Nap time travel

Newborn kangaroo care
At a week old, Peeper spent much of her day snuggled against my chest.

Every mother has a magic patch of skin. It’s easy to find: It’s the skin below your clavicle—your décolletage—which is, not coincidentally, right above your heart.

It’s magic because it has the ability to transport a mother back in time.

The other day, I went in to Peeper’s bedroom when I heard her wake up from a nap. She was crying, so I gathered her in my arms, sat back in the glider and started singing. She nestled into me, and her face snuggled right against the skin left bare by my v-neck shirt.

With the instant ease of a key turning in an oiled lock, my heart opened.

The best feelings of motherhood—awe, gratitude, love that practically blinds you as it shines out from every pore—washed over me. I inhaled Peeper’s scent, a mix of shampoo and toddler sweat with just a hint of peanut butter. And I was suddenly the brand-new mother of a newborn. Read more

5 tips to make bomb twice-baked sweet potatoes

Tips for Twice Baked Sweet Potatoes with Eggs

Twice-baked potatoes were one of my favorite dinners when I was growing up. I’d wait impatiently for them to bake and snag a top—a little piece of potato skin with melted cheese—as soon as they were out of the oven, inevitably burning my mouth. But it was so worth it! Now that I’m a little older (and more into easy, healthy dinners), twice-baked sweet potatoes are my go-to.

If you haven’t worked twice-baked sweet potatoes into your weeknight menu, here are 5 tips to make them delicious, every time. Twice-baked sweet potatoes are a phenomenal vegetarian dinner any day of the week!

5 tips to make the best twice-baked sweet potatoes, an easy weeknight vegetarian dinner! Ten Thousand Hour Mama Read more

A motherhood mulligan

Eric and I have been disc golfing together since we met. When we first started dating, we’d drive to Dexter State Park and play a round, flirting between throws.

Now that we’ve been married for six years and have a toddler, disc golfing looks a little different: I skip most holes because I’m too busy chasing Peeper and preventing her from eating rocks, sticks and hunks of dirt. But one thing hasn’t changed—I still call “mulligan” when I hit a tree with my drive. I don’t keep score anyway, so what’s the harm in a little do-over?Ten Thousand Hour Mama - Champoeg Disc Golf

Ten Thousand Hour Mama - Champoeg disc golfI was recently interviewed by friend and former colleague Lee Walker Helland about motherhood mulligans—the things we wish we could have done differently. Her story, First-Year Do-Overs, just ran in American Baby. (Take a peek to read my interview and hear what other moms would have changed about getting out of the house, accepting help and sleep training.)

I talked, of course, about breastfeeding. If you want to catch up on our BFing journey, you can read about it here, here and here, or just read a good summary here. Thankfully, our story has a good ending: Peeper is still breastfeeding, and I’m so grateful to have been able to nurse her this long on my terms.

Is there anything you would have done differently in parenthood?

Nurse-in shows support for breastfeeding mamas

Over the weekend a group of moms held a “nurse-in” at a restaurant outside Portland. An employee there had recently asked a nursing mom to cover up, despite it being completely within her rights (not to mention the baby’s) to breastfeed basically anywhere in public.

In response, dozens of moms showed up to, you know, provide their children vital sustenance (gasp).

I love how these mothers, many of whom didn’t even know the original woman who was asked to put her boob away, used the frustrating moment as a way to raise awareness and rally support. It is National Breastfeeding Awareness Month, after all!

I was in Eugene over the weekend, but I did end up breastfeeding at a different restaurant—not as part of the protest but because Peeper was hungry.

I don’t use a cover-up (or, as one company that thought it was a good marketing strategy to compare lactating women with cows calls them, Udder Covers). Even if I wanted to, Peeper would never stand it. And really, breastfeeding shows a lot less boob than, say, wearing a bikini. Read more

Don’t follow this advice

Worst baby advice // new parents // kids // Ten Thousand Hour Mama

It’s almost a cliché that once you become a parent, everyone—friends, family, randos on the playground—are suddenly an expert at how to raise your child. Sometimes the advice is helpful; sometimes it’s ridiculous; most of the time it’s confusing. (And sometimes it’s obnoxious enough to inspire a rant by yours truly and make me swear off online parenting advice altogether, like this.) But the worst parenting advice seems to find us all, new parents and veterans alike.

Every so often, a mother-to-be or new mama asks me for advice. I could say a lot about getting help with breastfeeding (if you choose to go that route), finding support in other mothers, bringing spare onesies when you fly and plenty of other tips. But what I usually say instead goes something like this:

You are the expert on your baby. You carried her for 40 weeks; you know her better than anyone else in the world. Do what you feel is right and ignore the other advice. Be confident that you will make the best choices for your baby and your family.

I’m grateful to the people who told me something similar. They gave me the support and confidence to follow my own parenting path (one that my husband and I walk together, of course).

Ten Thousand Hour Mama

Here is the worst parenting advice I’m glad I ignored.

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Roundup of breastfeeding links

A friend once joked that I should rename my blog The Bouncing Boob. It was especially appropriate at the time because Edie refused to eat except when I was standing and bouncing her, but with my constant talk about breasts, it still fits.

But if this blog is honest, how can I avoid it? During the early months, babies eat constantly. Many women pump on top of that. As a new mother who is breastfeeding, it feels as if 23 hours a day are consumed by feeding the baby. (The remaining hour is taken by changing diapers. Zero hours are taken by sleeping.) And for mothers who aren’t breastfeeding, all that time making bottles, feeding baby and then—the worst part—cleaning all those tiny parts certainly adds up, too.

I once remarked to Eric that I felt like a big boob that occasionally changed diapers.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he replied. “You’re two boobs.”

At any rate, I wanted to share a few links about, yes, boobs and breastfeeding.

A friend from grad school wrote this tender post about how she and her wife struggled to breastfeed their newborn. “…when no one was looking, I put you back up to my chest. I was worried you wouldn’t know what to do. I was worried you’d start crying and not want me. But you suckled. You knew exactly what to do.” I cried all over my breakfast, so beware.

The Internet is full of articles defending a mother’s right to breastfeed. (And isn’t it ridiculous that we need so many champions of something as fundamental as feeding a child?) There are fewer posts, though, from a father’s perspective. That’s why I especially loved this article. “So how public is too public? If you ask me, there is no such thing. Riding a bus, sitting in a restaurant, in uniformin Parliamentin front of the Pope—you name it. A nursing baby is so much more pleasant than a cranky, hungry baby. Don’t want to see it? That’s simple: Don’t look.”

I got a kick out of this music video back when nursing was a painful, fraught, emotional topic. A dash of humor makes just about any situation easier to bear.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZ3QO-7h4YA]

PS – I love how the still in the video above, the baby looks RAVENOUS. She’s all, “Get in my belly!”

On the flip side of things, a new law in the United Arab Emirates criminalizes not breastfeeding. The council that created the law decided that children have a right to breastfeed until age 2; mothers who choose not to (or can’t) can be sued by their husband. Now, nursing is fantastic for nourishment and bonding, among other things. But sometimes breastfeeding doesn’t work. There are plenty of perfectly valid reasons why a woman would not breastfeed. But beyond that, should this choice ever be delegated to strangers and lawmakers? I know women who feed their babies formula, both exclusively and along with breast milk. They are wonderful mothers who love their children.

Giving a hungry baby formula is not wrong. What would be criminal is not feeding that babies at all. What would be terrible is forcing a mother to breastfeed and risking her or her child’s health because of that. What would be regrettable is creating resentment and alienation between mother and child by taking away a woman’s autonomy.

I am an enormous proponent of breastfeeding. Even more, though, I’m an advocate for mothers making the best choice for themselves and their families. Sometimes that includes formula. Sometimes it doesn’t. Frankly, it’s none of my damn business.

Do you have a favorite post about breastfeeding? Share the link in the comments section!

Keep getting help until it’s fixed

If you’ve read my blog before, it’ll come as no surprise that we had a hard time breastfeeding. Hell, I talk about my boobs often enough here to give Bill O’Reilly a stroke.

I was nervous about breastfeeding from the getgo, so I asked to see a lactation specialist both days I was in the hospital after giving birth. And when things were still hard at home, I saw another lactation nurse that same week.

At that visit, the nurse showed me a few minor tweaks with how my baby was positioned. I left heartened.

Each latch continued to be painful, though. I kept wondering when nursing would get easier. “Aren’t my nipples supposed to toughen up?” I thought to myself.

Around three weeks I went back to the lactation clinic. Again, I was shown different ways of holding my baby. I was reminded to make her open wide before latching. I was supposed to take her off whenever nursing hurt and try again. But it hurt all the time, and Baby was hungry.

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What to do if you’re sick and have a baby

As my husband observed, being a mom means taking care of everyone else while you’re sick.

So true.

After all, when moms get sick, they still have to be moms.

Last week, I caught the flu or norovirus or plague. On the first night, I finished puking my guts out, fed Edie and then went back to hugging the toilet. That cycle repeated itself for her five wakings. Later in the day when I couldn’t get her down for a nap (just try to bounce a 14 ½-pound baby to sleep when your insides are like a Tilt-a-Whirl) I lugged her and her car seat, along with our dog whose ear infection was so bad it ruptured his ear drum, down to the car in the hopes that driving around would end her nap strike. (No dice.)

Yeah, it was a fun week.

When moms get sick, they still have to take care of the baby. Here's how to survive cold and flu season, mamas! Ten Thousand Hour Mama Read more

Staring down six months

Every month, I take stock of the milestones and changes I have seen in Edie over the previous 30 days or so. I always marvel at how much more grown up she is, the new things she can do and what she’s trying to master. Marking each month’s “birthday” is a way for me to keep track of time and celebrate her accomplishments.

Edie will be six months old in a few days. I’m excited, in awe (how is she almost a half a year already?) and ready to try new things, like feeding her solid food. But I’m also feeling down because of the approaching landmark.

I thought things would be easier by this point.

Edie hates car rides, too. I went through a mountain of toys to appease her on our latest trip to Eugene.
Edie hates car rides, too. I went through a mountain of toys to appease her on our latest trip to Eugene.

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Flying with an infant: 9 tips for family travel

Family travel // Flying with an infant or baby // Ten Thousand Hour Mama

The day started inauspiciously. I couldn’t get back to sleep after Peeper’s 3am feeding, my head was pounding and I spent a good chunk of the morning hovering over the toilet and trying not to throw up. (No, I’m not pregnant.) It was as if the universe was telling me, “Good luck flying with an infant today!”

Eric peeked his head into the bathroom. “Should I look into rescheduling?” he asked.

I shook my head. We were getting to New York, no matter how many barf bags I had to use.

Spoiler: We made it!
Spoiler: We made it!

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