Doting on Daddy Day

I only have a few minutes to bust this blog out as one child is napping while the other plays with his biggest pal, his Pappa. And to all of you fathers out there, hanging with your number one fans this afternoon...
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!
So in the spirit of celebrating and adoring those big guys we call "Dad",  I would like to share my 10 favorite things about Conley and Holden's daddy, my husband, Daniel.

1. He PLAYS with his boys. I love that my husband will play games, throw balls, and jump on the bed with his children. It also drives me crazy that I have to dodge and weave in my house, but there is awful lot of laughter going on.

2. He makes bathtime a musical jam session. Whether blaring the Beastie Boys or Billy Holiday, both babies make bubbles in the bath to a beat. Drums and harmonicas will be played while all parts get cleaned.

3. That he will give them a bath in the first place. I know that I am very blessed to have a guy that will take bathtime as an opportunity to bond with his kids (not to mention give Mommy a break.)

4.  He taught my son the word, "patience." It started with the song by G&R, but my husband, the least patient man I know, somehow taught Conley "wait patient." When we are standing at a street corner, Conley will say, "wait patient" as we wait for the walk light. When a DVD movie is gearing up to play, "patience" will ring out from the little person on the couch. It's adorable and my type A, high strung hubby taught him this valuable lesson.

5. He has taught Conley to "bring Mommy flowers." One of my favorite things about living in Manhattan is that fresh flowers are available all year round at the corner bodega. Daniel will take Conley for a walk and they always return with flowers. Conley will very proudly pick them out, pay the "guy" and strut into the apartment with a huge grin and give Mommy the flowers. So precious.

6. Bedtime is always late. Now, you might be raising an eyebrow at this one. I say this with pride (today) because my husband wants to spend quality time with his little guys, but he doesn't get home from work until 7 or 7:30. He plays hard and makes the bath an event, turning minutes into hours. Our alone time may suffer, but we make up for it. :)

7. He likes to surprise us. And I don't mean in the hide-behind-the-door-and-yell-BOO kind of way. I hate that. He brings home surprises. One night, he even brought home a violinist and a cellist to play for us while I made dinner. He knows what clothes to buy for me better than I do and he will surprise me with a dress or an outfit just because he "saw it and thought of me." For the kids it's the occasional Matchbox car or movie DVD. I gotta say, I like Christmas in June.

8. Dancing is a requirement. In order for us to function as a family, we must be able to groove. I have never danced so much in my life as I have being married to Daniel. Whether it's jumping to Van Halen or electric sliding to the BeeGees, dancing is a must. My favorites are the slow dances in the kitchen.

9. He works his behind off to provide for his family. None of this can happen if he doesn't fight the tiger every day. He works 9-10 hours and is able to rev the engines and to work a few more when he comes home. and he does this without bitterness. I don't know if I could do the same.

10. We both had the right examples. My dad taught me how I should be treated and Daniel's father paved the way. I am grateful for all of the Dads in my life. Thank you, Daniel, for loving me and our children so fully. Dad, for showing me how much you adore my mother so I could recognize love, and C.L, for making it look so easy.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, GUYS!!!! XOXOX

The Bottle and the Boob

When I was pregnant with my first baby, I read a lot of books and did a lot of research on line about everything from car seats and cribs to binkies and bottles. I would get myself worked up about the possible things that my child might experience during my pregnancy and his birth by spending every waking moment (which were many, considering my insomnia during the last trimester) reading. I was sure that one crumble of bleu cheese I ate would surely cause some permanent damage or that I would buy a front carrier that would suffocate my child. The messages I was receiving from one new mommy web-site would contradict the messages I was receiving from another. It made for stress and confusion, but there were two things I was sure on. I wanted to breast feed my baby and that he would't be given a pacifier, ever.

I FED MY BABY FORMULA AND GAVE HIM A PACIFIER. HE IS 2 AND STILL TAKES THE PACIFIER, OR AS OUR FAMILY CALLS IT, GINKY.

When Conley was born, I did all of the things my Lamaze Nazi teacher told me. I allowed Conley to find the breast on his own. I made sure that the nurses knew that I didn't want him to have formula or pacifiers. Within 24 hours of Conley's birth, my milk had not come in and my baby was hungry. I had to feed him. The nurses gave him formula and I was riddled with guilt. GUILT FOR FEEDING MY CHILD. I was mortified that I had already tainted him. All of the books and mommy advice I had been given had led me to believe that I was indeed poisoning my child. I cried. I felt like a complete failure. When I returned home with our newborn son, I tried and tried to give him enough breast milk and would have to top off my efforts by giving him a few ounces of formula. Every night, it would pain my heart. On the third night, the baby was crying and seemed to be inconsolable. My mom who had been staying with us for the birth of her first grandson, suggested that I try to give him a pacifier.
Me, in tears, "No. He will experience nipple confusion."
Mom, trying desperately not to laugh,"Nipple, what?!"
Sobbing,"Nipple confusion. He is having me, the bottle and a pacifier. He'll not know that the breast is best!"
She gave him the pacifier and he was asleep in minutes.

From those first nights forward, we used formula when I hadn't pumped, which was all of the time because I was a stay-at-home-mom and didn't need to pump. We used the ready made bottles when we would travel or go out to restaurants. The looks I got! (or at least, thought I was getting) Formula saved my child, well, both of my children's lives. I had to have 2 blood transfusions with the birth of Holden and was completely out of it for 2 days. He was 10 pounds and a trucker! He had to eat. Formula was an absolute necessity.
And yes, Conley still has a pacifier.

Why do we judge our mommy sisters? We ALL want what is best for our children. And sometimes, what is best, isn't the same for you as it is for me.

I met a woman at Starbucks a few days ago. She has a beautiful 5 month old daughter and we got to talking about our munchkins. She was going through sleep troubles and I was going through teething issues. In our conversation, she mentioned that she had felt judged because she was formula feeding her daughter. When her daughter was born, she struggled many days to breast feed and then felt ashamed because she had to turn to formula. Here she was, a lovely woman with a gorgeous baby feeling less-than because she made and continues to make, a choice that works for both her and her child. She feels judged at her mommy and me classes when she pulls out a bottle and not a boob.
I "exclusively" breast feed Holden now, but if formula is needed for whatever reason, I thank God that there is a solution.

Mayor Bloomberg on his rampage to curb obesity has wanted to remove formula from the hospitals, thinking that children who are fed formula have a greater risk of being obese adults. Could you imagine the mothers who, like me, want to breast feed, but can't because they had surgery or because their milk hasn't come in? What do you do then? Will the hospital have wet-nurses?!

I also know the reverse of this problem. Many women judge those that breast feed as "hippies" or too progressive. "My children were raised on formula and they turned out just fine" rang out when I was doing my research. "Breast feeding creates insecurity." Really?!
Or what about those mommies that choose to breast feed their babies well into their toddler years? Remember the uproar about the cover of Time Magazine with the 4 year old on his mother's breast? Why was there such a deal made about a mother making a choice? Time Magazine made it our business when it's clearly a mother's prerogative.

I'm just to a point now where I want to embrace the decisions I make for my family as being the right ones for MY family and celebrate the decisions you make for yours.(and if I happen not to like it, keep my opinion to my damn self) I know it takes a village, but I want a village of supporters and cheerleaders, not nay-sayers and boo-ers.

So here's to the bottle AND the boob! May we always have options in taking care of our children.

And Conley says, "Go Ginky!"