Yesterday I gained a new skill (and a new "inappropriate nursing" item to add to my list): nursing while driving. Mind you, the husband was the one behind the wheel, so technically I was being driven but that sounds a lot less sexy. Don't worry, I'm not quite as crazy as that woman last February who was actually driving the car and nursing her baby. Plus, I love my baby and that's why he rides in a rear-facing car seat in the back seat. Can I get an amen?
In case any of you mommas out there are looking for something fun to do on a Sunday night, here's my how-to for nursing in the back seat.
1. At the risk of offering unsolicited advice, do not even think about taking that baby out of the car seat. Period. ( Have you seen the videos of babies flying through windshields when a car crashes? If not, you might wanna take a look at this.)
2. Optional: Drape a blanket over the side of the car seat closest to the window. I would recommend this because this nursing position is not a semi-exposure one. You're gonna have the whole wobbly chewed thing out there and you never know when your friendly neighborhood pervert might pull up right next to you and stop.
3. Pull up shirt.
4. Unsnap bra on side closest to car seat.
5. Lean, I tell ya! Lean and pull that girlie out as far as you can--let's face it, she's never going to be a perky little thing again anyway.
6. With any luck your baby will latch on to your poor exposed nipple and suck it for all it's worth.
7. Hold on to the headrest of the front seat to balance yourself with free hand.
8. Continue to support your working breast with other hand, making sure you keep all your fingers tucked in so you don't jab your little one in the eyeball if the car goes over a pot hole.
9. Pray that your baby accepts the breast stuck in his face and drifts off to sleep for the rest of the car ride.
10. Take a moment to point out your marvelous inappropriate breastfeeding to whoever is driving. Trust me, it will bring sexy back.
Jul 21, 2009
Case in point
I wish this blog were wildly, shockingly, offensively popular. That way older women would see me walking down the street with my bare-legged baby and curl that pointy finger back in. That's right! This is my general policy on racism / prejudice / rudeness, by the way: I know there will always be a certain percentage of the population who think hideous thoughts and there's nothing I can do about it--I just want them to be too AFRAID to say anything to ME. But I'll get to my thoughts on being Palestinian and race a little later. We don't know each other like that yet.
So back to my case in point. This last month Munchkin and I braved our first airplane. And second and third and one more coming up, because my husband and I had the very intelligent idea of squeezing all our family visits for the year into one sweet summer month. (Thank you Harvard and Georgetown for our fine decision-making skills.) Since I was traveling without the husband for this portion of the trip, I settled into my aisle seat and anxiously watched the people shoving their way down the aisle, praying that whoever we were going to be stuck with wouldn't hate babies. Or at least my baby (I have to tell you, although you're probably not going to believe me, my Munch Munch is one amazingly cute kid). So, anyway, this older lady with understated perfume and a gentle voice settled in next to us and within a few minutes announced her intention to sleep for most of the plane ride. Normally, my reaction would have been "JACKPOT, BABY!" But, well, things aren't what they used to be honey.
In the new world paradigm I live in, here's what I already had going against me:
1) She's a woman.
2) She's a generation or two older than me.
3) She liked my baby
Translation: this woman was gonna be watching me.
So, there we are on the runway, getting settled--she with a smooth leather purse nestled quietly in her lap, and me with an overtired baby trying to stand and play giddy-up on my lap. After I heroically nursed my baby to sleep and kept him asleep among engines starting and stopping, the pilot over the PA service announcing our 45 minute delay, and other poor little babies screaming, something truly terrible happened: Munch Munch's left sock fell off. Now, our lady passenger friend was already looking nervous because I had taken baby's sweat pants off earlier as we sat on the runway overheating and sweating our brains out, gazing thirstily at the flight attendants and wishing for a flimsy cup of water or even a wet cloth to suck. Now, this lady was thinking, not only does that baby have no pants on, he only has one sock. He has one whole, exposed, leg. So what must she, the protector of all underdressed babies do? She must find that sock! She must cajole, poke, suggest, advise that silly, novice momma to turn the airconditioning down! At all costs, that little foot must stay warm!
As you may imagine, during this process, my sweetly sleeping baby woke up. But she was not deterred. There was rummaging! There was leaning! There was bending and reaching! There were deep stares below and under the seats! Finally, after she pointed out that my baby's sock was missing for the third time, I told her that I wasn't worried about it and what I needed right now was to let my exhausted little child sleep.
This got me off the hook for the rest of his nap. Hallelujah. And I give her credit for that--some women would still not have been deterred. Maybe she was a better person than the others. Maybe she was still evaluating her own chances for a nap.
When my delightful, well rested little boy woke up I did manage to find the mischievous sock (in my crotch) and return it to its proper sweaty foot. Then, as I smugly congratulated myself on two full naps on a full day of travel she starts up a new conversation piece: "So, why are you still breastfeeding? Have you ever pumped?"
So back to my case in point. This last month Munchkin and I braved our first airplane. And second and third and one more coming up, because my husband and I had the very intelligent idea of squeezing all our family visits for the year into one sweet summer month. (Thank you Harvard and Georgetown for our fine decision-making skills.) Since I was traveling without the husband for this portion of the trip, I settled into my aisle seat and anxiously watched the people shoving their way down the aisle, praying that whoever we were going to be stuck with wouldn't hate babies. Or at least my baby (I have to tell you, although you're probably not going to believe me, my Munch Munch is one amazingly cute kid). So, anyway, this older lady with understated perfume and a gentle voice settled in next to us and within a few minutes announced her intention to sleep for most of the plane ride. Normally, my reaction would have been "JACKPOT, BABY!" But, well, things aren't what they used to be honey.
In the new world paradigm I live in, here's what I already had going against me:
1) She's a woman.
2) She's a generation or two older than me.
3) She liked my baby
Translation: this woman was gonna be watching me.
So, there we are on the runway, getting settled--she with a smooth leather purse nestled quietly in her lap, and me with an overtired baby trying to stand and play giddy-up on my lap. After I heroically nursed my baby to sleep and kept him asleep among engines starting and stopping, the pilot over the PA service announcing our 45 minute delay, and other poor little babies screaming, something truly terrible happened: Munch Munch's left sock fell off. Now, our lady passenger friend was already looking nervous because I had taken baby's sweat pants off earlier as we sat on the runway overheating and sweating our brains out, gazing thirstily at the flight attendants and wishing for a flimsy cup of water or even a wet cloth to suck. Now, this lady was thinking, not only does that baby have no pants on, he only has one sock. He has one whole, exposed, leg. So what must she, the protector of all underdressed babies do? She must find that sock! She must cajole, poke, suggest, advise that silly, novice momma to turn the airconditioning down! At all costs, that little foot must stay warm!
As you may imagine, during this process, my sweetly sleeping baby woke up. But she was not deterred. There was rummaging! There was leaning! There was bending and reaching! There were deep stares below and under the seats! Finally, after she pointed out that my baby's sock was missing for the third time, I told her that I wasn't worried about it and what I needed right now was to let my exhausted little child sleep.
This got me off the hook for the rest of his nap. Hallelujah. And I give her credit for that--some women would still not have been deterred. Maybe she was a better person than the others. Maybe she was still evaluating her own chances for a nap.
When my delightful, well rested little boy woke up I did manage to find the mischievous sock (in my crotch) and return it to its proper sweaty foot. Then, as I smugly congratulated myself on two full naps on a full day of travel she starts up a new conversation piece: "So, why are you still breastfeeding? Have you ever pumped?"
Jul 17, 2009
The other twelve hours
One of the things that drew me to attachment parenting was the idea of "nightime parenting" as Dr. Sears calls it. Even though it went against everything I had learned as a busy teenage babysitter, when I was pregnant and eagerly swallowing up the Sears family library, it suddenly made sense to me that a baby would have needs at night just as she does during the day. Why shouldn't she? It's not as if something magical happens when the sun sets, transforming a tiny wobbly dependent person into someone who cannot be scared, woken, cold, or uncomfortable? And those are just the little things. What about the big stuff?
One night when Munch Munch was about five months old, I woke up to the sound of him gagging in his sleep. When I looked closely, I saw that he had thrown up and because he was sleeping on his back, he was asphyxiating. Of course, I was right next to him so I was able to pick him up immediately, pat his back and help him breathe but the incident really scared me. I wondered what would have happened if he had been in another room. Would I have heard him choking through the monitor? Would it have been enough to wake me up? Would he have been able to turn onto his side?
I'm really not telling this story to guilt or scare other people into co-sleeping. I know that there are lots of reasons out there why the family bed might not be a practical or even good choice for other families. But I have to say that my close-call made me question whether babies that young are really designed to spend twelve hours on their own. After all, a baby who can't sit up on his own has pretty limited options for self-help in the event of danger. If he loses his ability (as in this example) to cry out for help, what other options does he really have? All I can say is that night made me really grateful for our sleeping arrangement--whether or not there are other long term benefits to co-sleeping aside--today my baby is safe and alive.
One night when Munch Munch was about five months old, I woke up to the sound of him gagging in his sleep. When I looked closely, I saw that he had thrown up and because he was sleeping on his back, he was asphyxiating. Of course, I was right next to him so I was able to pick him up immediately, pat his back and help him breathe but the incident really scared me. I wondered what would have happened if he had been in another room. Would I have heard him choking through the monitor? Would it have been enough to wake me up? Would he have been able to turn onto his side?
I'm really not telling this story to guilt or scare other people into co-sleeping. I know that there are lots of reasons out there why the family bed might not be a practical or even good choice for other families. But I have to say that my close-call made me question whether babies that young are really designed to spend twelve hours on their own. After all, a baby who can't sit up on his own has pretty limited options for self-help in the event of danger. If he loses his ability (as in this example) to cry out for help, what other options does he really have? All I can say is that night made me really grateful for our sleeping arrangement--whether or not there are other long term benefits to co-sleeping aside--today my baby is safe and alive.
Jul 10, 2009
What I don't understand about the last generation of mothers
Every generation reserves the right to tell the next generation about how the world was a more innocent, decent and creative place when they were growing up. Now? Well, the music is just noise, the kids have no manners, and all the fashions are just a sad rehashing of the glorious outfits they already wore. Isn't that what your parents told you growing up? Well, apparently, this right to lecture the new generation does not end as said younger generation enters their thirties and become nervous, overprotective or "those kids are fine" kinda parents. This is a phenomenon I understand. It is universal, eternal, even human.
What I don't understand about the last generation of mothers is why they are so concerned about their grand-babies getting cold (during a heatwave) or being exposed to that treacherous night air (the perils of which could be a whole conversation in itself) and yet so unconcerned about babies sucking lead or choking on a peanut. I bet, if I could survey these women in any neighborhood in the US about their top five exhortations to their sons / daughters / -inlaws / passer-bys on the street, the list would look something like this:
1. Cover that baby's head.
2. Pull those socks up.
3. Don't you think that baby should have another bath?
4. Give that baby some more rice milk / chicken (depending on age)
5. When in doubt, add another blanket.
Clearly, the last generation has some serious questions about my generation's ability to clothe, shelter, and feed our young. At the end of the day, is this just because they are our mothers (or someone's, anyway) and still can't believe we can do anything by ourselves? As annoying as all of this can be, I recognize it does come out of a genuine (albeit, often unsolicited and even misguided) interest in the baby's well being. So, even this I can live with.
On the other hand, my mother's (although notably, not MY mother) generation of women has a surprisingly flippant attitude to a host of other medical topics that parents today are struggling with--environmental contaminants, carcinogens, lead paint, pesticides, nano particles, flame-retardants and allergens, to name a few of the hotest these days. And we know way too much now to go back to Kansas. We know, for example, that boric acid kills cockroaches and yet it is on our baby matresses; we know that hundreds of plastic toys in Walmart and Toys R Us are made in China and there have been some *ahem* regulation issues in the past few years; we know that the sun causes cancer and apparently so do most of the ingredients in most sunscreens.
And there is more, oh is there ever more--more of what we know for certain and more of what we are only certain of in rats with small amounts. So yes, forgive me if I struggle with deciding how to protect my baby best. Forgive me if I get nervous when you try to feed my baby nitrates with a little processed cheese product on top. Forgive me if I'd rather have my baby sleep next to me, where I can hear him breathing, then smothered in thermal blankets in a room down the hall. Forgive me if I pause and fluster when you say "I always did it that way with my kids and they turned out fine"--is there any polite response?
What I don't understand about the last generation of mothers is why they are so concerned about their grand-babies getting cold (during a heatwave) or being exposed to that treacherous night air (the perils of which could be a whole conversation in itself) and yet so unconcerned about babies sucking lead or choking on a peanut. I bet, if I could survey these women in any neighborhood in the US about their top five exhortations to their sons / daughters / -inlaws / passer-bys on the street, the list would look something like this:
1. Cover that baby's head.
2. Pull those socks up.
3. Don't you think that baby should have another bath?
4. Give that baby some more rice milk / chicken (depending on age)
5. When in doubt, add another blanket.
Clearly, the last generation has some serious questions about my generation's ability to clothe, shelter, and feed our young. At the end of the day, is this just because they are our mothers (or someone's, anyway) and still can't believe we can do anything by ourselves? As annoying as all of this can be, I recognize it does come out of a genuine (albeit, often unsolicited and even misguided) interest in the baby's well being. So, even this I can live with.
On the other hand, my mother's (although notably, not MY mother) generation of women has a surprisingly flippant attitude to a host of other medical topics that parents today are struggling with--environmental contaminants, carcinogens, lead paint, pesticides, nano particles, flame-retardants and allergens, to name a few of the hotest these days. And we know way too much now to go back to Kansas. We know, for example, that boric acid kills cockroaches and yet it is on our baby matresses; we know that hundreds of plastic toys in Walmart and Toys R Us are made in China and there have been some *ahem* regulation issues in the past few years; we know that the sun causes cancer and apparently so do most of the ingredients in most sunscreens.
And there is more, oh is there ever more--more of what we know for certain and more of what we are only certain of in rats with small amounts. So yes, forgive me if I struggle with deciding how to protect my baby best. Forgive me if I get nervous when you try to feed my baby nitrates with a little processed cheese product on top. Forgive me if I'd rather have my baby sleep next to me, where I can hear him breathing, then smothered in thermal blankets in a room down the hall. Forgive me if I pause and fluster when you say "I always did it that way with my kids and they turned out fine"--is there any polite response?
Jul 9, 2009
Inappropriate places where I have nursed my baby
1. In the tub
2. On the toilet while *using* the toilet
3. At the bottom of a Chinatown restaurant staircase
4. In a parked car
5. During take-off
6. While answering the door
7. In an Old Navy dressing room
8. In my garage, while having my car jumped
9. On a busy commercial street while walking home
10. At a shoe store, on one of those mini benches
11. At every restaurant I have ever been to in San Francisco
Inappropriate places where I plan to nurse soon :
1. At my husband's family reunion
2. In the airport security line
3. By a very large very open window
4. At my husband's friend's country club wedding, preferably during the vows
5. On the beach, while wearing a one-piece halter suit.
6. At my parents' church where ladies are only supposed to wear long skirts (don't ask)
7. On a very windy boardwalk in a very small midwestern town
8. On the bus
9. Next to my father
10. While cooking dinner
2. On the toilet while *using* the toilet
3. At the bottom of a Chinatown restaurant staircase
4. In a parked car
5. During take-off
6. While answering the door
7. In an Old Navy dressing room
8. In my garage, while having my car jumped
9. On a busy commercial street while walking home
10. At a shoe store, on one of those mini benches
11. At every restaurant I have ever been to in San Francisco
Inappropriate places where I plan to nurse soon :
1. At my husband's family reunion
2. In the airport security line
3. By a very large very open window
4. At my husband's friend's country club wedding, preferably during the vows
5. On the beach, while wearing a one-piece halter suit.
6. At my parents' church where ladies are only supposed to wear long skirts (don't ask)
7. On a very windy boardwalk in a very small midwestern town
8. On the bus
9. Next to my father
10. While cooking dinner
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