Archive for March, 2011

The lamb of God


When Carboy was a baby he had a cute pacifier clip with a little soft rabbit doll from Good Night Moon attached. We called it “bunny nuk” and it was a consistent part of baby-soothing until Carboy decided he was too cool for pacifiers at nine months old. We put it away with other mementoes of babyhood and assumed we could get a new one for the next child.

So almost four years later Milkboy was born and we discovered that pacifier clips had changed a lot. After much searching my mother in law found one at a church gift shop. It has a stuffed animal lamb head and a white satin strap with the words “Jesus loves me” repeated across it.

Thus it was immediately dubbed the “lamb of God” pacifier clip 🙂

Posted from WordPress for Android one-handed while nursing a baby and wrangling a preschooler.


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Adventures in Pumping

Breast-feeding: What you need to know about pumping at work –

I just read this article on how to ask your boss for accommodations for pumping at work, and was reminded that this is one of the things I least look forward to about going back to work whenever I finally get a job.  The politics, procedures, and effort of pumping are some of the major barriers to women being able to meet the American Academy of Pediatrics recommendation of exclusively breastfeeding infants until at least six months and continuing to breastfeed with supplementation of solid food for at least a year or longer.

When I went back to work 8 weeks after Carboy was born,  I worked for a small nonprofit with only two other employees, so none of the pumping laws really applied.  It was a health organization, so the importance of breastfeeding for baby and mom was totally supported, but I was the first employee to have a baby and kind of had to work out a system for myself.  I was also lucky that my boss allowed me to work from home in the mornings to reduce the cost of childcare and the number of times I needed to pump each day.

My “office” was one of four desks enclosed by a 5 foot high cubicle wall within a larger open space.   On days when there was a lot of traffic in the office, I pumped in the only room with a door and a lock: the bathroom.  It was a nice big ADA-accessible single user bathroom, but it was still a bathroom.  I would roll my desk chair with my laptop and my pump into the bathroom and set up a little pumping station on a rolling file cabinet that ended up there for some reason.  There was no wireless internet in my office, so I could only work on documents, not check email or anything else on the web.  I played a lot of solitaire while pumping.

On days I was alone in my office or it was just other women, I would occasionally pump at my desk.  I tried to be as modest as possible, going into the bathroom to put on the hands free pumping bra and then covering up the “horns” with my shirt or a shawl.  I tried to warn other folks in the building that if they heard the “whoosh whoosh” sound coming from my area, they should knock on the cubicle wall before barging into my office, or they would get an eyeful.  There was one day when the UPS guy was mighty surprised to come around the corner and see me in all my pumping glory.

I pumped until Carboy was nine months old, and then he was eating enough solid food to cover the afternoons when Supernanny was with him so I didn’t have to pump.  We nursed often in the morning, and, as is common with working moms, we nursed all night long.  Thank God for co-sleeping and side-lying nursing, or I would have gotten no sleep at all.

Now that I am unemployed and looking for a new job, I know that I am not going to have the flexibility  to work from home in the mornings, so I will have to pump two or three times a day.  I am totally dreading this.  But I will do it because it is what is best for Milkboy and for our family.  Why oh why can’t we have a breastfeeding-friendly culture that values giving children the best start in life by having state-paid maternity leave for the first year?  Maybe I should look for work in Canada or Norway 😉


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Radical Babies Wear Red

SuperNanny, who is going to be Milkboy’s Godmother, recently pointed out that the baptism will be on MayDay, so we should make it properly revolutionary. This led to some riffing along the lines of the Urban Babies Wear Black book. Here are some of our ideas:

Radical babies put the “strike” in “nursing strike”.
Radical babies keep the Man up at night because the man keeps them down.
Radical babies “organize” the nursery.
Radical babies reject the Formula-Industrial Complex.
Radical babies will not be pacified.

And of course, Radical babies wear red.

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Things I say more all the time

“Sit on your bottom”

“Please do not lick your brother”

“Put on your clothes or your Ferrari is going into time out”

“No hugging people you don’t know, even if they are kids”

“Stop trying to sit in the baby bouncer”

“Eat your hot dog or no more fruit”

“Get your hand out of my shirt”

“If you don’t have to go potty, why are you grabbing your penis?”



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Death and Replacement

One of our beloved family cats died at home after a brief illness last week, so we have been talking about how she’s in “kitty heaven,”  and we’ll get a new kitty in a few months after her sister kitty isn’t so sad anymore (the vet warned that our quite elderly other cat could be stressed into death by the premature addition of a kitten).  Carboy, after initially telling me he was going to save the dearly departed from kitty heaven, has now rather enthusiastically embraced the idea of a replacement.  At first it was just limited to cats: he requested a “rainbow kitty,” then a red cat, then twin yellow kitties.  More recently he has begun to expand this idea, demanding that when our Versa goes to “car heaven” that we get a “Nissan Altima with ten seats” as a replacement.  Given his car obsession, it seemed like a natural progression in his mind.  Tonight however, he took it in an alarming new direction.  During his nightly bath, Carboy informed me that when I go to “girl heaven,” he was getting a new girl named Christina.

Really not sure how to take that.

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Welcome to the Land of Milk and Hotwheels

I have two boys, a preschooler (Carboy) and a baby (Milkboy).  I never envisioned myself as the Queen of Boydom.  In fact, two ultrasounds said that my second baby was a girl, so Milkboy was quite the surprise as the OB pulled him up.

Carboy is so nicknamed because of his undying love of all things Hot Wheels.  I discovered the British show “Top Gear” when he was 18 months old, and still enamored of Thomas and train-dom, so I had no idea how much it would come to be the theme of my life.  The car obsession started about age two and a half, and has shown no signs of abating after two years.  We have the standard miniature cars, remote control cars, model cars, “Cars” movie accessories, and anything else remotely-car related that the good folks at Target can sell me.

Milkboy gets his name because he is powered by mama’s milk.  We have a great nursing relationship, and I am so grateful to be able to provide this for him as long as he needs it.  Nursing the second time around is so different, easier in many ways but with whole new challenges.  Like  I realized last month that the reason he hadn’t been gaining weight was because every nursing session was interrupted by his brother driving cars on top of us.  So we have introduced the “bubble” when Milkboy and I are doing our “munchies,” a sort of no-fly zone for hot wheels and big brothers.  We’ll see how that works.

Folks keep telling me to write down my stories of life as an unplanned stay-at-home mom, so that’s  my goal here.  The charming, absurd, and incredibly amazing life of the Queen of the Land of Milk and Hotwheels.

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