Love is a Social (Media) Disease

I'm going to start this post with a confession:

I don't have anywhere close to the perfect marriage.

Now, if you're married, you're probably thinking "that's not much of a secret. No one has the perfect marriage." If you're not married, please allow me to disabuse you of the notion that you will EVER have the perfect marriage/relationship. Ain't gonna happen.

One of my favorite pictures of us Summer 2011

The Husband and I have personalities that are as ridiculously similar as they are different. He's confrontational for fun; I'm confrontational only if I am absolutely forced to be. He would rather stay home and avoid all contact with the outside world; I enjoy spending time with other people and socializing from time to time. We're both incredibly stubborn and prepared to fight tooth and nail to get our way if we feel we're in the right. We are both emotionally distant, though we each manifest that distance in different ways.

I can say without a doubt that, though I was in love before The Husband, it was nothing even close to what I feel for him. It's more than a pop song or Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem. It absolutely terrifies me on a regular basis. Some of the terror with regards to my feelings for The Husband has subsided with the birth of BabyA since I'm now also terrified of the depth of my love for her.

Maybe if I have enough children, I'll eventually do away with any fear I have in loving The Husband.

This post was not supposed to be about my fear of deep feelings, though, so allow me to get back on track.

I sometimes feel like social media is one of the worst barriers to a healthy relationship. The Husband is not a social media person. He has a deactivated Facebook account under a false name and a Twitter handle that has never been used. He created both during the early part of our relationship because he wanted to know what I was saying about him on social media. He really hates it when I talk about him.

Meanwhile, I get to see only the good parts of every relationship of every virtual friend I have. I can see every post that showcases husbands and significant others doing all of the things that I wish The Husband would do. People flaunt their supposed perfection in my face while I'm contemplating homicide because I can't physically lift the trash bag full of trash that I asked The Husband to take out...a week ago. I see husbands who do laundry and cook. I see husbands who do a lot of things that The Husband will not do (and husbands who do not do a lot of things The Husband does). 

Instead of just scrolling on, though, I start to compare. Instead of remembering that I am only seeing the perfect part of the relatinoship in question, I start to get irritated that I'm over here trying to drag a 50 lb bag of trash to the can while making sure my toddler stays out of the street and dealing with severe back and pelvic pain. 

I can usually find my way back to contentment if I give myself some time to cool off and pray, but most of the time I am perfectly happy to grumble to myself about all of the things that The Husband does/does not do that irritate me. Because I am perfect, of course, and I never do anything that would irritate him. (In case you missed it, there was an eyeroll implied there).

The reality is that I know that the relationship snippets I see aren't the whole story. I know that every relationship has issues. And I know that every individual is a work in progress and all I can do is trust God to know what He's doing in our lives. I know.

But, in the meantime, know that if I suddenly delete my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter accounts, it's because I saw your "my hubby is the best ever" mushy status update/photo/tweet one too many times.

Pregnant Girl Problems...

This is pregnancy number 2 for me in as many years, I've passed 30 weeks, and I just want to say...

I AM OVER IT.

Every time I think those words, I feel a little bit guilty. I know there are plenty of mommies out there who wish their pregnancies made it this far, who are battling infertility and wishing they could endure the nastiness that is pregnancy, but I am really tired of being pregnant.

My pregnancy with BabyA wasn't exactly a walk in the park. I started suffering from extreme sciatica at 8 weeks pregnant. Thanks to weekly (and sometimes 2-3 times weekly) chiropractic adjustments, I was able to function through my pregnancy...barely. Then there was the nausea and vomiting. With the exception of a 2 week respite early in the second trimester and the four weeks at the end of my pregnancy when I was finally able to enjoy it somewhat, I was sick the entire time. On the plus side, I gained so little that I was back to my pre-pregnancy weight by the time I left the hospital.

This pregnancy has presented its own set of challenges, but so far, I think it's considerably worse. I had awful "morning" sickness for the first 16 weeks. Why do they call it "morning" sickness anyway? That nastiness had me puking my guts up 24/7 for the entirety of the first trimester...and then some. Instead of the severe sciatica, I have occasional flare-ups that are almost completely managed by my weekly chiropractic visits. Of course, I also have excruciating pelvic pain (which I'm almost convinced is Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction, but my OBGYN won't make the diagnosis) that puts me in tears on a regular basis because I decide to do crazy things like stand up and walk. That pain radiates to my right hip, which also refuses to hold an adjustment, despite my chiropractor's best efforts.

I am much more hormonal during this pregnancy than I was with BabyA. I cry more easily, and I am convinced on a semi-weekly basis that The Husband no longer loves me and wants a divorce. I can't make this stuff up, people.

The Gestational Diabetes has only added a whole other level of stress and drama to this pregnancy. Since I'm not the naive first time mom who blindly followed her OBGYN's recommendations (which were suspiciously similar to orders), I have the further addition of stress that goes with navigating a maternity care system that is so far removed from what birth and pregnancy really are. If you're not familiar with the standard of maternity care in the United States, consider yourself warned (if you're a resident) or lucky (if you're not). The fact that I have an HMO just adds another layer to my crazy cake.

Sometimes, I find moments of fun in my pregnancy (and I'm not talking about the kind of fun that requires you to carry an extra pair of pants and underwear in your car at all times). Yesterday, I wore a sleeping BabyA in our Beco Soleil while browsing at Walmart, and enjoyed the fact that I was technically tandem wearing with just one carrier. About once a day, BabyA will kiss my stomach or blow raspberries on her baby brother, which melts my heart. And the feeling of Minion kicking me as I lie in bed is one of my favorite sensations.

Tandem Wearing with one carrier! It takes less skill than you'd think.

I'm impatient to meet Minion face to face. I haven't dreamt of him the way that I dreamt of BabyA, so I have no idea what he will look like (I knew BabyA would have red, curly hair). I can't wait to see if The Husband's genes will win out again or if Minion will look at least a little bit like me.

But I'm also nervous. Anticipation has never been my favorite, and anticipating the arrival of a child while dealing with all of the aforementioned obstacles makes anticipation look more and more like a four letter word. On the one hand, I'm anxious to meet my son and to stop being pregnant (to drink a beer!), but on the other hand, I still have so much to do in preparation. The Husband hasn't even read my birth plan, for crying out loud!

So here's where I thank you for listening to my random ramblings and reading these stress-filled sentences. Sometimes, you just need to get things off of your chest before you can move on with your life. Wouldn't you agree?

Happy Fluffy Mail

We've gotten lots of happy mail this week. I had an Amazon gift card that I received as a Mother's Day gift, and I made some money from a yard sale at the beginning of the month, so I indulged in a little online retail therapy. I ordered some boring necessities (a blender bottle for my protein shakes, and some baby items), Sanuk slip ons (seriously one of the most comfortable pairs of shoes I've ever owned), and a Crimson Tide onesie for Minion.

That's not what I'm going to write about today. I'm not even going to write about the gorgeous Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bag that I bought during the PPB clearance (which arrived today as well).

Tonight, while wishing that bedtime was imminent and trying to avoid eating chocolate, there was a knock at the door. The Husband answered the door, and said "it's UPS." I asked him if he ordered anything since the only thing I'm expecting is the 'Bama onesie for Minion, and it's not supposed to arrive for another 4 days. Plus, the box was pretty large for a single onesie.

The Husband opened the package and revealed...a yellow box:

That's right, tonight we received a Beco Soleil.

I won the Soleil during a giveaway that was hosted by The Baby Guy NYC this month. I have been eagerly awaiting this carrier for about 2 weeks now.

I'll post a full review once I get a chance to use it for more than five minutes in my living room, but I have to say I'm already impressed.

As a plus size girl, I have a fear of not fitting in soft structured carriers. I have never been a huge fan of SSCs (my size being just one of the reasons I'd rather reach for a woven wrap), but I've discovered during my pregnancy that SSCs are very convenient for toting BabyA who has recently decided that she doesn't want to be wrapped. Up until tonight, we've been using our Ergo Sport. It was one of my first carriers, and it worked very well for babywearing during the summer months last year. Around here, summer doesn't end until after Halloween most years, and both BabyA and I are very sensitive to the heat.

On first inspection, the Soleil is absolutely gorgeous. I was very excited that I received the print that I liked the most (Luca Black). I also received an accessory pack which includes a hood, infant insert, and suck pads.

I had no problems wearing the carrier, even low on my hips (which is kind of a necessary evil when you're 30 weeks pregnant and carrying low). I can't even begin to tell you how wonderful it is to fit into a carrier without needing any "extras."

I love the overall fit and comfort level of the carrier, too. BabyA is not the biggest toddler by any means. At last measurement, she was right around 22 pounds and 32 inches. Wearing her can still be a challenge, though, since I have back, hip, and pelvic pain that is only compounded by pregnancy. In fact, I was already in pretty severe pain when we received the carrier.

In the few minutes I wore her, A felt nearly weightless. I have never carried her so comfortably except in my linen blend woven wrap.

I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to use this carrier at MommyCon Los Angeles in just a couple weeks. I'm sure it will be infinitely more comfortable than our Ergo, and prettier, too!

The One Where I Share Family Recipe Secrets...Kinda

I don't know about you, but meatloaf is a big staple at my house. It was a family favorite when I was growing up, and I've learned as an adult that it's a great way to stretch ingredients to feed your family on a budget. Plus, is there anything better than a cold meatloaf sandwich?

Since I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes last week, I have a feeling we'll be eating a lot more meatloaf (or "meat cake" as one of my younger sisters deemed it when she was about 2 years old).

I have used a lot of different recipes over the years, but I almost always come back to the way my grandmother made it (which is also how my parents make it). Ground meat of your preference, onion, garlic, and whatever vegetables you want to add. My mom always pours a can of spicy V8 juice over the top, while I've transitioned to a more traditional topping since The Husband prefers ketchup.

Tonight, I'm making turkey meatloaf.

I love ground turkey for my meatloaf because it's not as fatty as beef and benefits nicely from the extra moisture that the veggies add. I throw my ground turkey (1.25 lbs) in a mixing bowl and top it with half a chopped white onion, 3 cloves of pressed garlic, half a red bell pepper (chopped), some chopped pickled jalapenos, an egg, and about 1.5 cups of dry oats. I prefer oats to bread crumbs because they're more nutritionally beneficial and I always have them in my pantry. I almost never have breadcrumbs ready to go...and who has time to wait around to dry out perfectly good bread in the oven and then put it in a food processor? Besides, I haven't bought any bread since my GD diagnosis. (A quick side note: you can literally use whatever vegetables you want. Only the onion is non-negotiable for me. My mom's used corn and peas in her meatloaf, and I've used okra, mushrooms, and carrots).

I use my hands to mix the ingredients and then toss it into a 9x9 inch Pyrex dish. I do not form my meatloaf into an actual loaf. I don't think I ever have. My parents always made it in a 9x13 dish, and I've never seen the need to deviate (except the time I made meatloaf cupcakes with mashed potato "frosting"). Bonus points because I only have to throw a lid on my Pyrex dish and pop it in the fridge once we're done eating.

To make the glaze, I usually combine ketchup, brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce, and hot sauce. I typically use Tabasco, but I think I'm going to try Sriracha tonight.

Tonight's meatloaf is served with mashed cauliflower.

Yes, you heard me right...CAULIFLOWER.

I'm going to assume that this is not as big a shock to most of you since we live in the age of Pinterest, and I'm pretty sure that's where I first discovered this magical comfort food. It's been a lifesaver in the past week when I've been seriously craving garlic mashed potatoes.

I used 2 large heads of cauliflower, a 4 quart stock pot with enough water to cover the cauliflower pieces, and a heaping tablespoon of bouillon powder. I put them on the stove and let them boil until the cauliflower is tender almost a big, mushy, mess.

Once your cauliflower is suitably mushy, drain it in a colander. I like to use one with small holes so I don't lose any of the little pieces that are floating around. After it's drained (but not entirely dry), return it to your pot.

At this point, you can add just about anything you like. I prefer butter, pressed garlic, cream cheese, salt and pepper. If you have a picky family texture-wise (they aren't exactly the same texture as mashed potatoes), toss in a few boiled potatoes and mash them right into the cauliflower. The Husband complains EVERY time I make mashed cauliflower, but he never notices the cauliflower if there are some potato chunks in there.

I made mashed cauliflower last weekend for a family barbeque, and everyone who didn't already know it was cauliflower had absolutely NO IDEA.

Meals like this make this low-carb thing much more bearable. I feel like I can eat normal food instead of cooking two separate meals. Plus, I can eat a lot of more since cauliflower is GOOD for me, right?

Gearing Up for a Bigger Fight...

Yesterday, I repeated my 3 hour glucose test after an "abnormal" result when I took it a couple months ago. Today, I got a phone call from a nurse at Kaiser...they're diagnosing me with Gestational Diabetes.

I'm not even sure I have words at this point to explain how devastated I was when I heard those words. I did, at least, have the clarity to ask for my exact numbers (which were still more "abnormal" than high). The nurse scheduled me for an appointment with the dietician on Friday, and I immediately burst into tears as soon as I hung up the phone.

It's not incredibly surprising that I ended up with GD. I meet many of the "high risk" criteria: I'm seriously overweight, nearing 30, and have a family history of both GD and Type 2 Diabetes. I just assumed that I wouldn't have it since I never had any issues during my pregnancy with BabyA.

Since my numbers weren't outrageous, there's no reason to think I can't control my sugar levels with diet and exercise. However, that requires an amazing amount of work. Work that can only be done by me. I'm already feeling stretched thin by the amount of "keeping up" I have to do around the house, as well as making sure everyone else's lives flow smoothly. Exercise is complicated by the incredibly severe pelvic pain I've been battling during this pregnancy. My OBGYN doesn't seem concerned, but the pain I experience almost every day makes even small daily tasks a real challenge...not to mention attempting to keep up with BabyA while The Husband works 60-70 hours a week and catches up on his sleep during his days off.

Adding to my stress is the fact that I am giving birth at a hospital and with a care provider (Kaiser) that is very intervention-happy. I have a great doula, and I'm confident in my ability to advocate for myself (until I go into actual labor, that is...after that, all bets are off), but I hate the stress. I hate the misinformation and scare tactics that are used to coerce expectant mothers into just doing whatever their OBGYNs suggest. I really hate having to think through every potential minute of pregnancy and birth to make sure that I can have the safest and best birth possible. I hate confrontation.

I've always been the girl who will just smile and nod if it means and end to a confrontation. I can't tell you the number of times I've told The Husband "okay, you're right" because I didn't want to argue. I don't mind educated discussion or disagreement, but these medical professionals can get very defensive if you question their methods.

I've done a lot of research. I purposely chose a doctor who'd been recommended because of his support of natural birth and VBAC (I birthed BabyA naturally, but it seems to me that VBAC-friendly OBGYNs tend to be more supportive of intervention-free birth in general). Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of options for alternative care. So I grimace internally whenever he mentions having a c-section because the baby's "too big," and try to remember that I am not going to get a midwife out of an OBGYN (especially a Kaiser OBGYN).

The GD experience with which I am most familiar is my mom's. I was almost 17 when she gave birth to my youngest sister, and she had diet-controlled GD during her 3rd trimester. She had a c-section because of other health conditions and her doctor's unwillingness to let her attempt a VBAC. My sister was a normal birth weight (7 lbs 9 oz), especially considering my mom's 4 previous pregnancies ended in 8+ lb babies. My mom was also nearing 40 during that birth (she turned 38 a week after my sister was born). I don't remember it being horrible, but I was also working and attending college full time, so I can't say I was really around to observe much.

Today, the nurse told me that she was sure I'd be fine as long as I followed the diet given to me, "unless you're already eating that way." She sounded a little less perky when I told her that I basically had been. After all, growing up in a house with a diabetic (my dad was diagnosed with type II when I was about 10 years old) has to leave a mark. I'm not going to say that I eat like a diabetic all the time. I enjoy bread and pasta more than a couple times a week (especially since pasta is an inexpensive way to feed my family in a time when I have to stretch every dollar), and I don't turn down dessert if it's particularly appealing. I also enjoy a drink at Starbucks every week or two (and I don't order it "skinny"). I do, however, try to eat a lot of protein. I enjoy vegetables, and I have really been craving salads lately. I do occasionally eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's, but I'm not sucking down sugar with a straw before I go to bed every night.

Could my exercise level improve? Probably. But I'd really like to see my OBGYN attempt more exercise than chasing around a 16 month old toddler while his pelvic bone feels like it's being broken in several places while someone punches him repeatedly in the vagina. That's the best description I've been able to manage, and it's fairly apt (if a little less painful than what I actually experience on an almost daily basis). I'm sure it has something to do with the amount of Relaxin that my body is producing, since I had a chiropractor make a comment to that effect. Knowing the probably cause, however, does not make me feel any better on a day-to-day basis.

So I'll continue to do my research on evidence-based care for GD, and read lots of boring studies on the potential effects of GD. I want my natural birth, and I'll be damned if I let a stupid number on a glucose meter take that from me.

Woes of the Unfinished

I have been writing since I was in elementary school. I still have a file somewhere with poems and stories written in my sloppy, left-handed eight year old handwriting. Also in that file is a portion of a novel that a friend and I were co-writing when I was about 10 years old. We never did finish it, but I still think the plot is kind of brilliant and have occasional dreams of resurrecting and completing the book.

I really struggle with completing my writing projects. I started a project about a year ago that is still swirling in my head. The irony of finally having characters that speak to me on a regular basis is that I now have so little time to actually make those characters live.

Lately, I've been contemplating what I want to do. I love being a stay at home mom, and I wouldn't trade my often stressful days of trying to keep up with an ancient house that's falling apart, my kids, and my husband for even the biggest paycheck I made in my always stressful government job. On the other hand, I really hate being the mom who can't afford clothes or makeup. Recently, my flip flops broke and I've been wearing a well-loved pair of Toms that I'm praying will make it through the rest of this pregnancy (after which I will hopefully be able to fit into my other shoes). I struggle with constantly asking The Husband for money, since I spent a decade working to support myself before I quit my job to stay home.

I have a dream of someday publishing a novel. I know a few Indie authors who've had recent success in the urban/paranormal/fantasy genre (which is where my novel would fall), so I know it's entirely possible to earn at least a little money from a book...even if it's not published traditionally. Thank goodness for social media advertising!

I just need to find time to write. I feel like my house is never clean enough. That no matter what I repair or replace, there is always something waiting to fall apart (which is usually what happens when someone lives in a 90 year old house for a decade without doing any kind of upkeep). It doesn't help that I absolutely hate this house. I feel awful saying it because I know so many people are worse off than I am, but this house makes me dream of arson. When I'm pregnant, I tend to dream about things that I really want. This pregnancy, my recurring dreams have been either sexy enough to make The Husband blush like a virgin (bless his ginger heart) or of me getting a new house.

Added to my house drama is an eight year old who is not really independent. She is capable of doing things, but needs constant supervision and instruction. She often wants me to tell her how to play. I was a very self motivated, independent, and imaginative child, so I really struggle with what often feels like Princess' neediness. Speaking of neediness, I have apparently enabled The Husband into codependency. When we first began dating, he was a fairly self-sufficient single dad. He may have lacked cleaning and cooking skills, and been more inclined to buy new underwear than to wash the dirty laundry, but he and Princess obviously survived for a few years without me. Even when I was working full time (and then some), The Husband was fairly helpful with everything except cooking and doing the dishes. I haven't even mentioned my active 16 month old, energetic 6 month old Catahoula puppy, and 9 year old German Shorthair Pointer who thinks he's a puppy.

So while writing isn't an impossible task, it's certainly not an easy one. I feel like I should have been able to find a balance at this point, but it still eludes me. I daydream about being able to leave the kids with The Husband for a few hours a couple times a week so I can leave the house to write, but The Husband's schedule makes that incredibly difficult.

Right now, I'm just hopeful that these characters will continue speaking to me long enough that I can get their stories out of my head and into my computer.

How Breastfeeding Changed My Life

When I found out I was pregnant with BabyA, a lot of questions started circling in my mind. Luckily for me, how I was going to feed her was not one of them.

I was raised in a family and community that breastfed. The only time I remember seeing a bottle as a child was when my parents did foster care. I distinctly remember my mom explaining to me that the foster babies needed bottles because their mommies weren't able to be there to nurse them. As the oldest of five siblings, I watched all of my younger siblings breastfeed, and I was frequently exposed to breastfeeding outside of my home because most of my friends' mothers also breastfed.

I never even considered having a conversation with the Husband about how our baby would be fed. I was going to nurse her, and that was that. I remember my sister in law (The Husband's younger sister) asking me if I was going to breastfeed and then telling me about how her mother breastfed The Husband secretly because it was the '70s and only poor people breastfed. She also told me about how, when she was struggling with embarrassment while nursing her oldest, my father in law told her that she needed to feed her baby no matter when or where. The Husband's aunt was the first relative to tell me "don't let anyone pressure you into weaning before you're ready." She told me that she had let people pressure her into weaning one of her sons earlier than she had planned, and she still regrets it (that son is now in high school).

So, you see, I had a lot of support. When I gave birth at 3:30 AM and there was not a lactation consultant in sight, my mom was on hand with her years of breastfeeding experience, helping me get BabyA latched for the first time. When my milk didn't come in until almost 6 days after BabyA was born (and I was freaking out), I had plenty of people to reassure me and tell me things like "my milk came in late with my first baby, too" and "it can take a while sometimes, but it will happen."

The Husband struggled some with my breastfeeding...something I did not expect. Since he'd bottle fed The Princess when she was a baby, it took him a while to find other ways to bond with BabyA. He also had a hard time with me nursing in public, and I had to set him straight. He has since come around, though, and he was the only person who never questioned my ability to nurse through this pregnancy and then tandem nurse BabyA and Minion. My heart did a crazy little flip when he made an offhand comment about me needing to nurse "one or the other of them" once Minion arrives. That comment came while he was pointing out a double stroller at the zoo, less than 24 hours after we'd discovered I was pregnant.

I knew I was going to breastfeed. I had no idea for how long. Even during my pregnancy, I was a little put off by the idea of nursing my child in toddlerhood. I'd only known a few people who nursed past a year, and they were the "weird ones" in our community of friends. I had never considered extended nursing until I had a conversation with a coworker who didn't seem like your typical hippie mom in which she told me she had nursed her son for several years (I want to say it was somewhere near 5, but I'm not entirely sure on the exact number). This conversation took place years before I got pregnant, but it started me to thinking.

After BabyA was born, I found myself sucked into the swirling vortex that is Attachment Parenting. As much as I hate to identify myself with a specific group/type of parenting, I have become kind of an AP proponent over the past 16 months. When BabyA was 2 weeks old, I watched Jessica The Leaky Boob give birth to Sugarbaby via live webcast. That was my first experience with TLB community, and I never looked back.

I swore I'd never cloth diaper (so gross!), and we've been strictly cloth for almost a year now. In fact, I recently bought a small package of disposables so I could use a not-safe-for-cloth cream on BabyA's horrific diaper rash, and the smell of the disposables had me almost hurling at every diaper change. I insisted that my child would never sleep in my bed. We've been partially bedsharing for all of BabyA's tiny life. In fact, she's moving into her own bed this week so that she's well adjusted before Minion makes his appearance. I was intrigued by babywearing, but I was not going to spend hundreds of dollars on a carrier (which I mostly wanted because I thought I'd be able to nurse hands-free). I now own 2 woven wraps, an Ergo, and a wrap conversion ring sling (if you don't know what any or all of those are, get thee to Paxbaby.com and do some browsing), the total cost of which you probably don't want to know.

When I started on my journey towards more instinctual parenting, my views on breastfeeding changed, too. I wanted to nurse my baby as long as I possibly could. Minimally, I wanted to continue breastfeeding for 2 years. I went to La Leche League gatherings and met like-minded and encouraging moms. I joined a local babywearing group, and I've made some wonderful friends. I've become a less judgmental person as my parenting views have grown, too.

All of the above, and BabyA still self weaned just before 15 months old. I know my pregnancy is mostly to blame. I could feel my supply slipping, and I probably should have mentally prepared myself better for the possibility that BabyA would not continue dry nursing for several months until Minion arrived and brought the milk back with him. All of the logic and reason in the world, though, does not ease the pain of having a child wean before you're ready. The Husband's aunt was right.

While I have no regrets (there wasn't much I could do, anyway), I have struggled with depression. The end of our nursing relationship has caused some drastic changes in my house, and I've had a hard time embracing all of those changes. I feel like I'm somehow lacking as a mother because I'm missing my secret weapon. I no longer have boobie snacks to entice my exhausted-but-still-fighting-sleep child to come to bed. When she falls and hits her head (like she did this morning), I can't give her nursies to make it all better. I no longer have nursing as an excuse to just sit and cuddle my baby instead of doing housework (although I do still sit and cuddle her anyway). And I am jealous. So jealous of all the moms who weren't forced into situations like mine. Of all the moms who have met their breastfeeding goals and continue to nurse their babies.

Sometimes I think I must be a horrible, selfish person to be focused on what I didn't get when I had almost 15 months of a great breastfeeding relationship. Aside from an undiagnosed lip tie, a clogged duct or two, and several instances of biting, I had a wonderful experience. What about all the moms who are unable to breastfeed? Those who lack the support to continue in the face of hardship?

And then I remember that I can't minimize my feelings. That just because my situation may not be "as bad" as some others, I still have a right to be saddened by my loss. Because that's what it is: a loss. In order for me to be the best mother and person I can be, I have to embrace my feelings instead of burying them or hiding from them.

I know that this loss will only give me more motivation to help whenever possible to provide support to other nursing mothers. I was and am incredibly blessed by all of the support I've received, and to know that there are mothers who don't have that, and who may give up on their breastfeeding goals because of a lack of support, is devastating to me.