The other blog.

A while back I said I started another blog. It's just as neglected as this one. I'm trying to keep track of the allergy safe recipes somewhere. If you're interested you can check it out here.

My daughter: Dare devil.

We call Kitten many things: lots of derivatives of her real name, plus Trouble Maker, Miss Chievious, Destructo-Girl. And now the latest: Dare Devil.

This morning after we dropped Lovey off at school I ran to the store to grab a few things I needed before the weather changed. I figured I could run in and out and get home in time for the morning nap. Lately Kitten has been very adventurous. I love that about her spirit, but it comes with some dangerous consequences. She has fallen off the bed-twice, crawled into the coffee table-also twice, and catapulted herself off a chair-thankfully I caught her foot before she hit the floor-that time. The grocery cart has become her newest playgroup for exploration. She loves to turn around in the seat and look at the food in the cart behind her. Or try to pull her sister's hair. She has managed to do it even with the seat belt tightly wrapped around her. So today I thought I could occupy her with something in her hands and so I didn't strap her in. Big mistake. HUGE. (Name that movie.) We made it through the store with me redirecting her to sit the whole time. At self check out I was scanning my items when I heard a noise. I turned and Kitten was laying inside the cart! In about five seconds flat she turned around in the seat and fell into the cart. Thank god she didn't decide she wanted something on the floor. I scooped her up and assessed the damage. Thankfully she seemed okay. I calmed her down and held her for the rest of check out. I then had a nice chat with the lady at the self check out next to me about how we get more hurt than they do when they pull stunts like this. She told me to go home and rest. As if. I live with Evil Knevil.

When we got home Kitten had developed some very attractive goose eggs on her forehead to make the one she got yesterday from the coffee table incident. We had a nice snuggle before her nap and I was struck with how her adventurous spirit will continue to rattle my nerves for the rest of my life. But I won't stifle it. I want her to be an explorer and a risk taker. It makes her her. At the same time I couldn't help but think what Edmund Hillary's mother said when he told her he was going to climb Mount Everest. Did he get a "that's nice dear"? Did she tell him to pack a sweater and clean undies? What about Jacques Cousteau's mom? Did she worry that he was going to run out of air? Either way, I know they supported their children and wished them well on their adventures and then prayed hard until they returned to their arms. Obviously, otherwise Edmund and Jacques probably wouldn't have gone to the heights or the depths they went. I'll be sure to let Kitten go where her heart takes her, just as long as it's not over the side of the grocery cart again.

On Lent and giving up.

Today is the first day of Lent which usually has people scrambling around to find something to give up and a quick and dirty way to reflecting and repenting during the season. Every year people vow to give up a vice. Usually something they enjoy, but know its bad for them. Like chocolate, or potato chips. My friend Carol gave up dropping the F-bomb for Lent a few years ago. She loves the word and uses it well, but a bit too often. She, like most people, didn't last too long before she slipped and started using it again. And when she did her response was simple, "I like it." I agree. We "give up" things we enjoy because they're "bad" for us. And then as soon as Lent is over we go back to our old ways.

But really, eating chocolate or chips or uttering the phrase "un-fucking-believable" just feels good. And good in moderation isn't bad. So this year, I think if you are going to give up something that you should give up something that really IS bad for you. Like the crack pipe. (Sorry, bad joke, I've been watching too much Breaking Bad lately.) No really. Give up comparing yourself to a standard that can't be met. Give up scrutinizing yourself in the mirror. Give up self doubt. And vow that when Lent is over you won't go back to your old ways. At the New Year I decided I was going to resolve to give up some self-destructive bad habits. I have stopped: fishing for compliments (If I think I did a good job or that I look good-that's enough), I've stopped passively asking for what I want and actually ask for it, and I've tried to stop the "me too" (you know, when someone is sharing a personal story and rather than validate their feelings you say "me too" there by dismissing their comment). So far, so good. I plan to keep going during Lent and beyond too.

What bad for you thing are you giving up for Lent this year? Don't say potato chips.

You're the survivor.

To say its been a stressful few weeks would be a vast understatement. Our house is still on the market and it seems it will not sell. We are faced with taking it off the market and putting more money into it to get out of it next year. Hopefully. That not the point of the story though, just a little update.

Honey and I had a date night a few weeks ago to get away from the stress for a few hours. Me went to Feng in Hartford and had some really good sushi. The tables were set really close to each other and so we were basically sitting on top of the people next to us. In the middle of dinner Honey leans over and says, "Excuse me, but I think I know you". Turns out he grew up with them and they knew his parents. We had a nice chat with them during which the wife asks me if I have siblings. I spontaneously answered "I have a sister who died when I was 12". This is surprising to me because my standard answer to strangers is "I'm an only child", it's just easier than explaining. She said something along the lines of "how terrible" to which I replied "it's just part of my story". Which it is. Because this story has made me who I am and for that I am grateful. Then she said something to me that made me respect her greatly and strengthen me in a way she will never understand. She took a deep breath and said "You're the survivor".

The thing is, I've always felt that way. I did survive the trauma of my childhood so that I could get to the other side to be the person I've become. That phrase has stuck with me ever since in these stressful days. If I can survive what I've already been through, I can survive anything, big or small.

In a cruel twist, the week after this conversation my real estate agent's daughter died suddenly after a long battle with drug addiction. I went to the wake not only because I care for my agent, but also because I know how difficult it is to be on the other side of the receiving line. I stood there trying desperately not to make this about me, fighting back tears. I made my way through the line and met the deceased woman's sister. She is now where I was some 23 years ago. Suddenly an only child. All I was thinking in my head, but never said because I was holding back my own emotions...You're the survivor. Even though I didn't have the strength to say it to her I hope she knows and carries it with her like I do.

New favorite show.

Over the years my favorite TV show has changed almost year to year. There are favorites that Honey and I watch together, like LOST (which Honey says is the best show ever created for television). And shows that are "just for me".

My favorite show of childhood would be a tie between the Wonder Years (which you can get on Netflix streaming now-Score!) and Life Goes On. I loved that LGO told a story about a character living with AIDS at a time when AIDS discussions were so taboo. And still are to a large extent. But that show made AIDS accessible to teens and as a teen with a close relative who died of AIDS complication I appreciated that. If you've never checked it out, please do.

My all-time favorite show as an adult is Sex and the City. I own every episode. It was a show that brought me closer to my girlfriends. It helped me appreciate my single status finding my way in my 20s in Boston. It still resonates with so much of my life. I'm also a big fan of Grey's Anatomy for a lot of the same reasons. Over the years it has lost a lot of it's luster, but I still tune in, because I am a very character driven girl in TV, film, and books, and I need to know what happens to these people.

But now. There is a new show in my life. To say that I am obsessed is only putting it mildly. Very mildly. It is a new addiction. I spend far too many hours of the day thinking about it. Downton Abbey. Please tell me you've seen it. I had heard buzz about it when it first cam out but I hadn't watched it. In our house we very rarely watch live TV anymore. It seems impossible with two kids and early bedtimes. So because it wasn't available to watch online I'd never seen it. Until last week. I saw it on Netflix streaming and scooped it up. Addicted. Obsessed. Enthralled. Need I go on? Now I'm hunting down the second season online to watch because I just can't get enough. It's like a high-brow soap opera. A guilty pleasure that doesn't make you feel that guilty. If you haven't seen it, run, don't walk to check it out.

And then come talk to me all about it.

Home.

I was gonna start this post with some cheesy quote about home. But it means different things to everyone. At its simplest home is where ever Honey, Lovey, and Kitten are. That place seems to be changing a bit.

Honey and I bought a new house. We saw it back in October and fell in love. We put in an offer that was rejected but put in another offer in January that was accepted. Not the smartest thing to do while you only have one salary but whatever. Now we just have to sell our house. Our first home. Where both our daughters were conceived. Where we brought both of them home from the hospital. Our home.

It sure does do something funky to your emotions at the thought of packing all that up in boxes and throwing it in a storage unit, but that's exactly what we did. With a deep breath, a little anxiety, and a slightly heavy heart we put our house on the market. Five days later we're a little more stressed but overall fairing well. I do take it personally whenever someone doesn't love what we have loved for five years, but they don't have to. Well, someone does. In the meantime, I'll love it. Until we have a new house to make home.

Breast is not always best..

This post is most likely going to infuriate a lot of people, but it will hopefully help a lot of people also. And so I go forward.

This week there was a very sad news story about a family in the Mid-West whose infant son died of a rare bacterial infection. (I could link the article, but that's not really the point of the post.) The family suspected that the bacteria was in contaminated formula. Erring on the side of caution, Wal-Mart pulled the formula from the shelves. However, the company that makes the formula tested the suspected batch and determined that it was not contaminated. But that happened only after the firestorm of public opinion about breastfeeding vs. formula was set loose.

A friend of mine linked the article of this tragedy to her Facebook page with the caption "Breast is best!" For whatever reason it lit something in me akin to rage. I hesitated, but then responded saying that for some babies and mothers breastfeeding isn't always possible and that the health of the whole family is what's best. Well, there were responses and they were all tactful but my point was still missed. The people who responded basically said something along the lines of "if only you were properly educated on breastfeeding".

Let me be clear. I am not a formula feeding advocate, I'm not a breast feeding advocate. I am a positive mothering experience advocate. Period. And for some woman (myself included) breastfeeding is not a positive experience. For me, it was easily the most traumatic thing I've experienced in my adult life.

My oldest daughter was born with a Torticolis and a nerve defect in her lip that until recently was thought to be Crying Facies Syndrome. The torticolis was diagnosed at two month old, after we had stopped trying to breastfeed. I was told by a neurologist when she was six months old that her nerve defect would have made it nearly impossible for her to have an effective latch. Yet I still tried everything I could for as long as I could with the help of my doctor (who is a family practitioner and treats all of us), lactation consultants, books, videos, and support from friends. The process of trying to get her to feed took up to two hours. Every time. 24 hours a day. We would try to get her to latch and she would scream in pain, and I would cry, and Honey would offer support for up to fifteen minutes. Lovey would latch for a minute or two until she would come off with a look that can only be described as agony. Then Honey would get a finger feeding syringe and continue the feeding while I pumped. And cried. This went on for ten excruciatingly long days. And in another part of my life, my mother in-law was dying. But still I tried.

The advice I got from people was mostly supportive, although no one ever told me that this just might not be possible for us, even though I asked the question to everyone I could praying that someone would tell me it was okay if it didn't work out. Some well-meaning people said some incredibly hurtful things. One person told me that I should try harder because women have done this for millions of years and I could too. Another older woman (who in her generation was told that breastfeeding was BAD for babies) said that nighttime feedings were her happiest memories as a mother and I should try to enjoy it more. Finally my doctor gave me the advice that changed my life and said what I needed to hear most: "When any of the three of you feel like you have had enough, that's when it's time to stop trying. The health of your family is what is most important." And so I waved my white flag and stopped trying to get Lovey to latch. I did continue pumping for 14 weeks because society has made women feel like failures for not giving their children breast milk. The breast is best message is EVERYWHERE. It's even on the label for the formula.

When my second daughter was born I told myself I would try again because after all "Breast is best". She was a great latcher even though she had a bit of trouble. The problem was me. Trying to breastfeed her had a same reaction I can only imagine a war veteran has when they hear a car back fire. I panicked about every little thing that was going on. Was she latched correctly, was she getting enough, was I doing it right? And I should add, every time I breast fed her Lovey would have a world's biggest tantrum. She would fall to the floor and scream the whole feeding. Sure does help with the let down! This time, Honey had to return to work and so I was alone in my journey. Therfore, once more, I made a decision that what was best for the health of my family was formula.

In my response to that Facebook post I said that I don't regret the choices I made for my family. I don't. What I do regret is that I was swayed by popular opinion to do what I was supposedly supposed to do and not listen to what my body, my brain, and my heart were telling me to do. I made a vow after my experience with Lovey to myself and to other women to be honest about breastfeeding. There is simply not enough education about it out there. Think about it. Who in the medical world is going to tell you the ugly truth? Your obstetrician is going to ask but not educate. You are in the process of picking out a pediatrician, are you really thinking of sitting down with this person and asking tough questions about your breast and mental health as they pertain to your unborn child? Probably not. As so, the responsibility falls to us as women to educate other women in an honest and open way about all of it. Not just the "it was an incredible bonding experience" and "it's the most wonderful feeling" and "I lost all my baby weight". The sore, bloody nipples. The sleepless nights. The marathon feeding sessions. The stress and trauma of trying to feed your baby in the early weeks. It's not for everyone. I applaud those of you who push through and respect your decision. But please in turn respect mine. The women I know who didn't breastfeed talk about it in secret because the women who did and are advocates for it are so vocal. Which is ok; be vocal about an experience that was positive for you, but allow those for whom it wasn't positive to be vocal too. That way we as women can help effectively educate future mothers about every detail that is involved with feeding your infant. That, I'm sure we can all agree, is what's best.