have no plan. These types of things are not planned. We just take it a day at a time. I'm sure there will come a day in the distant or not-so-distant future that Hannah and I no longer want to nurse. That day is not today. It probably won't be tomorrow, but again-no planning. For now, I'm increasingly grateful of the benefits that come with nursing a toddler:

instant calming when she's escalating into a tantrum
magic boo-boo band-aid that stops tears in their tracks
quick little rest when she doesn't need a real nap but can't keep going without one
snuggles
giggles
five minutes to sit down

-3-

Hannah and I spent the morning at the local museum/zoo with two wonderful mamas and their kiddos. Perfect weather, perfect company. And then I came home and scrubbed the shower for the first time in a month...or two. Great Friday morning!

-4-

Is Hannah the only one who can't get enough of this video? Only a few days left of Colleen's campaign-she's sooo close! My giveaway will end on May 25-so there's still time to enter!

-5-

And I'll end with more pictures of my favorite girl.

Laughing. It's what we do.

-6-

The sprinkler in fun.....

but I'd really rather just run aimlessly in this open field.

-7-

We bought a peach tree! This is our first peach. She loved it so much that she kept the pit in her hand for the rest of the meal and picked up bits of hamburger and ate them with peach juice.

Happy Weekend!

On Breastfeeding

*It's world breastfeeding week! Thanks to a great Le Leche League, wonderful friends and family, great internet sites, and a supportive husband, breastfeeding has gone really well for us. If nursing is a sensitive subject for you, or if you don't want to read my rave review of my breastfeeding experience-don't read on :)

This post whirls around in my head for a few minutes every day. I want to use the best words, the perfect words,to describe my thoughts on one of the most amazing experiences of my lifetime. But eloquence is fleeting and if I don't catch it when it comes by me-this post will sound like a random assortment of mush.

But I'll try.

Hannah will be six months old on Sunday. And I'm damn proud that she's been exclusively breastfed for every bit of those six months.

Breastfeeding was a given. A choice that wasn't even a choice. Of course I will breastfeed my baby. That is what babies are supposed to eat.

I remember the first time I saw a woman nursing her baby. I was 22 years old. Twenty-two years of my life passed without my witnessing a woman nursing her baby at her breast. Even so, it was never a question.

I could list facts and data and studies that explain why "breast is best" but I'm sure anyone reading this already knows that stuff. It's the personal that begs to be let out of my mind. The emotional. The sacrificial. Those are the aspects that this post aims to describe.

I remember those last few weeks of pregnancy. Scared and stressed that it wouldn't work. I won't have enough milk. It will never "come in". It will hurt too badly. I had read about a dozen books on birth but had only cracked one book about nursing. I was running out of time! Must read more.

I remember my mother-in-law talking me off a ledge one night. "I breastfed three babies and I didn't know half of what you know! You know too much. Just do it."

So I just did it.

And I did it well.

Her slimy, squirmy little body flopped on my stomach and I scooper her up and held her tight to my chest. Heaven. Only a few moments passed and her little body had found its way to my breast. She knew just what to do. I let her. I even had the sense to do the "lower lip flip" and fix her very first latch. That got some "oohs" and "ahhs" from the nurses. That was the speech therapist part of me coming out.

I loved nursing from the moment she was born. I loved nursing her in my hospital bed. I loved staring at her little throat to see the change from suckle to swallow. I loved watching her poop turn to gold. I was feeding  my baby! We were doing it!

I remember making the conscious decision to put nursing before anything else immediately, thanks to the good advice of a friend. And although I wanted to play hostess when some of our friends came to visit, I forced myself to shoo them out into the hallway so I could get her latched and make sure she had a good feeding. This was all that mattered.

My face beamed with pride when the nurse did a weight check a few days after her birth and said, "and you're not supplementing?!" And the shock on her face when she looked at my nursing log and realized I had nursed her 12 times in the last 24 hours. It didn't seem like a lot to me-I just fed her when she stuck her little tongue out at me, which I guess was 12 times a day.

I really amazed myself at how "go with the flow" I was with it all. My very type A personality would normally want to schedule it, record it, analyze it endlessly. But somehow I let it all go and just fed her. And held her. And rocked her. And fed her some more.

Thank God for this, for it gave me the great supply that has sustained her for her entire, short little life.

And then the pumping. Damn pumping. Nursing a plastic tube when I should be nursing my sweet girl. But I thank God for pumping because it's allowed me to continue our breastfeeding relationship despite our separation. I've pumped in storage closets, cars, cafeteria kitchens, and Sunday school rooms. I've had not one, but two janitors barge in on me despite my calls of "shut the door!" and smiled at the guy who mows the grass outside my office, laughing on the inside because he can't tell what's going on behind that computer screen. Pumping can be my best friend and my worse enemy.

There are set backs. Of course there are. Tears at the sight of everything she just ate coming back up at me. Pain. But not for long. Oversupply and squirting and leaking that made me want to pull my hair out. Times when I really want to start scheduling her "just because she's older". Not being able to eat out due to her dairy allergy.

But I don't care. I just want to nurse her.

I am the only person on this earth who will ever see that little smile she gets in the middle of nursing that lets me know she is perfectly, perfectly content. I hope I never forget the way her sweet little body feels in my arms as she lays across my lap and drinks in my milk.

Next week we'll go in for her six month check up and they'll ask me how many times a day she nurses. I never have an answer for that. I stopped counting when she was five days old. Ten, 12, 18? I have no idea.

Breastfeeding isn't about just feeding her. I nurse her because she's tired but it's not quite bedtime and she needs help relaxing. I nurse her to help her tummy feel better from all the gas. I nurse to help her poop. I nurse her to help her fall asleep. And back to sleep. And back to sleep again. I nurse her because she missed me. I nurse her because I have no idea what is wrong and that's the only way I can think to fix it.

It wasn't always that way. She was a pacifier kid up until three months. Nursing was for food only and she got on and off as quickly as she could. I don't know what changed or how it happened. And there are times when I desperately want her to take her pacifier back. But most of the time I'm beyond willing to be that pacifier for her. I'm better than plastic. I'm mom.

Now I've lost my train of thought because, wouldn't you know it, she needed to nurse. Her tummy hurt. I made it better.

I realize that not all woman have come to love nursing as I have. There are as many reasons for that as there are women. That's ok. I'm just so glad that I did, in fact, end up falling in love with it.

We're planning to start solids this weekend. She's beyond ready and I can't hold her off any longer. And while  I joke about not wanting to do solids because of the extra hassle, I'm secretly dreading this small step of independence. I won't be her everything anymore. It'll be me and an avocado. But I'll be the one holding the spoon. :)

So I'm grateful that God designed nursing the way He did. I'm grateful for this experience. It's so powerful. So bonding. So strong. Our human nature experiences bonding through such physical means. A handshake, a hug, sex. And nursing. She was conceived with a physical bond and I nourish her with a physical bond. And  I connect to her on an indescribable level.

Does this all sound super cheesy? Eloquent? Mush? Maybe. I really do mean it though. Just my real thoughts on paper. I don't mean to romanticize nursing and make it out to be something it's not. But it really is pretty dang amazing. I haven't even skimmed the surface.

Thank you Lord, for the gift of breastfeeding.





***

I’m celebrating World Breastfeeding Week with Natural Parents Network!


You can, too — link up your breastfeeding posts from August 1-7 in the linky below, and enjoy reading, commenting on, and sharing the posts collected here and on Natural Parents Network.





(Visit NPN for the code to place on your blog.)

Quick Takes (28)

-1-

Someone is sitting up! And is apparently very proud of herself!

-2-

No Sales Tax Weekend + 50% off the entire store + Credit in my consignment account + Baby who can now sit up in the dressing room while I try stuff on =

Two skirts, a shirt, and a dress for only $12! Happy Early Birthday to me!

-3-

Ted's been gone the last three days for work. I've survived the sleepless nights by myself, but I am sure happy he's on his way home. Life is just better with my hubby here.

-4-

I'm not one to post recipes online. I fall into the category of "taker" and not "giver" when it comes to information on the internet. This recipe, however, is begging to be posted!

Homemade Bruschetta

2 tomatoes (garden only!)

1 onion

2-3 small cloves of garlic

Italian Seasoning

Salt and Pepper

That's it! I brush olive oil on sourdough bread, season it with garlic salt, and bake it for a few minutes. While it's baking I cut up the tomato and throw the onion and garlic into the chopper. I add the seasoning to my taste (which means a ton), slap it on the bread, and enjoy my heavenly creation!

Isn't it great when healthy food is also easy and yummy?

-5-

As if I didn't already want one bad enough, looking at the above picture makes me really, really want a fancy camera. Then I could take cool pictures of my food like this. And capture more smiles from Hannah with a faster shutter speed. Maybe if I sell my current camera and combine all my upcoming birthday presents......

Anyone have any thoughts/suggestions on buying a really good camera?

-6-

While you're over at Laura's blog checking out her awesome picture of zucchini pancakes (You have no clue what I'm talking about? You must not have clicked on the previous link) check out her newest post on breastfeeding her daughter who is about to turn one year old. Good stuff.

Hannah will be six months old in just over a week and I'm pretty dern proud that she hasn't had anything but mama's milk in her precious little digestive system. (Not to make anyone feel bad who can't say the same of course-I can toot my own horn without judging right?)

-7-

Speaking of that precious little digestive system, Hannah is definitely allergic to dairy. I've also been so skeptical of "dairy allergies" because they're so common it almost seems like a fad. Then I had my own little one with "allergic colitis" and I now know it's definitely not a fad. So I'm completely dairy-free and have been for almost two months now.

And you know what? It's not a big deal.

This from the girl who drank 1-2 glasses of milk a day, ice cream several evenings and week, and considered Sonic the ultimate date night. But when I see how much it's helping her my motivation is sky high and I don't even mind the slight trouble.

And did you know that dairy is in everything?? Like, everything everything. Oh well. Maybe this is the kick in the pants we needed to move further away from processed foods and eat things the way they are meant to be eaten.

-8-

I need an 8th this week. In honor of NFP Awareness Week, check out two of my favorite bloggers/columnists and their take on NFP. Jen is so wise and Simcha is so funny.

I wrote my own post on NFP, too-in case you missed it!

Have a great weekend! And have a bowl of ice cream for me. Really. I won't mind. :)