I want my stamina back. Someone give me a magic stick (wand?) so I can wave it and make myself feel super perky and awesome and not all bloated and swollen and hurt-y and sluggish. Four abdominal surgeries in 26 months is rough. Two abdominal surgeries just ten weeks apart is brutal. I’m 10 days post-op today, but let me tell you, I’m not up for walking from one end of my house to the other and back again without feeling it. My belly isn’t as swollen as it was before, but even with Spanx (more for support than pretty sexy slimness at this moment) I’m still a bloated mess. I just took a Vicodin after battling soreness and twinges of pain and a severe feeling of being bruised from sternum to groin all day long. But I can see my toes again! Progress, right?

It’s 11:30pm on a Friday night, and while the rest of the mid-to-late 20-somethings of the world are doing relaxing or fun stuff offline or online, I’m eyeing my bed with more than a little longing. But I have a few work-related tasks to take care of before I go to bed, and I have some *cough*torrented*cough* downloads to rename, organize, and transfer to our media server (does anyone remember David the Gnome? I downloaded a bunch of episodes in the hopes of getting Alyssa and Ryan into it. I loved that show when I was a kid!).

Oh – there’s also hot pink hair dye in my hair. After I finally dragged myself into the shower, I forced myself to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and take five or so minutes to slather my hair with Manic Panic’s Hot Hot Pink. I accidentally used some regular (sulfate) shampoo a few times after my surgery, and turned my hot fuschia hair into pale blah cotton candy pink. Nothing against cotton candy pink, except that it does not go with my natural hair color, or my skin tone (Jenn =/= pastels). And speaking of dye, Ryan asked for green (and after doing my hair hot pink, turquoise, and purple over the past year, and then giving Alyssa hot pink streaks, who the hell am I to say no?), so my Bean is now green. Squee. It’s cute, though subtle (though it may look more vibrant in the daytime). He’s very excited to show his teachers and therapists (yes, my son is so damn special¹, he has two of them – one for each class). on Monday. He’s been showing them his newest skill – buttoning and unbuttoning. I showed him how to button up an adorable flannel button-down shirt the other morning, and according to what his therapists have written in his notebook, he’s spending his school days doing his school work and unbuttoning and buttoning his shirts all day long. But on the bright side, he’s no longer chewing on his shirt sleeves, or his school papers². He has five or six button-down shirts, but if need be I’ll get him some more. Heh.

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So it’s a little after 9:30pm, and my house is pristine – dishes are done and put away, last load of laundry (today’s clothes) are in the dryer, kids are bathed and in bed, dog is bathed (yesterday) and only needs to go out once more before she’s crated for the night, and with the exception of an explosion of train tracks all over my living room, everything is picked up and put away in its proper place. The refrigerator, freezer, and snack cabinet are stocked with quick and not-so-quick foods and snacks and drinks; and the kids’ breakfast bowls and such as well as clothes, backpacks, and coats are all laid out for the morning, to hopefully make the morning kid-wrangling a little easier for Jason.

I’m showered, dressed in the same PJs I’ll wear to the hospital (with the addition of pants, that is), and my bag is packed. All that’s left to do is catch tonight’s episode of House (there is an episode tonight, right? Well, I’ll be checking my DVR soon enough!), charge my Nook, and make sure to set like three alarms so I don’t accidentally oversleep (I’ve never done that, but there’s a first time for everything, right?).

Pictures unrelated to this entry:

My kids. They are getting HUGE (DIY tie-dye. Can you tell?).

♥

My cats & dog. They too are huge (especially Kirin, and look at Minerva! What the eff happened to this tiny ball of fluff that weighed less than 11 ounces when we brought her home?).

Ryan’s Valentine’s Day cards. I love the addition of the heart.

My car window. Snazzy, huh? Totally There I Fixed It worthy. The new motor part thingy arrives Wednesday.

And lastly, a video featuring Justin Bieber’s and Sean Kingston’s version of Eenie Meenie Miney Mo – the only version Ryan knows, apparently.

Goodnight.

Thank you for subscribing to Jenn.nu's RSS feed! ♥ Jenn | Flickr: kiss-my-kitty | Twitter: @kissmykitty

I’m sick. Blech. For the past few days I have been running a low-grade fever and feeling short of breath and slightly dizzy. Today I developed an annoying, persistent, dry cough, and my nose alternates between being clogged on one side or running on both sides. Nose aside, these symptoms mirror what I had two years ago, when I had pneumonia. I really, really hope this is not the case, but you don’t want to play around with pneumonia – not to mention the medication is expensive (IIRC, the inhaler I was prescribed was $120, and there was also a liquid antibiotic).

Also, I’m scheduled for exploratory laparoscopic surgery, round two, on February 1st (I called for the date on Wednesday, and made the 45-minute drive to my surgeon’s office Thursday morning to meet with my surgeon and sign the consent forms). If I’m sick with something serious like pneumonia, and I’m not over it by then, I’ll have to reschedule surgery. Grr.

Speaking of sick, just as I finished up the second to last paragraph Ryan, who was sleeping on the sofa, suddenly threw up everywhere. He’s been coughing off and on all evening, so I don’t know if he threw up because of the excessive coughing (even though I did give him cough medicine), or because he’s sick with a stomach bug, or something else. Blah. Have I mentioned how much I hate vomit? I could be up to my knees in feces and it wouldn’t bother me too much, but vomit gets me retching in no time flat. Ryan is changed, wiped down, and tucked into his bed, and the sofa, coffee table, and carpet have all been cleaned – here’s to hoping there won’t be any repeats! But as a precaution, I have a thick comforter under and all around Ryan, so if he gets sick and misses the trash can, I can just throw the comforter in the wash and not have to deal with any other scrubbing.

Overall this was a very, very quiet Saturday – my favorite kind. ♥ The kids played nicely indoors and out, they enjoyed dinner (homemade meatloaf), Dan and I had a nice afternoon together before he went to work, and I felt slightly better after taking a two hour nap late this afternoon. I hope tomorrow is equally nice and quiet – and vomit-free!

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Since his hair has gotten longer and has been cut many times since he was born, the swirl isn’t quite as noticeable anymore – in fact, I think only Dan and I are really aware of it being there! But I can contend myself instead with Ryan’s adorable waves and curls (and outright ringlets when his hair is wet) instead! Ryan is insistent that he wants to grow his hair long (it hasn’t been cut since last May), and I am not-so-secretly all for it. He looks really cute with his hair super-short (think buzz cut), but there’s something about his longer, slightly sandyish-colored hair combined with his bright blue eyes and smattering of freckles across his nose and cheekbones that really melts me. ♥

Thank you for subscribing to Jenn.nu's RSS feed! ♥ Jenn | Flickr: kiss-my-kitty | Twitter: @kissmykitty

Alyssa, my fiercely independent baby who didn’t seem to care one way or another about being held from the time she was born (but we did so anyway, of course), breastfed until she was ten months old, though it was a struggle. From the start she didn’t want to put forth the work required to obtain milk directly from me. Then I went back to work when she was just seven weeks old. From then until she was ten months of age, she was breastfed, bottle fed pumped breast milk, and also received the occasional formula supplement. Here’s a little insight to those of you who scoff at breastfeeding mothers and suggest they simply pump milk in order to avoid breastfeeding in public: breasts do not produce as much milk for a breast pump (manual or electric, doesn’t matter) as they will for a baby. I pumped every two hours before work, every two hours for four hours after work, and around the clock on my days off, and even with taking supplements known to help with milk production, I still couldn’t produce enough, which is why, by the time Alyssa was four months old, formula supplementation became necessary.

Ryan was a different matter altogether. He had the same minor latch issues after birth that Alyssa did, due to my smaller-than-average and slightly-inverted nipples (an issue that, oddly, has drastically improved since losing so much weight. In fact, I now have almost the opposite problem.), but was quicker to figure out what to do. And, by the time he was two weeks of age, I had successfully weaned him off of the nipple shield we were using to make latching-on easier (I also used one with Alyssa. Additionally, I used nipple formers, which do exactly what their name suggested, to coax my nipples out of hiding). At that same time I developed a wicked case of thrush in my nipples (I liken thrush of the nipples to the sensation of having ground glass inside your nipples, setting them on fire for a few minutes, then allowing baby to latch on), but I stuck through. Where I failed with Alyssa, I would not fail with Ryan, especially since I would not be returning to work (I quit when I was six months pregnant), and thus had all the time in the world to breastfeed. Ryan loved breastfeeding, and he loved nothing more than to be at my breasts (he still loves them, in fact – even at the age of five and a half he still seeks out my breasts subconsciously for comfort. There’s nothing like a fifty pound five year old shoving his hand into your cleavage spontaneously!). He breastfed exclusively until he was fifteen months of age, though we had begun introducing sippy cups (initially filled with breast milk; later with a bit of regular cow’s milk¹ or juice) around twelve months of age. I was very adamant that no bottles be used for fear of nipple confusion/preference; I was so adamant, in fact, that if Dan or my mother wanted or needed to feed him, they used an oral syringe to deliver breast milk into Ryan’s mouth.

My two children combined, I spent a little over two years of my life breastfeeding. And not once did I hide away in a bathroom, a fitting room, a car, or under a coat or a stifling blanket when I happened to be in a public area with either of my babies. I’ve breastfed in restaurants, diners, fast food establishments, doctor’s offices, a day hospital, the mall, and of course in many local grocery stores, and retail stores and department stores, including Target, Kmart, Walmart, Kohl’s, and Sears. I even breastfed at public parks and swimming pools; I also breastfed in Harrisburg, at the Capitol Building, during a breastfeeding rally in May of 2007. And obviously I breastfed both of my babies not only in my own home, but in the homes of my family members, as well as Daniel’s family members. I was fortunate to never have any issues, aside from a few sidelong glances or the occasional dirty look (always from another woman! Never from a man! Men always went out of their way to give me a wide berth or not stare at anything within five feet of me if they noticed I was breastfeeding. Funny how that worked, huh?) when I was in public areas. Family members and close friends were always supportive; in fact, there were a few occasions where a family member didn’t even realize I was breastfeeding, because I managed to do so in such an efficient, discreet (read below) manner; they simply thought Alyssa or Ryan was sleeping in my arms, nestled close to me for warmth and comfort. And then there were other times, where due to my attire, how I was sitting, how Ryan was positioned, etc., that what I was doing was a little more obvious. And that’s okay — it’s okay for me, and it’s okay for any other breastfeeding woman.

Here’s my stance on public breastfeeding, in case you haven’t guessed: it’s ALWAYS okay. I won’t get into breast milk vs. formula, because breast milk is the clear winner each and every time (with the exception of women whose breast milk would be dangerous to ingest due to required medications; as well as women who are medically/physically unable to produce). What I’m talking about here specifically is breastfeeding in public. And yes, this blog entry is brought on by the moronic Kasey Kahne’s recent comments on breastfeeding, as well as the varied responses to his comments.

Babies need to be fed. And when they’re young, babies need to be fed regularly, and as often as every 1-2 hours. It isn’t until a baby is closer to a year of age that you can begin to set a feeding schedule and space out feedings even more. And even then, a baby’s body is still developing at a crazy pace, and needs nutrients – if a baby is crying out of hunger or simply the desire to nurse for emotional comfort, then the baby should never be denied.

The majority of breastfeeding women, myself included, do their best to breastfeed discreetly, even if they wind up having to do so in the midst of a grocery shopping trip (while their husband pushes the shopping cart), in a restaurant while they’re in a booth with half of a dozen family members, or at the mall on a busy Saturday afternoon. Most breastfeeding women will meet their baby’s need to nurse in as discreet of a manner as possible. My personal favorite method was to wear a cami (spaghetti strap tank top, essentially) beneath my regular shirt. This way I could pull my regular shirt up and my cami shirt down just enough to provide enough nipple and areola for my baby to latch on to, while keeping the majority of both of my breasts as well as my midsection covered. Not only was I not flashing everyone around with me, but I was maintaining my own comfort by not exposing myself overly much. And once I pulled my baby close to me, the only way you would be able to see a hint of breast is if you were leaning over my shoulder.

But there may be times, either due to the mother’s attire, or the baby’s movements, expose more breast. And you know what? That’s okay. A breast’s purpose, first and foremost, is to provide nourishment for a baby. It’s only as an afterthought that they are sexualized. Sadly, our society seems to focus on the afterthought and identify it as a woman’s breasts’ primary function. We have no problem with cleavage-revealing attire and tightly-cut shirts that leave nothing to the imagination. That’s acceptable, and in many instances, encouraged. But strip away the sexualization and pop in its place that real purpose of breasts — to feed a baby — and suddenly everyone is up on arms, gasping their outrage and suggesting that mothers:

• use a breast pump to express milk beforehand (not efficient in the least, and not always feasible due to last-minute errands, urgent matters which need attending to outside of the home, etc.)
• breastfeed in a bathroom or a car (forget the filthiness of most restrooms, let’s stop for a second and think of how impractical it can be to suggest that a breastfeeding mother abandon her errands and quite possibly her merchandise/purchases and maybe even other family members or children to dash off to a restroom or her car, if there is even one nearby or if she even has a vehicle)
• breastfeed with a blanket or one of those ridiculous nursing covers over her head, or at the very least draped over her chest and baby (these are in no way shape or form comfortable for mother or baby; and ironically enough blankets and nursing covers tend to draw a lot more attention to what a woman is doing with her baby)

Women deserve the right to breastfeed their babies anywhere that they themselves are legally entitled to be. Furthermore, no business, company or individual should be able to exercise the right to evict a woman from a public or private location simply because she is breastfeeding her baby. More importantly, babies deserve to be breastfed, and they deserve to be breastfed at any time, without any stress or harassment directed at the mother (or anyone who might be with her).

Thank you for subscribing to Jenn.nu's RSS feed! ♥ Jenn | Flickr: kiss-my-kitty | Twitter: @kissmykitty