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The Many Uses for My Boobs (Through My Son’s Eyes)

The Evolution of and Uses for my BOOBS

Before my son was born, my boobs had two uses:
1. Sexual (don’t blush please, we are all adults); and
2. Looking awesome. And they did.

Pre-baby and pretty much since high school, I had perfect 36DD’s. When I was younger, I loved shoving those babies up in a push-up bra, they looked damn good and made me feel damn good. ūüôā

Now that Liam is here, my boobs have blown up into some non-human size (prepare yourself: 36j/k) and evolved to serving a very good purpose – keeping my kid alive. And they do this well. He’s alive. He’s kickin’. He’s roaming around the ‘hood (our living room). My boobs are not for me anymore. They are not for my husband (at least not exclusively). They are for Liam and have evolved into many more things and many more uses than what I listed above.

The Many Uses for My Boobs (Through My Son’s Eyes)
Now, before I launch into the uses, I think it is important to explain that when Liam is hungry, watch out. Emotions erupt with ferocity. Thus, Brady and I have coined a few terms to describe his hunger moods:

Hangry¬†– when Liam is so hungry, HE’S ANGRY!!
Tungry –¬†when Liam is hungry, but also tired.

Now that his little personality is developing, not only do his emotions come out vocally more often , but through his actions as well. Thus, I give to you, the many uses for my boobs (through my son’s eyes):

1. Boobs are for yelling at. When Liam is hangry, he’ll often nurse with vengeance, pulling off often to look me right in the eye and yell at me, only to launch back into the boob again and chug-a-lug.
2. Boobs are for swatting at – pinching – hitting. Yeah, they’re really not, but Liam likes to attempt these things and will get away with it if I’m off my game. But I’ve gotten accustomed to trapping his free hand between his little body and mine, so as to safeguard myself from hangry attacks.
3. Boobs are for comfort. Man – there is no baby comfort quite as instant and soothing as a boob. No searching for a paci, no running around trying to find “that special toy” – baby is upset? Here’s a boob. Happy? Why, yes, thank you for asking.
4. Boobs are for biting and teething… oh wait, nope, they actually aren’t’, my son just thinks¬†that they are. You might think this happens when he’s hangry, but you would be wrong. He bites when he’s done eating and he’s being playful – it’s often accompanied with a sly little smile that very eerily reminds me of my husband being a smart-ass. If I’m not paying enough attention, I am susceptible to little razor teeth. However, this has gotten better – I’ve probably been bitten only around four or five times. The minute that little dude chomps down, I put him down and walk away. He’s learning pretty quickly: bite the milk-makers, no milk for you. End of story.

I hope you enjoyed hearing all about boobs. Probably not what you were expecting. I’m over it.

You might be wondering, do I mourn the loss of my perfect boobs? No – they are now working for the greater good. If you’re a nursing mom, how do you feel? I often hear mothers say they want their body back, that they are sick of sharing it – I can’t blame them – I totally get it – life is much simpler when your boobs only have two uses. But there is something about the many uses I listed about that makes me confess that motherhood is not what I expected, everything I wanted, and hard and awesome all at the same time. If that means my body’s use evolves, so be it. Because in the end, how can you refuse this face!?

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More than motherhood

First-time mom confession: this confession is about me, not a mom-doi moment. Just a thought-provoking moment I experienced as a new mom. And I warn you, it may be a little controversial and I was a little afraid to post it. But I’m being brave and sharing, because I think more moms may feel the same way and struggle with the same things. So, here goes…

For whatever reason, the past couple of days I’ve just felt antsy. I’ve had this energetic feeling right beneath my skin that gets me so amped up but at the same time, makes me stop and think. And then last night, it hit me: I’m not feeding my passion. I’m going to be 30 in less than a month, so call it a pre-midlife crisis, or blame it on the full moon, I’ve just felt antsy about my life.

So yesterday I posted this status to my Facebook:

Generally, I’m ok with my life. But then sometimes I just feel so mediocre – I want to do something great. Something big. Something bold. Am I wasting my existence? What to do, what to do… #Deepthoughtfortheday.

As with all Facebook status updates, I expected my friends to comment on it. But it was the type of comments I got that surprised me.

“Being a mom is the greatest thing you can do!”¬†
“You will always be a mom!”¬†
“Be the best mom you can be, the rest will fall into place.”

Now, there is nothing wrong with these responses. They are very true. And they were heart-felt messages from my friends trying to be supportive of the feelings they interpreted behind my post. They are just not what I expected. When I typed out that status, motherhood and my son were not even on my mind. I was thinking of myself – my accomplishments, my goals, my dreams…

Beyond being surprised by these responses, I was surprised with how they made me feel.

I was ashamed. Ashamed because my first impulse was to post a comment in response saying, “What if being a mom is not enough for me?” What would my friends – other mothers – think of me, if I publicly declared that I wanted more out of life than being a mom?

I felt belittled. I am more than a mom. I am Molly. This did not change when I became Molly-Liam’s mom. I felt my identity was being reduced to only one aspect of my life. I wondered how the responses to my post would have been different had I posted that status two years ago, before I was even pregnant or planning a family. Why did it feel like society somehow saw me differently the moment my son was born?

I was angry. I was angry because I felt belittled. Because I felt ashamed. Because I should not have felt either of those things. Unintentionally, my friends’ comments had made me feel selfish and wrong for feeling anything but content about my life, because I have a beautiful son. They made me feel as if somehow, being a mom is supposed to make me feel 100% complete and trump any dissatisfaction I was feeling.

I wondered if from now on, anything I say, anything I do, and anything I feel is going to be connected to my identity as a mom. I think the answer is yes. The moment I popped that kid out, society saw me differently. And that’s when it dawned one me — I was bothered by this change, because I am more than a mom.

Being a mom is wonderful – I’ve dreamed about it my entire life and never wanted anything more badly. My life would not be complete without being a mom. However, that’s only part of my identity.

I am more than a mother. I am a writer. I am a singer. I am an athlete, a goofball, a nerd. I love romance, zombies, being outside, and I love snow.

I don’t think there is anything wrong with wanting things in life beyond being a mother – wanting personal accomplishment professionally or creatively. I know that my friends’ comments were not saying there was¬†anything wrong with this – it is that when I saw the comments and the attention they drew to that fact that I was a mother, I almost felt guilty for feeling the way I do – antsy about my life and my dreams.

I spent 24 hours or so reflecting on my Facebook post and the responses I received from my friends. Here are my conclusions and more #deepthoughtsfortheday:

I should not have to feel guilty for wanting more satisfaction from my life beyond being a mom. My friends’s comments of course did not imply that all satisfaction simply comes from motherhood, it was the attention they drew to my identity as a mother that made me feel like my satisfaction in life was being reduced to that identity, because I posted a somewhat generic post about my life, and their first response was to remind me that being a mom is wonderful, so everything was going to be Ok. End longest run-on sentence ever. ūüôā

My reaction to the comments were feelings I chose to feel. But why did I feel that way? I think it comes down to this: Society. The media. “Be the best mom that you can be!” Messages we receive daily, no matter how small, about being women and being mothers, was making me feel guilty for focusing my attention on anything else beyond my child. Is that guilt-worthy? I personally think it’s healthy to have a solid identity beyond being a wife or being a mother. I can maintain my ME-ness and still be a great mother to my little Liam.

I leave you with no real conclusion. I just wanted to share, because the whole thing really got me thinking. So, what do you think?


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I think I might be special

I realized today that I haven’t written a post in about a week! At first I was slightly appalled with myself, but then I realized that this meant I haven’t done a bone-headed mom-fail worthy of blogging about in seven days! Holy-f-ing shit! I’m awesome.

Well, on second thought, I’ve still been dabbling in newbie errors that are worthy of documenting. Things such as this:

Baby babble
I babble at my baby.

He’s eight months old. He does a ton of his own babbling. In fact, he is pretty much in love with his own voice (I blame my husband, who talks for a living as a TV news anchor). I know that baby-babbling a good thing. He’s working on his verbal skills and learning to understand interpersonal communication. But I will repeat myself: I babble at my baby. I¬†babble. Me. Molly. MOM.

And that, my friends, is what made me think: wow – what if I’m messing up his speech?

Liam and I play a game:
He squawks. I squawk.
He screams. I scream.
He changes the pitch and length of his scream. I do the same to mine.

I am pretty much doing the opposite¬†of what all those experts are saying: “You’re baby will start to mimic you” – umm…. what happens if I’m¬†mimicking¬†him?

Don’t get me wrong – Liam thinks this game is pretty fun, and hell, making strange noises all day long with Liam is pretty damn entertaining for ME (ask my sisters – they grew up with me making all sorts of strange noises. Actually, I should not limit this to childhood. Again, I am awesome). This behavior is right up my alley.

But dude – I’ve had to actually make an effort sometimes to speak real WORDS to Liam. Will I be sending my kid off to preschool equipped only with caveman speak and chest pounding? “Uh-uh. Liam want banana.”

Realizations like this remind me that it might be a very good thing I am not a stay at home mom….

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Let’s talk about puke, baby

I’m baaaaack! Sorry for the long absence I’ve taken from posting – my best friend and Australian sister was visiting from Melbourne. I pretty much checked out of technology while she was here. But now she’s gone and I’m back, SO – Let’s talk about puke.

The evolution of baby puke (through my eyes):

  • Newborn: When Liam was first born, baby puke was like, “uh – sick.” I had a spit-cloth ready at all times to wipe up the warm, creamy nastiness the moment it projectiled out of my baby’s mouth. I eventually graduated to draping myself in blankets because a spit-cloth just didn’t seem to do the job.
  • Two-to-three months old: Eh. The baby puked again. No spit-cloth? No problem. You do have shirt sleeves, right?
  • Five+ months: Baby puke has virtually no affect on me anymore, whatsoever. Unless it’s someone else’s kid… that’s another story. But to demonstrate my point, read on for….¬†
New Mom Confessions: Baby Puke Edition
I’m a baby-wearer. What is babywearing, you ask? According to Wikipedia.com, “Babywearing is the practice of wearing or carrying a baby in a sling or in another form of carrier… has gained popularity in recent decades, partly under influence of advocates of attachment parenting.” Attachment parenting is the idea that if baby feels safe and secure in the early years, baby will grow up to be a more independent child and adult. I babywear because of that, but mostly because I GET TWO FREE HANDS!!¬†
Moving on. 
Last week, my awesome husband was at work, and I had to get shit done. I usually just wear Liam on my front because it’s the easiest way to get him into my carrier, but the downside is I bump him into everything. Try to imagine doing dishes or laundry with a 20 lb kid protruding from your belly. It’s like being pregnant all over again only this time your extended midsection squawks if it gets squished between you and the washer. Here are a couple of front-carry pictures to give you the idea. Also of note, my husband is hot.¬†

You can see the obvious obstacle the front-carry creates. So I decided to attempt the impossible… putting Liam into a back-carry without any help.
I put Liam on the couch…. lined myself up in front of him with the carrier strapped around my waste… bent over super-awkwardly…. pretty much dislocated my arms a few times…. and then… SUCCESS! I had the baby in a back-carry! OH SHIT. Yup. He totally just puked down my back.¬†
After shouting “Mother-******, you have got to be kidding me!” – I stood there for a second, thinking… and then I just carried on with my day. I had worked too damn hard to get that baby on my back to give a damn about baby puke. I had things to do, gosh darnit, and I was going to do them, even if it meant stinking like stale milk later. And I did. And I liked it. Because not only did it mean that was I now a back-carry ninja, but that I was a true mom and had totally and completely beaten baby-puke. BOOM.¬†
Also of note, my child likes to eat the carrier.