The Monday snapshot: avocado

One word for you: avocado.

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Discretion is the better part of valour

http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?v=JGJYbH_E5uE

Discretion is the better part of valour. This Shakespeare derived quote implies that a large part of courage & bravery is thinking before you act. Discretion is all over Australian social media today.

Australian social media is in a bit of a furore over breastfeeding in public, after a seemingly well meaning male media figure, Kochie (David Koch), said a woman feeding her baby at the side of a public pool, whilst supervising her other kids, should have been “discreeter”***, and moved away from the pool up on the grass, or been out of a “high traffic area” to breastfeed. In a rapid backtrack he implied it was a safety issue…but it was too late, the view was out there. Despite public breastfeeding being enshrined in law here, the woman was asked to move away from where she was, to stop feeding. And Kochie was implying that it is not ok to breastfeed anywhere or anyhow.

***(Or more discreet, and no, not discrete, people, sort out that whole english thing….and your opinion would mean more if you could spell….but I digress…..)

Of course, there’s been a backlash, and there’s a few camps in the discussion on the various Facebook pages/ discussion boards:

1. Hell yeah, get the girls out whenever, wherever, breastfeeding should be normalised and shutthef#%^up Kochie
2. Breastfeeding is ok BUT….you should be more discreet/cover up/ use a feeding room/ use a muslin / never show nipple / be careful of offending the delicate little flowers around you
3. This is a first world problem and you’re all whinging feminist nazis

This was my 10 cents worth:

dear Kochie, I think as part of Monday’s mea culpa, you should make a personal donation to the Gidget foundation AND The ABA. (the Gidget foundation deals with pre and post natal depression and anxiety, the Australian breastfeeding association supports breastfeeding in this country).

When you have a new bub, planning to leave the house is daunting. The timing of feeds is a big part of this challenge. It is only when women can feed anywhere and anyhow that it can become normalised and new mums feel it’s possible.

With my 9 week old son at a family funeral, I was terrified how to manage feeds, rang ahead to find out about feeding rooms etc. and when it came time to feed, my family said “no. Don’t go away to feed. Stay and talk.” And I did. Now he’s five months old, I still get embarrassed, but I still feed him out and about. Without muslin, Often without the limited wardrobe choices of feeding tops. And if I hadn’t got out that door and occasionally “whipped the girls out” in a cafe? I reckon I’d be sitting at home with post natal depression. There are many layers to this issue, and it is much more than just a feed. It is about the well being of the woman and her child. And it is different for each woman.

I am never going to advocate what another woman should do. I find breastfeeding in public hard, I’m paranoid about people having a go at me ( but I do it anyway), and I can’t cover up because I get all hot & flustered, the jman gets all hot and flustered, and HIS idea of a happy feed is to see and feel as much boob as possible. So I get all my clothing fixed, I drape a nice muslin over my shoulder to cover my stomach, side-boob, whatever, I think, I’m doing a good job here, and he grabs the muslin, rips it off, then pushes my top up and away. Helpful!

I also can’t plan that well, because I feed on demand, and his demand changes day to day. I choose to go with that rather than adopt a rigid schedule, because this is what the world health organisation recommends.

In a way, I feel draping muslin wraps and so on all just draws more attention to what you’re doing…not that there’s anything wrong with drawing attention to it! Hell, I’d like to be discreet, because of who I am and I’m easily embarrassed, but I don’t bother anymore. Because when he says he’s hungry, it’s now, not in five minutes time. When he wants to see and feel boob, it doesn’t matter how carefully I arrange things, he’ll have me exposed in seconds. When I’m feeding, it’s his boob, not mine.

But I think it’s wrong to say women should try to cover up. It has nasty echoes of “women should be careful about what they wear so they don’t get raped”, or ” rape is wrong, but….”. Women should breastfeed how they want to…breastfeeding is brilliant, anytime, anywhere. No buts. No “you can breastfeed, but you should…”, no. I don’t believe Kochie was totally anti breastfeeding by any means, but it wasn’t an informed comment, and he should have thought more about it. I certainly hope it wasn’t a transparent grab for ratings; we all know how that has worked out for some Australian dj’s lately. He should not be lambasted or abused for his bumbling into a minefield, but he should get informed, clarify, apologise, and use this as an opportunity to do some good.

For some, feeding in public is covering up, for others, this is letting it all hang out. And frankly, I love the “letting it all hang out”ers; they make it easier for the rest of us. They make it easier to feel that breastfeeding is normal, they make it easier to feel “hey I could do that”, they make it easier to think “actually I can go and meet that friend for coffee today even if his feed is due.”

And as an aside, no judgement from me if you can’t breastfeed, or choose not to. It can be a pain in the ass, it can be incredibly wonderful, it definitely is full of health benefits for baby, if you can manage it.

There were a couple of key moments in my breastfeeding career that changed it all.(and it is a career: 8 hours a day, seven days a week at first). The first was that moment at a funeral, noted above, the next one was meeting my old school friend I hadn’t seen for years (thanks ‘Tish), when she got the girls out for her daughter in a cafe facing the shopping centre about 50 metres from a baby change room with feeding cubicles. No muslin, no nursing top, no turning to the wall, no sorry nice seeing you but i have to go now and feed…..and no one even noticed. Except me. I noticed, and ten minutes later, I fed the jman, sitting right there next to her. All of a sudden the “how the hell do I ever leave the house with him” feelings lifted, in that instant. I felt different altogether.

When jman was new, I would create so much stress for myself before an outing, ringing ahead and googling “facilities” to see if feeding & change rooms were available, finding out where they were on arrival, planning ahead when to hit the cubicle and feed. When they’re newbies, feeds go on for almost an hour; that’s a long time to be away from what you were aiming to do, and it is often on an hour on/an hour off schedule (ie two hourly feeds). I had an added layer of embarrassment because I’m 40 (41 now!)… I was worried I’d get more disapproving looks as a 40 year old first time mum.

Breastfeeding can be annoying, and painful, and messy. My commitment to breastfeeding will slow down my return to work, now that my boobs are suddenly on a “no expressing without a trumpet fanfare and four days notice” binge. Breastfeeding lacks the control over modern life we’re so used to. You don’t know how much bub is getting. You don’t know when he’ll want his next feed. You don’t know if you have enough milk, or too much. You don’t know if you’ll spring a leak in a public place, or if the little bugger will pull off your boob in a sushi bar and leave your right one spraying across the table while you madly grab the baby wipes and hope no one noticed. It’s a great metaphor for parenthood, really.

Recently, after a bad night with jman and a visit to the paediatrician, I desperately needed a coffee before I could safely drive home. And jman desperately needed a feed. The doctor ran late, the planned feeds stops went all awry. All cool. I stopped in the hospital cafe, ordered my flat white, and sat down in an arm chair in a quiet corner to feed. Forgot to wear a breastfeeding top. Bugger. And then next to me, sat an older man. Damn. Here we go. Ah well, offence or no offence, I’m feeding the boy. You do not get into a car with jman when he’s hungry. You will only ever make that mistake once.

Jman of course had to make eyes and gurgle and giggle at the man, doing his “aren’t I cute” routine before turning, grabbing my top and reefing it up. At five months old. Lordy.

So I feed him, and I can feel the man’s eyes on us, and I think “ah well. Sorry mate. Jman comes first.”

And as I finish, and jman sits up, belches loudly, and starts grinning again, the man says

“Excuse me?” In a lilting German accent. here we go I think…”i hope you don’t mind me asking.”… oh dear, I think, here it comes…”how do you know when he’s had enough?”

“Sorry?” It just wasn’t what I was expecting.

“It is probably very rude of me to ask, but I am so curious you see, how do you know when he’s had enough?”

“No no! It is not rude at all. It’s fine! Umm, well often, you don’t! But when he pulls off, and looks around, and stops and starts, usually that means he’s had enough. I was just giving him a quick top up before the car ride home.”

“Oh thank you! I just wondered, I hope you don’t mind.”

No, I don’t. And no, he didn’t. And there should be more of it. More of these conversations around breastfeeding. It was a great moment, it turned my fears on their head.

Bugger discretion in breastfeeding…but we can be discreet about what we say to feeding mums. Sure, they’re not starving or fighting for survival, yes it’s a first world problem, but it speaks to the health of a future generation and the current & future mental & physical health of feeding mothers.

Once I decided I’d feed anytime, anywhere, a weight was lifted off me. I felt more mobile. I felt like I could embrace the world with the jman at my side, not hide away from it. I felt more like a mum.

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Mother of invention # 9: baby roadie / broadie

I can’t sell you this product til I explain to you the thought processes that led to it.

I spent several weeks strapping my child into a three point harness (instead of a five point one) in the car, because I’m too stupid to thread the belt properly after washing all the fabric bits.

I spent four weeks wondering how the hell to fit the pram in the car, because I didn’t know how to fold the bugger of a thing.

And then there’s solids…

Omg. Solids.

Really. SLAP ME for being annoyed by a baby constantly hanging off my boob. It has nothing on finding bright orange pumpkin on his balls, in his ear, in between his toes, on one eyebrow.

Introduce the baby roadie. Roadies are a fabulous invention for bands. They lug all the gear in, they set it up, they plug in the amps and sort out the pedals, they gaffer tape the cords to the stage, so no one trips, sometimes they sort out everyone’s drugs / drinks, they pronounce the profound, philosophical:

“Check one. One. One. Check one, two. Check one, two.”

So, the baby shopping network proudly presents, (drumroll please), the broadie.

The baby roadie, or broadie, knows how to work the gear. They can fold up the pram, install the car seat, thread the seatbelt, assemble the change table, clip on the toys. The baby roadie goes with you, parents, to your important gigs, and sets you up. Because dealing with a child is one thing, but solving the riddle of baby gear is a whole other mystery.

Mystified by the secret handshake require to disassemble that portacot? Leave it to the broadie. Need to improvise a baby bath out of a storage tub at grandmas? Ask the broadie. Have you nearly broken your toe 1600 times on the bouncer? Your broadie will gaffer it to the floor in a jiffy. Mystery twists in seatbelts? Broadie. Sunshades on every freakin window and still have a baby squinting in full sun in the car? Broadie. Is junior on solids? No problem. The broadie can make a set of nifty handcuffs out of gaffer tape, so that you won’t end up wearing pumpkin purée. Instead, your little angel will be taped to their chair, not “helping”.

No more folding prams and strapping in for you, no no. The broadie’s got your back.

Just don’t let him teach your kid to count.

One, two. One, two. One.

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The Monday snapshot : welcome to summer, jman

What better way to kick off the New Year than with a first swim.

Jman’s first swim was in a local pool at a balmy 31 degrees c in the water. Photos still on camera and lazy mother can’t be bothered getting cable/ pc/ transferring…..

When this went better than expected, we decided, on Saturday, it was time for a first ocean dip. The water at our favourite spot, wylies baths, was a pleasant 21 degrees c. Outside was warm, but we waited til 4pm to take him in. For non Sydneysiders, wylies is south of Coogee beach and Bondi beach. There were a few bluebottles about, but the baths were still and crystal clear, you could see all the way to the bottom, and I picked a spot where daddy could stinger watch from the side.

He was fascinated by the waves, having seen them at our place in much tamer form, the jman was looking every which way at the noise and activity, the other kids, the sunbathers. We set him up in a lovely shady spot, daddy got him ready, and it was on.

He looked a bit puzzled, but pleasantly so, and there were no tears, at least not until I tried to put his clothes back on! A few giggles crept in as i bounced and splashed him about. I was very surprised at how well he took to “the big bath”.

(And apparently, it’s happy blogoversary to me! Two years! More on this to follow whilst I soak up mums air con during tomorrow’s heat wave).

So, yep. First swim = memorable moment for Monday. Bring on the water baby!

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