The Motherwear Breastfeeding Blog

Story week post #5: "You'll never be able to nurse."

Today I'm very pleased to share a story from one of my favorite bloggers, Elita, who writes the blog Blacktating.  This story originally appeared on the blog My Brown Baby. 

When my son was born, I was told he needed formula because he had low blood sugar and jaundice, and for five hours, he was stuffed with the artificial milk, despite my pleas that he be brought to me so that I could nurse him.

I was the one with the good stuff—colostrum, that early sugar milk brimming with antibodies. But I was scared for the welfare of my son, and too exhausted to fight the power. And by the time my baby finally was brought to me, my nurse, a sistah, was, let’s say, less than encouraging. She took one look at my breasts and declared, “You have terrible nipples—you’ll never be able to nurse!” Then she roughly shoved my boob into my baby’s mouth.

That was the beginning of my breastfeeding journey.

On my way out the hospital door, a nurse practically forced a diaper bag full of formula on me, insisting that my son would need it if he got hungry—as if my always available, always sterile, always-full-of-just-enough milk breasts just wouldn’t do. My discharge papers revealed that my son had been supplemented with formula every time he left my sight!

Lucky for us, this early introduction of artificial nipples and formula didn’t ruin our breastfeeding relationship; my son has been breastfeeding for 16 months now, with no signs of letting up. But there are plenty of moms and babies who aren’t as fortunate. Although African American moms' breastfeeding initiation rate is currently at an all-time high (about 60% of black moms are nursing when they leave the hospital), only a paltry 30% are still nursing at six months and only about 12% at one year. Our society has set moms up for failure, often starting from day one. If the nurses aren’t shoving a bottle full of formula down your baby’s throat, we’re often forced to run a gauntlet of well-meaning friends and family who don't know much about nursing and offer bad—and often discouraging—advice.

And don’t get me started on nursing in public! It's as if people expect a breastfeeding mother to never leave the house! Women are so scared of other people's reactions that they hide in bathrooms or their cars or give the baby a bottle to avoid breastfeeding in a public place. You have the legal right to breastfeed your baby in public but sometimes you wouldn't know it! I have nursed my son everywhere: Target, restaurants, my in-laws’ home, the mall. I will whip out a boob to feed my child whenever and wherever necessary. Some people won’t like it and you may get looks or worse. I was asked to cover up in a hotel lobby by a teacher chaperoning a high school field trip. I pretty much had to tell her where to go and how to get there!

I say all of this not to discourage you from nursing, but to encourage you to work through the obstacles because it is so worth it. Breastmilk is a living, changing organism designed expressly for your baby. The bond you create with your child when you nurse him is unmatched. There are a million reasons to breastfeed, and for black babies especially, breast milk saves lives. Did you know that 8,000 black babies die before their first birthday in this country—triple the rate of white babies? Did you know that diseases and ailments that plague the black community, like breast cancer, ovarian cancer, diabetes, and obesity, are prevented or lessened if you breastfeed and were breastfed?

I know that it is more difficult for black women to breastfeed. Often we don’t have the jobs with the flexibility needed to continue breastfeeding. Our partners aren’t supportive. Our families think of breastfeeding as something weird that only white women do. Our bodies have been so hypersexualized in music and the media that we think our breasts can only serve one purpose. It's a disgrace that if you want to breastfeed it takes a mix of good luck and tenacity. If we, as a nation, a world, a community, want women to breastfeed, want our babies to be healthier, then we have to truly start supporting them. That means fewer unnecessary medical interventions during childbirth, longer and paid parental leave, on-site daycare, laws requiring employers to give women breaks for pumping/nursing, and normalization and acceptance of breastfeeding in public. 

Then, and only then, will we see women doing what the American Academy of Pediatrics and World Health Organization recommend: exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months, and nursing until age 1 and beyond.

So if you are pregnant, take the time to learn as much as you can about breastfeeding. Read Kathi Barber’s The Black Woman’s Guide to Breastfeeding. Create a birth plan before you go to the hospital, spelling out your wishes for both labor AND breastfeeding. Talk to your friends who have nursed and ask for advice. Call the African-American Breastfeeding Alliance or your hospital’s lactation “warm line” at the first sign of difficulty. Bookmark Kellymom.com.

And of course, you can always contact me. I think I’ve become a bit of a pro! Breastfeeding is seriously one of the most amazing things I've ever done in my entire life. Snuggling my son close while he stares at me with those big brown eyes?

There is nothing better.

Tanya's note:  For more on African American moms and breastfeeding, check out this podcast.

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Story week post #4: "Sometimes, you just have to show up."

Here's another story from our recent Baby Friendly event, which I think nicely illustrates the impact birth can have on breastfeeding.  Names and other identifying details have been omitted.

Ah, dreams and expectations! I suppose if our fantasy lives came true with any regularity, we would be insufferably arrogant. Giving birth and learning how to feed my baby were simultaneously the most humbling experiences of my life, and the ones that in the end, made me feel most powerful. Is there anything more remarkable than building a baby from scratch?

I went into labor at 7 a.m. on Friday morning, labored all day and into the night, with many stumbling blocks; and finally, with the help of beautifully intelligent hands (and sadly, forceps) delivered my girl at almost 3 o’clock the next morning.

She arrived angry. What I expected to be a beautiful moment of recognition between us, was in fact, protracted and inconsolable angry screaming. We were both battered from the trip. Her head was ridiculously long from the length of time she was stuck in the birth canal, and had 2 or 3 three big abrasions where the forceps had gripped her. I thought, “Yeah, I would be pissed too!” So instead of my smarmy Hollywood movie, I got the bucketful of knowledge that sometimes, you just have to show up. So I showed up. And held her, and offered my breast, which she summarily rejected. Or, it was not so much that she perceived it and turned away, but that she was still in such a state of chaos, that she couldn’t even take it in.

A little while later, after she had calmed down, and all the weights and measurements and other product specifications had been checked and crosschecked, they brought her back over to the bed, where we gave it another try. This time she latched beautifully, but immediately yanked her head back and started screaming. At the time, I was in a daze of hormones, pain (no pain medication), and I think, a little bit of shock, and I didn’t really understand why she pulled off. In retrospect of course, it seems obvious that she had some injury to her jaw from the forceps, and it just hurt to open her mouth that wide.

We tried and tried again; but each time she would pull off before she could really get a good gulp. Much of the following day was spent sleeping and trying to nurse. A lactation specialist came to see us. She was totally lovely and encouraging, and tried every trick in her bag. I learned some things that came in handy later, but none of them addressed the issue at hand. It seems so odd now, but I don’t think it occurred to any of us that my baby’s jaw might hurt.

The next day, her demeanor was so quiet, and her breath so shallow, it felt as though she was pulling away from the planet. It was clear she was not getting enough to eat; but I really REALLY didn’t want to feed her formula. We discovered she was very happy to suck a pinky, so I started pumping. We began giving her my colostrum from a little syringe attached to a long skinny flexible tube, taped to my or my partner’s pinky. She began to have a little more energy, but then her fontanel began to swell. There followed several days filled with terrifying medical prognostications and tests tests tests.

In the end, the lesson of Just Showing Up got driven home. Each step of the process I learned more and more not to take any of it personally, and to attend to our most basic needs as they arose each moment; and to make serious medical decisions from that same quiet place. I was in physical agony from the birth, but was interiorly as serene as I’ve ever been, before or since.

By the fifth day, with the help of a friend who is an osteopath, a craniosacral session (recommended by one of the nurses), and I think, just Time, the swelling had begun to lessen. And against the better judgment of the pediatrician handling her case, we were finally allowed to go home. After that, it took two and a half weeks of pumping, finger feeding, and trying trying trying to nurse, to really get her established at my breast. Two and a half weeks! It seemed like an eternity. But we did it. And what a small price to pay for feeling like the most powerful woman on earth.

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Story week post #3: "My whole heart is in that incubator."

Continuing with our Story Week theme, I'm pleased to share Diane's story of her son's start in a NICU, and how breastmilk made all the difference.  To the right is a picture of the first time Diane was able to hold her son.

Almost 5 years ago, I gave birth to a premature baby boy. He was 3 months early, less than 3 lbs, and born at B.C.’s Children’s Hospital.

I said one day I would write about it, about what it was like: this coming apart, this birthing. So, 5 years later, here it is.

I was 37 years old. I thought I knew what love was. I thought I knew. But I have never loved anyone, anything, so fiercely, so terribly, so wonderfully, so achingly, as I did my little son, my only child, struggling in that incubator.

The day I remember most was about a week or two into it when his breathing kept slowing down, all day long. I watched him, all day, hooked up to IV lines, tube feeds, alone in his incubator, his monitor beeping on and off, his heart rate and breathing dropping precariously low.

Then I remember being huddled in the back seat of my car in the middle of a hot Vancouver day, sobbing on a long distance call to my mother: "My whole heart is in that incubator. Mum! My whole heart!" Surprised at my own intensity, wondering if she, or anyone, could understand what I felt, how much I loved that little child. But also somehow desperate that she understand how completely I needed him to breathe better, to live. How utterly alone I feel when I sit beside him and I can't pick him up, like I'm not actually watching this happen to my baby, but rather something in my own soul - my entire heart is torn open and taken from me. And there's nothing I can do to get it back. I'm alone in a desert that stretches out for miles ahead of me, behind me, around me, above me; there is no return, no options.

What I wanted my mother to understand is that when I said my whole heart, I actually meant it. That, at that moment, I understood love could never be fractured out or parceled here and there, doled out when I felt able, or familiar, or loved back, but was something indivisible, complete, piercing.

So I joined the other too-soon mothers in the special care nursery, us incubator-watchers. I would watch, hover, hang on every word from the doctors, every nurse's chart notation, IV change, tube feed. Everything. I, the big picture "don't bore me with the details" person became vigilant - nothing was too small to escape my attention. Because I couldn't do anything else. He was too fragile to hold much, too tiny to feed. I couldn't hold him, soothe him, nurse him. I could only watch him, monitor his machines with full aching breasts dripping milk, holding nothing.

There we were, hovering around like bees in a hive. Together in this clinical place, but also alone. Alone in our own worlds, our singular obsession with the child that it is ours in name and spirit, but who is caught in a sort of limbo world of high tech machines and medical care. Watching our babies whose bodies were held in this web that we weren't part of but somehow got trapped in.

I don't usually talk about this, partly because I have a hard time thinking about it still, and partly because it seemed like telling the story without telling the inner story would be dishonest, incomplete. Like how I kept dreaming of water, of being swept away in a flood and desperately holding on to my baby amid the raging floodwater - clinging to a rock or a tree or something on the side of river, desperately afraid, me and my baby, how there is no rescuer coming. I can only wait it out, hold on to him, alone, wet, scared. How I still have these dreams, dreams of water sweeping me away. Not having ground to stand on.

This is how I felt. I loved and still love that boy with all I have. Because I couldn't hold him much, and felt terrible guilt for not being able to 'hold him in' for the entire 9 months he deserved, I was determined to breastfeed. I pumped every 3 hours for weeks on end. That pump and the milk that came out of me was my lifeline. It was somehow the way I was going to make it up to him for giving him such a lousy start in this world. So when I read stuff like "The Case against Breastfeeding" I get so angry. I believe that my breastmilk, and the good care we got at BC Children's saved my child's life. It saved my life. If there is anything in this crazy, crazy world that is really is a gift from God it is the babies we can create and the milk that comes from our bodies.

If anything is pure and natural, and real and true, it's breastmilk. It made me feel like a mother when my baby was all alone inside a machine when he should have been inside me.

Anyone who dismisses breastfeeding so casually, or by their attitude or indifference creates an environment that doesn't hold up and encourage and cheerlead a new mom into a successful breastfeeding relationship has lost touch with something. They've lost touch with a sense of what it means to be a mother, what feeding a baby is all about, what it means to nurture, how significant that breastfeeding can be to both mother and child.

So how does the story end? Well, something amazing happens. He begins to grow. He puts his little mouth right on my nipple (then falls asleep, he is still too young to suck). Then they move him from intensive care to special care, from the specialty neonatal ward at BC Children's to the nursery at at a local hospital closer to home. One day, he is out of the incubator and in a little basinette. Except for the monitor wires and feeding tubes (which I barely notice anymore), he looks like a regular baby. And then one day there is no tube! He is feeding well, growing, healthy.

And then, one happy happy summer day my sweet husband and I pick up our son, put him in a car seat, and like regular parents, take him home.

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Story week post #2: "One of the most rewarding experiences of my life."

Continuing with our story theme for the week, here's another story collected as part of a community event to advocate for our local hospitals to become Baby Friendly.  Again, names of people and hospitals have been omitted.

In contrast to yesterday's story, I think it shows how skilled and sensitive support can make a huge difference in our breastfeeding experiences, and our lives.

There was a lot riding on my ability to breastfeed my son, more than even I realized at the time. I’d had a hard time getting pregnant, it had ended up being a lengthy and stressful experience, which involved a lot of medical intervention. Once I was pregnant I had hoped that from that point on I could do things on my terms.

I went to two different childbirth classes, preparing for the natural birth that I so wanted, and then I discovered that my son was breech. After several unsuccessful attempts to rotate him into a better position it became clear that I would have to have a c-section. I cried when I found out and I spent the last few weeks of my pregnancy feeling anxious and sad about the way my son would enter the world. One of the things I worried about most was whether he would learn to breastfeed, I’d heard that it can be harder for babies born by c-section. I was determined to do everything in my power to make sure that I would be able to breastfeed my son.

I remember speaking with a midwife and a nurse at the hospital where I would deliver about my concerns. I requested that I be allowed to give my baby an opportunity to nurse as soon as possible after he was born. It seemed that my concerns were taken seriously, and a birth plan was written up in which breastfeeding was highlighted as an important goal. I felt somewhat in control of what had, up until that point, been a pretty powerless experience for me. On the morning that my son came screaming into this world, he was nursing within the first hour of his life.

I remember holding him for the first time and having our nurse clear the room for me so that my partner and I would have some time to focus on giving him a chance to latch on. She was careful not to raise my expectations too high, warning that babies often do little but mouth the nipple the first time they are offered the breast, but my son latched on right from the start. Watching him learn how to find comfort and sustenance from me was one of the most beautiful and empowering experiences of my life.

Over the next few days there was a great deal of nursing support. I admit that I found the nursing charts we were supposed to fill out a little overwhelming, but the actual assistance from the nursing staff was phenomenal. They seemed to have wonderful instincts about when to stand back and allow me to work through issues on my own and when to step in and help. It took a couple of days for my full milk supply to come in, but they never undermined my hope that it would. Even more importantly they respected my wish that my son not be bottle fed formula or given pacifiers. We were given the space and support we needed to establish a healthy nursing relationship before we even left the hospital.

Two days after I brought my son home we returned to the hospital for a breastfeeding support group, where a wise and skilled nurse answered all of my nursing questions and several other questions related to parenting a brand new baby as well. I found such comfort in her knowledge and in being in the company of so many other new moms that I returned weekly for several months. Two of the woman I met there have become two of my closest friends to this day. Our babies have known one another since birth. I believe that the breastfeeding support group was instrumental in making those first few months feel less overwhelming and more enjoyable.

In my opinion breastfeeding makes both the bonding and the practicality of motherhood much, much easier, which is ironic because the nursing itself isn’t always easy. My son and I have enjoyed a long and healthy breastfeeding relationship. It has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life and I have a lot of gratitude to the people who helped us in those early days. Some of the professionals at the hospital seemed to be able to sense that even outside of all the wonderful health benefits and various other baby-related reasons to breastfeed, as a woman and a mother I needed it as well.

Because of my challenges in getting pregnant and in accepting that my son’s birth would be a cesarean, I had started to feel as though I was failing in all of the places where nature is supposed to allow a mother to succeed. Being able to meet my son’s needs in such an important way was the first indication I had that I would not fail at mothering. In the years since those early days I have fed off of that confidence. Breastfeeding my son has been an ongoing reminder to both of us that I will be able to meet his needs. We both take comfort in that.

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Story week post #1: "They said the latch was fine."

It's another Carnival of Breastfeeding today, and our theme is "share a story." I've decided to take the Carnival theme one step further and post a week's worth of stories here.  Check out the other contributing bloggers' posts at the bottom of this one.

A warning that this first story may be hard to read.  It's about overcoming huge obstacles, and illustrates how badly we need better breastfeeding support in our hospitals.  If you are expecting your first baby, please know that this is not what is supposed to happen.

This story was given to me as part of a story-gathering project that we did for an event co-sponsored by our local Moms Rising group.  The goal of the event was to advocate for better breastfeeding support in our local hospitals.  The names have been changed and hospital names omitted.

My son William, was born on a Friday morning.  Soon after, maybe an hour or so, a nurse helped me breastfeed for the first time. She helped me get William latched on and checked to see if he was swallowing. It was pretty uncomfortable for me and I told her this. She looked at the latch and asked what my pain level was. Compared to the labor I had just gone through, it was minimal. She said it was probably just something I needed to get used to.

I nursed William throughout the day. It continued to be uncomfortable, but William had spit up a bit between feedings, so the nurses felt that this was a good sign that he was getting food. When I asked for help, the nurses would check the latch and say it looked good and again told me I just needed to get used to the feeling.

On Saturday, William was circumcised. They gave him cherry flavored (red-hued) Tylenol to help with the pain. Nursing continued to be uncomfortable and was getting more painful. I told the nurses this and they again checked the latch and said it was fine. William continued to spit up, more than he had the day before. Sometimes his spit up would have a reddish hue. The nurses said this was probably due to the Tylenol. My nipples were visibly cracked at this point. The nurses suggested trying a different position, so William wouldn't be sucking in the same spot, therefore giving my nipples a chance to heal. I asked to see the Lactation Consultant. She wouldn't be in until the next day.

On Sunday, the day we were supposed to leave, I continued to have pain when William nursed. My nipples were bleeding after each feeding. William was spitting up more and sometimes it was reddish. The nurses continued to say it was good to know he was eating, that he was a hungry and vigorous nurser, the reddish hue was just the Tylenol (despite the fact that he hadn't had a dose in hours), and that I must just have sensitive skin because when they watched William nurse, it looked fine. Maybe I should watch the video about breastfeeding that was programmed into the TV. I did. I asked again to see the Lactation Consultant. She came a couple hours later, when William was sleeping. I told her what was happening and showed her my nipples. She gave me some Lanolin cream and said to wait until William opened his mouth really wide before I latched him on.

We were packed up and almost ready to leave. We decided to feed William one more time. This time after feeding on one side, he spit up a little of what was clearly blood. We called for a nurse. She said it was just a tiny bit and probably fine. William fed from the other side and almost immediately spit up a lot of blood. The nurse, who was still with us, went quickly to get a doctor. We filled the doctor in on what had been happening. He decided to put a tube down into William's stomach and pull out the contents to see if there was more blood. They could tell there was some digested blood, so they took an ultra sound to see if they could see any abnormalities in his stomach, which they didn't. They thought that maybe the blood was actually mine since he was drawing blood when he was nursing. The pediatrician wanted to run more tests to try to determine if it was my blood or his blood (if it was his blood then they were worried he could have a stomach ulcer), but the lab was not equipped to run the tests, so the pediatrician wanted him transferred to a bigger hospital. The pediatrician also did not want me to nurse him any more, in case the blood was from me (he thought the reason William was spitting up so much was most likely because the blood he was ingesting was causing his stomach to get upset). They started him on an IV of glucose to make sure he was getting nourishment while we waited to transfer to the other hospital. The pediatrician also suggested we may want to give him some formula. I said that I would prefer not to. A new nurse, who we hadn't seen before, came and helped me pump, so that when they said William could eat again, they could use my milk instead of formula. She was great – very helpful and reassuring. I wished she had been there in the days leading up to this.

After being transferred and waiting at the bigger hospital, the doctor there said that she thought since there had been no fresh blood since I had stopped nursing, that the blood was most likely from me, but they had him on antibiotics just in case and had to keep him for observation and do various blood tests and vital sign checks for at least 48 hours. They still did not want me to feed him, so a nurse got me set up in a little room made for pumping. That night, they set my husband and I up in a make-shift room in the NICU, and the nurse came and knocked on the door every few hours to wake me up to pump, so that my supply would build up.

The next day the doctor told us that since there was no more fresh blood, we could try feeding later in the afternoon, but only with a lactation consultant there who could make sure I and William were doing it right. So, the time finally came and a lactation consultant worked with us for two hours. She was absolutely wonderful. Before she even saw William try to feed, she said she was 99% sure the blood was from me because of how much my nipples were scabbed over, cracked and bleeding. Then she had William suck on her finger and said that his tongue wasn't properly latching onto her and he was using his jaw to compensate, hence why he was drawing blood from me. She said he had an extra membrane on his tongue (called being "tongue tied") that was interfering with feeding. She wanted to work with me before she would let me feed William. She taught me how to express some milk before trying to feed William so that he would be able to get more of the nipple in his mouth. She also helped me pump after he ate to help with the engorgement. She showed me how to massage my breast so that the milk ducts would not become plugged. Then, with her help, I finally nursed William and for once it didn't hurt! Throughout the day, every time I nursed they dropped the amount of glucose they were giving him and finally by Tuesday morning he was only nursing.

Another lactation consultant, came to see how we were doing on Tuesday. She gave me a prescription cream to use on my nipples for a week to help them heal faster.  She also gave me nipple shells to use in between feedings to let some air get to my nipples, which would help them heal faster as well. She also gave me a nipple shield to use when nursing if it got too painful. The shield would also help William latch on. She recommended we see a pediatric surgeon to have William's tongue tie clipped. She gave me her email and phone number to contact her if needed once we got home.

We finally got to go home on Wednesday morning. William was down to 8 lbs. 2 oz. We saw our pediatrician on Friday and got William's tongue clipped the following Tuesday. It was a little easier to nurse after that. My nipples had almost completely healed from the prescription cream. I did end up going to see a local lactation consultant for more breastfeeding help. It got easier and easier to breastfeed. It took 3 weeks for William to get back up to his birth weight, but since then he's been growing steadily and I'm still nursing him, almost one year later.

Besides learning how to breastfeed, the most important thing I learned from this situation was that I should have trusted my instincts more. I really felt like something was wrong, but I was not persistent enough when I spoke with the nurses/doctors. I thought since I was a new parent, I was just being paranoid. Maybe if I trusted myself more, much of this situation could have been resolved more quickly.

Be sure to check out the posts from these other Carnival contributors (updated throughout the day):

• Strocel: The Story of Hannah’s Weaning
• Bangerlm: Weaning a Toddler
• Stepping Off the Spaceship: Life, Death, and Nourishment
• So Fawned: Sticking with It: Our Breastfeeding Story
• Mommy News Blog: How Breastfeeding Changed My Life
• And All That Sazz: Flying Breastmilk
• Grudgemom: Breastfeeding Failures and Success
• Baby Carriers Down Under: Kandy
• Massachusetts Friends of Midwives: The Best Breastfeeding Advice from the Least Likely Source
• Breastfeeding 1-2-3: The "I told you so"
• Chronicles of a Nursing Mom:  Breastfeeding is not Easy, but it's Definitely Best for Baby
• Breastfeeding Moms Unite: Can Early Public Breastfeeding Sightings Shape One's Future Breastfeeding Practices?
• Zen Mommy: Celebrating my Chest, in Honor of Breastfeeding
• The Towells:  Breastfeeding after Reduction Surgery
• Blacktating:  Nursing in Public
• Breastfeeding Mums:  Breastfeeding Made me the Mother I am
• Crystal Gold: A Found Memory

Coming soon to a magazine stand near you...

I'm very excited that this ad, created by the Best for Babes Foundation, will appear in Fit Pregnancy magazine in their June/July issue.  It's one in a clever and attractive series - doesn't the style remind you of Sex and the City?  Best for Babes expects these ads to appear on billboards and buses in the near future.

The text at the bottom reads:

Breastfeeding boosts your bank account and your baby's immune system, saving you on hospital bills, doctors' visits, medicine, and missed days of work.  It could also save billions on health care costs.  Are your hospital, physician, employer, and insurer doing their part to help you succeed?  Let us help you find out at bestforbabes.org.

From Best for Babes' press release:

On May 25th, the Best for Babes Foundation will launch a clever and provocative new ad campaign designed to change the public perception of breastfeeding and expose the "booby traps" - the myriad cultural and institutional barriers that keep moms from succeeding.  ...The campaign has been endorsed by Dr. Joan Meek, Chair of the United States Breastfeeding Committee and celebrities Gabrielle Reece and Marilu Henner.

Best for Babes co-founder, Bettina Forbes, says:

"All women should be allowed to make and carry out the best decision for themselves and their families without being sabotaged.  When we remove the barriers, more moms will be able to reap the lifetime benefits of what can be a uniquely empowering and rewarding experience."

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Our breastfeeding coalition in the news.

Our breastfeeding coalition, which meets at Motherwear, has been making the local news a lot recently.  Here are some articles that showcase things we're doing:

Going Baby Friendly, Valley Advocate

A Victory for Nursing Moms and Babies, Valley Advocate

Breastfeeding Welcome, Pioneer Valley Parent

Milk Bank supplies 'the perfect food:' Breastfeeding task force brings critical resource to Pioneer Vallley, Valley Kids

There was also a great news segment about the breast cancer research project I'm working on.

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Shop Motherwear's inventory clearance sale.

Motherwear is making room for it's summer items, and has marked down some great styles, marked down as low as $10.

My picks are shown here. 

To the right is the Cross Wrap Bamboo top.

For a great dress you could wear from spring right into summer, I like the Cadence Dress, shown to the left.

I also like the Lucinda top (shown to the right) and the Koi Print Tee.

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Latch-on DVDs to give away.

Last year I posted about a great new video on latch-on.  I've posted it below, and a better quality version is here.

Latch, as you know, is the heart of the matter when it comes to breastfeeding.  A good latch can make the difference between a painful and painless feeding.  And latch affects babies' ability to get enough milk, too.

But for so many of us it's a real struggle.  That's why I was so happy to see this short video from Ameda.  It's up to date, emphasizes skin to skin and babies' natural reflexes, and does a great job of showing the 'asymmetrical latch.' 

Ameda was kind enough to give me six of these DVDs to give away.  They'd be a great tool in childbirth and breastfeeding classes, and breastfeeding support groups.

To enter to win one, please leave a comment below by May 27th, 2009.  U.S. addresses only, please.  Winners will be chosen using random.org, and announced in the comments section of this post.  

Now we are six, and still taking things quite literally.

This weekend:

Me:  "How was your swimming lesson?  Just give me one word."
My son:  "I."

(I had to explain to him why this was funny, after I stopped laughing.)

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