To begin with:  I chose to breastfeed Micah because I felt it was the natural thing to do.  My mother nursed me and my brother and always spoke highly of the experience.  She loved the bonding aspects of nursing and always shared that she marveled at “God’s perfect plan for mothers and babies” in the example of breastfeeding.  She even spoke of enjoying the experience of her milk letting down because of the deep connection she felt with her babies and how it put her in tune with their needs.  Sure I had heard/read of the other purported advantages of breastfeeding– the antibodies passed on, the perfect fat content, etc…, the ease and convenience of nursing, the “free” factor, and others.  But it was always the argument that nursing helped in the process of mother/child bonding that felt strongest to me.

I enjoyed nursing Micah the first 7 months of his life while I was priveledged enough to be home with him.  But when I returned to work full time, the experience certainly shifted as I found myself needing to pump at work everyday– and all the added stresses and inconveniences that came along with expressing milk in order to keep up with nursing.   Micah nursed a lot at night because he never really was fond of drinking expressed milk from bottle or cup.  No other nipples for that little one!   He was a committed nursling, and I was mostly glad that I could offer him what he seemed to want most of all- time with me at the breast.  Even if it meant I experienced less sleep and needed to spend every lunch of every week day isolated in a bathroom with a machine attached to my breasts for a half hour.  I had a good bond with my son, and nursing seemed to be a huge part of that.

I thought that I would certainly nurse Micah for a full year– if he wanted– and then I would take it month by month.  At the one year mark, we introduced cow’s milk into Micah’s diet and he liked it.  I didn’t feel sad, or shunned, as some women report.  I was happy he was taking in some other nutrients and hoped with this introduction and all the solid foods we were giving him as well that he would slowly start to wean himself from the breast.  But this was not the case.  He was, as mentioned before, a committed nursling.  He learned very quickly how to communicate to difference between cow’s milk and what he began calling “ma milk”.  Nursing was clearly his greatest joy.

By Micah’s first birthday, though, I was pregnant with Eli.  I knew enough to know that I could nurse through pregnancy.  But in my ideal world, I wanted to continue nursing Micah for a few months more, and then have him self-weaned a few months before Eli was born.  Micah still seemed too young to stop nursing all together, but at 16 months this seemed more reasonable.  I began doing a lot of reading about pregnancy and nursing.  Most children wean themselves when their moms become pregnant for a variety of reasons– the milk tastes different, the milk supply decreases, etc.  But once again, Micah was committed.  I tried all the subtle ways of leading Micah to a breast-free life, but none of them worked with him.  At this point, I needed to choose whether or not I would be committed to what is called “child-led weaning” or I would lead/force the process for him.  (Read:  simply refuse to nurse him until the habit is broken.)  It was painfully obvious which path I would choose.  I simply couldn’t find good reason in my heart to force my son to give up what gave him the most pleasure, and comfort, in his life.  Even if it meant that life was more complicated, and literally painful, for me.

Nursing was painful because at about the third month of pregnancy my milk supply dried up.  Micah continued to nurse but was not getting any milk- a term I quickly learned was called “dry nursing”.  While I was wondering why Micah wouldn’t give it up, especially since he wasn’t receiving any sustenance from it, a friend shared with me that she far preferred the term “nursing” over “breastfeeding” because as she said “There is so much more going on than simply feeding.”  Comfort is being given, love is being shared, heartbeats are being heard, skin is being touched.  Nursing was, and is, the great bond between us.  Micah still loved that, and needed that.  My physical discomfort, and continued lack of sleep, seemed less significant when weighed against what I knew Micah was receiving.

And so I stumbled into the world of tandem nursing.  Micah was 19 months at the time of Eli’s birth and was used to a system of nursing that entailed me using a timer to limit the amount of time he spent actually pulling on my dry breasts.  He was happy with one-minute sessions of nursing.  I called them “Micah’s way of checking in and connecting with mama”.  He probably nursed like this 10-15 times a day– which meant 10-15 minutes a day total.  But obviously, at Eli’s birth, milk returned.  And I was deeply concerned about making sure my newborn baby had ALL he needed first, considering that Micah’s nutritional needs were being met by other sources.   I read what I could about tandem nursing, but still felt so unsure, especially considering I didn’t personally know any other woman who did such a thing.  But I still felt as if I was following my heart.  It seemed like the right choice to be making.

And to fast forward a bit– here we are 6 months later.  Eli is about to begin eating solid foods. He enjoys nursing, but I can already tell he has a different relationship with me and nursing than Micah does.  Micah is still nursing, though I couldn’t contain him to one-minute intervals anymore after my milk returned, and in abundance.  He still LOVES “ma milk”.  He is still as committed as ever.  We passed his two year birthday, and I marveled that I was nursing a toddler.  I never would have imagined that I would be doing so, and I still marvel that I continue to do so without a clear game plan for the termination of this relationship.   I have never seen myself as a committed breastfeeding fascist.  But if anyone else looked in they would probably assume I was because of the amount of time, energy, physical blah blah

it’s not about the milk.  it’s a relationship.

i need it for my salvation.  i need to set aside my needs and priorities and place my children’s needs before mine.  it makes me less selfish.  it allows me to love my children in their individual needs.

Micah had his first birthday, and a few weeks prior to his celebration, Brooke and I happily discovered we were pregnant and expecting our second child!

I finished my second semester teaching at Bellarmine and decided, in light of second pregnancy and other factors, to leave my teaching position there in the upcoming school year and to remain home with Micah and baby #2.

I am now in week 30 of this pregnancy, and Brooke and I know we are having another little boy whom we have already named Eli.

I am hopeful to continue this experiment of mine in writing and reflection on motherhood.  I suppose I naively thought that being a full-time stay-at-home mom would allow me time for such writing (and cooking and cleaning and staying connected with friends and scrapbooking and other things stay-at-home moms do…), but of course, not without careful planning.   But with this post, I jump back into this and hope to post at least weekly until Eli arrives– then we’ll see.

I marvel that my body produces food for Micah that grows and nourishes him. It was a wonder during pregnancy, and continues to be a wonder now through nursing. I don’t claim to understand even one bit of the biology behind it all, but from a spiritual perspective, pregnancy and breastfeeding seems to mirror so much of the Catholic understanding of Eucharist.

“This is my body given up for you. This is my blood given up for you.”

What a gift when one literally gives their body and blood to bring life to another! Mothers model Christ in this way. So, the gift of receiving the body and blood of Jesus has informed my perspective on bearing and nursing Micah, but bearing and nursing Micah has in turn informed my perspective of the Eucharist.

I watch my son put everything into his mouth. Granted, he is, and will be, in the “oral fixation” developmental stage for some time– but I also witness that the objects that Micah seems to love the most he wants in his mouth. He wants to, it seems, eat up the joy of the object. This is very true with Brooke and I. He constantly puts his mouth on us– we call them kisses, but really he’s just experiencing us through his mouth. And, this too, makes me think of Eucharist. God allows us to experience God through our mouths. The Eucharistic perspective, and the baby’s perspective is, “Taste and see that the Lord (or anything else) is good.”

My Thanksgiving Thoughts: At times I have felt a little troubled by the fact that Thanksgiving as a holiday revolves so much around food, and the so-called traditional Turkey-day meal that for many people constitutes a day of gluttonous overeating. But for the last few years I have been thinking much about food and the role that food does, and should, play in our lives. My thoughts have all been refined as Brooke and I have been asking hard questions about food production and distribution in the global sense, and asking questions about our own food shopping and consumption in the personal sense. My thoughts are far from completed, but one thing I do know for sure is this: All of our food comes from the earth and sea, and ultimately comes from our Creator God who has given us the incredible bounty of earth, tree, ocean and stream.

It seems to me that throughout history, all people who lived with a connection to land and sea (which was essentially all people)- knew deep within themselves that they were dependent upon the creation itself for the most basic needs of life– namely food and water. And for the vast majority of these people, that dependence was inextricably linked to a dependence upon some greater god that gave the harvest, and gave the animals, and gave the source of water. I know that it is a historically recent phenomena for the majority of people in the Western world to have lost this connection, and to quite frankly, not know deep within ourselves where our food comes from, and therefore, who and what to be thankful for. When I ask my students to think about where their food comes from, they answer “Costco” and “the fridge” and “McDonalds” or slightly better, “my mom” or maybe even “a farm.”

Conscious living seems to demand that we regain that deep knowledge of God as the ultimate source of our living, our eating and our drinking. Therefore, all food (and drink) should serve as a great reminder of the gift of creation, and ultimately, the gift of the Creator. What used to be a prefunctory prayer before meals has become a chance to truly give thanks. Brooke and I try hard to remember the whole chain of hands that has brought our food to our table, and to trace it back to its original source– through the gift of the animal’s life that was lost, or the gift of the farmer harvesting the wheat, or the migrant worker that picked the fruit, etc… all the way back to our good God who gives ALL.

Thanksgiving and food are deeply connected to one another, and that’s a good thing. My prayer is that food will always bring me greater gratitude for the many gifts that God has given.

The first “I swear by this product” was the vibrating bouncy seat. Moms would insist their babies would LOVE the vibrations and stay in their chairs for up to an hour at an time. Then, other parents talked up the magic of the carseat (perhaps for the same reason as the vibrating chairs) and state that their babies would simply fall asleep if taken for a little ride. And there was the almighty baby gym. This was another “My baby LOVES to play in the gym for hours at a time” kind of product. Then there was the “Jonny Jump Up.” Another product that seemingly all babies wanted to bounce in for hours at a time. And there were smaller gadgets too. Little toys with the proverbial bells and whistles. Toys that would hook the little one and keep him or her occupied for long stretches of time.

None of these products have had any such effect on Micah. He liked the vibrating seat… for about 5 minute intervals. He would play in his baby gym… for maybe 10 minutes max. He hated the car seat with a great passion, and wailed during even the shortest of trips. The”Jonny Jump Up?” Forget about it! After a search on craigslist for this coveted product, I think Micah lasted in the jump-up about as long as he would riding a bucking bronco. And all the other toys never captured his attention for very long.

No product or thing has been able to captivate my baby in the same way that good old fashioned human interaction can. But the problem is good old fashioned human interaction takes a LOT of time. Grandma and the nanny who watches Micah during the week both comment on how much Micah likes (read: needs) to be held and how he won’t be satisfied playing with any given toy on his own. I know this is the case because when I am home with him the same is true. I can’t just put him down, or put him in some toy or gadget, and buy myself some time. He wants to interact ALL the time.

So after worrying that I already have an A.D.D. baby with no attention span, I decided that really what is going on is that Micah is incredibly social and simply needs this much person-to-person interaction. Perhaps Brooke and I have created some of this by our parenting style. Perhaps some of this is Micah’s inherent personality. Nature and nurture I suppose. But bottom line, my baby isn’t entertained with babies-r-us and the rows and rows of baby “must-haves.” And though this elicits much work from us, I am pleased that Micah isn’t so easily sold on products. Nothing replaces mommy and daddy holding him and carrying him around and singing to him and talking to him. This is what Micah loves, and I guess as long as he wants to interact with us, we should give him all the time he needs.

When Brooke and I returned from Italy we flew through Washington D.C. While there, we took a little day trip to visit the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Even after spending so much time walking the grand corridors of churches and cathedrals throughout Italy, and gazing at awesome works of religious art, this church in D.C. stood out as exceptionally beautiful. I was incredibly moved by the numerous side chapels and altars– all of which are devoted to Mary and telling her story and recounting the several places she has appeared. Some of these places I was familiar with– Our Lady of Guadalupe, Our Lady of Fatima, Our Lady of Medjugorie, Our Lady of Lourdes. But there were so many that were unknown to me– obscure little places such as La Vang, Vietnam, Siluva, Lithuania, Vailankanni,India, and others.

I have never really known what to make of Marian apparitions. Though the Church recognizes many of these places as holy sites, and has confirmed the apparitions, I still wasn’t sure what the whole point of this was. But after visiting this shrine and seeing altar after altar with various images of Mary from all over the globe, the message became very clear.

There is a common theme to all of the apparitions. Mary appears to the lowest of the low– often those downtrodden, sick, or oppressed. She calls forth in those she encounters a deeper faith in her Son, and asks for devotion and increased faith through prayer, sacrifice, and repentance. Her messages are usually fairly simple, and the response is often amazing– miracles, countless pilgrims, increased prayer, etc.

Today I had the blessing of reading about another Marian apparition– Our Lady of Kibeho, Rwanda. I could not find this location on a map if I tried, or any of the other spots that Mary appears, for that matter (well, prior to her appearances making the places reknowned, that is). I find this so beautiful that God still chooses to show up in the “Bethlehems” and “Nazareths” of this world, and to speak so directly with those who are in such great need.

One of the messages that Mary spoke to the young women who saw her in Rwanda was something along these lines: “I am not only for Rwanda. I am not only for Africa, even. I am concerned with the whole world.” The various apparitions all over the globe seem to verify this. The Mother of God is greatly concerned with all of God’s children. I can only imagine how great her burden must be! I find it difficult enough to carry love for one child in my heart! What compassion there must be within her heart.

But of course this is the case. For she was the one who proclaimed:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed; the Almighty has done great things for me and holy is his name. He has mercy on those who fear him, from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm and has scattered the proud in their conceit, Casting down the mighty from their thrones and lifting up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty. He has come to the aid of his servant Israel, to remember his promise of mercy,The promise made to our ancestors, to Abraham and his children for ever.

I had often wondered why so many Renaissance artists portrayed the concept of heaven as a place where fat and naked angel baby cherubs floated around singing and playing instruments. But now, I sort of get it. My little baby’s singing must be a close approximation of the sweetness of heaven. The pure bliss of the place. I continue to be so grateful for the ways God speaks (and sings) to me through Micah.

It has been well over a year that Micah and I have been super-attached. Prior to going back to school, I had only spent a maximum of 4 hours away from him. And that had only happened twice. My life has essentially been 24/7 Micah time. And I have loved it. Brooke and I had found that our parenting style most closely resembled the “attachment” parenting method. And guess what? It works! We all are quite attached to each other– especially mommy and baby, and this has made for a difficult transition into now being separated for long hours throughout the weekdays.

However, the good news is that Micah is doing better than anticipated. He is spending two days a week being watched by Grandma Riggio and the other three days being watched by a nanny in our home. He appears to be adjusting fairly well and will probably pick up on this routine fairly quickly. Mom, on the other hand, is still struggling.

One whole day was spent on the beach, enjoying the sounds of the surf, gazing out at the ebb and flow of the waves of the Pacific, admiring the hilly tree-lined cliffs that butted up against the beaches, and running hands and feet through soft, warm sand.

Micah seemed to really enjoy his time on the beach, but I couldn’t be perfectly relaxed. We put a beach towel down on the sand and laid him on this. I tried to make sure he had sunscreen all over, and we made some shade for him with our moby wrap tied to a big piece of driftwood. But of course, Micah wiggled and squirmed, and the shade didn’t really protect him from the sun as well as I would have liked. I found myself worrying that he would get burned (and if he did, of course it would be all my fault.) And then there was the sand…

Micah immediately discovered the sand and his little hands worked like tractors scooping up baby-fistfuls of the golden stuff and dropping it everywhere. All over his towel, all over himself, all over his face. I could see the glimmering of specks of sand on his eyelashes and in his ears and on his lips. He never put handfuls of sand in his mouth, thank the Lord, but sand got pretty much everywhere. I tried to gently wipe the sand off of him, off of his face, off of the towel. The sunscreen application, though, made this a tougher task as it worked like glue, keeping all the shimmer stuck on Micah’s skin. In addition to Micah’s playing and squirming, there was a slight breeze that was blowing sand onto us anyway. It would have been impossible to keep my baby sand-free. And because of this, I worried. What if sand got in his eyes? What if he ate some? What if the sand got into the crevices of his skin and irritated him? Once again, fearing that if any one of these things happened, I would be at fault and feel terrible for not being more attentive. And to be really honest, some small part of me was just annoyed at the “dirtiness” of it– wanting to keep my baby perfectly clean.

Then, there was another mom on the beach spending the day with her three children playing in the surf and the sand. I could hear her yelling at her children to stop playing in the sand because they were “getting sand everywhere.” She continued to yell at them to wash themselves more thoroughly in the ocean waves because they were covered in sand and dirty. Internally, I was so upset at this woman. I couldn’t believe the way she was speaking with her children, and found myself uttering a little prayer: “Lord, help me from ever being like that.” I despised her control-freak-like ways, and found myself saying more than once, “Geesh, lady, you’re at a beach for crying out loud. Get a grip. Of course sand gets everywhere.”

And the moment hit. Speck of sand in her eye, log of driftwood in mine. Oh Lord, I am that woman trying to control things that are not mine to control. I never thought of myself as controlling before motherhood. But it seems like it’s almost impossible not to be with the level of responsibility that comes with being entrusted to care for such a vulnerable little one. Yet I think this is the great challenge of Motherhood — allowing life to be messy or maybe even painful recognizing that with or without anxiety, sand does just get everywhere.