Cry me a river

Act one, Scene one:

This scene begins at the arts and craft shop which we shall refer to as the Hob.

Toddler: mummy can I have the bunny rabbit hat?

Mother: hmmm, let me see how …

Toddler: it’s pink mummy, I like pink. Pink is my favourite colour.

Examining the said hat for worthiness of purchase, mother concedes the purchase.

Mother: I know love, well I guess you can have it, it’s not expensive.

Toddler: Thank you mummy, can I hold it?

Mother: sure.

Walking round the shop with toddler, said hat and baby pram. Mother and crew approach an aisle filled with an array of crafts material designed to keep mother and child busy. 

Toddler: mummy can I have these stickers?

Mummy: no love, you have some at home already.

Toddler: but it has lots of pink.

Mother: silently wishes for a wand to obliterate the colour pink. “Does it?”

Toddler: Yes mummy.

Mother: hmmm, how about this colouring kit? Look it has pink and purple!

Toddler: I don’t like that one, I want the sticker mummy.

Mother: I can’t get the sticker you won’t do much with it, come on chose one of these, I promise it will be fun.

Toddler accepts the offer because her favourite colours are there.

This scene ends on a positive note as mother and crew leave the shop after having spotted another sticker for half the price of the previously spotted one. Toddler is also very happy as people compliment her on her new bunny hat.

Act one scene two:

This scene takes place in a new shop, we shall refer to this shop as Ten-x.

Toddler: mummy can I have the pink top

Mummy: let me see…. hmmm it’s nice love but it’s not your size.

Toddler strolls away towards another rack.

Toddler: mummy! squealing with excitement. Mummy come, come and see this one.

Mother approaches toddler with a wary smile, knowing it would be another pink item.

Toddler: it’s a flutter shine top and it’s PINK!!

Mother smiles, looks at the price tag.

Mummy: sweetheart we can’t get this today, mummy will get it later for you when it’s on sales.

Toddler: no mummy I want this  one, let’s buy it now.

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Google images

And thus, the bright warlord known to you and I as the colour pink sets the stage for a good meltdown. Riding on  its noble pony Flutter shine, pink sets to war, tuning up the toddler’s emotions, making the mothers effort to soothe or correct the toddler futile. Toddler cries till they leave the shop, mother works hard to stay cool and collected while wiping nasal gulp intermittently. Baby wakes up stirring up with confused eyes at his big sister. Passers-by send pitying looks at the half wailing, half distressed crew of three. 

Mother and crew approach the bus stop

Toddler: mummy I have finished crying now.

Mummy: totally surprised by toddlers calm declaration, pauses mid-stride. She is surprised by the following:

  1. the realisation, that perhaps on some level the toddler was aware that they were crying for the wrong reasons.
  2. her ability to stay calm and watch the vibrant display by the pink warrior and her noble steed .
  3. her ability and that of the toddler to push the sudden disaster into the recess of their mind, going on to enjoy a nice day in the sun.

Moral of the story: sometimes a good cry is all we need to rid our hearts and minds of life’s disappoint. Even when we know that our desires aren’t realistic, it’s still okay to mourn the loss of that dream/ that expectation/that hope. However, it’s not okay to live in the land of lost dreams.

Act two, scene one

Mother and toddler walk past said top in the shop again.

Toddler: mummy see! It’s the flutter shine top

Mother, slightly apprehensive.

Toddler: you’ll buy it for me later. 

Walks on. Mother breathes out slowly.

Mother prays for the toddler, that her hopes and dreams in life never suffer death. That she will never regret the act of delayed gratification. That toddler will never doubt her love for her.

The end.

 

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Woman where art thou?

I remember lying down flat on the red dusty gravel filled soil in front of my secondary school dormitory, I remember wondering what did I ever do to deserve this?

I remember the demands of a ‘senior girl’ that I fill her cup with beverages from my provision; I remember being sent to kneel down for an hour under the scorching sun for not obliging the request.

I remember feeling out of place for being a girl, sometimes enjoying its benefits, other times absolutely abhorring its natural calls.

I remember crying my eyes out as they teased me for having a boyfriend in junior secondary school, I remember smiling as an undergraduate after a date.

I remember smiling at my aunt’s kids, thinking how much fun it would be to have a baby, I remember looking at my daughter at four months and wondering if I could ship her to my mum for a while.

I remember sitting at home pregnant with my daughter wishing the four walls each played one of my favourite movies or served as portals to my favourite places. I remember catching a forty-five-minute bus each way to school and back, going to work when I could while logging around my ever growing tummy.

I remember feeling content with speaking to dear ones through social media thankful the drama of sharing personal space was cut out, I remember wishing I had my mom with me in the labour room.

I remember that through all these times I have always felt that I had no choice but to be strong.

I remember feeling the need to make sure my burden hung squarely on my shoulder and on no other. I remember wishing I could become a child again.

This is my personal journey and most of it has been my choice, while others have been thrust on me my circumstances. It’s interesting to see a come thread running through my journey, a myth that I have come to believe at an early age; the myth that every real woman is strong, able to shoulder every challenge. I absolutely scoffed at women/girls who cried so easily, women/girls who worked their wiles on others to get their way. I especially find it hard to cajole people, a trait that makes me a poor salesperson except when on a mission. And after many years of being me ‘the way I wanted’, motherhood has shaped me into someone who has to embrace every facet of herself.

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I have learned to cry simply to relieve my tension, to not feeling worried that others might see me as weak or manipulative, because if they feel that way perhaps they feel guilty for not doing enough.
I am learning how to make both impromptu and well thought out decision through checklists.
I am learning to refine my communication skills, realising that patience is very important to the process.
I am adapting to the possibility that living day by day does not make my life less impactful than having high powered dreams/goals. I am accepting that it might be slow but it is not meaningless.

As I read the three waves of the feminist movement I can’t help wondering what the main goal of each wave was, I find myself coming back to the word choice. Without choices, life would probably be crippling, both mentally and physically. Everyone wants the right of way on the narrow streets of life. Sadly this is not possible, thus the need for rules and laws, but if the law gives right of way to Mercedes or Nissan brands only hasn’t it failed in being equitable? This is perhaps why road signs/instructions address car dimensions and potential and not brands.

Humans much like cars come in different dimensions, and varying horse powers regardless of similar dimensions. I don’t know much about cars but I assume it would be unrealistic to expect all cars with a 2.0 engine to perform exactly the same way. There are several factors which would impact on its performance including brand, model, driver, country of use, other components etc. All these factors determine the pricing of these cars. Women(men) are in the same way similar and it’s my belief that what most women want is to be treated in ways that respect their individuality, giving them room to accomplish their dreams.

Whether in their personal or professional lives women want to have the right to progress in any direction. They don’t expect rules to favour Mercedes above Nissan, rather they want rules that keep everyone safe on the road. Choice …. choice. Sadly this idea offends many, for a choice in the corporate world might ultimately cement the place of choices in the community. It is as though the world prefers to confer rights on a maladjusted man rather than any woman. Sometimes a Childs’ choice seems more valued than a woman, we rather prefer that which might be seen as frivolous than one which requires thoughtful and considerate engagement.

Man(woman) goes to work and has his(her) thoughts, ideas, dreams, confidence, and person evaluated, probed; he(she) has his choices weighed and placed before him(her) on a daily bases. They return home hoping to have those choices affirmed and supported on a daily bases. This expectation is the bane of many modern homes, the somewhat unrealistic expectation that every choice we make will be the same with our partners.

We have taught our sons the act of having the final say, of laying down the rules, of taking charge without knowing what they are actually in charge of. We have taught our daughters the perfect timing for the first word, the perfect sequence for following instructions, the act of supporting missions without teaching them how to spot impossible missions. 20180106_174851

We failed to teach both how to construct the middle bit of the conversation, how to get to build up to an amicable conclusion. We have taught them to imagine a beautiful end but equipped them for a bloody battle of wits, choices, manipulative skills and little about integrity in the confines of a small room with an audience of one. But that’s a discussion for another day.
Where are your choices taking you? What sort of woman are you becoming?

Your tears are not your shame
Your scars are no regrets
Your strength is not in words
Your weakness is not in silence
defined by a moment you are not
shaped by moments you will be
live those moments truly and wholly.

Choices come at a price but certainly not the price of being superhuman. Society has equated a woman who wants the same privilege for the same role/responsibility as a woman who wants to be a man. Should choices take away from our masculinity or femininity? If my husband asks for help lifting heavy items does that make him less masculine or me less feminine? Earning more or less, exploring my potential doesn’t change my gender or does it? Or should it.? How I chose to display my feminine side is subject to me, some people will earn more income and undergo personality changes, others won’t, should this be the bases for rules?

In my opinion, the only feminine movement that counts is that which protects the individual woman, giving her room to grow and blossom. To explore her choices, curbing them only when they mitigate harmfully against another. They say we are our own worst enemies and it is true. When last did you complement, support or encourage another woman?

There is a universal truth: we can’t have it all, however, there is another truth: we always have something to add, to own.

What’s your choice worth?

Twice beaten, twice shy.

As a mom, there are moments that take your breathe away, moments that leave you feeling vulnerable, moments when you dread the steps you have to take. Last Saturday I faced one of those ‘moments’, there wasn’t anything exceptional about my circumstances, however, it was:

  1. My first major outing with the little people without my husband to entertain the toddler.
  2. First time out and about on the bus since the baby.
  3. Our first feed in public without the car for privacy.
  4. My first time shouldering a sleeping toddler while feeding a baby in public.

I guess you’re wondering why this is even worth mentioning, I will try to explain. Getting myself ready isn’t much of a problem on a good day, but now I have to remember to put breast pads on to avoid a breastmilk map soaking through my outfit. And believe me, I have come close to forgetting them several times. Secondly I have to get my little girl ready, again this is not a huge task. I have to ensure she goes to the bathroom at least five or ten minutes to leaving the door, to avoid a ‘wee’ dance on the bus. Then I have to pack snack and drink options, for the journey back home when she’s bored and exhausted, but fighting sleep or relaxation with a scary determination. This all pales in the light of getting baby ready and convincing myself it’s safe to go out.

Our checklist for him looks something like this;

  • pack baby bag
  • feed and burp baby (this  can take an unimaginable turn at any point)
  • change nappy
  • dress baby
  • set pram up ready to go ‘cos if he starts feeling too warm in there his alarm bells go off … leaving everyone feeling slightly frazzled. This actually happened a week before, he protested so loudly, his sister and I had to abandon our usual weekend stroll. We were both disappointed, thankfully though the day was rescued by a game of bubbles in the garden. It was freezing and the bubbles nestled in the grass l rather than sailing off in the wind. Regardless, we had some outdoor fun during the frigid December weather. Back to the checklist…
  • Finally run out of the house, hoping toddler does not need another visit to the loo.

Yipppeeeee! Out and about we goooooooooo!

Amazingly we had a lovely time in town, baby didn’t cry and toddler L was happy to have a day out on the bus again. I did forget to take drinks and snacks so I had to make it up to her by getting this 

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Now about that dreaded moment; having been out for two hours I knew the baby would need a feed soon. Faced with dropping temperatures and dark clouds, I had two options one, sit in a shop and feed him while my toddler gets bored and night time draws closer. Or two, get on the bus, feed him whenever he wakes up while getting closer to home. I decided to go with the second option, we made it through the first ten minutes before baby L woke up demanding a feed at the top of his lungs. For some unknown reason, I got nervous. 

You would think that having fed my daughter for fourteen months this won’t be an issue. I had fed her on the bus, in the park, in town, on a flight, at playgroups etc All that experience didn’t make any difference in that moment. Having her asleep on my shoulder added to my state of unrest, but it also reassured me that I had made the right choice to get on the bus. More importantly, it served to remind me that my children’s comfort always comes first before anything else. I fed baby, pillowed my daughters head on my shoulder, managed a chat with family friends (who we bumped into on the bus)and a lady on the opposite aisle who dropped her glasses, all the while maintaining my composure.

Yes, this girl can!

I did take a picture, but sadly it wasn’t a good angle. 

I almost didn’t take them out, there were so many excuses; the weather, baby’s age, managing both kids without the car, etc. I did it though and I learned something from it, take a risk, but always weigh the factors. For example, I made sure to pick a day with the best weather outlook, I also set out with an objective(s) no matter how small or simple. I wanted to break the mold, to take the children out even when the conditions weren’t stellar. I also wanted to get back to taking my toodler out and also return items to the store. Sometimes comfort zones prevent us from appreciating our basic strengths and ability to make good judgement calls.

Trust yourself, trust God in 2018.

 

 

So this happened …..

I have been off my blog for a while now and have sorely missed my blogging family and friends. I hope the poems and photo explain why i have been off for a while.

Poems for my babies reflecting our breastfeeding journey:

May:
I’ve a riddle
A riddle indeed,
I am a place, a source
A season, a platform
for nature’s new forage.
What am I?
I stretch, I wiggle
bouncing off the board,
in leaps with a giggle.
What keeps you so, pray tell?
You ask,
I will tell you,
It’s neither boiled nor cooled
Neither filtered nor bottled
Perfectly fresh
On time each time
Mama’s liquid gold
All for me
Fresh as due on springs first morn.

October:
The halo is here
There’s nowhere to hide
Racing orbs of orange
Course through the streets,
Chasing fallen leaves and pumpkin shrines.
What’s this I see?
Tiny feet trailing
down the trick or treat path
I pray the heavens guide
them far from the headless horseman.
The halo’s here
But it won’t find me alone
I snuggle deeper into mama’s bosom
Safe from harm
Phantom or Hyde.

November:
A splash of colours
Green for the elf
Orange for the gnome
Brown for Rudolf’s calf,
And red for the squires home.
Something reminiscent of seasons gone,
A shiny memento for winters gloom.
And what pray ye shall a wee lad have
Something warm,
Something steadfast
A gourmet of nature’s finest
Mama’s milky cuddles
Ample burping shoulders
To shield me through the cold.

leo and logi

Pride of breastfeeding

A certain pride beats beneath my chest,

like a child riding her bike through the fields

I feel a surge of accomplishment.

As the sound of cheering from family/friend or observers spurs the child on, so is the silence of a suckling babe and the swelling of rosy cheeks against my bosom.

It’s not a contentious pride that comes from outsmarting an opponent, nor the sort that comes from defying a bully.

No.

It’s a pride seated in overcoming one’s own fears, of attaining something we desired, but also feared we couldn’t reach.

Like a child playing my keyboard at the school recital, I have no desire to mock others who can’t play, or choose not to play the keyboard, nor those who play a different tune. I am simply lost in the symphony of my artistry.

Please forgive me if I play out of synch or sing a little too loud; I do not mean to cause offense. I am simply excited to have attained my breastfeeding goals.

Happy breastfeeding week!

One placenta – two people.

One bosom – two people.

Initiated by nature – sustained by a triangle (mother, child, and life).

 

 

Happy new month.

HAPPY NEW MONTHS FOLKS.

I know I havn’t been around a lot, life happened and that’s all I can say.

I have missed you guys but will do my best to read your blogs as often as possible.

Below are a couple of quotes that I hope to draw inspiration from through this month.

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This one isn’t optional, I love my rest.

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Same thoughts as above, if Rome wasn’t built in a day then ….

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Every dog will have it’s day and that’s for certain. The only problem is making sure the dog hasn’t lost hope of that day ever happening.

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One step at time, one step at a time…. am climbing my mountains with Jesus by my side.(who watched kids praise?)

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And this is to remind me that my little girl is the most precious person I will ever be privileged to impact any ‘life lessons’ to too.

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Failure to launch; independent children

Failure to launch is a funny movie; Matthew McConaughey plays the lead role of a thirty-five-year-old bachelor who still lives at home with his parents and has no plans of moving out. On the surface the story seems rather straightforward, he’s simply grown cold feet to the idea of living by himself. His friends Ace and Demo are no help either as they both live with their parents at home or so it seems on the surface. Present society frowns a lot at such activities, i.e the idea of a grown adult still ‘living off his parents’. It is seen as the movie is aptly titled a ‘failure of the individual to launch’, a failure of his/her parents to nudge them in the right direction. To snip the apron strings.

We are a very independent generation, we want to spread our wings as far as possible, we want to mount the highest peaks without any aid. Parents are coerced to encourage their offspring to stand on their own two feet as soon as possible literally and figuratively. Teachers, health workers, doctors are encouraged to ask children questions that encourage independence, questions which often lead to a certain desired answer. Parents are encouraged to have sleep routines, codes of behavior and learning objectives for each child. It’s no wonder extended breastfeeding and co-sleeping are frowned upon by a lot of people.

Being independent isn’t the absence of weakness or a presence of stable strength.  Being independent is having the ability to shoulder the level of responsibility appropriate for an individual’s mental and physical state per time. Individuals often aren’t aware of what they can handle which is why life steps in to throw challenges at us. For children, parents are often the tools used to point out these milestones, however, learning or surmounting these milestones must be done by the child with or without the assistance of the parent. How does this relate to extended breastfeeding and co-sleeping?

Let’s go back to the movie, Tripp (the character played by Matthew McConaughey) lives at home with his parents as a result of his fiancees’ death.  He sought solace in the one place he knew he would find it, a move born out of a need. Living at home with his parents was not a problem of any sort at first. Going by his mother’s account, his presence pushed the fear of facing an empty nest with her husband into the distance future. However, at some point his presence did become a strain for them not a bad unbearable strain, rather a strain they could do without if it could be managed in a loving way that left everyone feeling happy. Sadly, in real life we have limited options either to let the process run its cause or we rudely interrupt or we intervene in the most gentle manner we can, ready to soothe ruffled feathers through the process.

This is the same with the case of extended breastfeeding and co-sleeping, no one except mother and child should decide when the process has run its due cause. It is not about nutrition as breast milk regardless of age maintains its nutritional value. It is not about independence as no child is self-sufficient at the age in question. Taking into consideration the definition of independence given in the previous paragraph one might be tempted to conclude that extended breastfeeding might hinder a child’s growth. This ideology, however, would be considered unfounded by several studies which have associated high levels of independence in children who experience constant loving and appropriate physical contact with their care givers/ parents.

There are no universal rules or manuals about parenting that fits every situation and life divide. Being independent is very important, a vital component for a balanced adult but we must be careful to help our little ones attain that height without feeling smothered or abandoned. As with everything in the life of your child, you only learn what they need or don’t need by paying attention to them and to your intuition. There is no shame in extended breastfeeding or in stopping at any point, there is, however, a sense of betrayal when your needs or your child’s need are buried under society’s acceptance or any other obligation. Don’t aggressively start the nudge for independence (fashion,mental, diet, health) or ignore the cues of independence either.  

Parenting is the toughest job in the world, but your children will teach you the skills you need provided you don’t juxtapose your desires over them or interpret their needs subjective to your feelings.

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Silky webs

The number of spider webs around my house has suddenly increased, this does not surprise me, I guess it is be expected with the increasingly warm weather. It’s become obvious to Baby L that other living species like to bask in the bright rays of sunshine. The problem on my hands at the moment is how to effectively communicate to Baby L that not all spiders are pets. She fancies them (and several other insects if might add) to no end and judging from her giggles she probably thinks they fancy her too. Not funny to me nor the spider, but rather than relocate from our house I find the little critters setting up shop just round the corner. It’s like they’re on a mission to leave memorable prints of their web on baby L’s mind.

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It all got me thinking, how dedicated am I to leaving indelible memories on her young mind? What kind of memories will she have of me? And I am not talking about happy memories alone as that would be a daunting task for anyone to constantly pursue. I mean just memories of everyday living, memories of Sunday afternoons filled with shared meals (home cooked or take away) eaten together at home, Saturday morning chores and music blasting from the radio.

I remember my mom relaxing in the living room listening to the radio as the dust of all the usual Sunday scurrying around settled with the setting sun. From waking up at five to get breakfast and some elements for lunch going to attending a six to seven hours service (talk about draining); one could hardly blame her for passing out in exhaustion. Tired and overstretched as she might have been mom never failed to ensure we had our meals, looked good, had our water bottles and occasionally an ice cream on a really bad day. Even in her sleep mom’s warrior mode was set on auto to defend, if so much as a rat made an unsettling sound mom was up and ready to defend her tribe.

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It used to annoy me back then, as mom won’t let me put the telly on, I often had to entertain myself with a novel which wasn’t bad especially if I had a new one to read. But it was also fun to listen to the thank you messages and prayers sent in to recognize lovely people in the community. And as listened to my own radio this Sunday I couldn’t help remembering mom and days gone.

I couldn’t help praying that Baby L grows up with a head full of memories which make the world seem normal despite the chaos outside.

I hope the girl/lady/woman she becomes in the future loves me for the woman/mom I am today.

What matters? Does it really matter?

Breastfeeding Poster V2I had no plans of writing a post about this topic as it is one that really divides the ranks. And even as I write it the tune of a solemn nature echoes in my head as I fear that with my words I might be burying myself in murky waters. Gasping dramatically for air, here goes: so the discuss on discreet and indiscreet breastfeeding in public has become a reoccurring motif through the script of normalizing breastfeeding campaigns.

While everyone chants in unison ‘power to the breastfeeding mum, let’s normalize breastfeeding.’

Silent whispers rumble ‘normalizing breastfeeding doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be discreet.’

Silent whispers rumbles  ‘normalizing breastfeeding means we shouldn’t be discreet.’

Prior to writing this post I would probably have fallen firmly on one side of the divide, now I ask myself, what really matters here?

The underlying debate rises from our personalities as individuals which doesn’t change a whole lot with the advent of breastfeeding. Some mums are extremely private people and some are not, this has nothing to do with confidence and everything to do with their personalities. Some mums prior to baby had no issues with showing some flesh; some found a flash of skin a little off putting, and for some it’s the other way round; breastfeeding and motherhood doesn’t rid us of those traits, if anything it further compounds them. For all I know and can remember mothers have breastfeed their young in different places (on the farm, at the market, on the buses etc.), in different ways (covered with a wrapper, shawl, uncovered, breast out, breast underneath etc.) you get the picture.

So why the chasm and why is it widening?breastfeeding 2016

Social media: thanks to this fascinating tool of modern day life which makes it possible to share my thoughts with you, the same tool has the abilities of exaggerating the acts of everyday living into catastrophic levels. Throw social media into schools and kids start to pull all sorts of pranks including online bullying to get attention, throw it into politics and leaders say one thing to be politically correct and recant it via tweeter, throw it into entertainment and the most ludicrous or horrendous actions become entertaining.

With the advent of social media we have all become extremely socially aware. And that’s the essence of social media; to be social with the media and with others who use the media and to unknowingly empower the media that uses us (Ezinne Ukoha). We can now create our own media stories, sadly the media only celebrates or recognizes extreme issues, no one wants to watch normal life on the media. Sadly no matter how awesome and widespread media is, it will always remain a snippet of reality, and though it seems intrusive we must remind ourselves that some of our own works,pictures etc might also seem intrusive to another person.

Secondly the breastfeeding cause is a cocktail of causes as it is a cocktail of personalities: breastfeeding and motherhood generally is a very empowering process. It makes us fierce as tigers, we not only want to feed our children in the best way possible but we also want to give/leave for them a world with equal rights and privileges for everyone. And it’s on this second note that we start to differ a bit. The picture of what the best world is differs for each of us, not in the all so big details but in the tiny ones that become obvious on closer inspection. It’s like those spot the difference puzzles, the general picture looks the same, some of the differences jump right out at you, others take a while to spot, some matter, and others don’t. More importantly each person takes a different amount of time to solve the puzzle.

What is the point here? We have mums who are activists, feminists, conservative, naturist, and so many other terms which describe people. At the end of the day the common thread between all of them is that they’re breastfeeding mums and that’s all that counts.

normalizing breastfeeding 2016

Best way forward:

Stick to the cause that matters to you per time; for this week and beyond its breastfeeding. Strip off all the other labels and find the common ground – we want more breastfeeding mums and there is no single format for reaching out to everyone because there is no single format for being the best mum except putting the well-being of your child first.

We are all making statements on a daily basis with our choices, breastfeeding is no different; discreet/indiscreet you’re telling /showing the world how nature intended for us to feed our babies in way that suits you best. Doing what makes you comfortable, working at your own pace and a healthy baby is all the empowerment you need.

Whatever cocktail you make of your motherhood journey if you can remember where you came from, where you’re and most importantly where next you want to go I say rock on.