Maybe they were. I don't mean to be so sensitive about it but I'm feeling a bit raw about the whole "raised naturally" issue and it has nothing to do with chickens. It has to do with Nate, my 5-month-old. By definition, Nate's dinner should cause me the least concern of all the members of my household. It should be the product of miraculous multi-tasking, continuously homemade, served up warm and fresh on demand, just the way he likes it. Unfortunately, it hasn't been going that way exactly.
Like most women, I have strong feelings about the best way to raise a child - not my child - a child. Sure, we like to be all "I am the best mother for my baby and every child is different and as long as your love is pure..." blahblahblah. No. Most mothers believe that they are doing it the right way and sure, there are other approaches or schools of thought, but those are wrong or at least not as good (PS- this psychosis is reinforced by every single babybook on the market). I felt this way about breastfeeding. You
should do it. You should do it exclusively until they are old enough to pull your shirt up in a mall and say "mommy-booby-now!" and then you should stop, stop, stop.Yeah, I was a breastfeeding warrior. I have scars, permanent scars, on my nipples from Loki. In his first 6 weeks he consumed so much of my blood that the extra iron actually turned his poop black (fact!) . I would breastfeed anywhere: a park bench, a restaurant, a subway station. Shoot, I'd ask the guy next to me on the airplane if he wouldn't mind holding my boob while I grabbed a nappy from the diaper bag (luckily, that guy was usually my husband).
After all that, I had no doubt that I'd do the same for Nate. I figured this time it would be easier as I knew what was in store. And it's true, I nursed through a gross spell of mastitis (which SUCKS!) and the stomach flu. Why wouldn't I. After all, it is the best food for your baby. Just ask Dr. Jack Newman - breastfeeding guru and lactation wizard (he actually developed his own nipple cream - not just any guy would do that). I mean, when you read the labels on formula they all claim to be "the closest to breast milk." Who wants to give their kid the next-best-thing when you've got the best-thing in your shirt. And what the hell is formula anyway? I'm sure Michael Pollan would dig his grave, die, and then roll over before he gave that to his kids (however, I am also sure that Mr. Pollan was not responsible for breastfeeding them).
So here I am, this smug breastfeeder. But see Nate is big...really big...and really, really hungry. Nursing has become a shouting match between him and my boob. He screams at it. He says "feed me you stupid lump of flesh" to which my breast replies "drip, squirt, squirt, drip drip, fizzle." And then we switch sides. And then we switch again. And then the pounding and pulling and batting of ears begins. Nate looks up at me with his tear soaked face and heart-wrenching sobs as if to say "why oh why won't you feed me. It's like the one thing I ask of you."
It wasn't like that at first. When Nate was born, I was the first-prize winner in the least-sexiest wet t-shirt contest ever, on pretty much a daily basis. I'm not sure when the needs of his body started to overpower the ability of mine, but I think that stomach flu had something to do with it.
Either way, the horrible truth is this. I've started to supplement. With formula. Sometimes up to 2 bottles a day. Go ahead. Gasp in disgust, Dr. Newman, but what would you do?
"Well, Jessie, I would just nurse more. Nurse and nurse and nurse until your supply catches up with his demand. Every 45 minutes, all day long, until you are a single, melded, sucking-lactating machine."
That's great advice Dr. Newman, from someone who does not have breasts.
So what does this mean. That I love Nate less than Loki? That I am not willing to sacrifice as much for his well-being? That he won't be as bonded to me, as nourished by the life-determining security of maternal devotion?
Is Nate the air-chilled chicken?
Probably not. After all I am the best mother for my baby and every child is different (echem).
Okay, I'm not sold on it. But I'm doing what I have to do.
When you think about a family dinner, you think about everyone sitting together, eating the same thing. But, of course, that's not ever what happens. People take more of what they like, less of what they don't. You make something special for this one who won't eat carrots, for that one who is only cool with yellow food this month. Feeding your family is about flexibility and accommodation. So I'm not feeding Nate exactly how I fed Loki. Well, good. That will probably be the way it goes for the rest of their lives at my table. But no child of mine will go to bed hungry (unless they really piss me off).
Tonight's Dinner:
Loki, Herb, Jessie: "Naturally Raised" herb roasted chicken with carrots, fennel, Brussels sprouts & potatoes
Nate: Left, Right, Left, Bottle.
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Just keep dribbling and squirting until he doesn't want it anymore. Then you know it was his decision, not yours, and you can never blame yourself (which I know you would even though your blog explanation is perfectly sane and legitimate and understandable. But you would still blame yourself bc you would still tell perfect strangers this long explanation if they so much as questioned if he was drinking breast milk or formula in his bottle!).
ReplyDeleteThis is just another reminder of "judge not, lest ye be judged". I'm totally with you- I analyze the faces of people who ask me if she's still drinking breastmilk and I tell them she's been on cows milk (organic!) since she was 11 months old. It's the right thing for my kid, damn it!
Nate is naturally raised. I still hear stories of babies drinking bottles filled with soda. You're doing awesome!
So long as you don't chain him to a calf hutch like the veal at the farm, I figure you're doing okay.
ReplyDeleteMmmm. Does Loki eat veal?