I am not my child’s preferred parent. And I don’t just mean I am not her preferred parent right now or this month. I mean I have not been her preferred parent since she was about 14 months old (she is now two and a half). She wants daddy to do everything when he is around. She wants him to
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The first two days of breastfeeding were misleading for me. Colostrum (the nutrient-rich first milk our bodies produce) came out in such tiny amounts that I could not fathom the deluge of milk that was about to come. I knew my milk would be coming in soon (when mature milk starts to be produced) but I thought that it would
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I chose to do every single nighttime feed for my first baby, as well as handle nearly all nighttime wakeups until she was 12 months old. Let me be clear, I do not wear this as some badge of honor and this article is not a “how-to”. This is more of a “how not to” because the thing I learned
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When I had my first baby, I had no idea how much of a skill breastfeeding truly is. While I wish it had felt instinctual and easy, it was anything but that. From latches to clogged ducts, and knowing when to feed, breastfeeding felt like learning to fly by being put in a plane alone and being told to “figure
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I had never seen anyone breastfeed, much less breastfeed in public, until I was in my 20s. When I was growing up, it was something done privately, behind closed doors. Sadly, I only knew breasts as something to be sexualized. I will never forget the first time that a friend breastfed her baby in front of me without a cover
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That first week postpartum I had never felt less “human” in my life. Everything was a haze of exhaustion, coupled with feeling like I had been in a physical fight and lost big time. I had anticipated the challenge of not sleeping, feeling exhausted, and coming to terms with a physical body I did not recognize, but the complete discomfort
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When we had our first baby, I had my breast pump and bottles all ready. I had studied up on how to store breastmilk and was excited to involve my husband in the process of feeding, especially at night so I could get some extra sleep. Seventeen months later when I weaned my daughter, the breast pump was still in
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At the risk of sounding ungrateful, needy, or just plain whiny, here is the truth: Mother’s Day is usually a let-down. Last year, I was looking forward to a day of feeling pampered and rested. Like all moms, I was navigating the first few weeks of the pandemic, which meant extra stress, more to do, less help, and the pressure
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When I officially planned to wean my seventeen-month-old daughter I was prepared for her to push back. After the last time I breastfed her, I assumed that a moment would come when she would ask to breastfeed, and I would be forced into the decision of refusing or giving in. But the days went by and she never asked –
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I have battled anxiety since I was a teenager. My brain has always liked to imagine how things can go wrong. After years of self-improvement and making major progress with my anxiety, having a newborn was the ultimate trigger for it all to come rushing back. I had never felt so vulnerable in my life as when I first held
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