Breast is Best For You, Too

“Often, mothers see breastfeeding as martyrdom to be endured for their baby's health. If they stop early, they may feel guilty about depriving the baby of some health benefits, but their guilt is often soothed by well-meaning people who reassure them that ‘The baby will do just as well on formula.’ Perhaps if they knew that continuing to breastfeed is also good for their own health, some mothers might be less likely to quit when they run into problems.” La Leche League International

When I gave up on breastfeeding my son at just four days old, I felt like I had failed him. I felt guilty, I felt inadequate, I felt like I wasn’t doing what was best for him. What I didn't realize at the time is that in giving up breastfeeding, I failed myself, as well. I didn’t do what was best for me.

I’ve learned so much about parenting since my son, but one of the most important areas of education for me has been breastfeeding. We all hear about how many amazing benefits breastfeeding has for babies; but we don’t often (or at least, not often enough, in my opinion) highlight the very many benefits it has for mothers, as well.

Oxytocin. After birth, putting baby to breast releases this remarkable hormone which not only signals the breasts to release milk (let down), but also produces contractions which help the uterus shrink back to its pre-pregnancy state. Oxytocin is also known as a “feel good” hormone, and the more your body releases, the more relaxed and content you feel. It’s released each time your baby latches on.

Reduces the risk of breast, uterine, and ovarian cancer. The female body produces less estrogen when it’s lactating, and studies suggest that less estrogen decreases the chances of cancer occurring. Chances of breast cancer in particular can be decreased by as much as 25 percent. The longer a mother breastfeeds, the lower the risk of cancer.

Lower rates of postpartum depression. Studies have shown that women who breastfeed have lower rates of anxiety and stress.

I’d like to add that these are merely studies—I know that every woman who breastfeeds does not avoid PPD, and in fact have known mothers who experienced PPD because of their negative experiences with early breastfeeding. But I firmly believe that breastfeeding is not to blame—rather, lack of real support, education, and the presence of booby traps are the culprits. This was my experience with my first born, and I’ve seen it happen to other women as well.

Interruption of menses. Alright, this isn’t necessarily a huge deal for everyone, but it has been for me! I didn’t get my period until my first daughter was a year old; my baby is almost five months old, and I’m still happily period-free. It’s said that this is nature’s birth control, but I wouldn’t bank on that, since you can easily get pregnant even when you’re not menstruating.

Burn, baby, burn. Breastfeeding on demand can burn as many as 500 calories a day! It’s been shown that breastfeeding mothers tend to return to their pre-pregnancy weight more easily.

I mention the above cautiously, because this is not the case for everyone. In fact, the body tends to hold on to a few extra pounds (to keep up milk production) while breastfeeding, and based on how much weight you gained during pregnancy, your body type, etc., you may not reach your pre-pregnancy weight for some time (if at all). And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Rigid dieting during breastfeeding not only runs the risk of interfering with your milk supply, it’s unhealthy for you, as your body will take what it needs to nourish your baby and leave you with little else.

That said, though I don’t believe that weight loss should be motivation to breastfeed, it’s an awesome side effect if it works out for you (and if it doesn’t, just look at the list above! There are still so many amazing benefits!).

Other benefits include lowered risk of osteoporosis, lowered risk of type 2 diabetes, lowered risk of cardiovascular disease, and lowered risk of rheumatoid arthritis.

Lastly, breastfeeding is free. I’ve done it both ways, and even with the purchase of breast pads, a breast pump, some pump accessories, and a few bottles, I have spent close to nothing breastfeeding my daughters, compared to the hundreds of dollars I spent formula feeding my son—and we switched to cow’s milk when he turned one. Continuing on with “toddler” formula doubles, even triples the cost, depending on how long the formula is used.

I believe that if this information were made more readily available to pregnant mothers, they would be twice as likely to breastfeed—or at least stick with it when it gets a bit hard. After nine months of pregnancy and a difficult birth, I felt like I had given so much to my son, and I couldn’t give any more. I was so tired, and I was so stressed. Even though I knew I could do better than formula for him, had I been aware of how good breastfeeding was for me, it would have given me the motivation to keep going.

When you’re in over your head with a new baby, losing sleep, grappling with new emotions, a new body, and a completely different life, it can indeed feel like martyrdom to continue breastfeeding your baby. If every woman had this information at her fingertips, maybe she would feel empowered and supported to keep on going.

I am the proof. Though much of my confidence has come from the wisdom of having more than one child, most of my peace and contentment has come from the way I parent; from the things I’ve done differently, and better. Breastfeeding is at the top of the list.

Breast is best. For babes, and for moms.

Unplug and Reboot

Like most people these days, I spend a good amount of time reading online. Blogs and online news articles have replaced books and magazines for me to a large extent. I follow a lot of blogs and pages on Facebook, and have some sites that I visit independently. I'm on my iPhone mostly when I'm nursing.

Lately, I feel like every article I read is either about a terrible tragedy, a child getting molested or otherwise abused, horrible and extremely rare accidents, which chemical is going to kill me and my family today, an “expert” telling me I’m parenting all wrong and alienating my husband and messing up my kids for life, or (and this is my least favorite), a judgmental, negative rant written by one mom criticizing the methods of another.

I often joke about being neurotic, but I definitely have anxiety with varying intensity based on what is going on in my life at any given moment. Little things like crumbs on the floor or forgotten tasks can become big and overwhelming. Because my anxiety directly relates to my feelings of depression, no matter how rare that is at this point, and because anxiety causes me to lose it way more than I like, I’m making every effort possible to reduce as much stress as I can in my day to day.

I realized that being exposed to the types of news and articles I outlined above, even though initially I may feel like I have learned something, or even if I feel there is some entertainment value, exacerbates my feelings of negativity and anxiety. Whereas someone who doesn’t have my personality traits may be able to brush bad news off (like my husband, for example), I become influenced by whatever I’m reading or seeing to the extent where it affects my mood, or worse, my general outlook. I’ve always been this way. When I was younger my sister would marvel at how much whatever I watched on TV influenced me, and I would stay transfixed on it for days.

I want to be inspired, and I feel like that’s so rare these days. The ultimate voyerist’s playground, the media allows us to see and read about things that were once private, or maybe just not reported. Everything has a yin and a yang, and though media, the internet and social networking obviously has many benefits, sometimes it just feels like too much information is out there. And stupidly, I’m reading ALL of it.

Every story about child abduction, abuse, etc., makes me think of my own kids and what I would do if something like that happened to one of them. Every freak accident I read about makes me fearful of trying that food/going on that excursion/playing that extreme sport. I can guarantee I am  killing my whole family bit by bit, as I am sure that despite my best efforts, I haven’t gotten rid of all chemicals in my household (we microwave in plastic! Egads!). Every check in on Facebook ensures at least two or three articles on a page I have “liked” telling me what parenting mistakes I’m currently making. And then there are those judgmental articles written by moms, which have made me completely paranoid whenever I do absolutely anything in public with my kids, as I am sure someone somewhere is judging me (whether they are or they’re not, I just don’t want to know about it. Ignorance is bliss, at least in this case).  When this happens several times a day, every day, it’s overwhelming. Meanwhile, my life is passing me by.

The thing is, I just want to be happy. I feel like I am finally ready to let go of my anger, which is a huge step in the right direction, and something I’ve never been able to say before. If it makes me more vulnerable, well, so be it. I have to trust that my friends and family love me and won’t hurt me. I’m tired of being in control all the time. I’m ready to let go. I don’t want to yell at my kids anymore. I don’t want to be mad at my husband anymore. I don’t want to have enemies anymore. I don’t want to think about the past anymore. It’s such a relief. It feels like I can finally breathe.

So. Here’s where this all ties in for me. I need to unplug. And then reboot.

I will spend less time online. I will unplug from negativity. I’ve already unsubscribed from various sites that post nothing but dribble and don’t contribute to my well-being and happiness. One popular site I used to visit often is gone from my bookmarks (they were the worst offenders in terms of reporting absolutely horrible news I otherwise would never come across). I’m not sticking my head in the sand, just not letting sand get thrown in my eyes.

I will cherish my friendships and my loving, amazing family. I’m so lucky to be able to say that I have friends for life, and my family is the center of my universe. I will nurture and cultivate those relationships because I value and appreciate them. I will avoid negativity in those relationships as well.

I will drink in every moment I can with my children—even thechallenging ones. I’m going to stop washing the dishes and look at my son in the eye when he tells me a story. I’m going to hug my daughter gently when she has a potty accident. I’m going to hold my infant close and kiss her when sh ecries. I’m going to hug them and kiss them every day until they are sick of me.

When in doubt, we will dance. Lately, when things are getting a little too serious, I put on music and we have a dance party. It makes everyone happy and no one remembers what the fuss was about.

I will take lots of deep breaths. Recently, in situationswhere I’m about to lose it, I stop, close my eyes, and take a deep breath in and out. Just those three seconds allow me to calm down enough so that I don’t yell/grab/freak/have other insane reaction to a ridiculously silly issue. In that breath, I remind myself that it’s ok to let go—it’s ok to not get mad. I still lose it at times. But it’s getting so much better.

I will count my blessings. I’m probably the last person on the blogosphere to do so, but I’ve recently discovered the lovely and extraordinary Stephanie Nielson, and watching her count her blessings has inspired me to do the same, probably for life.

I will have gratitude. This is totally not my idea, but I love it. Each day I will take the time to write down what I am grateful for. I imagine the list will get long very quickly.

I will pray. I am more spiritual than religious, per se, but my faith is strong and I need to lean on it more. Every time I pray I feel better afterwards.

I will look into my husband’s eyes every day. After all, he is the reason for all of this. He has helped make me who I am. He and I have created this family.

I will try to find something lovely and precious in every single day. Even the worst days are filled with miracles.

This isn’t a new me. It’s a better, upgraded version. I’m sure there will be bugs to fix, but I know that it will be a much smoother running program. A reboot.

The Difference

I had my third child in April and had the best birth experience yet. I'm so excited to share the story, but the journey wouldn't be complete without first sharing the experience I had with my second child. So here it is, and I look forward to posting my latest experience next time.

What a difference three years make.

The first time I got pregnant, I had no clue whatsoever how carrying a child and birthing it would change me in the most profound, extraordinary way. I had no clue whatsoever how I really felt about pregnancy and birth.

I had no clue whatsoever that pregnancy is and should be treated as a natural condition and not a medical one, and that birth, in a normal and typical pregnancy, is and should be a physiological process, not a medical one, to be managed and ruined by malpractice fearing obstetricians and hospital staff.

My first birth was a traumatic one—save for the fact that I had my son healthy, the process left me raw and vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. Induced for what proved to be no more than the overly cautious doctors’ fears at a teaching hospital, I was treated like a birthing pod, without any consideration for my wishes, comfort, or privacy. I had a heavily medicalized pregnancy in general, and then a very high-intervention birth. I don’t even remember holding my son for the first time, and I don’t remember what he looked like, or if he cried.

Initially, I was happy with my experience, and after I gave birth I told my husband I wanted to send a gift basket to the hospital and my doctor practice. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Why? They were awful!” I was so shell-shocked from the whole thing that it didn't occur to me that maybe this wasn't the way it was supposed to be--I thought all births were that gruesome. It took me weeks to recover; a month later, I was still in pain.

After I had my son, I cried in the car leaving the hospital, when I got home, when I got in the shower. My baby wouldn’t nurse; drowsy from all the unnecessary medication he and I both received, he would fall asleep within seconds of latching on, and would wake up screaming from hunger mere moments later. Beat up, dejected, and depressed, I gave up. I thought it was my fault. I thought, my body is just not made for this. I can’t handle it.

Only upon further research, talking to women who had natural births, real natural births, and a lot of soul searching, did I realize that my birth experience was not the ideal--and it contributed both to my post-partum depression and to a negative view of pregnancy and birth in general. Once motherhood sunk in, I learned a lot about myself I didn't know before. While watching the hospital scenes in “The Business of Being Born,” my husband told me that he had flashbacks of our birth experience, and told me how negatively he felt about the whole thing. I realized then how traumatizing it had been for him as well.

Three years later, for my second pregnancy, I had a midwife and a chiropractor, which made all the difference. No longer forced into hour-long wait times for five minutes of actual doctor time, I was able to tell my midwife exactly what I hoped for, and she listened. My chiropractor was also an integral part of helping me achieve my goals. Having had two natural births herself, she not only helped my body, she helped my mind, by being positive, upbeat, and never wavering in her support of me.

Circumstances being what they are for us right now, a homebirth was not an option, but a low-intervention, natural hospital birth was. I did an incredible amount of research to arm myself with everything I could to be able to achieve what I wanted in a hospital setting. It was going to be tough, but through some fantastic websites, a blog written by a homebirth midwife from across the country, and my chiropractor and midwife’s guidance, I felt ready.

My second pregnancy was worlds away from the first. Though nothing compares to that first time, the second time was, in some ways, even more amazing. I ate extremely healthily and I felt great. I read nothing on pregnancy aches and pains, and stayed away from pregnancy and birth websites unless they were positive and re-affirming of my body’s design to do this.

I took every pregnancy body change in stride—no longer symptoms, I welcomed the changes and knew that they were facilitating the growth of my baby. Not forced to take tests to make sure my baby was “normal,” I was able to focus instead on the joy and miracle that being a mother can be. My pregnancy was like a float in the clouds, dreamlike, almost. I look back and can hardly believe that I was pregnant.

My daughter’s birth was unexpectedly fast and furious. I labored mostly in the car, with my husband swearing at the stoplights, scaling sidewalks, and calling my midwife with updates every five minutes. My water broke on the way, and I felt the baby descending as we arrived at the hospital. I was wheeled into a room, crawled on the bed, and gave birth. Just like that. My midwife arrived just in time, my husband just made it back from parking the car. My daughter was placed on my chest as soon as she was born, beautifully slimy and gooey, and I sobbed in joy and relief—she was here, I had done it.

Though I didn’t plan it this way, I don’t know what would have happened if I had been in the hospital longer. I don’t want to speculate. This was a gift. My daughter’s birth was the single most extraordinary and life-altering experience I have ever had, in completely different ways than my son’s. We had done it, her and I.

Afterwards, I felt like Superwoman, like I could do anything and everything. I felt giddy and elated. Calm and alert, my newborn girl nursed like a champ. I signed all the hospital forms while in recovery. I had blood drawn once, and that was it—no more needles. Since we were all in good health, we were released the next day—26 hours after the whole thing, I was home, on Christmas Eve, with the most precious present I could have asked for. My recovery was easy and quick.

I’m not sure what to say to people who feel that it doesn’t matter how the baby gets here, so long as the baby gets here safely, except that they should perhaps expand their definition of “safely.” Though medical conditions certainly arise in pregnancy and birth, making it necessary for medical (and often lifesaving) interventions, in a low-risk, normal pregnancy and birth scenario, the experience makes a huge difference. It did for me. Maybe I am more sensitive than others; maybe I have a heightened capacity for feeling negative and positive emotions. I know I’m not the only one.

During my research, I was bolstered by similar accounts from other women who had traumatic birth experiences, and then went on to something better. I was also frightened by accounts from women who went into the hospital hoping to birth naturally, and had interventions forced on them. Waking up the morning my daughter was born, feeling those first waves, I feared that I would go to the hospital too soon, get stuck in a bed with belts and needles, and end up on the operating table. Gratefully, blissfully, it was quite the opposite.

I adore both my son and daughter. Each of them have given me gifts beyond what I imagined, gifts I could never thank them for. Through the difficult experience I had with my son, I was able to clearly see myself for who I am. I was able to learn, I was able to change, I was able to move beyond the mainstream. Through my daughter, I was able to realize my strength, to challenge myself in every way possible, to achieve the peace and wisdom that can only come from being a mother. I hold her in my arms and I am so grateful.

I’m expecting my third child in April, and this time I hope that I can move even beyond what I have realized so far. And I hope that someday, I can repay my children for all they have done for me.

Motherhood Changes Everything

Motherhood changes everything. Even when you think that things couldn’t possibly become any more different—they do, and you are once again plunged into the dark unknown, completely against your will; completely unprepared, yet again. I’ve been a mom for seven years, and each age and stage my children have gone through has been harder, and better, than the last.

Such was my life during my son’s first year. The first six months, when my days were spent trying to decipher Alex’s cries, settle him to sleep, feed him, bathe him, all while trying to squeeze in a shower and maybe a glass of water for myself, seemed like a cakewalk when I returned to work and post partum depression reared its ugly head. It was as if nothing in the outside world was different. Other than the occasional query about my baby, people’s lives went on, unchanged. How was this possible when my entire world had become impossibly twisted? The earth had not stopped spinning because I had become a mother, at least not to anyone else but me.

It felt odd to walk around without my big belly after almost a year of being pregnant. My body was different. I’d been through so much in labor and delivery, and in addition to pregnancy weight, I’d gained stretch marks, a lingering baby pouch, and so much guilt-- about, well, everything.

I had expected motherhood to make me feel confident, invincible, and happy. Instead I was unsure of myself, vulnerable, and miserable. I felt so guilty for working, and that emotion consumed me. I was constantly exhausted and emotionally drained. I missed my baby intensely and I felt like I never saw him. I had enormous amounts of confusion and uncertainty about what my life was about. All this was such a blow to me, as I had thought motherhood would bring about all the opposite. I was also confused because since I had experienced the normal baby blues immediately following Alex’s birth (and come through them easily) this new set of feelings was unexpected.

The whole world suddenly seemed different; bigger, more dangerous—and having produced a human being inside my body that was now out in that same world, I felt intensely protective and helpless. A car could hit me on my way to work. My baby could die of SIDS. In the mornings, I made sure to memorize what color shirt my husband was wearing, just in case I had to describe him to the police later on because he disappeared. I recognized these thoughts as irrational, but I couldn’t stop them. The very thought that we were not going to be in this world forever to protect our baby filled me with despair.

Could I ignore the changes to my marriage? It was as if we had never existed as a couple before our son. What did we used to talk about? What did we do on our dates? Would we ever have a date, or time alone, again?

I also eventually had to admit that the difficult labor and delivery I had with my son had a lot to do with how I felt that entire first year. My experience was emotionally devastating, to say the least (and that’s another blog post!), and left me feeling helpless, scared, and not trusting of myself and my abilities as a mother.

Looking back, I should have asked for help. I spent too many days feeling despondent and unhappy, crippled by emotions that I couldn’t describe to anyone. Why is it that so many new mothers experience some form of depression or anxiety yet so many are unwilling to talk about it? The first year is so hard. There are infinite changes, and it’s normal to feel ambivalent about motherhood, resentful of the new responsibilities; even trapped. Not discussing it, or hiding it, is in part what leads to depression. I’ve never heard any new parent say, “yeah, we go to sleep at the same time we always did, take long showers daily, and eat dinner together every night.” Why is it that we can so easily discuss the logistical changes in our life as we knew it, but not the emotional ones? We all try to lose the pregnancy weight, go back to work, get back to normal, so quickly—as if we’re in a rush to prove something, as if we don’t want to admit that we’re not so sure about this new life as a parent—that everything is different. And it always will be.

Susan Maushart discusses this very thing in The Mask of Motherhood: How Becoming a Mother Changes Our Lives and Why We Never Talk About It. Says Maushart, “Experiencing ambivalence about motherhood is one thing. Expressing it—and by extension, legitimizing it—is quite another. The mask of motherhood ensures that the face of ambivalence, however widely or keenly felt, remains a guilty secret.” She found that the women who were able to be honest about their emotions were the ones least likely to be depressed.

Slowly, my life returned back to normal. Or, I should say, we all found a new normal. I am not who I was before I had children—I’m better. My husband and I now date regularly—even if it’s just a bowl of popcorn and a rented movie. We eat dinner together every night, and we talk, a lot. His compassion, patience, and support make him a wonderful father and an amazing partner. Years have passed since those early foggy days, but certain things will bring me back; a smell, a lullaby. I remember where I was and am proud of myself for how far I’ve come.

I know my feeling better was gradual, and the depression I experienced was relatively short-lived. But I honestly only noticed how different I am now compared to a few years ago just this past summer. After an afternoon out and about, as I was walking home with my children, I happened to notice how blue the sky was that day. Then I noticed the leaves blowing in the trees, and heard the birds singing.  And as I lifted my head up, I closed my eyes, felt the warm sun on my face, and I took a deep breath--I thought, my god, finally, I am happy. And it was the most amazing feeling. 

What Are Mothers Not Saying?

A few months ago, a dear friend and her husband visited my husband, children and me in New York City. We met them for a lunch of lobster rolls on the Upper East Side. After hugs and cheek kisses, we asked how each other were. My husband said, “We’re good!” just as I said at the same time, “we’re hanging in there.” My friend laughed knowingly, of how it’s tiring with a new baby (even if we are all sleeping through the night), while the men understand that for months after giving birth, women are tired, without really knowing just how tired we are. Our husbands played chase with my son. My son instantly claims any kind man as his play gym, even if the last time he saw the man was when he was baby. My friend took the baby from me, as I threw our coats, hats and gloves over my son’s stroller.

My friend took the natural segue of our greeting and began telling me her three worst moments of motherhood. Often the worst moments, people say, are the ones that make you laugh when you look back at them. Nonetheless, my friend still had a moment – when she kicked her 8 year old out of a car on a city street and made him walk the rest of the rest way home after he called her names – when she caught herself thinking, “Crap. This just became a Social Services issue.” She then stopped the conversation and asked, “Why am I telling you this?”

I was listening rapt, as if she had been telling me about her personal encounter with aliens that landed in her yard.

“Because no one talks about these things,” I answered. I had just thrown my first temper tantrum in front of my son that week. I had just had my first experience of wondering if I had crossed into Social Services territory. I had just had my first realization that there is a whole other world of parenting that people don’t talk about. Or at least I don’t hear them talking about this underbelly of parenting - the days we think about sending ourselves to the looney bin, the days we don't want our children to crawl into our laps because we're tired of them touching us, the days our children disappoint us, but we don't say so because we think we're supposed to be accepting and free from expectations.

My friend's son walked home. And now, when someone in the car puts down his mother, he says, “We are too far from home for you to be talking like that to her.”

My son survived my temper tantrum too, and now greets my exasperated groans with, “You’re frustrated, Mom?”

This week, I was talking with my neighbor who, like me, is adjusting to life with two children. Her second child is three months old. We wondered at how some parents sail through the adjustment, while we found it so exhausting and so much work.

She then said, “I don’t enjoy motherhood as much as I thought I would.” She looked at me, “I know. I’m not supposed to say those things.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Not all of motherhood is enjoyable.”

But I know why we don’t usually say these kinds of things. When I’ve mentioned in conversations our adjustment growing pains, I’ve been advised to just take better vitamins. I’ve been on the receiving end of that stern matronly that says: “Woman! Make an effort!” I’ve been told that if I had my own interests, it’d be easier (I swear.). I’ve been asked if I had Post-Partum Depression.

No, I said, but thanks for the reminder that the thinking of the Victorian era is still with us, that if a woman finds mothering hard, she must be sick.*

I’ve also received notes from friends wondering how to stay on top of it all, or if they made a mistake in having children, or friends who love their careers, but find their children drive them crazy simply because they are worn out from work. They have it all, but if they admit their exhaustion, some one tells them to quit complaining. There’s a recession.

It’s had me think, if motherhood is so hard, why is it so taken for granted? Why is it so undervalued? Why are women feeling guilty and isolated for not loving it as much as they think they should? Social Services exists for a reason, but should we fear its existence on our bad days? And why are women such harsh judges of each other, when we do open up about the raw, ugly, and authentic moments of parenting? What are mothers not saying about mothering?

*Please don’t get me wrong: I greatly appreciate that women can talk about having Post-Partum Depression openly and we can know it strikes any one from Gwyneth Paltrow to the young woman in the Walt Whitman Projects who threw her baby down the trash chute. Being able to talk about it makes a difference for women, their partners (especially now that we know men can also suffer from Post-Partum Depression), and their children, and we’re also now dealing with a kind of backlash – that if we take too long to recover from giving birth, or have too many hard days or what have you, we must be depressed. Rough spots don’t necessarily mean illness.

Post-Partum Pardon

This is a blog that is a long time coming. It's one that I've struggled with a lot since my son was born over two years ago and I think I'm ready (finally) to talk about it. I was inspired by this blog I read recently about "Don't Carpe Diem" and conversations I've had with moms who have had similar experiences with new motherhood. I thought maybe it was time I shared my story in case there are new moms out there who are struggling and need to hear how someone like them survived.

I struggled with being a new mom. Really struggled. I was not blissful or happy with my newborn. I was heartbroken, tired, and (in retrospect) depressed. I did not feel instant joy when he was placed in my arms and I was unable to "treasure every moment" as I was so often urged to. Maybe it was the circumstances of his c-section birth; maybe it was the intermittent depression I've dealt with all of my life; or maybe it was the fact that we initially had a very small support system in the state where we lived but the first six months of my son's life were probably the hardest six months of my life.

I think what made it especially hard was all the shame I felt about not being the mom I thought I should be and would be. It wasn't about what I was or was not doing. Technically, I was doing everything that I thought I needed to do. I was a stay at home mom who wore my baby upwards of 16 hours a day and I was up for hours and hours every night with him. I breastfed him, I cloth diapered him, I was attentive to him day and night, I dramatically changed my diet to help his reflux, I was really trying to do my best. I did everything I thought I could do to be the best mom I could be for him, but I did not feel like I thought I should. I was not blissful and it seemed like everywhere I turned there was another person telling me how I should "love" every second of the infant stage because it would all go by so quickly.

I would go home and cry every time I heard someone say that because in my heart of hearts, I felt like I must be the world's worst mother not to be capable of "loving every second." I felt like I was just letting precious time pass me by and was throwing away all of that wonderfulness because I just didn't feel like I loved it. I loved my son; but I didn't love caring for all of his very intense needs. In fact, the love I felt for my son as a person only made things worse. Intellectually, I "got" that he was a wonderful angel who had health problems that made it difficult for him to sleep and that his crying was an expression of how he felt. I "got" that I was lucky to be his mom and to be able to stay at home with him and yet . .. and yet I felt overwhelmed and heartbroken. I found myself unable to escape the absolute blackness of sleeplessness. I felt overwhelmed more than I ever had in my entire life! I remember in my most desperate moments almost wishing someone would put me out of my misery so that my husband could remarry and my son could finally get the good mother he deserved. I loved my son, but I did not love being his mother. I felt like no matter what I did, it was never good enough! I was terrified of whether or not I had made the right choice in becoming a mom. Surely God had made a mistake because I definitely wasn't half the mom my son deserved to have! The experience left me so scared that I was absolutely terrified of having another baby. For an entire year, every time someone told me they were pregnant, my first instinct was to say "I'm so sorry!" and if it wasn't their first child, I wanted to scream out "Why?!?!? How can you do that knowing how tough it is?"

How could this have happened? I am a very sentimental person. I've looked forward to having children for most of my life. I began crying about what I would do when my last baby leaves for college before I even had children! How could I be anything other than completely honored to mother my son? I had been wanting to have a baby for at least six years before I actually had one. I have been campaigning for a third baby before we were even pregnant with the first because my husband was clear that he only wanted two and I wasn't sure two would be enough. I love children. I've worked in education for years. I helped my mother in her home daycare all through my middle school and early high school years. I was an awesome babysitter! I make it my mission to make the choice to be optimistic. I believe whole heartedly in seeing the best in everyone and in every situation. How could I be that depressed after having my greatest dream come true? What was wrong with me? How could I see nothing positive about myself as a mother? I felt so ashamed.

I was afraid of going to counseling because I didn't want to be more of a financial burden to my husband and my son had the tendency to scream for hours unless I held him and I already felt he was stuck with a horrible mom; I didn't want to make him stuck with a nut case mom who had to abandon him every week for counseling. I didn't know how to ask for help because I didn't want the world to know how little I deserved my son and what a lousy mom I was. I beat myself up worse than anyone around me could ever imagine. I loved my son with all my heart and I loved being near him, but I hated it at the same time because of how awful I felt about myself and my inadequacies as a mom. I felt hopeless. I would pray desperately for God to hear me, but then would wrap myself up in my depression before I could feel any relief. I was in a bad place.

It took a long time, but eventually, I opened up to my husband. Eventually, I allowed myself to open up a little to friends and eventually my son became able to sleep a little more at night and I began to function more like a person again, but still some shame remained. Every day, I fell a little more in love with my son and every day I tried a little harder to see in myself what my husband (and increasingly, my son) seemed to see in me. Eventually, I learned to accept myself as a flawed mom, but also a good one (or at least a good hearted one).

Looking back, I see those dark times as my "cocoon" stage. Maybe I'm just the kind of person who always has to cocoon myself up in complete darkness before I can really start meaningful transformation. The woman I was when I gave birth to my son was not ready to be the mom she could be although she really, really wanted to be good mom from the very beginning. That first year or so, I had to learn how to let go of that woman and all of her judgments, expectations, and misgivings. I had to learn how to open my arms to the woman I was becoming and forgive myself for the flaws of the woman I already was. I had to learn how to love myself again even when I didn't live up to the mom I thought my son deserved. I had to learn how to take care of myself by letting go and pardoning myself for my many imperfections, the same way that my son seemed to pardon me every day. I had to learn how to parent myself the exact same way I was attempting to parent my son. When I lost my temper, I had to say to myself, "Okay, you made a bad choice, you were tired and you should have done things differently. Now, go hug your son, tell him you are sorry, make things up to him and LET IT GO AND FORGIVE YOURSELF."

The mom that I am now is better than the mom I was two and a half years ago when my son was born. I have emerged with new wings and new freedoms now that I'm out of my black "cocoon" stage. I now have the power to not worry so much about what pre-new mom me would have thought of me and I don't worry so much what parents who disagree with me think about what I am doing. I have accepted that I will and do make mistakes, but I also have accepted that it is my job to learn from those mistakes and try not to repeat them again. (Tara recently wrote beautifully about this!) It is this new ability to forgive myself that really makes me a better mom. I still may not be the mom my son deserves me to be 100% of the time, but I am the only mom he has and every night I pray that tomorrow I can be a little bit better mom tomorrow than I was today. I don't know that depression won't sneak up on me again. I don't know that I won't start to cocoon again, but if I do, I pardon myself ahead of time and I will focus on learning what I need to from the darkness as quickly as I can so I can emerge transformed. The next time I have a baby (yep, I'm over that fear!), I plan to have a counseling plan in place before the baby is born. I also plan to be more honest with my pain with those who love me and to ask for help more readily (because I'll probably need it even more with two children!).

So if you found this because you are desperate and because you are worried that you are not a good mom, I hope that you will reach out to someone and learn that the core of you is already a good mom. You deserve the baby in your arms. You don't have to be happy all the time or treasure every moment. Just take care of yourself and forgive yourself. Remember that you need and deserve care every bit as much as your baby does! If you suspect you are struggling with postpartum depression check out websites like this one and this one. If there is a group for new moms to go and talk . . . Go! (My mom's group was like a life raft to me . . . other new moms "get" it!) Don't struggle it out alone because you feel like you deserve to feel awful for being a bad mom (yep, I told myself the same lie and probably had to stay in my cocoon longer because I would not face that for the vicious falsehood it was!). Embrace that transformations are painful and you are going through a particularly challenging one. You don't know what a wonderful woman you are becoming! Give yourself a postpartum pardon and give yourself permission to emerge exactly as you are . . .even if you are not yet mom of the year. (After all, you are going to be a mom for the rest of your life . . .you can always take the honor some future year!)

All my love,

Thanks for reading,

Shawna

How I Got on National Television With A Placenta Preparer

No, really I did.

It was a fluke really. And only because I had had my placenta encapsulated.

Yes, my placenta encapsulated.

(Before you judge, do you really know what you're consuming in that Diet Coke? That hot dog from the corner? Most processed foods that millions of Americans consume daily? )

This was really one of those things that I didn't think was any big deal because I have known so many other women that have done the same and reaped the benefits.

Except in New York, when I talked to my midwife about doing the same thing, she struggled to think of someone who encapsulated placentas. The woman she used to refer new mothers to had moved out of state. My midwife gave me the name of another woman, except she was still learning how to prepare placentas. Then I found myself calling people who were referred to me who might know of someone. I began to feel like I was looking for an abortion in the sixties as each reference was someone who might know of someone who knows of someone who could help. It was also another moment when I realized yet again how much different the East coast is from the West, or at least from the Liberal Recycling Portland of my childhood and the LA of my first home birth.

At the birth of my daughter, my midwife put the placenta in the freezer, for when the placenta preparer came over. Except that 8 weeks later, I was still trying to find someone who did such things in my Brooklyn neighborhood. Just as I was about to give up hope and considered contacting my midwife who did it for me in LA (and asking about the logistics of shipping a frozen placenta across the country - which I admit now that I think about it is a bit much to ask from the postal service). Then the answer was literally delivered to me in my mailbox - in New York magazine (the August 29th issue if you want to check it out) as it featured an article about placenta eaters. Once in the hands of mainstream media, the things I kind of take for granted as normal or "just how we do things because it works for us" do look pretty out there to the mainstream world. But New York magazine's article featured the Brooklyn based placenta preparer Jennifer Mayer. So I googled her so she could prepare my placenta too.

Jennifer Mayer it turns out was getting calls for follow up interviews, but she hadn't gotten any other calls from women who just happened to have a placenta in their freezer, so she was able to come over that week and prepare it for me. As we exchanged emails, she mentioned that she got a call from Anderson Cooper's show who wanted to do an interview with her and maybe ask a couple questions of someone who had such a thing done about why or what had them decide to do such a thing and so on and she asked if I'd be willing to talk to them. I said sure as long as I could bring my baby, not thinking much about it (just as a reminder, this was also the week my husband was out of town and New York City was battering down for a hurricane - so you know, with two kids I was a little distracted). Or that is, I didn't think much about it until in conversations with Jen, and Jesse, of Anderson Cooper's people, it dawned on me that the interview was with Anderson Cooper on national television. At which point I ran down to J. Crew and bought a pencil skirt.

Check out the clip from Anderson Cooper's website:

(The photo is terrible. Note to self: Never laugh on national television again)

Anderson Cooper did his best to keep an open mind. And in talking with Jesse in the pre-interview, I did have to stop and think about it. Because when you stop to think about it, it is, well, something to think about.

My family spent a good chunk of my childhood vegetarian, and even though now I eat meat, I do get squeamish preparing it. So yes, when in my first pregnancy my midwife strongly recommended it, I did get a little squeamish. But I also really trusted my midwife, and she gave me her reasons: it prevented postpartum, helped the body recover from labor, and leveled out the hormones after giving birth.

I had had a bad run of depression in my twenties, and at the time, I had been told I had a 75% chance of developing postpartum depression because of having suffered from depression once before and having it run in my family (disclaimer: I don't know if this stat still holds true). I admit, Prozac saved my life once, but I have no wish to go on it again because of the side effects, and even though they say there are antidepressants that they say breastfeeding women can take, that too makes me squeamish. ( There's been too many times in history when it's been discovered something is dangerous after it's been given to thousands of breastfeeding or pregnant women that it makes me nervous). But the placenta? How could that have side effects?

After the birth of my son, I didn't get postpartum depression. I didn't even get the baby blues kind of weepy. I nursed. I napped. I fell in love with my baby and with my husband all over again. When I received my placenta pills (or my encapsulated placenta) I put them in the freezer thinking maybe I wasted 300 dollars having them made and then I forgot about them.

Until my in-laws visited. My mother-in-law visited first, for a week. She had said she was coming to help and hold the baby. Upon her arrival, I handed her my baby. She held him five seconds, then put him down, clapped her hands andasked, "What's next?" like Jed Bartlet on the West Wing. "What are we doing? Where are we going?"

I picked up my baby, explained how we were raising our baby and that we held him. We didn't put him down and just leave him around the house as if he was a potted plant.

"Well, rules are meant to be broken," she said. "What did you say we were doing?"

The entire week went like this. She'd do the dinner dishes, but the meal planning, shopping, cooking, cleaning, baby care as well as itinerary and entertainment planning once it became clear there needed to be things to see and do? Oy veh. Throw in the advice and criticism that older generations feel entitled to bestow upon the young or that when she got in the car she'd yell, "Pray for your life Fyo! Your mother's driving!" and it wasn't long before I was calling my lactation consultant begging her to please say it was okay for a breastfeeding new mother to have a martini.

Then I remembered the placenta pills in the freezer, and while they didn't replenish my nerves or give me the strength of someone who just lets things roll off her, they did boost my mood and energy and show me the light at the end of the in-law visitation tunnel. And three months later, when I visited the in-laws and my mother-in-law talked about how her daughter was struggling with her children and fatigue and how she needed a break and how my mother-in-law had compassion for her because she remembered what it was like to be a new mom, I can say those placenta pills prevented me from reaching over and strangling her.

I can also say that when I took one daily until I got my strength back the difference was noticeable; one that I could even compare to the feeling of when an anti-depressant kicked in or waking up from a good night's sleep. It was enough of a difference to make a believer out of me and to know I wanted them for after the birth of my second child.

My in-laws haven't visited since the birth of my daughter. We all now know better and needless to say, when anyone says they're coming to visit I have them clarify what they mean by the word "help."

(My in-laws have also improved immensely. They no longer offer criticism or advice and they compliment my cooking - they might even respect my parenting.) But I am thankful I have the placenta pills anyway. I have an energetic toddler who still requires a lot of my attention. Life still happens. I'm still recovering. This time around I have felt some of the weepiness and moodiness that women report feeling after they give birth. Even the days I feel great, I still know that it's a good number of months that my energy will ebb and flow and that I'll still feel sensitive or vulnerable.

And sure, the research on placenta encapsulation is still only anecdotal, but of the twenty or so women I know who have ingested their own placenta, I have yet to hear of any negative effects. It's also used in traditional Chinese medicine (which I also find squeamish if only because of the smell of the herbs, but it is rather effective). The cost is also reasonable (especially compared to the cost of most pharmaceutical drugs). Jennifer Mayer charged me $250 for the entire process that yielded 120 capsules (some placentas can yield up to 200). Jen is also a doula and does in-home massage. She in herself is a New Mom resource. She's also one of those people who is easily approachable, even though she possesses a daunting amount of knowledge.

Women get a lot of information about the ups and downs of pregnancy, but after the birth of my son, I felt blind sighted by the ups and downs of recovery from labor and birth. Some studies show it can take some women up to a year before they feel fully themselves after giving birth (take note; ration those pills!) and I didn't remember anyone telling me what it would be like, or how I should take care of myself emotionally. Sure, I had a heads up about the first six weeks. But I had no idea that two months later I'd have the potential to sob to my husband about why didn't his mother want to hold my baby longer than five seconds. So while Anderson Cooper was clearly squeamish about ingesting placentas (though he could get that when it's in a capsule, you can pretend it's like any other supplement), but he tried to stay open minded and if anything, I applaud his approaching the topic on his show and giving Jen and I the chance to say that as a new mom, you need all the help you can get.

Finally, a picture of Anderson with my baby girl:

Review: Circle + Bloom's Happy Mind and Healthy Body

I'm writing the final in the trilogy of our reviews of our sponsor, Circle + Bloom's, programs. Like Kayce and Mandi before me, I was excited by the opportunity to try out the meditation program. However, this was not my first experience with meditation programs. When I was pregnant with my son, I took hypnobirthing classes. I knew from that personal experience the potential for longevity the ideas of meditation programs have. (I STILL find the affirmations about birth and motherhood I heard during those sessions bubbling up in my head from time to time!) So, I was eager to experience what circle + bloom had to offer with their Happy Mind and Healthy Body program and I was not disappointed.

I have briefly mentioned that I do have depression. The truth is that I have been struggling with it a lot since my move. The rough part of depression is that it often becomes harder to fight in times of transition . . .no matter how happy the transition. So, I struggled with it when I finished college, I struggled with it when we got married, I struggled with it after my son is born, and now that we have moved cross country, I've been struggling with it again. It feels like you are treading a powerful current that keeps trying to suck you down. One morning, I found myself crying five times before lunch and it can be difficult to explain to others exactly what is wrong when it literally is all in your head! It can be especially difficult when cognitively, you know that your life is good, but emotionally, you still feel depressed. This has been my life for the last month or so since we moved, although many people I know will be surprised to read this as I have kept my struggle fairly private. So, when offered a chance to review a product that gave a chance at a "Happy mind." I thought, "Yes!"

Happy Mind and Healthy body is a called a "21 day program," but with four "weeks" of sessions and a bonus session, it could be used for a much longer period if you wanted to (and I intend to). Like the programs Kayce and Mandi reviewed, this one tackles a different aspect of health every week and you listen to the same session everyday for a few days or a week period.

Honestly, my favorite sessions were the first and the last of the regular sessions. These were the sessions that dealt directly with the "Happy Mind" portion of the program. The sessions in the middle were focused on the healthy body and involved very, very deep physical relaxation exercises that were difficult for me to completely participate in given that my son (much like his fetal self during my hypnobirthing sessions who used to kick me incessantly and do flips) seemed to have a sixth sense for when I would be attempting to do the program with my headphones and would nearly always wake up/cry/ask to nurse at some point during the session no matter how asleep he should have been during nap or after bedtime.

The first session was an overview that emphasized the power of the mind over the body and what one can accomplish when one engages oneself fully. It also laid the basis for how to adapt the program to whatever health goals you want it to accomplish. The last week was entitled "Positive Thinking/Mindfulness" and I found that after just two days of listening to the program, I felt less like crying and more in charge of my emotions again. It was a little like being able to come home to myself once more instead of constantly fighting with the crazy person who sometimes tries to take charge of my body. I've tried journaling for my depression, going to counseling for my depression, listening to uplifting music for my depression, and changing my diet for my depression, but this is the first time that it's only taken two days for something to make me feel better. It was awesome. I can't say it would work this way for everyone, but it certainly did for me and since I finished that week, I've found I have more energy and am struggling significantly less with my depression!

The mp3 program can be downloaded from their website here and only costs $24.00 with a 100% money-back guarantee. Isn't it worth a try?