Taylor Wells, M.A., M.Ed., R.Y.T.
“Snowflakes are one of nature’s most fragile things, but just look at what they can do when they stick together.”
–Vist M. Kelly
Archive for November, 2009
Taylor Wells, M.A., M.Ed., R.Y.T.
Do you? Did you? Why? Why not? Was it your choice or was the choice made for you—by your family/your friends/the community/your doctor/your body/the peanut gallery? Did you feel supported in your decision or not so much? Do/did you have guilt because you didn’t—or did? Did you have guilt when you stopped or when you chose not to stop for many years? Do you judge other Super-moms who don’t nurse—or do?
And what is this all about anyway? The judgment, the guilt. the fear, the anger. This is by far one of the touchiest subjects that this Super-mom can broach, but that hasn’t deterred me in the past.
So put it out there, Super-moms. Tell your story and let’s come together around this topic and support each other for the unique and important choices we each made.
I’ll start the dialogue by saying that so far, I have breastfed all of my children. I would love to have more children and would love breastfeed them too; however, it is always up to the Universe whether it’s going to fly or not. I was extremely blessed with my three children in that they latched on very easily from birth and nursed well from then on. I never had a sore or cracked nipple or had to use Lanolin ointment, although I had it on hand just in case, Sister, because I’d heard the stories. We all have our share of what challenges us when we have a newborn but this, I am very fortunate to say, was not one of mine. I found breastfeeding to be a wonderful way to connect with my baby, nourish her/him in the best way I knew how, and get off of my feet once in awhile and meditate, although I have been known to nurse while on the move when necessary. ☺
My first child, Madison (now 11) weaned herself at 13.5 months old. I had different plans on how long she’d nurse, but followed her guidance—my wisest teacher at the time. I still remember chasing her around saying “Nursey?! Nursey?” as she ignored me and bombed around our house exploring anything and everything. She was Done–with a capital “D”–and this Super-mom had a few issues around allowing that—around letting go. But let go I did, and off she went.
So in came Sagey (now 4), who had no intention of stopping nursing (she called it “THIS”), now—or ever. I was pregnant with our third child Phoenix (yes, you can get pregnant while you are nursing) and Sagey was 2.5 years old and still going strong. “THIS!! THIS!! I WANT THHHHHHHIIIISSSS!!” She could be heard saying while chasing ME around the pink house. The universe has quite a sense of humor, and timing. I attempted–quite unsuccessfully–to wean her twice between the ages of 2 and 2.5. The first time my husband put her down for her nap and bedtime while I hid out in our attic office, cringing at the sound of her wailing “I WANT MOMMY!! WHERE IS MOMMY?! I WANT THHHHHIIIISSS!!”
Mission not accomplished.
The second attempt involved me following the somewhat dubious advice of my health care provider, who swore to me that if I fled the scene for three nights, she’s forget all about nursing. Looking back, I must have unconsciously really wanted to go visit my friend in NYC for a few nights because Girl, there’s no way I could’ve really bought that. I returned home three days (and long nights) later with very sore breasts to Sagey waiting at the door—for Mommy and “THIS.”
Then one day Sagey got strep throat. At my checkup that afternoon my midwife stated that the breastfeeding was over—that moment—since I could get strep on my nipples, and I absolutely did not want to do that.
I arrived home to give Sagey the news. After explaining to my precious toddler what my Midwife had said, Sagey said two words: “OK Mommy,” and went back to playing.
Ahhhh, the wisdom, candidness, and unpredictability of a toddler.
Phoenix, now 22 months, is still nursing once a night–right before bedtime. It’s not really for nourishment at this point of course—it’s more about comfort and his bedtime routine. I’m not sure when he’ll wean. I’m open, and watching him–and myself–for signs that we’ve had it.
So breastfeeding has been a wonderful, fulfilling, and incredibly convenient experience for my three children and me thus far in my parenting adventure. I have many friends who’ve had similar experiences, and many who’ve had different ones. I support and honor all of their choices and feelings on this topic, as I hope every Super-mom would.
Super-Mom of the Month
Tuning in to Kids’ Anger
By Super-Mom, Venus Taylor
When my daughter turned 3, she changed from a sweet, agreeable little angel, into a moody, angry, petulant monster.
OK, it wasn’t that bad, but she did display serious bouts of anger that I did not know how to handle – crying fits over getting dressed up for family pictures, violent screams of “NO!” when asked to put away her toys (which had never been a problem before).
It would have been easy to just see these outbursts as challenges to my authority – opportunities to set her straight about who’s boss.
That’s what my mother would have done. As much as my mother truly loved me, she was also deeply committed to not raising a spoiled, misbehaving child. So, if I “acted up,” she “whooped” me.
Although they were well-intended, my mother’s “whoopings” kept me from learning how to express my feelings. Before I could talk, the only ways I could express that I was upset about something was through crying or tantrums. That behavior, along with my belief that I had a right to my upset feelings, were beaten out of me.
Even as an adult, I had no mature, productive way of expressing anger, sadness, or disagreement. I stuffed my feelings down deep, and pasted on a smile just to keep the peace. Then, periodically, I’d erupt in a violent rage, annihilating whatever relationship seemed to be stifling me.
Underneath my daughter’s outbursts, I sensed a genuine, seething rage. And for some reason, it seemed directed at me.
Instead of punishing her for her behavior, or enforcing my power over her, I wanted, desperately, to help her find constructive ways to express her feelings. But how? I still didn’t know how to handle my own anger, how could I possibly teach her how to handle hers?
Besides, she was only 3. And, yes, she was a genius (in my humble opinion), but she didn’t seem to know how to tell me what she was feeling.
Until she could develop the language to express her feelings, I at least wanted her to know that I respected her right to have them. I wanted her to hold on to her anger. To feel it. To own it.
I trusted that, as soon as she could, she would be able to use her words to tell me what was going on inside of her. Until then, I promised myself I would not do anything to shut her anger down or disconnect her from her feelings.
One day, it hit me. I knew exactly how to give her an outlet for her anger, until she could express it verbally.
I connected a microphone to the boom box in the living room. I stood her on the coffee table, and played the Alanis Morissette song, “You Oughta Know.” (It was 1988, and that song was still topping the charts.) She didn’t know the words (thank goodness, they’re kinda vulgar). But I had noticed that, riding in the car, she would nail the emotions of the Alanis CD as she sang her own non-sense lyrics.
She sang her angry little heart out, yes she did. I handed her that microphone anytime she wanted it, and played Alanis, and let her rage into the microphone.
After about 6 months of this, my daughter admitted to me, “Mommy, I don’t like how you always cuddle with Buddy first.”
We practiced the family bed. When she was the only child, I nursed her to sleep every night. (God bless my patient husband.)
When her brother was born, she was 2 ½. Suddenly, I was nursing him to sleep while she would “cuddle my back.” Then, I would turn around and cuddle with her after her brother fell asleep.
By the time she could tell me this, she was 3 ½. Her little brother was 1 year old.
I was moved by her sweet sincerity. Of course, I thought. She became angry with me soon after he was born. And why wouldn’t she? I took the nursing and the cuddling away from her and gave it to him.
That night, we began “Taking Turns.” Each night (until she turned 7, and quit the family bed), we would alternate who got first cuddle. From then on, her outbursts ceased. No kidding.
Today, she is 15. And she is the sweetest, most agreeable, angelic teenager you could ever know. And when she’s upset about something, she trusts that I will listen with an open heart…even as she struggles to find the words.
I feel like I have given her the gift ownership over her feelings. They are hers. She has a right to them – whether they inconvenience me or not. And she will have healthier adult relationships because she knows how to express them constructively.
Read more stories and get more parenting tips in Becoming the Mom I Wish I’d Had: How to Heal Yourself and Your Family Through HEART-Based Parenting.
Also, check out the Family Healing Institute, for workshops and relationship coaching for families in pain.
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