Feeding Your Adopted Infant

As a two time mom myself, I am grateful to have breastfed two babies.  For me, the experience was uncomplicated, fulfilling, empowering, lovely.  I wrote about it here in one of my favorite parenting posts ever.  Long story short, it’s hard to argue that breast is best.  Scientifically, it just is.  GO BREASTS!  GO LACTATION!  WOO to the HOO-TERS!

That said, breastfeeding is not always easy nor possible for all women.  I assumed that with our third child, a child we knew would be coming to us through adoption, that bottles and formula would be the only options.  And I was A-OK with that.

Breastfeeding never defined my being a mother, and it was never a huge part of my mom identity.  It was just something sweet and intimate and amazing I got to do with my kiddos and I felt lucky for it, all 28 months of it.

Then a few days ago, I read this piece from Huffington Post about an adoptive mom breastfeeding.  What the what?  The headline alone kind of grabbed me.  I knew somewhere, in the back of my mom brain, that breastfeeding an adopted child was possible, but assumed it was the tube taped to your nipple and the plastic bag of formula thrown over your shoulder kind of breastfeeding.  More like “breastfeeding.”  Nope, not for me.

But the gal in the article (Catherine Pearson) described her own experience of breastfeeding her newly adopted infant.  It involved inducing lactation with prescribed synthetic hormones.  Now mind you, these prescribed hormones are not approved by the FDA for this purpose, so are not covered under insurance.  Inducing lactation also involves days to weeks of prepping with manual breast stimulation and pumping to simulate an infant’s sucking.  The author describes it best:

I pumped every three hours for the six weeks before our son was born, even at work. I got up in the middle of the night. For the first week, I made literally drops. But slowly, I was able to increase that to about 5 ounces each day.

She goes on to describe that she was never able to pump enough herself, so had to rely on supplements for her baby to get the proper nutrition necessary for proper growth and development.

Honestly, a third of the way into the article, I knew that inducing lactation was not a choice I would ever make.  There is something decidedly unnatural about taking synthetic hormones to induce lactation.  And, for me (not you, me), inducing lactation after adopting an infant seems as if I would be fighting nature.  There is more to motherhood than breastfeeding.  There, I said it.  Yep, I did.

But still, Catherine Pearson’s article grabbed me, and I was having a hard time letting it go.  I am a huge advocate for live and let live.  The fact that Ms. Pearson was willing to do things that I was not in order to breastfeed her adopted child should not impact my life in the least.  Maybe it was this sentence that did it:

Within the first hour, I was able to breastfeed him, and I stayed with him and breastfed him every time he woke just like any normal mom would.

Yep.  That’s the one.  What, on earth, I wondered, was a “normal mom”? Seriously.  And because I am hoping to be an adoptive mom, is that somehow less than normal?  It seemed as if Ms. Pearson was working awfully hard to help herself feel like a “normal mom,” and in doing so was casting judgment on other adoptive moms who opt out of round the clock pumping and taking synthetic hormones.

I posted a link to the article on my personal Facebook page (yes, along with my outrage) and one friend made the point that the author wasn’t disparaging other moms, just writing about her own personal experience, which is true, but as I always say, language is powerful.  POWERFUL.  POWERFUL, people!  By suggesting that she felt like a “normal mom” by breastfeeding, just like she had with her other children, anything other than breastfeeding would be less than normal.

Yeah, whatever.  I don’t need to breastfeed to feel like a normal mom for a few reasons:

  1. I know there is no such damn thing as a “normal mom”
  2. Motherhood is about more than genetics and biology
  3. I feel secure enough in myself and in my mothering that I don’t need to go to such extremes to prove my maternal worth or my mothering abilities
  4. Bonding is about more than breasts

The other thing that got me is more an issue specific to moms who parent children who come to them both biologically and through adoption.  I will be the first to admit that part of the reason we want to adopt an infant is so that we have baby stories for ALL our children — that we can share as much with our kids as is possible.  I would hate to talk to them in a few years and be able to share intimate details of Mary Tyler Son’s very early days and when it comes time for our youngest, not have that information or experience. Selfish?  Yes, absolutely.

But it leads to a larger issue I grapple with myself on many days.  I know our children will be different.  They just will be.  Our oldest is dead and buried. Different.  Our middle is biological and looks just like Dad.  Different.  Our youngest will have two moms and two brothers, only one set of which will live with him.  Different.  Not less than, not more than, just different.

Adoption is its own unique and amazing and lovely experience.  Isn’t that, even minus the biology and lactation, inherently worthy and special?  I hate the notion that if biology cannot be duplicated or simulated, it is somehow less than normal.  Why can’t adoption be celebrated for what it is — the coming together of adults who make the most sacred of pacts to honor and ensure the health and well being of a child.

And that, my friends, goes so far beyond a bottle or mammary glands or synthetic hormones that I haven’t figured out how to put it into words yet.  But, yes, my bottles are ready and my nursing bras are long since gone.  And I’m okay with all of it and so very, very grateful.

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Advice from Dads

Today marks 80 years that my Dad has been on this here earth.  That is a good long time, especially considering I grew up hearing my Dad say, “Every day over 50 is gravy.”  This was a considered remark, as my Dad believed that by age 50, most folks had raised and educated their kids.  Everything on top of that is gravy, icing on the cake, whatever other food metaphor you want to use to convey the idea of a bonus.

My Dad, to this day, is one of my anchors.  I seek his advice, his opinions, his take on things that trouble me or need a sounding board.  Now that he is 80, I know that I won’t have access to his wisdom and insights for much longer.  But as my Dad would say, 30 years of gravy is a heck (he would never say hell in front of me, as he doesn’t believe men should swear in front of women or children, or that women should swear, well, ever) of a lot of gravy.

Happy birthday, Dad!  I love you like few others.  

In honor of my Dad’s 80 rotations around the sun, I encouraged the fine folks on my Facebook page to share words of wisdom from their own dads, and these little nuggets, kind readers, are what you submitted.  A couple of things jump out at me:  1) lots of dads swore way more than my own; and 2) a dad’s advice is often harsh, plain, and cuts right to the core. Nothing wrong with that.

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Homosexuality, Bullies, Discipline and Other Things Moms Don’t Talk About

A few weeks ago I was sitting with some mom friends enjoying a late summer afternoon while our kids played nearby.  One of the moms said, “I need some mom advice.”  An opening like that is crack for a mom blogger. Stone cold mom blogger currency.  The stuff wet mom blogger dreams are made of.  You get my point — my mental recorder was on and ready to go.

Long story short, the mom’s five year old had begun to ask about homosexual relationships.  You know, boy on boy, girl on girl action.  Boom chicka bow bow.  But not really.  Cause the child was five and sex doesn’t really enter into a question about men with men and women with women, or men with women for that matter.  I immediately felt a wee bit puffed up, cause I knew exactly what I would do if the question came from my kid.

I jumped in, all self-satisfied and shit, and offered my solicited advice:  “I would talk to the kid in an age appropriate way.  Explain that sometimes men fall in love with men and women fall in love with women and that is the way of the world.  Only answer the question the kid asked and don’t for a second stress about anything else.”

Mom hesitated and talked about her discomfort in explaining that some boys kiss boys and some girls kiss girls.  She didn’t want to give her daughter the impression that it was okay to start kissing her playmates — boys or girls.  A few other moms at the table chimed in and then so did I.  “Your girl will only think it’s odd if you give the impression it is odd.  She will pick up on that. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.  Just answer the question she asked and try not to come off as the deer in headlights.”

Yeah, I had all the answers.

A few minutes later, the ice broken in awkward subjects, another mom at the table asked for some advice for her own mom issue.  Ping!  Mommy blogger manna from heaven!  This mom wanted to know how the rest of us handled aggressive behavior towards our kids from other kids on the playground, etc.

Oh, dammit.  Suddenly I had no answers.  None.  Deer in headlights heal thyself.

You see, confronting other parents about their kid’s behavior is one of my personal no-nos.  I can’t do it.  I suck at it.  I sort of freeze up and clam up and my instinct is to simply grab my kid and run for cover.  But the mom who had just asked about how to address gay curiosity with her kid?  Well, she had this one covered.  Mhhh hmmmm, no problems there.

Her solution was a “nip it in the bud” kind of approach.  All of our kids are five and under, so mom’s approach was to tell the aggressive kid to stop and address it with said kid’s mom.  No judgment, no awkwardness, no fear of offending the other mom.  Just a kind of, “Hey, keep your eyes on your kid, cause what he’s doing isn’t cool and is hurting other kids.”

For a moment I thought I had whiplash.  Here this mom who was struggling with how to explain gay love was a master at confronting bullying behavior, something that made me suddenly lose all the answers.  That self-satisfaction I had felt just a few minutes before poured out of me like sangria from a pitcher.  I could not do what my friend could do.  And she could not do what I could do.

Huh.

It got me thinking about the things moms don’t talk about — with their kids and with one another.  And why we couldn’t address certain issues.  And how personal those proverbial lines in the sand are.

Shhh-1

As always, when faced with personal and parenting revelation, I took it to Facebook.  I posed the question to my Mary Tyler Mom Facebook followers (Dude!  You should totally and completely join us.) and asked what was off limits for them.  The answers were revealing, and as expected, some I totally got and others I did not.  Here is a sampling of issues us moms refrain from addressing with our kids and with one another:

  • masturbation and sexuality in ourselves and our kids
  • parental frustration
  • discipline
  • parental depression
  • grades, school performance
  • only children v. multiples
  • divorce
  • puberty, hormonal changes
  • food preferences, special diets
  • special needs in kids, illness in kids
  • grandparents
  • our own past
  • TV and screen time
  • sugar consumption
  • motherhood in general
  • money
  • faith, lack of faith
  • homeschooling
  • guns

Wow.  That is quite the list, and it is by no means exhaustive.  I didn’t even include the age old trifecta of mothering taboos:  breastfeeding, circumcision, and vaccines (OH MY!), let alone the tired and overdone SAHM v. WAHM v. full-time worker v. part-time worker.  Been there and done that too many times.

More than anything, I guess I just have come to embrace that the gravest of sins one can experience in modern life is being judged.  As if judging is one of the worst things evolved humans can endure.  Sheesh.  I am tired of it.  I am not religious (judge away!), but there is a saying that goes something like this, “Judge not, lest ye be judged,” and clearly, many of us take it to heart, at least superficially.

Those of you who read me regularly know that I am a gal that is chock full of opinions.  I have lots of them and love to share those opinions much of the time.  I have demonstrated that in this here post (refer to my smug opinion above regarding discussing gay love with kids).  What better place than a blog to share opinions, right?  But, damn, our fear of being judged is seriously, in my opinion, cramping our style.

I think it is okay to have opinions.  I think it is natural to judge.  There, I said it. We judge.  All of us do.  You do it, I do it, the Internet sure as hell does it. What I fear, though, is that in trying to seem as if we don’t judge, or in fear of being judged, we have stopped talking to one another.  Judging is part of the human condition, but the thing that elevates us from other species is our ability to contain it, recognize it, understand its impact on those around us. Judge away, but practice empathy in tandem.  You can do it!

One of the things that struck me most in the Facebook thread were the comments about how very lonely mothering and motherhood can be.  And now, I think, we know why.  We keep to ourselves too damn much on those issues nearest and dearest to us.

What a shame.

Even Charles Darwin wants us to keep our traps shut.  Shhhh.
Even Charles Darwin wants us to keep our traps shut. Shhhh.

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