We went to our church's Christmas Eve service, and as always I got a chuckle out of these words:

The cattle are lowing, the Baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes.

I call no way! Of course, we were viewing these lyrics from the other side of the cry room's windows, because that is our penalty box, the deserved punishment for having kids and then bothering to show up to church. Mikko wasn't actually crying, just occasionally screeching whenever the service's volume grew too quiet for his comfort. He's like the guest at the party who's oversensitive to awkward silences. Behind us in the cry room was a baby using it to the max, screaming full tilt in annoyance at being newly born instead of snug in the womb -- I remember those days with Mikko very well. We made it back into the sanctuary only in time to have him slobber all over my Silent Night candle (unlit, natch) and grin droolingly at the congregants in our radius.

So, the docetic image of newborn baby Jesus calmly looking around at some cows with just some swaddling blankets and hay to warm him doesn't seem quite right, but there you are.

It's easy, in this my first Christmas with a real live baby in my arms, to lay aside Marcion heresy and embrace the fully human aspect of the Incarnation, to imagine a divine baby as annoying, adorable, warm, chubby, and hilarious as mine.

I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

May you and your little loved ones be blessed this holiday. Merry Christmas.

Am I the only American mother who's sad and bewildered when her baby starts sleeping a six-hour stretch?

Even a cursory glance at a popular parenting site like BabyCenter.com will show dozens of anxious questions and reassuring responses about parents seeking that holy grail of having their baby sttn (it's talked about so often, it has birthed its own abbreviation).

This was the wonderful advice I received in a recent BabyCenter email (personally, I cringe over 80% of what I read from BabyCenter, but for some reason I still love seeing one of those "Your Baby This Week" newsletters in my inbox). It was a sidebar about Ferberizing, described aptly this way: "You let him cry for increasing amounts of time each night before you go check on him, and even then you don't pick him up to soothe him. Eventually, he learns that crying doesn't help and he may as well go to sleep." This last statement breaks my heart but is intended, I gather, to be matter-of-fact and reassuring. After admitting that some parents criticize the Ferber method for being "overly harsh," a pediatrician and author, Jennifer Shu, is quoted giving this terrific counsel: "It's not for everybody. But I support parents trying it who are interested. If it doesn't work" -- and here I paused mentally and truly expected her to admit that this method should be abandoned in that case, but...wait for it -- "I recommend they stop for a few weeks and try again."

Even just last night, I was just scanning my college's alumni updates after submitting our own birth announcement six months slow, and I found parents who felt the need, in the scant space afforded a briefly worded announcement, to fit in a boast about an especially young baby who already calmly slumbered from dusk to dawn.

Every once in awhile, I leave Mikko in someone else's lap when I have to do something super exciting like, I don't know, pee, or bend down to pick something up (he's a big kid, so my back much prefers this option). If I'm out of the room and hear him start to fuss, I try to hurry back because I know he needs me specifically if he's hungry or tired.

I was thinking about how I looked at my parents as a little kid — those people who meant to me familiarity in a room of strangers, reassurance and safety when I was sure ghosts were hanging out around my bed, food and provision when I needed something in particular, knowledge and competence when I had a problem to solve.

And I realize, I'm that person now to someone. I am Mother. Not just a person now, but sort of an icon.

Because, as I look back, I realize that my parents, though excellent in those roles, were really just people under it all — only human, not all-knowing, infallible, unconditionally loving in every second. And that's a relief, because I sure as heck am not those things either.

But, see, it doesn't matter, because like it or not, that's how your child will see you for a long time, and you just sort of have to embrace the role and do what you can to build and maintain the trust they give so freely.

When I walk into a room after a 5-minute absence and Mikko's crying in someone else's arms, he'll see me enter and his cries will change — at once abate (in sadness and anxiety) and intensify (in energy). They'll transform into a sort of hiccuping, reaching-out, half-laughing sort of cry that's equal parts relief, reproach, elation, and expectation of needs met.

I am Mother, and I am all important to my child. Do I deserve the title? Certainly not. But I'll do what I can to earn it.

Well, as I enter the season of Advent, I also enter the insane Christmas buying season. I'm not the one doing the buying -- Sam & I run our own online retail business. So, seeing as how this is our busiest period of the year, I'm suddenly free-time-free. I'll try to jump in here when I can and will post more often when I catch my breath the other side of New Year's.

You Are a Trifle

No doubt, you have many intricate layers. But deep down, you're a little squishy.

I'm not even clear on what a trifle is, but I liked the description.

Welcome to the November Carnival of Breastfeeding! This is my first month participating, and we're all reviewing books and media on breastfeeding, birth, and parenting. Be sure to check out the other carnival entries at the bottom of this post!

Compare current United States parenting culture -- where babies spend much of their days in plastic car seats and strollers, sleep in a separate bed in a separate room alone at night, and, if breastfed at all, usually are weaned to formula and solids by 5 months -- with the !Kung San hunter-gatherers of Botswana, where babies are worn on their mothers' hips, sleep with the tribe at night, and breastfeed on average every 13 minutes, for 3+ years.

That's just what Meredith F. Small does in Our Babies, Ourselves: How Biology and Culture Shape the Way We Parent -- give fascinating comparisons of the general parenting culture in a continuum from the !Kung San to the U.S. with several stops in between.

Small writes not just as an anthropologist, wanting to observe and record human behavior and how it relates to our biological and evolutionary roots as mammals, but also from an ethnopediatrics perspective, which seeks to advise us as parents how to integrate babies' innate needs with our culture in an infant-appropriate way.

A Californian photographer, Rachel Valley, has a site called NiftyImages.com that has some wonderful pictures of breastfeeding mothers and their children and partners. Choose the Mother-Culture-Art gallery, and then browse the images. If you scroll your mouse over the top edge of each photo, you'll see the title. [Updated link 08.07.09: MOTHER.CULTURE Photography Exhibition]

I enjoyed them all. I think Dirty, Gross, and Decency are quite thought-provoking and well-constructed, the kind of pictures I want to share with other people. (Which is why I thought of you!)

This reminds me that I really want to take some nice breastfeeding pictures. Well, have Sam take them, or possibly his sister if all three of us want to be in the frame. We have candid breastfeeding shots, because I wanted to be sure to document what's such an important and consuming part of my life right now. I'll shamelessly direct, "Get a picture of Mikko and me out here in this park!" -- "Get a picture of me nursing at Navy Pier in Chicago!" -- or whatever.

And, I put them all up on our family-photos blog, in a matter-of-fact way: Here's Mikko playing, here's Mikko eating, here's Mikko with Grandma, etc. This is all part of my grand plan to normalize breastfeeding...at least in my own family! I actually found Rachel's site through the comments section for this post at the Motherwear Breastfeeding Blog that encourages us to support breastfeeding in 2007 through concrete acts (not too much time left!). Posting breastfeeding photos online is not one of the acts suggested, but I think it counts in spirit!

But we're putting together special photo books for the grandparents as Christmas gifts, and we narrowed down our thousands of pictures to 30 pages of the most beautiful, iconic pictures of Mikko's first six months. And I realized that there really are no lovely, artistic breastfeeding pictures. Must remedy that, and before we finish the photo books!

What about other people? How have you captured your breastfeeding memories?

I think one reason I'm a fiction writer (in another nonpaying job) is that I've always loved to ask "what if." I take every real occasion and put myself in the other players' shoes, wondering what it would be like to experience, see, and react the way they do. I frequently daydream up scenarios with plenty of potential for drama and resolution: the marriage that almost dissolves, the loved one who goes missing (and I'm blamed for it!) and then is found in a climactic conclusion, the parents who die and leave me their orphan to raise (oh, the warming Hallmark moments).

Ever since having a baby, though, I cannot, will not, imagine my baby dying.

At some point or another, I've imagined every loved one in my life dying. It's not malicious; I usually cry, in fact, and then have to hide the tears in case someone asks me what's wrong and I have to say: "Oh, I was just imagining your funeral." I mostly just want to know what I'd do, how I'd feel, and make sure I could stand it. It's almost like practicing for the worst-case scenario, to help me get over my fears of death and also somehow to ensure that the scenarios I imagine now cannot happen. They're fiction, after all.

But Mikko's off limits. I can't watch TV shows where babies are in peril, because I can't put myself in those mothers' shoes. It would break my heart. And I can't listen to friends' stories of family secrets and tragedies, as heartless as it makes me seem to turn away. I glance at magazine articles about a death and turn the page after the first paragraph. Even statistics about car-crash deaths are enough to make me want to heave.

Well, this site kind of killed my Thanksgiving buzz, but it's not as if I'm a big holiday person anyway. Thanksgiving in particular always seemed a little pointless, being a typically American holiday of excess, consisting solely of eating too much, being with too many family members, and watching too much TV.

For the last several years, Sam & I haven't even bothered to celebrate it at all. The last two years, we were swamped with our former business, one that required us to be busier on holidays than not. We've been quasi-vegetarians for years (flexitarians, as Sam insists), so turkey has never appealed, and frankly, neither has tofurky. Sam & I have always wondered if these faux-meat products are created by carnivores who think every vegetarian really wants to eat meat so will take any meat-ish vegetable-based product available. I really don't mind vegetables, thank you. No shaping like a dead bird necessary.

Then there was the year we went to our new friends' house after we had just started the South Beach Diet. Phase I requires no grains for two weeks. We get to our friends, and it's simple-sugars city: the aforementioned turkey (not a carb, but not a treat), mashed potatoes, biscuits, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, sweet corn, and for dessert, I kid you not, bread pudding. We had such a high.

Thanksgivings at my parents' home for me were chaos of distant relations horning in on my mom's generosity to host, prepare most of the dishes, and clean up. Sam's memories were of his siblings bickering about which dishes his mom should slave over each year, so that each Thanksgiving the list of required dishes grew, to a ludicrous range for their family of five.

In general, Sam's family was much more concerned about tradition, to the point that Sam chucked it all when he left. For our solo Thanksgivings, we sometimes had mushroom pot pie, sometimes Chinese food, sometimes just green bean casserole, skipping the rest of the spread.

But this year we decided to give the ol' family thing a try. Sam's sister moved out here earlier this year, so with three of us plus Mikko, we decided we had enough for a small feast.

I read this in Our Babies, Ourselves, by Meredith Small, p. 178 in my copy, and remembered I'd heard about it before. It's a fascinating story.

"[Diane] Wiessinger offered this story: A female gorilla, born and raised in a zoo, gave birth to an infant. In an attempt to nurse it, the mother held her infant incorrectly, with the back of the baby's head toward the nipple. The keepers feared for the infant's life and took the baby away. During the gorilla's next pregnancy, the keepers tried an experiment. They lined up a group of breast-feeding humans outside the cage and allowed the mother gorilla to observe. When her next infant was born, the mother gorilla, too, turned the baby toward her breast and everything went fine."

[I've loved other things I've read and heard from Diane Wiessinger, the lactation expert quoted in this passage. She has a website here filled with commonsensical, reassuring wisdom about breastfeeding. It's fun to peruse, and you might find the gorilla story on there somewhere!]

In this bottle-feeding culture, we witness babies being held face up and in the cradle hold, when for breastfeeding, face in with the cross-cradle hold, for instance, works particularly well. It's difficult to know how to breastfeed when all we see is a different behavior. We can't get an idea of positioning when we're not culturally allowed to look directly at breastfeeding mothers, or when mothers cover themselves up because of these taboos. We can't get an idea of how often babies breastfeed when mothers do it in private or at home, or feed on a schedule. We don't even imagine nursing a toddler, let alone understand how to manage it, when breastfeeding past the age of one is kept in the dark.

My thoughts on a passage I came across in Our Babies, Ourselves, by Meredith Small, p. 104 in my copy:

"The independent self-reliant individual is one of the strongest ideological threads running through American culture and history. ... Because [children] have few responsibilities and don't add to household production, children are seen as a cost rather than an asset. Childhood is considered a time for learning, when children are trained by parents and educators to gain skills that will eventually allow them as adults to achieve on their own. ... Parents see themselves as teachers rather than protectors, and parental investment in terms of resources and time is expected to increase over time. This investment pays off when children eventually leave home as young adults and start their own independent households. As such, American children are not seen as resources but as burdens and responsibilities that require heavy investment until such time as they are independent."

For years before having Mikko, I struggled with the question of why even have children. It seemed so pointless to invest all this energy into raising kids who won't appreciate it and will grow up to be willful 20- or 30-somethings who will resent you, move across the country, and purposely do everything the opposite of what you've chosen for your life.

It's so exciting to see Mikko begin to signal, even though at five months he's still pre-verbal. Well, by pre-verbal, I mean that he babbles all day long, but he's the only one who can make any sense out of what he's saying.

But he's started telling me when he wants to eat, by plucking at my shirt and ducking his head against my chest. I've been enchanted. My baby is speaking to me!

I know pulling at a mother's shirt to nurse is sometimes considered ill-mannered, although usually in older children. And I know there's that stupid argument, "Once they can ask for it, they should wean."

But I am so very excited that my baby knows me, knows what he wants, and knows how to tell me so. Hooray!

And I think that, if at 5 months, a baby can "ask for it," then that shoots the weaning-at-that-point argument dead. Right? I hope most people even in the US aren't icked out by a 5-month-old breastfeeding. (Sigh. I just realized there must be plenty of people who are.)

Here's a good post with good comments on "extended" nursing that references what I was saying above. It's been funny to read Our Babies, Ourselves, and see Meredith Small mention that such and such a people group weans early...at 2 years. I love it! What a great anthropological, mammalian view! That's why I'm putting "extended" in quotes, because for humans, according to Kathy Dettwyler, true extended breastfeeding would be anything over 7 years. :)

My handy housecleaning tip of the day:

1. Take a spray bottle.
2. Dump in some white vinegar (the really cheap, store-brand kind). Maybe 1/4 full, maybe 1/3. I don't really care, and neither does the vinegar.
3. Fill the rest with tap water.
4. Use it on everything.

Ta-da! When water alone or with a little dish soap isn't cutting it for you, or when you're in the mood for a "real cleaning," get out your handy-dandy spray bottle and go to town.

I do find it won't cut through rust stains in the bathtub, though. For that, I rely on professional cleaners. No, I don't mean professional-strength cleaning agents -- I mean, two guys who come in every month or so and deep clean everything in exchange for money. Gotta love those guys! But that's a tip for another day...

I'm reading Our Babies, Ourselves: How Biology and Culture Shape the Way We Parent, by Meredith F. Small, and want to post about interesting items as I come across them as well as do a general review/recommendation at the end.

P. 124 has this tidbit that ties into my last post:

"Adults may sleep together because their relationship is sexual, and intimate, and bed is the place for sexuality and intimacy in America. Moreover, interdependence between a couple is seen as the contemporary ideal. But children are not part of that intimacy or sexuality, nor are they considered part of that interdependence."

This highlights American (Western) culture's disconnect with touching in the form of innocent, familial touching and the jarring transition from touching a baby to touching a spouse, as I mentioned before. It makes me wonder if other cultures don't have that transition and discomfort from switching between, for instance, sleeping with a child to sleeping with a spouse.

By the way, I'm not entirely happy with my choice of the word "innocent," because it's not as if sexual touching of an appropriate partner is "guilty." I just mean it in the sense of nonsexual touching in the case of people who are not sexual partners. Maybe "appropriate" is better?

Posts about postpartum sex are always hard to write...so I won't bother. I'll just say that the difference in surface area is jarring.

I recently had the occasion to spend some time feeling up the hubby at leisure (thank you, long baby nap), and it amazed me how foreign he now felt. I'm going to say words that are going to sound dirty but are meant to be only descriptive: hairy, hard, long. Oh, golly, I'll stop there. I really am serious, though -- think about a male adult thigh compared with a chubby baby one.

I realize that I've never touched someone so long or so frequently as I have now as a mother with my child. I'm always holding Mikko, having him sit on my lap, picking him up, having him climb on me, snuggling him close to nurse or sleep. Right now he's trying to bat my hands at the keyboard.

I know it's not a required Americanism that you shy away from touching others, that hugs between friends and family are brief and sometimes awkward, that kisses are reserved for young children and lovers, that sleeping in the same bed with someone besides a partner is considered archaic and even dangerous -- but it does seem to be the cultural norm. I love it when a friend reaches out to play with my hair, but I never feel comfortable requesting or initiating such innocent contact, except with my spouse. It seems like anything that feels good, like hugging, kissing, holding hands, back rubbing, etc., could eventually feel so good that it would be ideal for leading to sex...so better not do it with anyone except a sexual partner, just in case.

I put a Google site search box on the right-hand side, because I somehow thought Google would, I don't know, have a good search function.

There were two problems with it right off the bat:

First, it wouldn't pick up on anything added recently, say, within the last two weeks. That's pretty far back for a blog.

Secondly, and this one's funny -- Safe Search was the default, so it was pretty much not returning any results from my blog at all. Too many breasts, and nipples, and other fun things.

Sam monkeyed around with the code for awhile and got it to turn the Safe Search off and look prettier, but it's still not pulling up recent results. I don't know what its indexing schedule is.

At any rate, I'm debating taking it off entirely and just relying on the Blogger navbar up top there ^---. It seems to work just fine, and it doesn't seem to mind my breasts.

My one fear is that people won't realize it exists, because -- gasp -- I didn't even see it there. I treat that navbar solely as my Dashboard link, and didn't even notice the search function. Oh, well!

Where do you look for a search on a blog, and is it something you find useful?

I already knew that it was pregnancy, not breastfeeding, but it's nice to have it confirmed again:

"Don't Blame Nursing for Saggy Breasts"

I think it's funny (not ha ha, but peculiar) that women think they can stave off sagginess by not breastfeeding when it's already too late. Not that I think a little droopiness is such a horror. I wish such a stupid reason wasn't used as an argument (excuse?) not to nurse. If having babies is important enough to you to risk sagging and stretching and bigger shoe sizes and so forth, then breastfeeding them should be an important option to you, too.

The Daily Show yesterday admired Stephen Colbert's paean to hobo cultivation:

"Colbert thinks trick-or-treating is panhandling. ... He thinks it's training to be a hobo."

So true. And what a beautiful thing.

I was happy to see Stephen Colbert of The Colbert Report recognize our delightful hobo upbringing. Quote from tonight's show:

"You know what I call trick-or-treaters? Pre-hobos."

Having had a baby recently, I had the chance to experience what was and was not helpful in supporting new parents.

Instead of spiking my thank-you notes with spite (though it was tempting), I decided to be positive and instead be inspired to treat my own friends and family well when it's their turn to be overwhelmed by a newborn.

So, I thought I should write these ideas down before memories of the sleep-deprived-fog days have disappeared into the ether.

These tips will help first-time parents for sure, and -- I would assume though I have no experience -- parents of a newborn who also have older children.

I'll add to this list as I come up with other ideas, and please do leave your own suggestions in the comments.

• Having a baby is all about learning to get by with no hands. Be a pal and bring over foods that can be eaten (a) cold and (b) with one sporadically free hand. Ideas: cut-up veggies and dip, cut-up fruit such as melon or apples, pico de gallo and chips (for all of the above: mixed and single veggie & fruit containers and platters can be found pre-made at the supermarket in the produce section), cheese slices (gourmet or otherwise) and crackers, ready-made sandwiches and wraps, hummus and pita slices. Remember, think "Would this taste good at room temperature?" (which is what it will be by the time they finally get around to settling the baby long enough to eat it) and "Can they eat this without silverware?" (because juggling a newborn is hard enough without throwing cutlery into the mix).

If it takes a village to raise a child, what do you do when your village is incompetent?

Sam & I have had the opportunity lately to travel to visit our families. I enjoyed giving Mikko into the care of others while I could stay nearby (as his sole food source). I somehow thought, though, that our relatives, several of whom have raised children themselves, would be capable of holding him longer than 10 minutes a spell, which is as long as he was content to sit quietly in their laps.

As soon as he fussed in any way, it was up to me to determine what was wrong: wet diaper (which Sam or I changed, every time), sleepy, wanting to be bounced, wanting a finger to chew, bored, overstimulated, hungry.

Now, for the last item, I wholeheartedly accept responsibility to fulfill the need. But it seems like every other need could be met or at least attempted by other people, even the diagnosing of the need.

I don't even blame our relatives, because they were actually all very sweet, and excited to visit with our baby. And if Mikko did need walking or bouncing, several of them were willing to give our arms and legs a rest and do their duty.

But it brought me face to face with my desires and dreams of village living vs. the reality of modern, independent life.

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. ..."

"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault--because I will not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe MY fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior execution."

-- Pride and Prejudice; thank you, Miss Austen

I cannot for the life of me figure out how to breastfeed in a ring sling or wrap. I can do it in a mei tai, though somewhat uncomfortably in a psychological sense, but my baby protests like nobody's business when I try to lay him down, strap him on, cover his head, and walk around.

Still, I assume it's my own fault that I haven't accomplished this feat. If I never get around to it with Mikko, I figure I'll manage with any future kidlets.

A wise woman (my mom) once said to me that a good marriage is when you and your spouse are on the same team. I keep noticing this when Sam & I are around other couples.

There's the couple who keep verbally and physically picking at each other.

There's the duo who tell stories wherein the other person looks stupid.

There's the husband who thinks he's a stand-up comic, with every bit the same theme -- "Did I tell you about my crazy wife?"

I like all these people, and I even enjoy hanging out with them. But I'm glad to go home with my teammate and feel like I haven't betrayed him during our time with others by belittling him, berating him, or something else with a b. (Ha ha!) He does the same for me.

We have plenty to pick apart and complain about in other people without throwing each other into the mix. :)

And that's my marriage counseling for the day: Complain about other people.

A wise woman (my mom) once said to me that a good marriage is when you and your spouse are on the same team. I keep noticing this when Sam & I are around other couples.

There's the couple who keep verbally and physically picking at each other.

There's the duo who tell stories wherein the other person looks stupid.

There's the husband who thinks he's a stand-up comic, with every bit the same theme -- "Did I tell you about my crazy wife?"

I like all these people, and I even enjoy hanging out with them. But I'm glad to go home with my teammate and feel like I haven't betrayed him during our time with others by belittling him, berating him, or something else with a b. (Ha ha!) He does the same for me.

We have plenty to pick apart and complain about in other people without throwing each other into the mix. :)

And that's my marriage counseling for the day: Complain about other people.

I have a duh housekeeping tip for the day: I was too lazy to walk from the bathroom to the supply cupboard to get out the window cleaner and instead wet my paper towel with a little water to clean the bathroom mirrors.

Ta da! Streak-free shine.

I wonder when Windex will start marketing its own brand of bottled water with a spray cap.

P.S. I don't plan to post housecleaning tips often, if only because I don't houseclean often.

I decided to pull all my nursing-in-public (NIP) advice into one post that I can add to as I think of or experience more ways to breastfeed confidently and discreetly while out and about.

Please feel free to post any of your own suggestions and tips in the comments section!

I do at some point want to explore the whole subject of the value or lack thereof of breastfeeding discreetly and the whole general issue of breastfeeding in public, but that will have to wait for another day. If you do want to comment on those topics, I'll transfer them when I get a post up about that specifically.

Anyway, here's the repeat tip from the last post:
Here's my awesome tip for nursing mothers (and, yes, it's very basic, but it will save you a bundle on nursing clothes if you obey me): Wear your maternity tank tops (extra long to cover that postpartum tummy -- oofa -- I'm still not over the saaaad changes there, and extra room in the chest for those va-va-voom postpartum boobies -- Old Navy ones are da bomb) and then wear something else on top. There, that's it. When you want to nurse, get your baby mostly in position on your lap. Unclasp your nursing bra cup (I use Target nursing bras, FYI -- they're not big enough for me, but they're cheap unlike every nursing bra my size, so what are you gonna do), pull up your top shirt to just above your nipple, and pull down your tank top to just below. Use your baby's head to shield this action. Get your baby latched on, and then adjust your shirts to cover as much breast tissue as possible without getting in the way of the baby's mouth (or annoying the baby). Use the arm near the feeding boob to help keep the side boobage covered. Voila! Instant breastfeeding modesty. I swear it looks just like you're holding a sleeping baby with this method. Except for the noisy slurps emanating from your boobal region.

I thought before becoming a mother that nursing in public would be much more of an ordeal than it is. And maybe it's just living in let-live Seattle, but I haven't found it to be much of a big deal. Every once in awhile, I'll catch someone's expression when they realize I'm breastfeeding and it will hit me -- should I be doing this here? But the answer is always yes -- because my baby's hungry, and breastfeeding is not something shameful to be hidden.

But, see, even that last line makes me sound like some sort of lactivist (which, granted, I am), and really I've had no need to defend my right to NIP as the message boards call it. I just do it, matter-of-factly, as breastfeeding should be done.

I never feel the need for Hooter Hiders or even a receiving blanket to drape over my shoulder, and I have yet to use the tail of my sling to shield what's going on, even though I had originally thought that was a great feature of ring slings. My baby and I just do our thing -- quickly, confidently, and, I think, discreetly.

Here's my awesome tip for nursing mothers (and, yes, it's very basic, but it will save you a bundle on nursing clothes if you obey me): Wear your maternity tank tops (extra long to cover that postpartum tummy -- oofa -- I'm still not over the saaaad changes there, and extra room in the chest for those va-va-voom postpartum boobies -- Old Navy ones are da bomb) and then wear something else on top. There, that's it. When you want to nurse, get your baby mostly in position on your lap. Unclasp your nursing bra cup (I use Target nursing bras, FYI -- they're not big enough for me, but they're cheap unlike every nursing bra my size, so what are you gonna do), pull up your top shirt to just above your nipple, and pull down your tank top to just below. Use your baby's head to shield this action. Get your baby latched on, and then adjust your shirts to cover as much breast tissue as possible without getting in the way of the baby's mouth (or annoying the baby). Use the arm near the feeding boob to help keep the side boobage covered. Voila! Instant breastfeeding modesty. I swear it looks just like you're holding a sleeping baby with this method. Except for the noisy slurps emanating from your boobal region.

That's right, me hearties -- it's Talk Like a Pirate Day! And, as we all know, pirates are the hoboes of the seas. Or would be, if they didn't rob and kill everyone. Not that hoboes aren't tough, too, but they don't have as much of an agenda. I guess hoboes are the landlubber version of the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything.

At any rate, I encourage you to pepper your speech today with "Avast" and "Aye aye" and "Ahoy" and "Get me a grog, ye scurvy bilge rat!"

Shiver me timbers -- hoist the mainsail and talk like a pirate, or I'll keelhaul ye, make ye walk the plank, and send ye to Davy Jones' locker!

I found the best chart for deciding whether to breastfeed or bottle feed your baby. Witness the wisdom:

Breast or bottle…which is better? That all depends on you and your baby. Here's a list of some of the pros and cons of each:

Breast- versus Bottle-Feeding, a Comparison
Breast-feeding Pros	Bottle-feeding Pros
Very convenient—no preparation or cleanup required	Also convenient, especially if you use formula and disposable bottles
No need to use medication to dry up the milk you naturally produce	No need to deal with breast-milk leakage if you're away from baby during feeding times
Nursing provides a time of close personal and physical bonding between Mom and baby	Both Mom and Dad can bottle-feed the baby with equal ease
Nursing induces mild uterine contractions, helping the new mom regain her prepregnancy shape	No need to deal with the breast pump

The rest of the article continues the theme. First, it extols the benefits of bottle feeding, since that of course deserves the most attention. Breastfeeding, after all, is so much the default in our culture that bottle feeding really could use some cheerleaders.

I found the best chart for deciding whether to breastfeed or bottle feed your baby. Witness the wisdom:

Breast or bottle…which is better? That all depends on you and your baby. Here's a list of some of the pros and cons of each:

Breast- versus Bottle-Feeding, a Comparison
Breast-feeding Pros	Bottle-feeding Pros
Very convenient—no preparation or cleanup required	Also convenient, especially if you use formula and disposable bottles
No need to use medication to dry up the milk you naturally produce	No need to deal with breast-milk leakage if you're away from baby during feeding times
Nursing provides a time of close personal and physical bonding between Mom and baby	Both Mom and Dad can bottle-feed the baby with equal ease
Nursing induces mild uterine contractions, helping the new mom regain her prepregnancy shape	No need to deal with the breast pump

The rest of the article continues the theme. First, it extols the benefits of bottle feeding, since that of course deserves the most attention. Breastfeeding, after all, is so much the default in our culture that bottle feeding really could use some cheerleaders.

Bottle feeding, it tells you, has gotten so easy these days. Everything is easily sterilized, unlike those dirty, dirty breasts, you nursing hussy -- a valid point, I'll grant, since I think it's been four days since my last shower. Parenting a newborn is hard on hygiene.

One very important benefit of bottle feeding (and I'm surprised this didn't make it into the chart) is that you can get bottles decorated with your favorite cartoon characters. "Your newborn probably hasn't had time to pick her favorites yet," the article joshes in an aside.

There are bottles with special grips so baby has an easier time holding them when he is old enough to grab. There are bottles that almost seem capable of feeding baby without benefit of a grown up.

Awesome! Self-feeding baby! That's so perfect, because of course babies don't want or need to be close to their caregivers. Feeding an infant is an exchange of calories, nothing more, so much better to prop them up somewhere with some high-density formula so they can really go at it.
"Bottle-feeding can mean both convenience and mobility and is a perfectly viable choice," the article insists. No, really, it's a great choice. Don't let anyone guilt you into thinking breastfeeding is the biological norm and perhaps worth a few "sacrifices."

You'd think that bottle feeding meant just the method of feeding, not what's put inside, but you'd be wrong. Witness this: "[Women who bottle feed] also like the freedom it gives them to share feeding responsibilities with their partners without having to fill bottles of expressed breast milk" (emphasis mine). And see above, in the chart where it says breastfeeding carries the onerous duty of learning to operate a breast pump, a difficult mechanical device that requires a special license and years of training to operate. Oh, wait, no it doesn't. But the article is nice enough to warn you, with a sidebar titled "Mom-ism," which implies the acquired wisdom of all mothers, "The pump does work, but many women find it painful and bothersome to use."

But it doesn't answer a more basic question: Since when does breastfeeding require pumping? That's basically implying breastfeeding requires bottle feeding, which means you get the worst of both worlds with breastfeeding. As the next section of the article will attest:

"Momma's Own Milk?" it asks with a question mark. And then it hits you with the negatives right off the bat: "For some, breast-feeding is like a religion. They can be as dogmatic as any sidewalk evangelist handing out pamphlets about salvation can be." Those damn breastfeeders! They're always shoving your boobs into your child's mouth!

"One reason commonly cited in favor of nursing" ("commonly cited"? This sounds like this stupid reason is going to be refuted -- bring it on!) "is that breast-feeding a baby, at least for the first year, provides increased immunity." Oh, that stupid reason. Well, what are Clorox wipes for if not compensating for my formula-fed baby's decreased immunity? And there are always antibiotics if that fails!

"There is no food so perfectly designed for the human infant." Yeah, blah, blah, blah -- you're just phoning it in here. Formula I'm sure is just as good, since it was actually designed for the human infant -- by scientists! They're experts!

"Another reason to consider nursing your newborn is that it allows for a special type of bonding. Mother and baby are closely connected in a way that will soon be replaced by baby's need for independence." And I do mean "soon," because it's a weird type of bonding. You're attaching your baby to your boob, come on!

That's all right, though -- "Of course there are many ways to bond with your baby." So that reason wasn't a real reason after all. OK, breastfeeding has increased immunity and so far no other benefits.

"A final reason for nursing is one that is purely mom-centered, but that doesn't make it any less valid a reason than any of the baby-centered ones." Yes, pretty much the only one who's rooting for breastfeeding is that stupid baby -- what about ME?

Well, the article reassures us, breastfeeding makes us feel superior. We're the only ones with the breasts, after all! Plus, it's a handy reason to diss your relatives: "When your mother or mother-in-law is being too pushy about the right way to fold a diaper or to dress the baby you can just say, 'Excuse me, I have to nurse my baby now.'” Because of course you wouldn't just nurse in front of them (icky!), and you couldn't just say, "Thanks for your advice. Want some bean dip?"

So, two reasons to breastfeed -- wow, that's a lot. We'd better find some reasons it sucks.

Not to worry! Here we go: "But nursing is not for everybody." (Just for women and their babies.) "It hurts at first." (Well, not for me it didn't, but maybe I wasn't doing it wrong.) It goes on to assure you that it will probably never get better feeling, either, when actually it feels pretty darn good. But I guess that's too icky to contemplate as well. Because:

"In addition, some women are uncomfortable with their bodies and feel self-conscious or inhibited about nursing. This is no crime." This is no crime! Yes, feeling prudish and refusing to breastfeed because of that discomfort is not against the law. Phew! Because parenting requests no sacrifices, growth, or selflessness of parents. "Some women literally feel like cows when they try nursing." Moo. This is because real milk is cow's milk, and human milk is just...grody. "If you have a negative image of yourself you will not be able to relax with it and nursing will be uncomfortable." Don't bother doing anything that makes you uncomfortable, even if the alternative for your child is crappy food. It's just not worth the agony of enduring a possible nip slip.

So, to sum up, here are the real advantages and disadvantages of bottle feeding:

Pros -- convenience (this is mentioned several times over), no embarrassing leaking, no pumping (again, this article apparently assumes bottle feeding = formula feeding), sterile bottles, pretty bottles (can't decorate boobs with cartoon characters unless you've got some tats), mobility (because breasts are chained to the home), lets Dad do the work so you don't need the mother to feed the baby -- heck, you don't need anyone at all to feed the baby

Cons -- right, what were those again? There are none! Woohoo! I think we've found our winner already.

But, let's review the breastfeeding list just to be fair:

Pros -- convenience (but not much of an edge, what with dishwashers and disposable bottles and all! Breasts are just as complicated as that to take care of -- oh, wait, they're as difficult as an elbow to take care of), no need to use medication to dry up that pesky milk (what a pro! Note that this is a slyly masked con of bottle feeding, but it didn't make it into that discussion), "special" bonding (but regular bonding over a bottle is good enough), helps Mom regain prepregnancy shape faster, immunity, perfect food yada yada yada, and most important of all -- excuse to ignore pesky relatives

Cons -- inconvenient (yes, I know this seems to be contradicting its own pro, but come on, it is! You have to wash your breasts and...um...wear a bra and put on a shirt...and...um...wait, why is bottle feeding convenient?), impractical, embarrassing leaking, must pump (apparently) and pumps are soooo hard (ouch, my thinker hurts), breasts not as cute as bottles, BUT breasts are super sexualized so are TOO cute to be intended for a baby, your nipples will bleed and fall off, immobility (can't bring those breasts just anywhere -- there are laws, you know!), lets Dad slack off and go to strip clubs to view non-lactating breasts (as God intended), and, sadly, the mother must feed baby in close proximity to said baby (oh, the disgust of being cuddled with a warm, cute infant)

Well, I'm convinced. I hope we know now what's best, but don't worry that the article is evangelizing bottle feeding like one of those dogmatic breastfeeders. As it says, what choice you make "depends on you and your baby."

Wait -- on my baby? My baby gets a say in this? I thought this was all about me. What's convenient for me? What will help me get my body back in shape? What will mar my perfect silk blouse? What will allow me more sleep and to make sexy time with my husband? What makes me comfortable and works for me? And, very importantly, what cartoon characters do I want to look at every time my baby eats?

Nope, I don't see room in there for baby's unreasonable demands for that "perfect food." Sorry, chump.

I've been inspired to apply this logic to all sorts of health issues. I made my own smoking pros & cons chart to make the tough choice about whether or not it would be a good idea to start the habit. Take a look:

Smoking or not…which is better? That all depends on you and your lungs. Here's a list of some of the pros and cons of each:

Smoking versus Non-smoking, a Comparison
Smoking Pros	Non-smoking Pros
Makes you look cool	Have to work harder to look cool, such as by killing people, which is frowned on by authorities whereas smoking is still legal
Blowing smoke rings gives you a hobby AND a skill	Could blow bubbles instead (but again with the coolness factor)
Get that sweet bulge of a box in your rolled-up t-shirt sleeve	Probably you're not wearing t-shirts anyway, as there's no place there to put your pocket protector, loser
Get to enjoy the outdoors while taking numerous work breaks and can make lots of like-minded friends while standing around the butt receptacle	Won't have to feel that sweet nicotine high so can concentrate on other drugs, such as alcohol or smack
Have something readily available to trade while in prison	Have your mouth free to overeat and pack on the pounds
Get lots of attention from those cute nurses and sexy doctors when in iron lung	Won't have to pay full deductible on health insurance -- but also won't get to take advantage of all the benefits offered

Well, my choice is made. Smoking and bottle feeding are the way to go. They're what's good for me, so they're by extension what's good for my baby.

If you scroll down the page, you'll see that the quoted article is excerpted from The Complete Idiot's Guide to Motherhood -- ahhhh...now I get it.

You're welcome aboard this box car.

You're welcome aboard this box car.