The Meaning of Being Supportive

With World Breastfeeding Week coming up, I have seen more and more on the internet in regards to feeding babies. I have seen two sides. I have seen the side that screams ‘Breast is best! If you don’t feed your baby breastmilk you are doing them a disservice’ Thankfully, those people seem to be less and less common. The other side I see is the side that says ‘Oh you feed your baby breastmilk? Cool. Oh hey, you feed you baby formula? Cool. You combo feed? Cool again.’

Normally I don’t pay too much attention to any of this stuff.  I see it, I let it go. I have been judged for how I feed the kids, but I let it go. Well, seeing it all over the internet/facebook/the news, it has been on my mind a little more.

Yesterday I was out with the kids. We took them to the mall. In the mall there is this cute little play place for the kids to play. Zoey was due for a feeding, so I figured the boys could play and hubs and I could sit on a bench and feed Zoey while we watch them. So I send the boys off to play, and sit down. A few feet to my left is a woman who apparently had the same thought as me. She sent her older child to go play while she breastfed her baby. Seeing her breastfeed bugged me a little bit. Not in the ‘ew that’s disgusting kind of way’ I don’t think breastfeeding is gross in any way, but in the way that I was about to whip out a bottle of water and some powder to mix up some formula for my baby. I was worried she was going to judge me. 

That way of thinking is not like me at all. I am normally the one daring people to judge me. I am normally the one willing to stand up for myself and others. But I was honestly fearful of what this woman that I had never met was going to think about me giving my baby formula. But Zoey was getting fussy so I had no choice but to mix her formula and give her her bottle. I couldn’t make the kids leave the play area. That wouldn’t be fair. Deep breath.

So I pulled out the stuff I needed to make her a bottle. And I prepped it. All while being super careful to avoid eye contact with breastfeeding Momma. Then I picked Zoey up and started feeding her, looking only at her and the boys. Still refusing to make eye contact. Then I hear a voice. ‘I love her headband. Did you make it?’ What?!? Breastfeeding Momma is making conversation with me.. well I can’t be rude… So I answered that I had indeed made it and we talked about crocheting and the different projects each of us had done. Then we talked about our kids. And you know what? It wasn’t awkward. Not even a little bit. It was perfectly fine. Neither of us cared that we were doing things differently. And that ladies and gents, is what being supportive is all about.

i supprtyou

This picture was uploaded onto the End the Mommy Wars group on Facebook by Annie Vorys and I think it is perfect!

Love, hugs and more to come later

Lynn

A Poem to End the Mommy Wars

I seen this poem on Huffington Post and I loved it so much that I wanted to share it here. I didn’t write it, and none of the credit for it is mine. It was written by Kim Simon, and you can see the original post here.

 

It’s 10 p.m. in my house, and the kids are both asleep.
The tiny one is swaddled, and finally breathing deep.
My 4-year-old is tucked in tight, his blanket on his head.
I’m typing away by the glow of the screen,
though my body is pleading for bed.
You see it’s almost midnight, and that’s when the games begin.
My baby wakes up starving to death, and smiles his gummy grin.
I whip out my boob before he can scream, and he curls up on to my chest.
I close my eyes and start to drift…
I rarely remember the rest.
But one thing’s for sure in the dead of the night, when I’m nursing by the light of my phone.
I stare out the window and I imagine you’re there,
and I know that I’m never alone.
So this is your personal invite, to the party that I throw in my head.
It’s nice to think that there’s mamas like me, and that no one is comfy in bed.
See, when my baby spits up and it lands in my bra, I know that yours just did the same.
You might be in Utah or Kalamazoo, and I’ll never discover your name.
But you’re out there like me, with your babe in your arms,
and you pray that he won’t make a sound.
When you get up to transfer him back to the crib,
and his binkie falls onto the ground.
His wail fills the air, and you let out a curse,
yet Daddy still snores like a train.
Moms can get by on just three hours sleep,
but The Daddy will always complain.
There are millions of mamas like me and like you,
who are doing the night-feeding dance.
Every three hours we cuddle our babes,
even as they blow-out their pants.
There’s a dance that we do, all the mamas and I,
a dance that’s known only to us.
It’s a sway to the left and a bounce to the right,
when the baby is starting to fuss.
It’s a pace down the hall and a rock in the chair,
a song whispered ever so slow.
We share the same rituals and bedtime routines,
so I think that you already know…
That it really won’t matter if you bottle it up
or if milk sprays right out of your chest.
We’re all feeding babies with love in our hearts,
while praying for a little more rest.
So pull out your boobies or measure your scoops,
Relax in your comfiest chair.
When you’re fed up and flustered or just tired and mad,
look outside and you’ll know that we’re there.
You can find us on Facebook when we comment on posts,
we put pictures on IG and Twitter.
When the baby’s still up and won’t settle back down,
we’ve been known to search Etsy for “glitter.”
The books like to say that the magic will come
at 6 months or 9 months for most.
But until then, we’ll search for tired mommies like us,
who leave comments on Huffington Post.
There’s strength in our numbers,
the Moms of The Night…
We’re weary, we’re hungry, we’re up ’till it’s light.
We’re hardcore, we’re shopping, we’re living the dream.
We’re slipping, we’re fading, we’re ready to scream.
We’re drowning in onesies and burp rags and toys.
We’re loving the heck out of our girls and boys.
But mamas get tired and pushed to the brink,
we leave laundry unfolded and dishes in the sink.
So cut us some slack if we still lose our shit,
we’re warriors, we’re troopers, and we’ve vowed not to quit.
This feeding thing is hard though we’re doing it well.
With nipple shields, pumps, and some lanolin gel.
We use formula, breastmilk, bottles and pads.
We’ll do anything possible to nourish our lads.
We’re the same in the long run, no fighting allowed.
We’re all doing our best, we deserve to feel proud.
Now it’s almost that time when my oldest wakes up.
He needs water, a hug, “No, that’s not the right cup!”
And as soon as he’s snuggled right back in his bed,
the baby wakes up ’cause he needs to be fed.
So I’m off to the trenches but I’ll see you real soon,
Remember the mamas all share the same moon.
So swaddle your babies and then raise your glasses,
let’s cheers to the motherhood kicking our asses.

 

I hope you enjoyed the poem!