Breast is best and you're the worst

Breast is best. Why not? It’s kitschy, it rhymes, and it states a well known scientific fact. I can’t speak for all mom’s but I can speak for myself when I say that I absolutely hate this saying to the very core of my being. If I had been given a dollar for every time that stupid phrase was uttered to me as if it were some sort of miracle solution to my problems, then I’d have Hayes’ first year of college tuition paid for already. Had I actually been paid then I likely would have welcomed the little ditty verses my knee jerk reaction of grinding my teeth and pretending to thank whoever offered up the quip.

I personally believe that as moms we all strive to give our kids the best in life. I’ve only been a mom for a short time but I can’t even begin to describe some of the lengths I’ve gone to already to make sure my baby is getting the very best and I know that I’m not alone in this endeavor.

How many moms before me have sat and researched car seat brands and studied any recalls for hours at a time? How many moms have overpaid for a top of the line baby swing because reviews claimed it was the best one out there? How many moms have taught themselves using youtube videos and pinterest pins how to prepare and store baby food that packed full of nutrients? The very essence of motherhood is going above and beyond measures we ever thought possible and digging down deep within ourselves so that we might give our tiny little loves everything that life has to offer.

I have spoken very candidly about my travails with breastfeeding. I know in my heart of hearts that I fought relentlessly to breastfeed my sweet baby boy. For me to fail at it, this little saying “breast is best” is a reminder that I haven’t done the very best for my child. I have failed him and doomed him for life with the silver medal of infant nourishments. Because of my weakness and my inability to push through the pain he is the one that will suffer the consequences…. no wonder some mom’s fall so quickly into postpartum depression.

Oblivious to all the self loathing that is already taking place, well meaning moms love to share facts and statistics about breastfed babies which is great but it somehow gives me the impression that deep down they themselves believe that I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I can only gather from their persistence that they picture me being just too distracted or busy to devote the kind of time it takes to breastfeed my baby. Perhaps they think that by sharing this tidbit of information about my baby’s brain development or my own weight loss will be just the ticket that sends me over the edge and motivates me to try harder to breastfeed. I mean you know because that whole wanting to give my baby the very best thing in the whole world wasn’t motivation enough.

In all sincerity I applaud any mom that has struggled with breastfeeding as much as I did and were still able to carry on nursing in spite of the torture. Some moms don’t experience that kind of pain at all and I am envious of that. I envy the moms that don’t get blisters on their nipples and the ones that don’t bleed. But I resent anyone who offers up that thoughtless blanket statement, “breast is best,” to me because they don’t know how disciplined I am and how strong willed I can be. Simply put, they don’t know me. If they knew anything about me and they truly understood how much love I have for my sweet boy, then instead of giving me unsolicited advice and repeating information that I’m all too aware of, they would pat me on the back and congratulate me for hanging in there as long as I did.

My Hayes baby is doing marvelously. He is the least picky eater, eats generously and rarely spits up. So he’s not strictly breastfed, so what? He’s as healthy as can be and growing like a weed. That’s all any mom can really ask for.

it isn't always bliss

“I’m like so happy and my life is like so great. I do fun things all the time and like everything is totally perfect for me ALWAYS.”

Scrolling through my never ending feeds on Instagram and Facebook there is an all too common theme of optimism and bliss. Is it really so that all the world around me are living such perfect lives? Could it be that everyone is really that happy and everything is always that great? Or just maybe it is a facade. We all wear social media masks to hide our vulnerabilities and moments of weakness, I’m no different. My blog has always been different however.

Posting smiling selfies on Instagram or a cheery status update on facebook is the norm, yet in my blog I find it easier to be more authentic. In my darkest hours I would spin the pains of my soul into words and pieces for others to read and perhaps find relief or comradery. Now that I’m a mom I have felt an unprecedented desire to keep up with all the other moms. It feels incredibly taboo to ever admit even for just a second that this motherhood thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. This fear has spilled over into my blog where I’ve mostly shared mushy lovey gooey feelings about being a mommy. I feel the need to talk about some things that have been on my mind in an effort to quash the belief that admitting dissatisfaction is somehow synonymous with loving my child less.

I miss my freedom. This isn’t to say that I feel like some sort of caged animal plotting and planning my escape but I do miss my life feeling like it was mine. I can’t just throw on some clothes and take off on a jog whenever I want. I can’t run to the grocery store to pick up some toothpaste without the miniscule errand being a big production. I need to make sure that the baby’s bag is ready, the base is in the car, he’s buckled in his car seat and he’s dry and he’s fed and he’s hopefully not fussy, just so that I can lug his car seat out of the car, into the store to buy one stupid tube of toothpaste. Or there’s the other option of finding a sitter, usually my mom or dad, in which case I have to make sure he is dry, fed, and hopefully not fussy before I can even run to the store. Even then it seems ridiculous to have them sit him for me to just buy a tube of toothpaste. So then I have to think, okay what else do I need to buy? How much grocery shopping can I get done? Is this something I really need to buy now or am I buying it just because I don’t know when the next time I’ll have the chance to do this will be?... see how quickly its become a production? Running to the store to buy one thing is no longer something I can do.

I HATE my body. It doesn’t matter how many times I am reminded or reassured by loved ones that my body created, housed, and birthed a miracle, I still hate my body. For the miracle that came out of my body, it sure looks like hell for it. I’ve always struggled with body image issues which might explain why I am always working so hard on making my body look the way I want. Right now my body looks and feels like nothing I have ever wanted. I don’t recognize my breasts, they used to make me feel womanly, feminine and attractive. Now… now they just make me sad. My body feels soft and jiggly everywhere, when I run I can feel my flesh flopping around. Since when is floppy flesh something I’m supposed to be happy about? I’ve already started training again. I have started a lifting schedule and am trying to find a way to fit in some cardio, I have almost completely cleaned up my diet. Once upon a time I trained like this and I lost a pound every week for 12 weeks… its like my body doesn’t know how to lose weight anymore. I feel defeated when I glance down at the scale and see I’ve not only not lost weight, I’ve gained it. Which is normal, it could just be water weight. I also hate being told to get used to it.

Finally, motherhood isn’t always blissful. The stock photos used in all the marketing geared toward ‘mom’s like me’ would have me believe otherwise. The pictures would have me believe that my baby is always going to be happy and staring up at me with wonderment. Or that my baby is going to be sleeping like a sweet little angel whilst I ooo and awe over him. At 4 o’clock in the morning having finally gone to bed at 2, my sweet little angel is up once again. I’ve changed him, fed him, and burped him and yet he’s still screaming in my ear.. where is the wonderment in this scenario stock photos? Where is it then? Where is the stock photo that is supposed to include me and the struggles I’ve had with breast feeding? I’d also like to know for one thing, how on earth does a baby know the difference between me sitting and holding him verses standing up and holding him? Why is standing up so much better for him? I’m still bouncing him, I’m still making all the same noises, what gives? What is so great about me having to stand up??? I’ll never know.

I know that it is the darkest times that make the sweetest times all the more sweeter. It is for that very reason that we encounter hardships in the first place. When that sweet little boy smiles up at me, a smile so big his eyes are almost closed and all his dimples are all accounted for, I quickly forget the sleepless night I just went through and how tired I am. In that moment it all becomes worth it. I love my little baby with all my heart but that doesn’t mean I have to love all the hardships that go along with being a mommy. Admitting that there are things I don’t love about this new stage of life doesn’t mean I love him any less, it just means I am human and admitting that seems pretty fine by me.