Tuesday, March 23, 2010

i'm not becoming a lactivist, BUT...

...let's talk about breastfeeding.

Sorry if that makes you squeamish. Want me to type it a few times to break the ice?? BREASTFEED BREASTFEED BREASTFEED. Now, moving on.

To cover or not to cover? The library? Church? Restaurants? Someone else's house?

One buddy told me that she abides by the sandwich rule: if you're somewhere where you would feel comfortable eating your lunch, you should feel comfortable breastfeeding.

Our (awesome) local public library has a designated "nursing mothers' room" with a nice lamp and comfy rocking chair. Because the room is locked, you have to ask someone to open it for you and then tell them when you're done. I figured if they had a room for it that must be where it's normal to do it, so the other day, I asked the guy at the desk to let me in. When I was done, he said "You're welcome to use the room if you'd prefer, but you're also welcome to breastfeed anywhere you feel comfortable. It doesn't matter to us," and pointed at all the chairs in the public section. I looked around and felt dumb. It honestly hadn't occurred to me to just do it right there. Why did I lock myself away? I was kind of embarrassed that I'd asked to use the room at all and figured I should be brave enough to just go for it. Well, maybe not across from the matted-beard mutterer with all the garbage bags, but in the comfy chairs by the children's section? Why not? So, the next time, I did, and it was fine.

The other day at a church youth activity, I fed my cute baby under one of those nursing covers that's like a little sheet you hang around your neck. Moments later, another woman fed her kid sans-cover, and I immediately felt sheepish that it hadn't occurred to me to just go for it. It's no secret what I'm doing, so what's the point of a cover? But, sometimes it's just easier to set up shop (and close up shop) behind some material. But do I send a signal of secrecy or shame when I use a cover? Am I just using a cover because I'm used to other people doing it, and when I go WITHOUT a cover, am I giving people around me permission to do the same??

Lately I've been going sans-cover and it's liberating! Is that weird of me? Am I sending the LACTIVIST signal loud and clear? If I breastfeed without a cover, do people automatically think I homeschool, have a dozen chickens, and will nurse my kid through kindergarten? (No offense...) Addition: when I say "sans-cover" I'm still covered. My clothing usually covers everything except the baby and she covers almost everything else.

Anyway, I don't have a huge complex about this, but I have no sense of what other people think is normal. I am amazed at the variety of views people have on this. Will you tell me what you think is normal? Moms, what's your personal preference on place and cover vs. no cover? Dads and non-parents, what are your thoughts? What about at church?

Monday, March 22, 2010

also i made and ate many cookies

The other day I somehow forgot to put a diaper back on our 2-month-old. Of course, she promptly shat. Apparently, I'd buttoned up her onesie over a bare bum without even noticing. Good one, Gurrbonzo.

One of the 12-year-old girls at church asked me if I'd "ever heard of this band called U2."

Sometimes I think diet ginger ale is like moonshine because it's impossible to find.

Did you hear we got a free piano? It's old and heavy and needs some TLC, but come on, it's a piano! You're talking to someone who used to practice the piano at church, and yes, once made a fake keyboard out of the backs of cereal boxes.

I read the GQ interview with Rielle Hunter and the latest piece in The New Yorker on John Paul Stevens back-to-back. Helluva contrast.

A friend told me I look like Animal when I play the (fake) drums, and I do!

That's the latest around here. What's new with you, internets?

Thursday, March 18, 2010

most day-to-day concerns can be solved with a bit of sun and a swingset

The first signs of spring feel so freaking good, it's reason enough to live somewhere with nasty winters.

Yesterday was almost perfect. Blue skies and nearly 60 degrees, happy kids and a light breeze. I spent the afternoon in our yard with our goofy daughters (is there anything sweeter than toddler-jabber make-believe on a sunny day?) and when hub got home, we busted out the double stroller (I worried that our cute new baby was still a leeeeetle small and floppy for it, but she was reasonably happy, so hey) and walked 3ish miles to eat a delicious burrito and hit the library. Then we walked back home, exhausted and reeking of that special sweaty-spring smell we call "recess," as in, "Whew! We smell like recess!" We took a new route that introduced us to a bit more of our sweet little city's older, quirkier homes, and the kids were mostly happy and calm. It provided for great conversation with my husband, our toddler waved at just about everything along the way ("Hi, Dog! Hi, bike!") and basically, it was awesome and felt like a vacation.

Pretty great, eh?

Friday, March 12, 2010

"let's make the most of this beautiful day..."

The scene: fifteen minutes ago, at my house.

I had just hauled one angry baby in a carseat into the house with one hand and finished dragging a singing toddler in with the other when I saw a really skinny, kind of crazy looking guy in his twenties walk up our driveway. He knocked on the door, and I opened it to see a dark beanie pulled down low over twitchy eyes; he had funky teeth but a big bright smile.

We then had the following exchange:

Me: Hi.

Guy: Hi! I just moved in and wanted to introduce myself. I'm Jake*. (*not his real name)

Me: Hi, Jake. I'm Gurrbonzo.

(he sticks out his hand, so I shake it)

(long, awkward silence while my kids scream and sing in the background)

Me, over the crying and singing: Well, welcome to the neighborhood. My kids are a little worked up so I'd better go, but nice to meet you.

Guy, like I didn't say anything, and like he was finally getting to the point of the conversation: What do you like to read?

Me, a little surprised: Um, lots of stuff. What do YOU like to read?

Guy: Magazines. Every kind of magazine. (big pause) Do you have any old ones I can have?

Me, wondering what the crap is going on: You know, we just recycled a bunch, but we get Newsweek and The Atlantic, so you can have those next time if you want.

(He crinkles his nose like I just offered him a diaper for dinner.)

Guy: I don't like Newsweek.

Me: Okay. What do you like?

Guy: Everything but Newsweek.

Me: Okay. Like what?

Guy: Glamour. Do you have any Glamours?

Me: Nope.

Guy: Kay, bye.


Tuesday, March 02, 2010

oh boy

Welp, here we go.

It's potty training day.

Will it be as miserable as legend has it? Or will it be a piece of shi..., I mean, cake?? Somewhere in between? DO YOU BELIEVE IN US??

Now accepting moral e-support.