In the running world it’s called bonking. In motherhood it’s called overbooking. The end result is the same: exhaustion.

A few weeks ago I wrote about how the endless stream of company and chaos (albeit, self-imposed) affected my milk supply. Luckily I got it back up by putting brakes on the crazy. Things are much more calm around here lately.

I  started to think about why I pushed myself to such a ridiculous point and to to thinking: does it seem like our generation of moms feel the need to constantly get out and “do” more than previous generations? My mother-in-law, my aunt, and countless older moms have teased me about how much Fia and I were on the go the first two years. Part of it was living in an apartment in Brooklyn. You’ll go stir crazy if you don’t get outside. Part of it was the need to connect to other moms. But is there another part in our technologically-obsessed, plugged-in culture that makes us incapable of sitting at home? Or god forbid, letting our children entertain themselves?

Recently I was feeling guilty for not taking Emmett to the “Mommy and Me” movies. Every week in LA a couple of the movie theaters show a new release for moms.  You bring your babies. Diaper changes, crying and breastfeeding are the norm. No one cares because you’re all in the same boat. I did it when Fia was 3 months old (we were out here for a brief stretch). Her first movie was “Shutter Island.” Okay, now read the first sentence of this paragraph again. Guilty? For Emmett? He gets no benefit from the movies. It’s purely for me.

Could  the play date and having to ”do” something with the kids end up being harmful? Does it gear them up to think they ”have” to be entertained or go somewhere? Instead should we be teaching them calm and quiet? To play with themselves? Commune in nature?  My aunt thinks so. She feels that the drive in this generation of moms will lead to some uncontrollable kids/tweens/teens who don’t know what to do with themselves if they aren’t “doing.”  As she put it, “Being able to be alone with yourself, entertain yourself, read, etc., is paramount to becoming a well balanced, non-hyperactive teen and adult.”

Are we selfish in wanting to see movies and do yoga while dragging our babies along for the ride in the guise of “mommy and me” classes?  Or are we helping ourselves get through motherhood by creating our own villages? If it’s the latter, they are very activity-centered villages. At least mine always have been.

I’m sure the ability to text a friend and get an instant response contributes to the ease of meeting up. Before the age of email and cell phones, it may have been different by default, not choice. But is this the right choice for us and our kids? I don’t know. I think it’s something to ponder.

Thoughts anyone?

If you don’t hear from me for a few days please call the looney bins in Palm Springs. I may be in one. My mother used to show up at the psych ward with her typewriter so she could get work done. No sh-t.

My potential disappearance is because we are going on “vacation.” It includes a stop at Disneyland. In reading that sentence, I can’t believe this was my idea.

We are heading to Palm Springs for two nights via land of Mickey. The desert is 105-degrees right now. Fia gets burnt even in the shade. She also gets carsick. Massively, as seen on our horrendous trip out to LA this fall. And Emmett barfs and farts. Constantly. This is going to be a helluva roadtrip.

Anywho, I convinced Phil to take off 2 whole days of work (Gasp! I’m not bitter…) to go to the desert. We hadn’t taken a family vacation since last May in Costa Rica. That’s when I got pregnant with Emmett. Oops. This will be a far different trip. I’m not reading 50 Shades of Grey, therefore this trip won’t involve sex. Just diapers and barf.

Right now, as I sit here in the cozy cafe typing, I feel like a smug veteran mother. I can handle this, right? The hotel asked if we wanted a suite on the 5th floor. Oh, no-no-no I said. I’m a MOM. I know better. I know that lugging a stroller with a raft, water wings, Emmett’s diaper bag, 40 bottles of sunscreen, snacks, and my Kindle (dare to dream) through a hallway, to an elevator, to the pool will take up the entire day. I’m smarter than that. I know the only way to go is a poolside room. In fact, I booked two. They adjoin. This way Fia and Phil can sleep peacefully while Em and I tackle the night.

Yes, this “vacation” is sounding more appealing by the sentence.

I had to research about 15 hotels in the Palm Springs area. The ones my mom friends recommended were full. Then there were my non-mom friends. I got a list of about 5 hotels that had things on their sites like, “no pool toys allowed.” One said, “While we welcome guest of all ages, we are a boutique hotel with an intimate setting and backdrop that is not always ideal for children of all ages. We warmly welcome dogs.”

Well folks, that definitely takes Feral Fia out of the equation. My girl who loves dirty feet and messy hair is pure Mutt. I think this hotel wants the Pomeranians. I finally found a place that has, are you ready? A Splashtopia! Whatever the f–k that means. All I know is when I saw “availability” and “splashtopia” in the same sentence I felt like god was on my side.

I have a list of everything we need to bring. Included on it are our two noise machines (one for each room) and wine. Oh no, please teetotaler moms. Don’t begrudge me on this one. It’s vacation for god’s sake. Which now means survival.

The best advice I have gotten thus far is from a friend who said, “Go with low expectations. You probably won’t find it relaxing, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.”

Yes, in motherhood, “fun” takes on a whole new meaning. I know my babies won’t let me down.

Picture of family vacation via shutterstock

We went to the Descanso Gardens last weekend. It was so beautiful–like a woodsy Botanical Garden. Fia loved it. We all did. Was so relaxing to just walk around and enjoy.

Then this week, when I dropped her off at school, they had made a little sign pretending there was a “garden shop.” Fia decided she wanted to run the shop. She’d be good at it, especially if her customers like lots of hugs.

I know I overshare on my blog. Hell, I even posted during pregnancy about my ugly vag problem. I’m sure my pious mother-in-law was horrified by that one, though we’ve never discussed it. I keep thinking maybe she didn’t read it. I know my husband only reads posts I flag for him. Otherwise I think he’d be horrified too. He’s a private person. So private in fact that he, get this, doesn’t even have a Facebook page. Yes, you read that correctly. He will occasionally go on mine to surf and post obnoxious comments that I then have to go undo/overexplain to my “friends.”

All this to say that there is a new term. It’s called oversharenting.

I cringed when I read parts of this Wall Street Journal article. As in, “God I hope I’m not oversharenting everything I post.” When it comes to my kids, I’d like to think they won’t be horrified by my blogs in 15 years. I keep telling myself that since everything is so instant, everything is also instantly forgotten, right? But what if it’s not?

Will Fia care that her first boyfriend can find a picture about her first poop? Will Emmett care that the world knows he’s not circumcised? I don’t dare ask my husband this because I think his gut feeling is I reveal too much. He would probably be okay if my blog went away. He’s supportive of my writing—he just doesn’t want our family to have anything to do with it. But I’m a mommy blogger. So what line do I walk? My family is my blog. And it gives me a creative outlet that I cherish.

When it comes to social media like Twitter and Facebook, I’m pretty lame compared to most moms. I have less than 600 twitter followers (please follow me! @jillcordes) and I have a small fan base on Facebook (please like me!). I’m so bad at putting my links up that I have someone helping/teaching me to do it.  As ridiculous as it sounds, somehow this makes me feel like a superior parent in the online world. Well, I may be posting naked pictures of my babies, but at least I don’t live on the computer all day.

Ahh, we humans can justify anything, can’t we?

I have no right or wrong answers for oversharenting. I don’t know if anyone does because we don’t know where the digital age is leading us. Will our kids and grandkids be more open about issues? Will there be less passive aggressive behavior in the world because we call everyone out on everything? (That would help many an in-law relationship, no?) Or will we end up raising robots? Or worse—kids who hate us for all we’ve revealed?

I joke that when Fia and Emmett become tweens, we’ll all move to rural New Zealand and become sheepherders. But something tells me there will be a wireless connection there, too.

Where do we draw the line in dealing with online? Tell me. Help me. Share your thoughts for the world to see.

Picture of mom and baby on computer via Shutterstock

My controversial boob post caused me to miss Fia Friday. Gasp. I’m sure all of you are waiting with bated breath to see pictures of my children.  And while they aren’t nearly as interesting as the boob stories, (including Time Magazine’s) I can emphatically say they are prettier. Especially when Wayne Sanchez is involved.

My Cat Has No Boundaries

In all seriousness, I got to thinking that while I’m opinionated, I also like to consider myself fair. And in my rebuttal post, (My Boobs Are Taking a Hit. Ouch!) I only singled out the negative comments. My hypnotherapist would be disappointed.

Here are some of my favorites from you guys.

(#1) Breastfeeding rocks !! It helps and makes things easier & it goes even better if you have a husband that helps out & don’t see it as a job but as team work!  I love my Boobs & Husband!

(#2) It forced me to stop and sit down, rest and think. That was priceless for my sanity. Now that I have #2, same story.

(#3) I’m breastfeeding #4 and feel exactly the same way as the author. Sometimes I feel like it’s the only one on one time I get with him! So I AM going to enjoy nursing him, even if that means my three other boys have to learn patience and my husband has to get up to make breakfast.

(#4) Thank you for this article. My husband and I are trying for baby #2 and this helps me to put everything in perspective. I was worried that I would drown in extra childcare duties but maybe it won’t be so bad after all! LOL. And I SO miss nursing. Excited to continue with the next child.

What’s funny is my blog became a huge debate on a) how the husband should or shouldn’t help and b) my selfishness in pushing for my husband to help/wanting to have alone time with my infant and c) breastfeeding while having a glass of wine.

Alcohol is always a controversial topic when it comes to the boob. You already know where I stand. But here are a few more commenters who feel the same as I do. And let’s all be grateful we live in a country where we CAN speak our minds, as opposed to a place like, say, Iran (where I would clearly be dead by now). So cheers ladies!

(#5) While pregnant at a nursing class at NY Presbyterian Hospital in NYC I happily learned–As long as you don’t pass out, drinking while nursing is fine! Breasts are filters. Placentas are sieves. Drink Up!

(#6) Omg ladies, get a grip! Yes sometimes the toddler has to run amok a bit while I nurse #2 but he hasn’t burnt the house down or eaten the dog yet. A glass of wine isn’t going to hurt anyone- moms and docs around the world agree. This is my life too- but husband travels so I do a lot of juggling. It was meant to be funny- not as a “everyone do as I do or you’re a failure”! Lighten up!

(#7) Get a grip ladies! I found the humor in this article, so should you all. My husband was deployed for the first 8 months of our daughter’s life and I’m finally getting a 36 hour break while he takes her to a family wedding and I stay home. Am I selfish? Probably. Am I ecstatic that I’m finally getting a break? Hell yes. I also have a drink while or before or even after I breast feed my daughter (yes we are still breast feeding at 13 months) and she is perfectly healthy, happy, and active. Relax, have a glass of wine yourself, and find the humor.

(#8) Geez girls some of us seem to have our negativity hats on today.Instead of thinking she’s being selfish try thinking she’s teaching her daughter to be more patient, more self soothing and self sufficient (skills she’ll need as she get older) as for her husband…let’s see…ummm…she’s letting him be a dad! Raising kids is frustrating even for us Mom’s and 80% of the time someones not going to step in for us and take over as she clearly says she does for her husband. If this was a piece written by a father who admitted he took a little quite time every day under the guise of doing something else (honestly do you think their “guy stuff” is all work and no play? My husband has admitted it’s not and he does some of it to get away from the kids too). Your comments would be quite different and I’m pretty sure the word selfish wouldn’t have been uttered.

(#9) Being a mom IS a JOB. Regardless is he works or not, he should help. That’s the problem with a lot of dads, they thing they can just push the children off on the mothers because most women fall into that “oh well my husband works” crap. Even if moms do work the men still get a get-out-of-jail-free card simply because they’re men. Did any of you ever think that…hmmm…before baby #2 she did spend time with child #1 and now she wants to give baby #2 as much as attention as she can to bond with it more while giving the dad and their daughter time to bond? Didn’t you read where she said while her husband goes back to sleep she plays with THEM (being BOTH her children). And drinking ONE GLASS of wine is harmless!

(#10) How dare you call her a “Lazy mom” just because she likes spending one-on-one time with her children, and yes she may be getting a break but she is still bonding with her new child while giving dad and daughter a chance to bond.

(#11) Last feeding happens, then wine time! Best time of the night.

I had no idea my boobs would stir up such controversy. Maybe I’ll get implants next. In lieu of all this, I decided to just let Fia, my 2 1/2 year old, take over feeding Emmett the bottle, while I lay drunk, passed out on the couch. Plus, this way neither Phil nor I have to parent. But wait; will I still be called “lazy” for putting my toddler in charge? Maybe…

I’m referring to my post, Why the Boob Rocks. Most people who commented (particularly on the Facebook link) “got” that it was a humorous article on getting the most bang for your, well, breast. As in, use it to your advantage when you can. Why not? You can’t be called neglectful (though I was actually) for feeding your infant while your husband feeds your toddler. You can’t be called selfish (though I was. Hmm) for having some alone time with your infant–helping him survive, ie: eat--while your husband deals with the household. And god forbid you have a glass of wine while doing all this feeding nonsense. That set off a sh-tstorm.

Here are a couple favorites:

(#1) “That’s sick is about all I can say. Drinking while feeding your child. Being lazy while the man does all the work.”

(#2) “I have 2 under two and have nursed and bottle fed. it sounds like she is finding an excuse to ignore the daughter. drinking while nursing? wtf? yes, it would take some time before the alcohol entered the breast milk but nonetheless you are promoting a dangerous habit. Just because you “can” drink does not mean you should. Think about all the young and new mothers that are reading this article for advice and do not know how to “safely” consume alcohol while nursing (I personally would never risk drinking and nursing despite what research says). This is an irresponsible article that is not helpful to parents with kids close in age.”

(#3) “I am all for breastfeeding, i breastfed my son for a year..but to disregard your other child completely and use nursing as an excuse not to interact with your child. Disgusts me!”

Yup (#3), that’s exactly what I do. Fia who?

Here is my rebuttal:

For all the teetotalers out there–RELAX! I’m not getting sh-t faced and nursing my child. If you drink a glass of wine while feeding them, by the time it gets into your breastmilk–filtered by Mother Nature– Hello!–they are done feeding. As some of the more reasonable commentor’s pointed out,  doctors/pediatricians/lactation consultants all say it’s fine in moderation. And drinking a glass is moderation. I would go as far to say 2 glasses, but I’m afraid I’ll have to don a bulletproof vest. LA is too hot for that.

I think it’s amazing that my husband is not only able–but also WILLING to be a team in parenthood. I’m selfish because I want to nurse my child and let’s see–maybe enjoy it? While he gets time with our toddler? That’s whacked. I think the moms who viewed it this way must be martyrs, humorless or both. Why else would you be so negative?

A few brought up drinking wine with Emmett’s reflux issues. It’s a legitimate point and I thank you for your concern. Here’s why it’s not part of his barf equation:

If you boob feed a baby at say 6 pm, take a few sips of wine, finish the feed, finish the wine, then don’t feed him for another 6 hours (as it’s in the night now, and he is going longer stretches) he isn’t getting any alcohol. Plus, let’s not forget breastmilk is a filter. Many of you aren’t giving Mother Nature the credit she deserves. But just to be cautious, I time it strategically. If on occasion I have more than one glass within a feed time, then I give him a bottle of pre-pumped breast milk. (Fia will now be taking over that duty.)

The other thing: his reflux is most extreme during the early morning feed. I promise I’m not downing Bloody Mary’s. So these theories that I’m harming my baby with a glass of wine are simply unfounded and silly. Moms, lighten up! Enjoy yourselves! However that may be…

I think Time Magazine missed the boat on breast feeding your 3-year old. They should have had the mom holding a wine glass in this incredibly disturbing cover picture. But I’m not touching that one! At least not yet.

Yikes!!

My boobs have become a secret weapon in survival. And not just because they feed my child.

When Fia came, it was all me all the time. I was drowning in her barf and tortured from lack of sleep. I became resentful that everything was put on me, even though yes, I am the mom.

Flash forward to Emmett. I am the picture of calm. That’s not an adjective you would typically use to describe me. But between hypnotherapy and the beauty of the boob, it’s a totally different scenario the second time around. Phil on the other hand seems to have postpartum frustration. He stomps around; I sit in lotus. He’s angry; I meditate. Here’s what shifted:

Fia’s melting down at dinnertime? Sorry honey, I gotta go feed Emmett.

Fia’s awake at 5:51 every morning? Sorry honey, Emmett’s hungry.

When you have the second baby, the parenting of the toddler falls more on the dad. Or at least in our house. I’m not kidding when I say that I get an extra hour-plus of sleep every morning because of this. AN HOUR. PLUS. Do you understand what that means? That’s like winning the lottery every day. I lay in bed with my little man as he nurses and we drift off to sleep. It’s heaven.

Cut to Phil downstairs with Fia screaming for Elmo, spilling orange juice and crying for eggs (Phil hates eggs and can’t make them. He claims he will barf. And we have enough barfing in our family with Em’s reflux).

At around 7 or 7:30 (the latter if I’m feeling greedy), I serenely float down and take over. Phil goes back to bed for an hour. I cook eggs, clean up the OJ and read the paper. I hold Emmett and Fia watches Sesame. Or we all play. It’s great. And to be fair, Phil wakes back up refreshed. Don’t feel too sorry for him–I’m not killing the guy.

At night, as Phil is trying to get Fia to eat, I’m sitting in the living room, a glass of wine in hand, watching the news, nursing my boy. Ahhhh… this is the life!

I’m lucky to have such a hands-on husband. I don’t know what I would do if he weren’t. But I wouldn’t have married someone who didn’t look at our relationship as a partnership of equals. I will admit that the scale is tipping a bit more in my favor lately.  I’m taking it–guilt free. I carried these babies for 10 months. I endured another c-section. And I know that eventually everything circles back to the mom. This is a temporary reprieve.

When Emmett’s reflux started to increase last week I panicked. Not only because I want to breastfeed him for health reasons, but for my own personal Zen. Hell, if I keep getting these kinds of breaks, I might breastfeed him until he’s 4. Or 14.

So for all you moms out there expecting baby #2, this is my big secret—use the boob. It’s survival for us. And justified because it’s also survival for your baby.  Nothing wrong with that.

Can you tell who is who? Ignore the color of the clothes. Both outfits are/were Fia’s. Phil thinks our babes look identical. I don’t think so…though definitely brother-sister. And isn’t Wayne the picture of perfection as well?

Picture 1

Picture 2

I was afraid of this. Emmett is becoming a barfer. AARRRGGGGHHHH. Fia had the worst reflux. But I thought I dodged the bullet with Emmett. Reflux usually shows up around 2-3 weeks. Each week that passed with Emmett I felt more and more hopeful. I mean, he was a spitter. But not a barfer. There’s a difference.

Then, about 2 weeks ago, just shy of his 3 month birthday, more and more milk kept coming up. I knew I was in trouble when Cleo, our nanny, walked in with 3 changes of clothes. Damn.

Here is the weird thing. He only barfs up my breast milk. Not formula. Fia was the exact same way. I took her to 3 different pediatricians.  I even took a saturated barf cloth to one. “Here, feel this. This is from one feed!” I sobbed. We’re talking cups of barf. They all told me the same thing: since she was gaining weight, it wasn’t technically reflux. Therefore, they wouldn’t treat it as such. But wait, the reason she’s gaining is because I have to feed her all the time. She is also in terrible pain, constantly scrunching her body up. And all the barfing certainly can’t feel good on her throat.

Their stance was to keep her on the boob and deal with it. I’m still resentful.

I ordered some herbal concoction that–no kidding–was black as tar. It is supposed to help reflux. Um, okay, well, if it doesn’t, guess what you get? Black stains all over your furniture. Genius. That lasted all of one feed. I experimented with other things too, but I finally just gave up.

At 4 months, overwrought with lack of sleep and full of misery, I gave up breast feeding. I drove to the store and bought formula. It was an instant game-changer. I had a freezer full of breast milk that I would try to get down week after week. Same thing every time. Copious amounts of barf. I don’t think it was an allergy either. I had experimented with eliminating dairy, citrus, eggs–you name it–from my diet. Nothing worked. My mom said I was the same way.

With Emmett, I am determined to not give up breast feeding so early. I took him to our doctor here and explained what was happening. (I picked a specific doctor at the practice because she’s not old school like some of them.) After hearing my story, she theorized that maybe since breast milk isn’t as heavy as formula, both he and Fia needed something with more weight–or less acidic. It’s exactly what my mom and I had talked about 2 years before.

This pediatrician, unlike others I’ve had, prescribed Zantac. She also gave me some probiotics. Instead of discounting me, she listened. For that, I am incredibly grateful. She believes that it is worth staying on the boob with a little medicine rather than switching to formula. Or at least trying to see if it makes a difference. Whew.

We are on day 5 of Zantac and so far his spitting up has greatly diminished. I’m holding my breath and crossing my fingers. He also isn’t crunching up in pain as often. My goal is to boob feed him for at least 6 months, maybe a year. He’s my last baby. Plus, there are some major advantages (besides the medical aspect) to breastfeeding. I’ll save that for another blog.

I wrote earlier this week about trusting your mom instinct when it comes to studies and diagnoses and all that jazz. I’m glad I get a second chance on this one with my little guy.