Bonkers Read online

  I understand that breast-feeding is to be celebrated and that we can feel proud of ourselves for being able to do it and for the length of time we do it for, but I can’t help but feel that this award system also adds an extra pressure and leaves other mums feeling like a bit of a letdown if they haven’t managed to reach bronze, let alone gold boob status.

  I’m going to throw it out there and say, Can’t we all just get an award for feeding our tiny humans, regardless of how or how long? In fact, scrap that. Can’t we just scrap the awards in general? I know I may be irritating the hell out of some of you now reading this; I can hear you shouting, ‘Why shouldn’t we be able to celebrate the length of time we breast-feed for?’.

  I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I am extremely proud – at least, I am trying to fight my breast-feeding demons to allow me to be proud – that I was able to breast-feed both my girls. I just want to stop the categorising and point system associated with it, so that ‘Wow, I MANAGED TO BREAST-FEED FOR SIX WEEKS!’ doesn’t turn instead to ‘Oh, I managed only six weeks and it was only combi feeding, and it wasn’t exclusively my milk because we had to give her formula too.’

  So how about we all agree to stop the labelling, the categorising and the judgement and be a bit easier on ourselves? Let’s instead all just celebrate the fact we are feeding our tiny humans (by whatever methods we can) and what an amazing thing that is.

  THE EVERY MUM GUIDE TO BREAST-FEEDING

  I wrote the following article on breast-feeding after the birth of my eldest, and it received a phenomenal response on my blog from all mums – breast-feeding and bottle-feeding alike – so I thought you would enjoy reading it too.

  There’s no getting around the fact that the subject of breast-feeding gets us all into a bloody tizz. I admit it has the same effect on me. When I contemplated using it as a topic to write about, I felt my stomach tighten with anxiety, my head dip and my shoulders broaden in anticipation of having to defend myself against a potential backlash. Now, I’m not writing anything purposefully controversial or antagonising, yet the feeling of anxiety is there nonetheless. And isn’t this the problem when it comes to talking about breast-feeding? That no matter what we dare write, think, say or do, when it comes to talking about breast-feeding we are always in danger of pissing somebody off (despite our best intentions)?

  Like the majority of mums out there, I have had enough of treading on proverbial eggshells whenever the subject arises. Therefore I am raising my head and the subject above the social parapet for the sake of every mum who has had just about enough of the ridiculous breast versus bottle wars. Who like myself is done with the judgement and hysteria that accompanies the topics of breast-feeding in public, the age we decide to stop breast-feeding, the type of breast-feeding we decide on and if we decide against it. On behalf of every mum, I am daring to ask: Why are we so bothered about how another mum chooses to feed her child? And why is it such a political minefield?

  I’m pretty confident that if I stopped any mum in the street and asked her thoughts on how another mum decides to feed her child, she would quite rightly tell me that she has enough on her plate worrying about how she feeds, rears and cares for her own tiny human to be bothered about the choices another mum makes. And as long as mum and baby are both healthy and happy, then surely that’s all that matters.

  So why, oh why, is it not this simple? Why do we instead feel so judged on our choices and like a failure if we are not doing what is perceived as the best choice when it comes to how we feed our baby? And, more importantly, why the hell can we not talk about it without the fear of backlash, contradiction and judgement? This has to stop!

  For every mum out there who has faced judgement on how they choose to feed their tiny human, this no bullshit guide to breast-feeding is for you:

  • Not every mum can breast-feed

  Yes, we all have boobs, but this does not mean that each and every single pair will play ball and do ‘what nature intended’ just because we have a tiny human who needs feeding. Unfortunately, for a lot of mums out there desperate to breast-feed and desperate to do it well, it is not as straightforward as directing their newborn in the direction of the food supply. What is a beautiful bonding experience for some mums, one that they have found relatively straightforward, can be for others a frustrating and at times an extremely painful experience as they battle with a baby who cannot latch on, a milk supply that is unwilling and the guilt that, despite trying everything, they have to abandon their hopes of breast-feeding, leaving them feeling like they have let both themselves and their baby down. These mums should be celebrated for what they actually are – bloody troopers who tried their hardest to breast-feed even to the detriment of themselves. For all you mums with whom this resonates, you quite simply ROCK!

  • Not every mum wants to breast-feed

  Let’s get the elephant in the room acknowledged once and for all by admitting that breast-feeding is not for everyone, and that the choice not to breast-feed for some women is down to the fact that they are unwilling. It is not for them and they would rather bottle-feed their baby. These women are not witches, they do not need to be hounded out of the local mother and baby groups and they certainly do not deserve to be judged. They are mums who are making the best decision for their situation. End of. Just because we are women and just because we become mothers, does not directly result in all of us wanting to breast-feed.

  • You should feel proud of yourself for being able to breast-feed

  Breast-feeding is challenging, magical and heartwarming. It can push us mums to the brink of despair on the bad days and to the edge of delirium on the good. It has the ability to make you feel like the worst mother in the world when things are not quite going to plan. And it has the ability to make you feel like the best mum on the planet when it’s all going well. It is a journey of ups and downs and, most of all, a journey (no matter how long or short) that should make us all feel proud of and privileged to have been able to take part in.

  • You should not feel guilty if you wanted to breast-feed but couldn’t

  As a mum who has been in this position, I do know, yes, that this is so much easier said than done. In fact, like most things in motherhood, it is nigh on impossible to stop the hell that is mummy guilt from bearing down upon us. HOWEVER, this does not mean the guilt is right or deserved. When it comes to mastering the art that is breast-feeding, there can at times be no rhyme or reason to explain why it doesn’t work for us. Or why, despite our dogged determination and perseverance, it’s still not working for us as easily as for other mums. We battle on through breast pumping, through sore, cracked and bleeding nipples, through mastitis, through problems with latching on, through problems with the amount of milk we are producing. We scour the forums and websites for advice, pleading to our health visitors and fellow mums for a solution on how to breast-feed and pacify our tiny human screaming to be fed. When, despite our best efforts it still does not work for us, we feel like failures and that our bodies have let us down. For all mums out there who have battled the challenges of breast-feeding and who may be feeling they have failed because they can’t, please know that YOU HAVE NOT!

  • It is not easy

  Breast-feeding is an art to be mastered. It is a new skill for us mums to learn, and like any new skill it takes time, dedication and constant guidance – that you are using the right technique, sitting in the correct position, holding your baby in the best way – to ensure that you and your baby are having an enjoyable experience.

  • You don’t always get the right support or advice

  Unfortunately, one of the most common complaints by mums when it comes to their breast-feeding journey is that they didn’t receive enough support and advice, firstly on how to commence with breast-feeding and then on how to overcome any challenges. The lack of education around breast-feeding regarding how to start and maintain it for as long as is best for you and your baby needs to be addressed so every mum out there gets a healthy and su
pportive start to their journey and the much-needed advice and help throughout.

  • It is not a competition

  Before I had children and decided to breast-feed, I naively thought there were just two options when it came to feeding your baby – breast or bottle. It wasn’t until I became a mum eager to breast-feed that I realised that there were a whole host of definitions under the term ‘breast-feeding’, and all had a different amount of kudos attached. All of a sudden we are being asked not just if we breast-feed but if we exclusively breast-feed or if we combination feed – and if we do give a bottle, is it a bottle of our expressed milk or formula? We are asked how long we have breastfed for and which method we chose and how long we plan to do it for. And all the time we are feeling that teeny bit more judged and worried about the reaction our answers may provoke. Again I come back to the question: As long as your little one is (a) being fed and (b) being fed, who really cares?

  • You never feel like you’ve done enough. EVER

  You could have breastfed your child until they were two, but there will still be a little voice in your head questioning whether you did it for long enough or for too long … You will feel like a phoney breast-feeder if you’ve used bottles as well as boob – even if those bottles were filled with your own milk. You will beat yourself up if you express milk so your partner can do a feed and you can get a few hours of much-needed sleep, or if, heaven forbid, you fancy a glass of wine. As mums, we are programmed to beat ourselves up regardless of how selfless we have been. Sounding familiar? Just remember you grew a whole tiny human, fingers, toes and the little mouth that you are now worrying about feeding. You are quite simply magnificent!

  • We are ALL defensive when it comes to how we feed our babies

  Hell, we are all defensive about all the choices we make regarding our tiny humans. They are the most precious things in the world to us. They are our gorgeous, chubby-legged superstars, for whom we would do anything. So each and everyone of us are going to come out fighting, teeth bared and tongues sharpened, if anyone dares to suggest that we are not doing right by them. So how about we just stop? How about, rather than passing judgement on whether a mum prefers bottle to boob or boob to bottle or on how long a mum chooses to breast-feed and by what method – how about we just don’t? And instead just think to ourselves that mummy and baby are happy and that’s all that matters. And, more importantly, make an effort not to be offended by all comments about breast-feeding.

  • Your boobs. Your baby. Your choice

  Whatever your decision, whatever journey you choose when it comes to breast-feeding and how you choose to feed your child, it’s up to you. Anyone who dares judge can quite frankly ‘Do one!’.

  Ladies, we are all on the same team, breast-feeding and bottle-feeding mums alike. Therefore, all mothers battling the guilt of being unable to breast-feed. All mothers enjoying every minute of their breast-feeding journey. All mothers whose journey had to end before they were ready. And all mothers who chose to not begin the journey in the first place. Every Mum feeding their tiny humans (whether it be bottle or boob), I salute you. You are doing an amazing job – and don’t let anyone else make you feel otherwise.

  ‘Holy SHIT, Take a Look at My Tits’

  (An ode to lactating boobs the world over)

  Holy shit! take a look at my tits!

  Their girth is as big as my head,

  Bursting with milk and aching like hell,

  I can no longer roll over in bed.

  HOLY SHIT! Take a look at my tits!

  I simply have no control,

  No matter where or when, just one sound of a cry,

  And this milk float is ready to roll.

  HOLY SHIT! Take a look at my tits!

  They’re growing bigger by the hour,

  Baby, you better be hungry and it better be now,

  I’m dressed and don’t want a milk shower.

  HOLY SHIT! Take a look at my tits!

  My partner is all full of lust,

  Counting the hours, till he gets his fine hands,

  On his wife’s amazing new bust.

  HOLY SHIT! Take a look at my tits!

  My hubby is now full of fear,

  An overamorous cuddle started a ginormous milk puddle,

  So no longer will he come anywhere near.

  HOLY SHIT! Take a look at my tits!

  Please come closer and have a good stare,

  They fed my babe well and did a great job,

  What a wonderful and fabulous pair!

  CHAPTER 13

  THE EVERY MUM GUIDE TO WEANING

  So, just when you’ve cracked the milk feeding schedule, the ‘joyous’ phase of weaning creeps up on you – otherwise fondly known as trying to force feed your tiny human spoonfuls of mush whilst feeling sick with panic that you are going to make them choke to death.

  Oh yes, an overboiled, overmushed vegetable can have us dangling from the precipice of victory or disaster!

  I was really looking forward to weaning. To seeing my tiny human’s face light up with wonder at the palette-engaging delights of home-cooked food for the first time. Food that had been loving prepared by the fair and confident hands of her own mother, who watched on with joy and satisfaction as her tiny human wolfed down the lot and asked for more, despite not being able to speak yet. Oh yes, my food was going to be that good that it even performed the miracle of bringing speech to my six-month old, who, by the way, would also be expertly holding and sucking on a stick of organic asparagus for that all-important baby-led bloody weaning.

  Fast forward to reality and there I was, sitting on the floor of my mum’s kitchen, my tiny human sat in her Bumbo seat in between my legs, as I cracked open a jar of fruit purée and said a little prayer to keep her from choking on it. The whole momentous moment was captured on her daddy’s phone. Her face was a picture and by the end of a couple of forced mouthfuls (whilst she gave me the ‘What the hell are you doing?’ eyes) most of the purple goop ended up spat out on her, me, the floor, the kitchen cupboards, walls and anything within a three-mile radius. And so our weaning journey began.

  It made me feel excited that she was at the next big stage of her development and experiencing new things, but it also made me feel petrified and anxious once again. As with other tiny human milestones, I found myself trying to navigate us through a whole new ocean of unchartered waters, which raised yet another batch of anxious questions. How much should she be eating? What should I be feeding her? Are jar foods the creation of the devil? Should my freezer be filled to the brim with rows of homemade purées, all labelled and in cute matching Tupperware pots? (Please note I have NEVER owned matching Tupperware; I’m sure I buy them with matching lids, but as soon as they enter my home and the cupboard of doom, all hell breaks loose and those damn matching lids are never to be seen again.) How would this all affect her milk (something I now finally felt confident about)? What the hell was baby-led weaning? And once I’d found out what it was, dear God, how the hell am I going to let her put things in her mouth without the urge to panic she is choking and dialling 999?

  I spent hours of my life (hours I cannot get back, I may add), puréeing mixes of different fruits and veggies. I even got suckered into buying a bloody Babycook machine, and then proceeded to poach chicken and mince. (If you ever want to know what a dead person feels like, I suggest overpoaching a strip of chicken in a Babycook.)

  My freezer, once packed with gin- and vodka-infused ice cubes, was now packed to bursting with my melange of mush whilst the gin went warm on the kitchen side. Yes, my life was THIS rock and roll. My pièce de résistance, the crowning glory, golden moment of my weaning life was when I managed to kid myself I was Annabel Karmel and spent six hours – YES, you read right – SIX HOURS making small, beautifully formed and tiny human-friendly, well balanced, nutritional shepherd’s pies. I felt like the Don! The Godfather of mush, wielding baby-feeding power with my Babycook.

  As those perfectly formed bad boys came
out the oven I could hear the chorus chanting: ‘Watch out, ladies, there’s a new mum on the block and she is killing it in the kitchen with her perfect shepherd’s pie prowess.’

  Who the hell was I kidding?

  Certainly, not my tiny human, who took one look at my delicious pies and decided that the best place for them was not in her mouth or even on her spoon. Oh no, the best place for my deliciously, nutritious and beautifully formed pies, which had taken me six long hours to make, six longs hours that I was never getting back, was spat out on the floor and all over me in the perfect pebbledash splatter which only a tiny human can perfect.

  I am proud to say that I handled the situation and this blatant insult to my culinary skills with grown-up patience and dignity. I most certainly did not leave my tiny human in her seat in the lounge sucking on a piece of cucumber, whilst I took the spat-out shepherd’s pie back into the kitchen and sobbed my heart out to my hubby. No, that blubbing mess, reaching for the jar of purée I knew she would eat, was most definitely not me.

  And so the games began, along with the ritual of spending too many hours of my life trying to make well balanced, nutritional and tasty tiny human food, for it only to be spat out hours later – at which point I’d reach for something, anything ‘home-opened’. It’s a ritual I know is common amongst all us mums and is happening across the world right now. And before you have time to blink or put a wash on, this ritual transforms itself into toddler teatime hell, with you STILL being covered head to toe in spat-out food and trying to disguise a carrot baton as a magical orange chip.

  So let’s make this whole weaning malarkey a load easier for us all, shall we? And really get to the crux of this winning weaning technique once and for all.

  ALL THE THINGS I WISH SOMEONE HAD TOLD ME BEFORE I BOUGHT THE BABYCOOK: