I read an article titled Why Posh has the right to push: Caesareans are no more dangerous than natural births last night, and I have been hopping mad over it ever since.
Let’s be clear about a few things here:
Today Ameli and I participated in a Flash Mob in London’s Paddington train station.
So, what is a flash mob?
For most of my time breastfeeding, I have expressed. Initially I did so to get my husband to feed my daughter’s 11pm feed so that I could have some â€˜solid’ sleep. Â At three months, my daughter refused the bottle, but I still needed to express as my boobs were so full, she wasn’t getting everything â€“ and I hoped she’d take the bottle again at some point.
Then I went to South Africa, where breastfeeding rates are abysmal â€“ a great misfortune in a country that desperately needs it â€“ and decided to express for a milk bank there.Â Since we’ve been back in England, I’ve not been expressing much, but I hope to contribute to our local Human Milk for Human Babies group again once things settle down a bit here.
The other day a (male) friend and I were talking when he commented on my breastfeeding blog. At first I wasn’t sure what he was referring to, until I realised he meant this blog. I was a bit confused, but then realised that I do talk about breastfeeding quite a bit, don’t I, so I must love it.
It’s Father’s Day today, and also the start of National Breastfeeding Week, so I thought I’d combine the two and got Ameli’s Daddy â€“ my husband Martin â€“ to chip in with his thoughts on fatherhood, bonding and breastfeeding.
It’s about as helpless as I’ve ever felt as a parent.
The situation goes something like this: it’s 10pm and you’re sitting in the lounge watching TV. Nine-month-old baby has been waking up crying a lot over the last few nights thanks to a particularly bad bout of teething. Being a breastfed baby, however, the soothing reassurance of mum’s breast is all it takes to get her back to sleep within a few moments.
It’s that time of the year again â€“ National Breastfeeding Awareness Week. Although, this year, the government have removed funding for it, meaning the 14p they used to spend on each baby in the UK â€˜advertising’ breastfeeding (instead of the Â£20 spent by formula companies) is reduced to, well, nothing.
Fortunately, those of us who believe in breastfeeding and the benefits it holds for both mother and baby, understand how it works, and are constantly amazed at the additional properties and unknown qualities of it, believe in it enough to still honour Breastfeeding Awareness Week, even without the government’s help.
I have a real bug up my nose tonight, so bear with me. Who was it that decided that people shouldn’t share the fact that they’re pregnant before they’re 13 weeks?
No, I’m not pregnant. This isn’t my way of telling you.
I’ve been in a quandary lately. While I would love to live in a world where my daughter could wear only organic clothing, eat only organic food, play in the garden all day with her wood only toys and support only local and parent-run small businesses, this is simply not our lives.
The days go by so fast. I can’t believe so many things: We’ve been back in the UK for two months, you’re twenty months old, all but your nappies have changed from baby to little girl.
Your development is out of this world. I’ve been taking little videos of you almost every day, just to try to keep up. New words enter your vocabulary all the time, and honestly, sometimes you come up with the cutest things.