The latest Momversation is about breastfeeding and since we can’t all seem to get enough of this subject lets talk. I support breastfeeding and I think it is wonderful and I was a complete failure at it.

As any new mother I was anxious about labor, childbirth, being a mother, meeting my baby and all the other stuff that goes with new motherhood. Lucy was born five weeks early. Not early enough to be truly worried but early enough that when she was born she couldn’t breathe. Her rib cage strained up and down and at times I was amazed her ribs could withstand the pressure. Everybody reassured me not to worry and that this is common. As a new mother I didn’t know any better so I didn’t worry. It is only now when I look back at pictures of her connected to an IV, a breathing tube and monitors that I realize how not-normal it really was.

I couldn’t hold Lucy right away or even try to feed her. She needed oxygen and she needed to have her breathing stabilized. It would be several hours before I even saw her again and even longer before I could try to feed her. I held her small body in my arms, assumed the position and she latched right on. It was amazing. And then the burning, sharp, piercing pain followed. I couldn’t breathe. I instantly pulled her away. Surely it is not supposed to hurt this bad. The La Leche League was quickly dispatched. At one point I had my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, my sister-in-law’s mother, two La Leche League ambassadors, my husband, myself and Lucy all in the room at the same time. Oh, and I was naked from the waist up. My nipples bleeding and tears streaming down my face. I cried every time Lucy had to eat. I desperately wanted this to work. The La Leche League couldn’t help me. They didn’t know why it hurt so bad. Lucy latched perfectly but I was most definitely in severe pain and there was no denying that I was bleeding after only 24 hours of breastfeeding. We tried different positions. We tried meditating before nursing. We tried Vicodin. We tried pumping (which hurt equally as bad). I went home confused and Lucy was losing precious weight. She was at about 5lbs when we brought her home and was given the instructions that she could not drop below.

For 48 hours I dreaded feeding her. Every time she cried for food I cried. The sense of helplessness, mixed with the anxiety of being a new mother and sheer exhaustion pushed me to my brink of emotional ruin. I was falling apart and David could no longer bear seeing it. If I gave up I was admitting failure. I had failed her. I had failed myself. I couldn’t give up but I couldn’t continue. The normally, in control, decisive, get it done woman that David had married had dissolved into a crying, emotional shell of a person incapable of a coherent thought. David held me in his arms and said, “I support you regardless of your decision, but you need to do something because this isn’t good for anybody”. I was miserable. Lucy was miserable. I decided to bottle feed. David ran out and bought formula that night. Lucy and I quietly nestled into our recliner and I fed her.

The next morning I woke up scratching. My skin felt like it was on fire and itching all at the same time. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. What I saw was horrifying. I was covered in a bright red rash from my neck to my waist. It covered everything including my arms. Overnight I had developed Mastitis. Truly, a sign from God.

I say all this because for a long time I accepted every guilty glare and every snide remark that was ever tossed my way. I accepted the shame, the guilt, the failure of not breastfeeding. But now that I have perspective – well, it was the right decision for our family. David loved having the opportunity to feed the kids on Saturday mornings and have his own special bonding time. I instantly became a much more relaxed mother. Our family regained its equilibrium.

I support breastfeeding and I support mother’s who want to breastfeed in public. I just ask that for the rest of us – those who tried and failed – compassion, grace, and kindness.

Sometime around February when the Dallas winter is starting to wane and you can begin to see spring around the corner I forget that I miss the snow. I never imagined I would be the kind of person who likes living in a “sun” state. As a matter of fact I wrote in my senior year of high school that in ten years I would be living on the East coast. Hmm, yeah, didn’t quite work out that way. As all you cold state people begin to bemoan the long winter season, I wanted to provide you with a list of why you should appreciate living in a cold state.

Top Five Reasons For Living With Snow

1.) It’s beautiful. No two snowfalls are alike. Some snow floats down as if it was a holiday postcard from heaven. Other snow streams out of the sky like a torrent of ice bullets singular in purpose and destruction. Some snow coats and blankets and other snow whips and burns. Each is beautiful in its individuality and glory of nature.

2.) It’s quiet. You can’t describe the peace and stillness snow can bring. It muffles, insulates and dampens every ambient noise for miles. After a large snowfall you can walk outside and hear your heartbeat. There have been nights where I’ve stood in my parent’s backyard when the air was so quiet and still you could hear God breathe if you listened.

3.) It’s festive. The reason why I miss snow the most from October-February is because it just doesn’t seem right for the weather to still be warm. Lucy’s first Halloween it was 96 degrees in Texas. There is NOTHING festive about a 96 degree Halloween. I’ve hosted Thanksgiving dinners where we had to have the air conditioner running because it was 80+ degrees outside. Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas are supposed to be cold and preferably white.

4.) The clothes. Okay, for those of you living in cold states you are going to laugh at this, but just stay with me. It is fun to buy matching gloves and scarves. It is always exciting to break out your old box of sweaters and usher in your winter wardrobe. It is as if you bought new clothes, but you really didn’t. Long pea coats, cute boots, leather gloves, big sweaters, cute hats, ear muffs, flannel PJ’s, flannel sheets — the list of things I no longer own or wear is huge. I used to own turtlenecks in every color of the rainbow – now I own 2. That is right I own 2 turtlenecks.

5.) The kids. My biggest sadness about living in a warm state is all the winter things my kids won’t ever experience. The glory of sledding all day on a Saturday. Sledding until you have soaked through a pair of jeans and two pairs of long underwear and your chest stings a little bit as you breathe that cold, heavy air as you climb back up the hill. The rush of warmth as you stand in the doorway to your house and strip all your wet clothes off – right there in the hallway – and your mother hands you a mug of hot cocoa. Ice skating with friends on their backyard pond. Spontaneous snowball fights on the school playground that border on torture. Going to bed one night knowing that it is fall and waking up the next morning to 6 inches of snow and the knowledge that winter has started.

It was 56 degrees today and sunny. Tomorrow it will be 68 degrees and sunny. We didn’t get one snowfall this year in Dallas and I can feel Spring knocking on our back door. We might get one more really cold snap, but I suspect our winter is over. Cheer up my northern friends, you still have a reason to buy new winter clothes now that they are on sale.

I’ve sworn dozens of times that I will NEVER return and yet once again I found myself pulling into a Wal-Mart store. I rarely shop at Wal-Mart. The reason why I don’t is simple; every experience I’ve had has been awful. The stores are usually dirty, poorly stocked and the service horrendous. Today I thought it would be different. I went to one of those new “neighborhood market” Wal-Mart stores, which means it is ONLY groceries.

It has been rather cold and windy here in Dallas – about 30 degrees. This is so unusual that my kids really don’t have the clothes to be out in this kind of weather. I had them in multiple layers but even then I was anxious to get all of us indoors. I pulled on the row of carts parked outside and the cart was jammed. I pulled again, nothing. I tried the next row – also jammed. I tried the last row and although the cart did come lose the child seat was broken and so neither of my kids could sit in the cart. Classic Wal-Mart. However, I pushed my prejudice aside and entered the store.

The store was beautiful and I toyed with the idea that perhaps I might start shopping here for my smaller grocery runs. I then went to check-out. It is Saturday. It is a very busy shopping day. They have only three check-out lanes open, all of which have at least three people standing in line and one of the lanes is closing. The clerk loudly announces that his lane is closed as more and more people with full shopping carts pile into line. There is no sign of anybody opening another lane. This makes me angry.

Wal-Mart isn’t cheap prices with good service — Oh no, no, no. They are cheap prices because their service sucks. Because unlike Target (which has a “no more than 2 carts in line” policy) Wal-Mart would rather have their shoppers wait in line with their frozen foods melting than, God forbid, open another check out lane. I find this (in conjunction with their sweat-shop policy) a little bit too much for me to swallow. This isn’t a one-time occurence for me, oh no, EVERY time I visit Wal-Mart something like this happens. I have to wait forever to check out, or the clerk can’t help me, or the people are rude or the store is dirty. They are ALWAYS dirty. I fully expect to see trash can fires burning in the parking lot and homeless people huddled in masses. You add this to the mix of crazy people that seem to flock to Wal-Mart and it is an unpleasant experience from start to finish.

Now I know some of you are going to write me and say “oh my, I couldn’t live without my Wal-Mart”. Really? Where are these magical Wal-Mart’s that have good service, short lines and clean stores? Because I have yet to find one. Apparently they exist or maybe my standards and expectations are too high. Regardless, I’m heading off to my local Super Target. At least there I know my frozen foods won’t melt.

My name is Beth and I am married to a cerealaholic. David has been addicted to cereal for at least ten years. I suppose I should have paid more attention to the signs that were so evident early in our relationship; the late night bowls of cereal, the mysteriously empty cereal boxes. When we started our marriage it all seemed so innocent. He requested that I keep his favorite cereal in the house; Frosted Mini-Wheats, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Trix, Raisin Nut Bran, et al. It seemed normal. Than I began to notice the little things. He would have cereal for breakfast sure, but then there was the afternoon snack, the bowl after dinner and then more than one bowl at a time. Suddenly I couldn’t seem to keep cereal in the house. As soon as I bought it, it was gone. I’d take the boxes out of the cupboard and they would be empty. After years of watching his addiction begin to consume his diet – I knew action needed to be taken. I stopped buying cereal. I didn’t even talk to David about my decision, I just stopped. Of course he was angry at first, but soon he realized I was resolved. There would be no cereal in our house ever again.

When did cereal become such a staple in our diet? My parents aren’t big cereal eaters. David’s parents aren’t big cereal eaters. And yet, almost every person in my generation knows somebody who suffers from this addiction. Cereal has become the universal meal; Cheerio’s for breakfast, Trix for lunch, and Wheatie’s for dinner. Our lives are landmarked by breakfast cereal. Even now, every baby has a tub with Cheerios and as we progress into adulthood we shed the cereals of our youth and embrace our “adult” brands; Fiber One, Raisin Bran, Grape Nuts. And yet, it is all cereal. Our generation is the cereal generation. We love it, we need it, it is as essential to our diet as water, milk or bread. Heck, we have dedicated an entire aisle in the grocery store to breakfast cereal. What is the fascination and desire for this most simple of foods? What is YOUR cereal addiction?

Dear Max:

I was 18 weeks pregnant with you when the phone rang at 5:00 AM. I knew instantly who was on the phone and why they were calling. Your great grandfather, Earl Callaway, had died in the middle of the night. We all knew it was going to happen soon and yet it didn’t make hearing the news any easier. I hazily walked through my morning, wiped away my tears and went to work.

Around 2:00 in the afternoon I felt sharp, shooting pains rip through my lower abdomen. I knew it wasn’t labor pains, but I also knew something didn’t feel right. I went to the emergency room. The attending doctor rushed me into ultra-sound. As the technician began taking pictures I whispered, “I know you aren’t supposed to do this, but if you could tell me what the sex of my baby is I would be so grateful”. She was a petite, surly little thing and she curtly said “I’m not an OB-tech, only your doctor can tell you.” I sat quietly for a moment and than pleaded again “Pleease, I know we’re far enough along and my doctor’s appointment isn’t for another two weeks”. She was silent. I laid there still as she snapped photos of my kidneys, colon, lungs, etc. She silently finished and stood up. As she wiped away the cold ultra-sound jelly from my stomach she said; “I’m not an Ob-tech but it looks like a boy to me”, she turned and walked out of the room.

When the doctor returned he explained that I was carrying you very low and towards my back. As a result, you had done some rearranging of my organs including moving my kidneys under my lungs and squishing my colon. My colon, in an act of defiance began to spasm. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. It wasn’t dangerous and I was to go home and rest.

I’ve never forgotten that day. To have so much grief be met with so much joy. The miracle of knowing that Grandpa Callaway left this world in order to make room for you. He would have adored you. He would have loved your little Callaway laugh, and how you can be stubborn as a mule. The fact that at 3 years old you have an opinion and are not afraid to share it. That you have an enthusiasm for all things that is hard to match. He would have melted at how you wear your heart on your sleeve and that your hair is never brushed, your face never clean and your clothes rarely match. Grandpa Callaway knew that day, of all days, it was his time to go because it was your time to arrive.

I love you sweet boy. Happy Birthday.

Being “tagged” in the blog world is a little bit like receiving a chain letter. However, they seem a bit less tacky. I don’t remember who tagged me – and if you are the person who tagged me, then please let me know and I’ll put your link here. These are seven strange things about me.

1.) I’m incapable of rhyming. I realize that as a person with an official college degree in creative writing rhymes should just roll off my tongue, alas, they do not. As a matter of fact when put on the spot to make a rhyme the best I can do is a “slant rhyme” and in the world of rap those don’t really count. It’s really sad. I’ll never be signed to Def Jam records.

2.) I don’t drink coffee. I wish I could say it is because of some sort of macro-biotic diet or cleansing process but it isn’t. I don’t like it. Even the mocha caramel frappuccionos at Starbucks I don’t like. No matter how much the coffee is diluted with whipped cream and chocolate I still can taste the bitterness. I don’t like to clean coffee mugs, I don’t like to clean coffee grinds, even the smell of coffee in the morning is distasteful to me. I’m a weirdo – I know.

3.) I’ve never had long hair. The longest I’ve ever had my hair is shoulder-length and that even includes when I was a little girl. I get inspired to grow my hair out but by the time it reaches my shoulders I’m so annoyed by it I cut it all off again.

4.) I fell in love with David in less than 20 minutes. People don’t believe me when I tell this story, but David and I met at work and after a brief conversation I walked back to my desk, called my best friend and told her I met the man I was going to marry. Seriously, it happened that fast.

5.) I have naturally long fingernails. One of my more admired qualities is my ability to grow long, strong fingernails without doing a single thing to deserve them. I use my nails to scrape food off plates, open envelopes, break open taped boxes, etc I don’t moisturize them, pamper them or do anything to encourage length and/or strength. It is genetic – when formal occasions call all I have to do is even them up, slap on a coat of polish and it looks like I was just at the salon. Be jealous – I’m cool with it.

6.) I can’t spend money on myself. I don’t think twice about dropping a hundred dollars on groceries, or clothes for the kids or even a present for David. However, I will wear jeans that have holes in them before I decide that I might need new clothes. I won’t even consider spending $60 on a pair of sunglasses or shoes or a purse or even two pairs of jeans. If I do finally spend more than $50 on anything for myself I feel tremendous guilt and a need to confess to David (who could care less and doesn’t understand my hang up).

7.) I have a great sense of direction. I’m rather proud of this little idiosyncrasy of mine. I’m one of the few females I know that knows where North is at any given point. I’ve never been worried about getting in the car and driving some place new because I can almost always find my way back to someplace familiar. Although David might hesitate to admit this, I know he secretly relies on this quality when we’re house-hunting or noodling around town.

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I’m being featured as a guest-blogger today on Scribbit. A little travel article I wrote about fun things to do in Dallas. Check it out. If you aren’t already reading Michelle and the shenanigans she’s up to in Alaska than I encourage you to make her a regular read.

I’ve been thinking a lot about food lately. It is the new year and we are all full of resolutions for getting healthy, losing weight, blah, blah, blah. I’ve always been a small eater and have never really needed to watch my weight. I’m not naturally skinny, but at 38 and with 2 kids under my belt I’m only 15lbs away from my target size. I guess that doesn’t seem all that bad. David, however, has always struggled with his weight. And now, that we have kids it presses on his mind. He worries that they will follow in his footsteps and seeing how he struggles, I suppose it worries me too.

Lucy is also a small eater. She has never eaten a lot, even as an infant. She nibbles and pokes and is picky. She is not adventurous with her eating habits, but then again, she is a girl who likes routine. Lucy would eat, and sometimes does eat, the same thing every day. I refuse to make my dinner table a battleground and so there are nights when she may only eat strawberries or toast. The pediatricians tell me not to worry, and that she is getting all the nutrition she needs. How do you teach a 5 year old good eating habits when she doesn’t eat? How do you fight against your maternal extinct to want to see food go down their throats and making sure they eat their vegetables? Is it better that she eat a piece of toast, some strawberries and a popsicle then nothing? Is she better off eating a waffle for breakfast than just drinking a glass of milk? Should I give her the chicken nuggets for lunch or let her ignore the turkey sandwich I made?

There are so many challenges in parenthood and you don’t really know if you’ve navigated them successfully until your kids are adults. How will I know if I’m doing the right thing? How as a mother do you balance the dietary expectations of society, and the dietary desires of your child? Am I over-thinking a really simple problem? Am I the only mother who feels like so much of her time is dedicated to what is being eaten and not eaten? I’ve read the books, and the articles, and the experts and the blah, blah, blah. If there is one issue that there is no shortage of expert opinions it is the eating habits of children. And I’m sick of expert opinions. Does anybody’s child fall neatly into the descriptions outlined by experts?

Personally, this is one of the most challenging problems of parenthood. Between the images presented in the media, the articles and pressure of societal expectations, genetic dispositions, family traditions and my own hang-ups its a miracle the whole family hasn’t either become binge eaters or closet anorexics. Asking me about the eating habits of my kids will almost certainly send me off either in tears or hyperventilating. Does anybody else feel so completely conflicted and challenged by this issue? And please, for all that is good and holy in this world do NOT send me another article about childhood obesity rates.

I’m sure my conservative family will have a major “eye-rolling” festival after watching this video, but it did get me thinking. There are only a couple of charities or service venues that I feel passionately about and the most important one is literacy. As a person who loves words, books and language I want everybody to read. With reading comes thought and with thought comes power. When you teach somebody to read, you teach them to dream. Every year I tell myself that I will volunteer for a literacy program, but this year I’m going to make it happen.

I pledge to teach others to read.
I pledge to introduce myself to my neighbors (whom I’ve lived next to for 8 years)
I pledge to use less water while living in a state dogged by drought

Watch this video, and then tell me what you pledge.

** Yes, I hate it when celebrities try to tell me to be charitable when they have hoards of money and it seems hypocritical. And yes, who cares what these people think anyways. And yes, it is Barack Obama propaganda. Yes, I understand all of those things. Please don’t feel compelled to point that out to me. But, I’m also mature enough to look beyond all that and say “you know what, they are right. We can all do more and should do more”. I’m sure regardless of political affiliation we can all agree on that, and if we can’t then we’re in more serious trouble than we all realize.**