Call me a cow

http://www.montrealgazette.com/health/Breastfeeding+moms+viewed+less+competent/4518650/story.html


First of all, read this article.

I regularly breastfeed in public.
I have fought through massive amounts of pain and discomfort to be able to provide my child with optimal nourishment.
I find comfort in the closeness I get while breastfeeding.
I would gladly participate in a nurse-in to support public breastfeeding. 
I made a choice to have children.  I chose to breastfeed and I was never used as a tool for anything.
If I ever feel used in any way, it is for me to feel, and not for others to assume. 
I am not less intelligent because I have children, and I should not be perceived as such. 
Any career choices I make based on my life outside work as a mother should not influence people about my level of competence.  I may appear more compassionate but I am not less capable.
I don't need to be sexualized in order to appear successful.

Does this sound like the thoughts of someone who lacks self esteem?

I'm the only one NOT eating in this picture!



PS.  The word breastfeeding in this blog is equally interchangeable with the words formula feeding.  I am not trying to sound like I'm discriminating against women who choose not to breastfeed.  I am merely responding to this article as it applies to my situation.

The Universe is a silly place.

Because the universe has a funny way of giving us exactly what we need, he/she stepped up to the plate only moments after I had posted my first entry.  After signing that last fateful phrase "keep posted for the first episode of The Silly Switch," I walked away from the computer thinking that I might have made a mistake putting myself out there like that.  How was I going to find enough material to write an entire blog about, let alone regularly?  Then, the Universe stepped in.

As usual, after lunch, I dust busted, and wiped, and changed clothes and did the dishes.  I decided that since my husband had been drafted to work today and our plans had been shot out the window, I'd at the very least, take the kids for a nice walk in the brisk, cold March air.  Now for those of you who have children, you can vouch for me that this is not as easy or simple as it all seems.  Before you can even contemplate getting out of the house, someone has inevitably pooped.  Someone wants water, and someone can't find their gloves.  After all the regular preparatory moves, I realized that I had left Hunter's snowpants and gloves in a bag in the car.  Leaving both my kids, safe and sound, sitting on a nice fluffy carpet in the living room, surrounded by toys, and hypnotized by Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I CREPT out of the room and slipped out the door to retrieve the bag. 

Here's where the story gets interesting.  There I am, no coat, my husband's oversized shoes and fly away hair leaning innocently into the back of the car.  Not a care in the world.  Until I try get in the house. 

Let's pause for a moment here.  We don't give kids enough credit.  Especially toddlers.  They are extremely resourceful and intelligent.  Those crafty little buggers will do everything in their power to see you squirm, and squirm I did.

Back to the door.  There I am, no coat, husband's oversized shoes, and I'm staring down at my two year old's face as he smiles and says.  "I locked you out, Mommy."  Panic.  What do I do?  I can see Parker, just sitting there, wondering why I'm outside, and he's inside, and why Hunter's laughing hysterically.  "Hunter, did you lock the door!?" I try not to yell, since I think it's not going to look good to the neighbors if I'm screaming in a panic standing outside the house like this.  "Open the door!  Unlock the door, Hunter!"  He stands there, blank faced, "I don't know how Mommy."  Now my mind's starting to race and I'm on the verge of tears. Who can I go to that could possibly help me out in this situation?  I pat my jean pockets.  Damn, no cell.  Why can't I be a man, carrying my whole life in my pockets?  Finally, I hear a click, and the doorknob turns.  I practically leap into the house.  "Hunter, NEVER, EVER lock the door when someone is outside!  Do you understand!  It's dangerous!  I could have been locked out there forever!" (I'm a tad dramatic....)

The funny thing here is, this incident is 100% my fault.  I'm the adult, I should have known better. Instead of getting angry, I tried to find the bright side in all of this.  First, I'm in the house, and we're all ok.  Second, he can lock and unlock the door.  That's a valid, and needed skill.  Third, I learned never, ever to trust a toddler.

So, I've Taken The Plunge...

Well, folks, I've done it.  After years of facebook statuses that seem to entertain even the childless, I've decided to finally start a blog about my parenting adventures.  For a long time I stayed away from the idea thinking that anything that goes on in this house, must inevitably go on in other homes and therefore wouldn't be of any interest to my other Mom friends. 

Now, onto my second child, I realize that it is such an insolating event to have a child, whether you want to admit it or not, and we NEED to have parenting outlets that aren't the faceless anecdotes of googled late night questions.

Like other moms, I want to simultaneously shout from the rooftops all of the incredible things my sons have done.  I also feel the guilt sometimes.  Like the other day, when I prepared a super, duper healthy meal for my toddler and he decided to eat saltines with butter on them instead.  Despite every effort to get him to eat normal food, he persisted and I relented.  In the end, he went to bed with a belly full of crackers, and I slept well knowing he was happy.  The killer part of that tiny little story, is that I felt GUILTY for having let him eat so poorly, while at once feeling proud that I had let him be autonomous. 

Mom-dom is cruel, judging and extremely difficult to navigate, but with a little help and some comical confessions along the way, we might just learn to support eachother, rather than tick the notches of childhood milestones off our kids crib rails.

I intend this blog to be just that.  Simple stories recounting the madness that is my home, filled to the brim with boys and one, lone(ly sometimes) Mama.  The Silly Switch is just that, the day you gave birth to your first child, and nothing was ever the same.  The day poop accidents became endearing and made you feel needed.  Now how's THAT for silly!

Keep posted for the first episode of The Silly Switch.