Dear Best Friend, [an ode to our milk sharing journey]

Dear Best Friend,

Once again, I shared our Milk Sharing Project on a mommy page, and I was called a hero.  I guess the recognition feels good, but it's always annoying that the credit goes to me in our milk sharing relationship.  As if I'm some superhero for a blessing God gave me.  As if this was something I worked hard for, when in reality, it just fell in my lap.  I share my milk, big deal.  The credit really goes to you.

As I see this journey start to dwindle down ounce by ounce, I need you to know you're my hero.  I know you're grateful for every ounce, but the last few weeks I feel like I failed you, that I failed Elliott.  Stress, lack of time, and sometimes just laziness has led to my supply drying up to just what my baby needs.  It makes me sad.  I wanted to FULLY supplement him and I'm often disappointed in myself.  I know that we've both grown from this experience and that milk sharing was more than just feeding Elliott, and more of a spiritual journey for our friendship.
I sit at home and once in a while you will cross my mind and I will grab my pump.  I eat a box of oreos, while netflixing, and get super excited about my pumping session.  I add to my notepad how many ounces I've now pumped to donate, and I stick it in the freezer.  That's about it.  That's my side of it.  But then I go to your house to deliver it, and I see your side of it.
I see the empty cooler from the milk bank opened up and now empty.  I see the sadness on your face when you tell me the bank keeps running out of milk.  I see you nurse your baby, but unable to fill him up.  I see the pain in your heart.  I see you go to the freezer, pull out bags of other people's milk, and thaw it out for your son.  I see the guilt.  I see the jealousy.  I see the entirely too long of process to get it to room temperature, so that he will happily drink it.  I see your exhaustion and annoyance.  I see you pump after nursing to keep your supply going.  I see your dedication.  I see how much time you spend on this.  I see you run out of donor milk and have to make formula.  I see your disappointment.  I see your frustration.
It's not fair.  I feel like your bank of good karma screwed you.  If anyone deserves to breastfeed their baby it's you!  The one who encourages and educates women all day long on breastfeeding.  The one with a big nursing mother bumper sticker on her car.  The one who is passionate about mother hood.  The one who read every book, took every class.  The one who knows the female anatomy better than some doctors, and yet had to come to terms that something failed along the way with hers.  The one who stood by my side in my nursing journey.  But you and I both know the reason for all of this.  We already came to grips with fate.  We know that we were soul sisters who were meant to raise their families together.  It's just about balance.  It's about breaking stigmas, educating, and reaching out.  But it's still undeniably frustrating.
This is why when someone sticks the hero card on my face I just want to scream.  I want to take video of your day and play it on a billboard for everyone to see.  I want them to see the woman I look up to the most.  The mom who sacrifices so much for her babies.  You sacrifice your time and convenience to make sure that Elliott gets the most healthy breast milk possible, because his health and your passions are your priority.  You balance so much in your life...work, school, social life, parenting, educating, [also, a freakishly clean house] and yet you find time in your day to make sure you are supporting the milk bank that gives to you, reaching out to breast feeding moms that are struggling, all while staying humble and grateful.  I wish you could see what I see.  Better yet, I wish you could see what your kids see.  I just did what anyone who saw a hungry baby would do.  But you did so much more than ever expected of you to do in the challenges that you faced.  You never gave up.  You never settled.  And you advocated for your son.  You are the hero.  And I love you.  Thank you for sharing this milk journey with me.  Over 400 oz I was able to give my 3rd favorite little boy.  Thank you for accepting that milk, and for never making me feel like I didn't do enough.  This has been one of my favorite parts of our friendship.

Love,
Your Milk Sister.

My very poopy amtrack experience [travelling by train with children: pros, cons, tips]

I live in northern California, and my parents live in Northern Idaho, about 900 miles from me.  I visited them when my youngest was 3 months old, and I made the drive by myself.  It was 26 hours of driving [not including the 8 hours I slept], and the ride was rough.  So, when I decided I was going to surprise my mom this week for her birthday, I opted to take the train with my 3 year old, Tucker, and my 7 month old, Forest.  It cost about the same, and I thought it would be easier on me, so I went ahead and bought my round trip train ticket from Redding, CA to Sandpoint, ID.

Leaving:
Wed, October 7, 2015

14 Coast Starlight (RDD - PDX)
Depart 3:06am
Arrive in Portland 3:32pm

Wed, October 7, 2015

28 Empire Builder (PDX - SPT)
Depart 4:45pm
Arrive in Sandpoint 2:35am [Thursday]

Coming home:
Wed, October 14, 2015

27 Empire Builder (SPT - PDX)
Depart 11:45pm
Arrive in Portland 10:10am [Thursday]

Thu, October 15, 2015

11 Coast Starlight (PDX - RDD)
Depart 2:25pm
Arrive in Redding 2:21am [Friday]

1 Adult, 1 Child, 1 Infant $306.00 round trip
Reservation number 6C8A13

I'm writing this blog to document my experience for the police report, as well as share my experience and advice to anyone considering using the train to travel with their little ones.

I boarded in Redding Oct. 7th at around 3:35am.  I had two babies, two car seats, two carry on bags, and two suitcases.  I special ordered my ticket so that I would have special assistance getting on and off the trains with all my stuff.  They were very helpful getting on the train.  The first train was rather uneventful, but a few things to note:
1. The bathrooms are extremely tiny.  Im 5'2" and when I sat on the toilet my knees hit the door.  It was nearly impossible to bring my two kids in there and beg my 3 year old to use the potty.  Its like a portapotty, it's loud, and disgusting, and smelly.  I could see how uncomfortable it was for him, so I put him in a diaper for the trip.  They had a changing table in the bathroom, but it folded out over the toilet, was about half the size of a normal changing table, and again...this bathroom was disgusting.  They had no soap, so I recommend bringing hand sanitizer.
2. The announcements on the train are very loud.  They woke my kids up at every stop.  They have "quiet time" from 11pm to 7am.  We boarded at almost 4am, and just when my kids were finally sound to sleep they clicked on all the lights on the train at 7am and said "GOOOOOOD MORNING AMTRACK GUESTS!  IT'S WAKE UP TIME HERE...BLAH BLAH BLAH, something about food, the lounge car, when they will take breaks..." and at every stop they made a long and loud announcement.  Which of course is just part of it, I just didn't consider this when traveling with my young infant who sleeps often.  Also, the doors connecting the train cars are being opened and closed almost constantly and are also very loud.
3. The seats are almost unbearably uncomfortable.  I am someone who has spent a lot of her life sleeping on floors, recliners, the ground, etc...and I've never hurt so badly as when I slept on the amtrack.  When I got to my parents I noticed bruises on both sides of my legs from the seats, and they do not supply pillows or blankets anymore so definitely bring your own.  They do have sleeper cars, but I was not going to pay over $1000 for us three to sleep in it.  I would have bought plane tickets at that price.
4. Meals are difficult to understand.  They go around and ask if you want a reservation to go sit a picnic type table down stairs, but if your kids are asleep, they wont bring the meals to your seat.  One man said I could, but then never returned to help me.  So they have a snack bar with a decent amount of options, but it's over priced, quite a walk from your seat, and they close often for breaks.  Definitely bring your own snacks.  Also, trash cans are difficult to find on the train.

But overall, we didn't have too much trouble...we saw some amazing scenery and met some really awesome people.  My lay over that time was only 2.5 hours and we met a nice lady who helped entertain my kids and watch my bags so I could use the bathroom.  My kids were crabby, as expected, and we didn't receive too many dirty looks!  However, if you've never ridden the train before, it's hard to navigate where to go, but there was always a person to help me, but honestly if felt like coincidence that they were there to help me to the train station.  So don't count on this help.  Everything at the station seems hectic and rushed and when you have as much stuff with you as I did and two grumpy kids, you feel like a major nuisance.


So I spent a week in Idaho and the whole time my poor kid was so traumatized from the toilets on the train that he really struggled during the trip, so for our trip back home I decided to make sure I had enough diapers for both kids.  I wasn't going to make him use a bathroom he was uncomfortable in, of course.  After I packed up my stuff and headed out the door for the train station, about 10-15 minutes from my parents house, I got a text from Amtrack saying that the train was a half hour late.  I was grateful for the text, but I was supposed to depart at 11:45 and I was already tired, but I suppose a half hour wasn't going to kill us.  We drove there and and I got another text saying the train would be another 40 minutes...that's over an hour late.  Thank God I didn't take a taxi there, or I would have been stuck in the cold and dark with sketchy people.  There was a tiny train station that had a few chairs and one bathroom, but no way would I have sat in there by myself with two babies.  Nope.  Finally the train got there and I boarded and there was a person to help me on the train.  Again, I get my kids to sleep and of course they wake us up at 7am...leaving my kids grouchy the rest of the trip...but that's life.  We arrived in Portland at 10am.  We had a 4.5 hour layover this time.  I was nervous about this all week, and even considered having my husband just pick us up in Portland and drive home, but we decided against it last minute.  Oh how I regret that now.

When we got off the train the man who helped us last week was driving by and he said "I remember you from last time!  Let me help you!"  He grabbed my bags, put them on his cart, and drove us to the train station.  He said he would keep my baggage in a certain area and then as soon as the train was there he would put it on the train for us, that way I didn't have to carry all this stuff around with me in the station.  I said "Great, let me just grab this back pack and you can take the rest!"  I grabbed one back pack that I was sure had snacks, diapers, and wipes in it.  I didn't think I needed anything else.  Tucker and Forest were pretty bored in the station, but the cafe was open so I grabbed us some breakfast and coffee and tried to wait it out.  The station had some crayons and color pages and Tucker went to work.  When I was sitting there around 11:30am, Forest had a seizure.  He has a seizure disorder so it wasn't a huge deal, but I had to turn on my phone that had limited battery [I lost part of my charger while boarding one of the trains so I couldn't charge my phone this time] to call my husband to have him call the pediatrician.  He got all the info and down and told me he ordered a pizza to the train station for me and it should be there an hour and a half from that point, so about 1pm.  So we went outside and waited.  and waited.  I made friends with a lady who was waiting on the same train and she was helping me entertain the kids.  About 12:30, still no pizza, Tucker tells me he has to poop.  I said "ok, let's go to the potty"  he gave me that 'hell no' look and I knew this was going to be tough.  I said "ok you're in a diaper, but if you poop in the diaper we still need to go to the bathroom and change you on the floor, so do you want to use the diaper or the potty?"  then he started running to the bathroom.  When we got in there he started crying not wanting to poop on the potty or his diaper.  So I bribed him with a train tshirt from the gift shop to be brave and to sit on the potty.  [the automatic flushing is not fun for 3 year olds].  I pulled down his pants and saw he already pooped a little bit in the diaper...I set him on the toilet and he pooped a little more and then told me he was done.  My mommy poop detective skills knew he wasn't, but wiped him and got him down.  I went to get him a new diaper and saw that I had grabbed the wrong bag and I didn't have any more diapers or wipes and they had already put my bags outside.  So I cleaned him up and told him to be extra careful about having an accident because he didn't have undies or a diaper or any changes of clothes, but he assured me he was good until we got on the train.  We went back outside to wait for the pizza guy.  At 1:30 tucker said "mom, I pooped my pants".  I almost cried.  I strapped Forest back up on my back, asked the lady I had made friends with to look after my bag and wait for the pizza guy.  I had to carry him all the way around the train station and back into the bathroom.  I pulled down his pants and it was from his waist to his ankles and on his shoes.  The toilet paper was more like tissue paper and was sticking to him, not cleaning, and disintegrated in the water.  By this point we had 10 minutes to board our train.  So I took his socks, wet them down, and wiped him off with it.  There were no paper towels in the bathroom, just automatic dryers.  So I took his pants, socks and shoes, and poured soap on them and began hand washing [literally hand washing] them in the sink.  They were sweat pants and were heavy fabric, so it was tough to get them really clean.  The drain was just a metal circle with small holes for draining.  Every time the sink filled up with poop chunks, I had to scoop it out with my hand and fling it into the toilet.  About that time, my phone fell into the sink, and I knew that was the last time I'd use that phone.  I, as fast as I could, got these pants and shoes as squeezed out as I could and then tried the automatic dryer to dry them.  They were soaked but we were out of time.  I got him dressed, ran back out to our friend to get our bag.  My poor baby was freezing in his wet clothes, and the pizza that was promised to him never showed, but we ran back and found the helpful man just in time.
He had all of our stuff waiting by the train for us.  I thought I'd take a few minutes, as everyone was getting off our train, to find him some dry clothes, but as soon as I bent down into the bag I spotted a strange man with a blue guitar approaching us.  I still had Forest on my back and he was sleeping.  The man walked up to me and I grabbed Tucker's hand.  He said "what a pretty baby" as he touched Forest's head.  Usually I'm a pretty passive person, but this time I sternly said "do not touch him please, he is asleep" with a look on my face like "are you stupid?" hoping he'd take my hint to leave me alone.  Instead of leaving me alone he instead reached for Tucker and twirled his hand in his hair and said "what a pretty little girl, I want to touch her hair."  I pulled Tucker behind my leg and I felt him squeeze me in fear and I angrily yelled at the man "STOP TOUCHING MY CHILDREN!"  He had an angry look on his face, then reached for Tucker and said "take my hand, come with me little girl, come this way" as he grabbed his hand and was trying to pull him away from me.  I then yelled "Stop taking my son!  Go away!  Goooo!" and was hoping someone around me would hear me.  I was shaking and the man then got a terrified look on his face and ran back on to the train he came off of, the one I was about to board.  Then the helpful man came back to retrieve my luggage and I was short of breath and told him "that man with the blue guitar right there just tried to take my kids!"  He said "that is not ok, I will address that and handle the issue." 
At this point I just wanted to call my husband, but of course my phone was just not going to turn on for me.  I got on the train and was still shaking from the experience.  I knew I couldn't leave the kids at all to get food or use the bathroom now.  I got Tucker changed into warm clothes and finally got him settled to sleep.  Forest fell asleep and I decided I needed some rest.  I started to doze off and then I got this weird feeling.  Light were off so everyone was supposed to be in their seats, but the man with the blue guitar was standing between me and my dinner tray.  He was staring at me eating soup.  I lost my breath and just stared in the silence until he walked away.  I then got up and walked to the lady sitting behind me.  "That man with the soup...was he standing by me for long?"  "you don't know him?  I thought maybe he was your husband?  He was by you for a few minutes"  "no, I don't know him, he tried to take my kids from me in Portland!"  "I will help you keep an eye out for him"
Terrified I didn't sleep, and didn't come across anyone on the train that had the time to help me...they were just running everywhere.
The porters on this train just seemed really unhelpful.  First off, when I did finally grab some snack from the snack bar, while a nice lady helped watch Tucker for me, I had a terrible experience with the man running the snack bar.  First off, he was to return from his break at :15, and he wasn't there until :27...which is a long time when you have a stranger watching your toddler.  He finally opened and I grabbed some food and grabbed my credit card out.  I wanted to use that since it is hooked up to my amtrack rewards, and I wanted the points for the food I purchased.  I had used this card the whole trip with no issues.  When the man grabbed my card and he said "the sign out side says ID is required"  in a very condescending voice, as if I was a child.  I rolled my eyes and handed him my ID.  He then said "the names don't match"..."yes, that's my maiden name" "then why did you even hand me your ID?  The whole point of an ID is to match the names" "Well this card has been doing me just fine on all your other trains"  "well people run red lights too, I suppose you'd want me to break that law too for you?"  Oh My God.  I almost snapped this dude's neck.  I get it...it's his job...but seriously...asshole.  If only he knew the day I had, the last thing I needed was his lecture.  I then paid with my debit card which for some reason took a while on his machine, and he implied I must not have any money on the card...This guy seriously needs to attend a common courtesy class.
I got my food, and got it back to my seat, where I heard some chaos between some workers and a Russian lady in front of me.  There's two sides to every story of course...but from what I understand she missed her stop in Eugene because she thought they would come and get her, and she didn't understand the announcement.  Maybe it was her fault, maybe not, but she was clearly in distress, there were no more trains or buses going from Klamath Falls to Eugene for the night, and she had no more money and no cell phone and no one to call.  She needed to get back to her very sick husband and he would be worried about her.  They spoke to her in a very stern and annoyed voice.  They just kept repeating to her "we made several announcements and we were stopped for 15 minutes, it's your responsibility to get off the train, now you need to make a plan of what you will do."  They were so unhelpful [except kind Hulo...shout out to Hulo...best porter on that train that night!] that all the passengers on the train were brain storming ideas for her and trying to get cell reception to call a cab for her, which she did not even have money for and was going to cost her about $400.  I was just disappointed in how rude they were to her, when she was clearly so stressed.  She was from a country with a much better train station so you can imagine her confusion and distress.  I understand the train workers can't take care of everyone, but really a little more compassion would have helped calm the situation.
They came and woke me up a few moments before our train stopped, and this time he didn't offer to help me to get my belongings together.  I had less than 10 minutes to pack my stuff, get one kid on my back, wake another one up and carry him, two carry on bags, and blankets.  Needless to say I left trash everywhere...I really didn't have time to clean it.  I walked us down the stairs and getting baggage off was a little hectic, but by this point I didn't even care, I was just happy to be done with Amtrack.  So that was my experience.  And maybe I just caught them on a bad week and just had a stream of bad luck, but I have never felt so stressed and unsafe, so I will not be riding the train in the future without my husband.

So here is a list of pros, cons, and tips if you DO decide to bring kids on the train.

They have outlets to charge devices, so bring a tablet, phone, dvd player, ds, whatever.  They don't have any music or tvs, so you need to supply your own entertainment.
 
Meals are confusing and over priced [$13 hamburger??] and not great quality, so bring your own snacks.  Sandwiches, cereal bars, dried fruit, etc.,... You should be covered on drinks there [coffee, water, soda, juice, and redbull are all available, as well as beer, wine, and everything inbetween] so you dont need to pack heavy drinks.

You NEED a pillow.  I only brought blankets and I was miserable.

Bring warm and comfortable shoes.  Sounds silly, but just trust me.

Bring hand sanitizer or baby wipes.

Bring a grocery bag for your trash, so you can just throw it all away as you are exiting.  They make many announcements complaining of trash, but don't make it easy on you to clean up.

It does cost about the same as driving...they are fair priced, and you can walk around, however, having kids makes you feel like you're ruining everyone else's trip.  You also have to rely on people you don't know to do their job, and well, like anywhere, there are people who are incompetent, making it stressful to rely on strangers to deal with you luggage and children. 

You can call ahead and ask their operator any questions you have.  They are easier than trying to navigate their website, so don't hesitate to utilize the phone number to feel prepared.

Lastly, you don't know who is wearing wet poopy pants and sitting your seat before you...pretty gross, but poop happens.

My dishes don't love me (but my son does)

My house was finally quiet.  No screaming.  I approached my dishes with excitement and began scrubbing while zoning out in my own head.  I found myself falling in love with these dishes...with this whole moment...a moment to myself.  Why did I once hate this chore?  It's so relaxing!  These dishes treat me so well.  I will never have to restrain these dishes to keep them from harming themselves.  These dishes are calm, and quiet, and I will never have to remind them a thousand times to use inside voices.  I will never lose sleep over these dishes.  I scrub them, put them away, and rest assured they will stay there all night and not suffer from night terrors.  They are so predictable and their mood is consistent.  I never have to walk on egg shells in fear of triggering a melt down.  These dishes will never scream a blood curdling scream when they hear a sound they don't like, or touch a texture that bothers them.  I bet these dishes would let me take pictures of them.  They arent easily irritated or overwhelmed. They don't get over stimulated in crowds.  They'd let leave them with baby sitters.  They would let me have just one night with visitors that didn't end in a melt down of the century.  These dishes do not make my hair fall out or leave me throwing up in stress.  These dishes do not leave me praying in desperation.  They don't fall to the floor screaming everytime someone laughs.  These dishes do not make me apologize to strangers as I fumble to pick them up off the grocery store floor.  These dishes will never pee in their bowl of cheerios because they can't leave their playdoh.  They wont scream at strangers to be quiet when they try to greet them.  These dishes don't make me stick to a strict schedule.  They don't make me guess their mood, rephrase my compliments, avoid certain adjectives.  They don't ignore me.  They don't demand me.  They don't refuse to eat food, refuse to wean, or refuse to calmly change an activity.  These dishes are not particular, peculiar, or obsessive.  These dishes don't sleep with their legos, or religiously stick playdoh in all of our key holes, door hinges, candle holders, and remotes.  These dishes do not punch me and bite themselves when I ask them to brush their teeth. 

I will never feel like a failure when I walk away from the sink...because washing dishes is so much easier than parenting.

Then my son, my very high needs, extremely sensitive, hard to manage son, came running into the kitchen to tell me "mommy, you're weird, and beautiful, and I love you!"
Right then, my heart smiled, and I hated these dishes again.  They were taking away time from the little 3 year old human I love most in this world.

You're living proof that dreams come true.

These dishes will never squeeze my face and kiss me.  These dishes will never be the cause of playdoh in the soles of my shoes reminding me that I helped create a little boy with a huge imagination.  These dishes will never keep me on my toes wondering what surprises are in store for the day.  These dishes will never have donut dates with me or require the same song in the car every time we leave.  They don't high five me after they've done a 100 piece puzzle with no assistance.  They don't tell me I'm a beautiful princess.  These dishes don't have my husband's beautiful eyes.  These dishes will never giggle at fart noises with me.  They don't have an uncontrollable sweet tooth.  These dishes will never have pure excitement on their face as they recite their volcano and dinosaur facts.  They will never gleam with pride as they successfully name all the planets or the bones in their body.  They will never make up songs about poop or tell me how "lovely" their day was.  They will never let me run my fingers through their curly blonde locks.  These dishes will never look at a basketball hoop and only see a pirate ship.  They will never bring me to my knees in prayer for patience and guidance.  They will never hold their baby brother's hand while nursing together.  They will never be able to fill my heart with so much love, and hope, and joy as my little boy has. 

I know the days are long, but the years are so very short.

Dear Fellow Shopper, (a letter from a WIC mom)

Dear fellow shopper,

I know you can't see it, but as I put my vegetables on the belt, I feel my heart race and the blood rush to my face in embarassment.  I can hear your sigh, and I can see you are contemplating switching lines.  Inside I'm praying that you find a shorter line, get your shopping done quickly, and that no one else comes up in my line behind me.  My stomach is in knots knowing I'm slowing down the lines, and I'm certain that I'm the cashier's least favorite type of customer.

I use WIC.  Women, Infants, and Children is an amazing program that has done so much for my family.  I know that all you see of this program is a family taking too long in the grocery store to buy some milk and bread.  I know you think these small food items are not worth the time, but to me they are.  I know you assume we are "mooching off the government."  I'm sure you are rolling your eyes right now and making comments because you assume we don't work and feel entitled to help for our kids, that you probably believe we never should have had.  I once thought these things too.

I was pregnant with my first son in 2011.  We were newly weds and wanted to have a baby right away, and I immediately fell pregnant the first month we tried.  We were both working and were fairly established, and had all our pieces together.  Then one day, I was playing cards at my dads house and I felt something wet, like I peed myself.  Embarassed, I stood up and went in full panic mode when I saw blood on his carpet.  He lived two doors down from me, so I ran home, got on the toilet, and called my mom sobbing.  I then called my midwife who told me to prepare for the worst, take it easy, because this was probably [another] miscarriage.  I was crushed, and so confused, I felt my baby kicking at me and I really didn't know what to think.  All I knew was my baby was alive and I was going to fight for this little life.  The next day the bleeding got worse, and I begged my midwife for a sonogram against her judgement.  She called me a few hours later to tell me that I had placenta previa and that I really needed to rest.  Essentially my placenta was tearing and my baby was at risk based on the amount of blood loss.  I called my work to tell them I needed to go on bed rest until the placenta moved, if it moved.  Due to miscommunication on the phone, they thought I was quitting my job, and I was replaced at my work.  So now, I have a baby on the way, maybe, bills, rent, and an upcoming birth to pay for and I just lost half our family's income.  At the time I did not care, I was only worried about being put on strict bed rest and praying my baby was going to make it.

My pregnancy progressed and things started to look good.  My placenta moved and everything was going healthy.  We adjusted our bills so that we could live on one income, but things were really really tight.  I was caught between wanting to find another job as flexible as I had, and wanting to be a stay at home mom.  We decided we were going to do everything we could for me to stay home full time.  We couldn't afford daycare, and I wanted to raise our baby full time. We were still financially strapped the last few weeks of my pregnancy and I was still trying to collect those last minute items for baby.  I really wanted a breast pump and a friend told me our local WIC had some free ones available.  I went down to the office, asking for a breast pump, and upon arriving I was presented with so many resources and next thing I knew they were signing me up for the whole program.  WIC has many classes, breastfeeding help, free clothes, car seat programs, and free food checks.  As they were signing me up I was thinking "I really don't need all this, I just want a pump", but I took my folder home and it sat there, unused, for a while.

One night, while on bed rest, it started to rain.  I finally got out of the house for dinner at my parent's, and upon returning home we find our roof in our apartment collapsed.  The next few weeks, I had to sit in our apartment while they fixed the roof: power tools, ladders, dust, and all.  Finally, everything was cleaned up, just in time for another rain, another collapse, and another week of repairs.  Frustrated, I went to my apartment managers and requested a new apartment.  The only one available was across the way and it was an increase in rent.  It was going to take every penny we had to our name to move into this apartment and we would have NO extra money at the end of the month.  Our financial situation in a very short time went from very comfortable to absolutely broke.  We had to take the apartment, and a few days later a family member moved in with us, raising our bills.  We had a car break down, some unexpected bills come through, some of our property stolen, our bank made some clerical errors, some debt to pay,  and suddenly that WIC folder on my counter looked like HOPE.  That night, I filled my cupboards: fruit, vegetables, cereal, bread, milk, eggs, beans, peanut butter...  So grateful.

I never thought I'd be in the position of needing this, but here I was, I needed it.

My son was born, and we went to our first post partum WIC appointment.  They weighed him, asked me dietary questions, and then asked me how breastfeeding was going.  I almost wanted to cry.  "I'm trying and trying, but I have blisters and blood every where and I almost want to give up!"  Immediately, they called in a lactation counselor from down the hall and she started working with me.  Again, WIC left me full of hope and feeling supported.  The best thing that happened that day was getting a hug from that woman as she whispered in my ear "you are a good mom, things are going to get easier!"

Financially, things got easier over the next few months and I found myself not using my WIC checks.  I still attended meetings, breastfeeding support groups, car seat trainings, and sometimes I would just stop in to see how my baby was growing.  The ladies there know me and my kids by name, and they have become my little safe village.  I have now been a part of the WIC system off and on for 3 years.  Anytime my husband's income dips below the line, I know I can rest assured that my kids will be fed.  I don't always use my checks.  If we don't need the help, then I don't use the resource.  However, WIC has been so much more to my family than just food.  They have been my absolute biggest support system as a mom.  I cried on a workers shoulder for an hour after a miscarriage, they help me adjust my diet for my health issues, they provide me with pumps and pump parts for donating my milk, they encourage me to long-term breastfeed, they helped me find resources for my son's mental health, they helped me find an oral surgeon for my son, they help me with my car seats, they ask ME how I'm doing and they love my kids!  They help me be a better mom.

I can never repay these workers for what they have done for my family.  And I should not feel ashamed for using resources that are available to me that have bettered me as a person.  They have given me a sense of community and they have helped me help myself.  WIC is not a program that you can "mooch" off.  They help you get back on your feet.  They help you the first few years of your child's life, and encourage you to find your wings to fly.  They have advice on school and career paths, how to budget, and how to stay healthy.  So when you see that purple folder in my hand while you're in line, please don't judge me.  Instead, be grateful that our government is funding a program to help families thrive.  Rest assured that your tax dollars that you are so concerned about is, in that moment, being used to help a family trying their hardest to succeed.  Appreciate that it takes a lot for me to humble myself enough to accept this help for my kids.

I understand that you want to get your shopping done quickly, but let's be honest.  If you were on such a tight time schedule, you would not have chosen Wal-Mart at 8pm to fill your cart with DVDs, bathing suits, and art supplies.  So, instead of huffing and puffing behind me, glaring at me, and making snide comments about my life, wouldn't it be better for everyone if you instead just kindly, and quietly, switched to another line?  Or better yet, since you see that I have an upset toddler in the cart, and a fussy baby strapped to my back, and I'm digging for my wallet, you could offer to help put my groceries on the belt.  You could compliment my kids, and tell me to have a nice day, and understand that I'm humiliated enough, I don't need another mom making me feel like a failure.  I can see how much you love your kids, and I know if you were in the same situation as me, you would go to the end of the world to make sure their basic needs are met.  Try to understand that's all I am doing, and stop treating me as if 10 extra minutes at the check out has absolutely ruined your day.  Maybe fate brought you to this line, and maybe those 10 extra minutes would save you from a car accident.  Maybe fate brought you to my line so you could bless me with kindness.  Maybe fate brought you to my line because my son would tell you about his batman shirt and be entertained for a few moments while I put my bags into my cart.

By tomorrow, you probably wont remember me, or that I seemed to affect your day so negatively in that moment, but I remember you.  I think of your face every time I go shopping and I contemplate whether or not I really want to use my checks.  My stomach ties itself in knots in fear that someone like you will roll up in line behind me.  I fear every time that my son will hear your comments and wonder what his mom is doing wrong.  I will always remember you.  I took a few minutes out of your day, but I will remember how you made me feel for the rest of my life.

I hope, by fate, you will come across this letter.  I hope when you read it you will remember that kindness always wins.  We are all on the same team...trying to make it through life and be good moms.  I hope next time you get in line behind a WIC mom you find it in your heart to bless her with a reassuring smile.  I hope that next time you can treat someone with the same amount of respect you would want.  Love goes so far.

Happy shopping!

I nursed my best friend's baby.

Our Milk Sharing Project.
Please read all the way through to both stories.

 I was about to hand over my baby to my best friend, and I was flooded with memories of where we started. I met Haley in 8th grade.  We were obsessed with Freddie Mercury, lipstick, and Myspace.  We were so different but so the same.  We had passion, empathy, and were convinced that we would change the world.  Those are the things that never changed.  Our friendship always seemed like fate.  I always had an overwhelming feeling that I needed Haley.  Time went on and it always seemed like we were living mirror lives.  We both married our high school sweethearts at 18, and our first babies were 9 months apart.  We were on spiritual and political journeys together and always looking for new answers. 

 I remember sitting in a restaurant with Haley when her daughter, Amelia was only a few weeks

Tucker & Amelia

old.  I had just found out I was pregnant and we were catching up on life.  She nursed Amelia, something I never thought twice about, but afterwards she pulled out a bottle and asked me if I wanted to feed her.  I was fumbly, and had no idea what I was doing.  She was the first baby I had ever bottle fed.  I come from a family full of breast feeders.  I always knew breastfeeding would be a part of my life, but in that moment I remember looking at that bottle and thinking "oh how weird, of course babies use bottles, but why had I never thought about them before?"  Thinking of the baby inside me, I had a moment of panic.  "Do I need to buy bottles?  I have no idea how all this works!"  Haley looked up at me and said "I have supply issues and have to supplement."  Again, I had no idea what she was talking about.  It was in that moment that I realized that I had a lot of reading to do.  I went home that night and researched all that I could.  I was seeing articles about women being kicked out of stores for nursing their babies.  I saw controversy over weaning, formula, and nipple shields.  I had been so ignorant and naive.  I had no idea these issues were even issues.  There was a whole mommy online community and I dove right in.  I met amazing women, learned so much, and began to form very strong opinions on all the hot topics.  I was that mom that had decided to breastfeed and nothing was going to get in my way.  I had no reason to believe I'd have supply issues, or reasons to pump, or even pain.  My baby came and I had information, a support system, a lactation consultant, and yes, I had breastfeeding issues.  I had flat and inverted nipples that caused immense pain, blisters, bleeding, and tearing.  I dealt with lip and tongue ties that were misdiagnosed as reflux issues.  Immediately the pressure to switch to bottles was on me.  I was exhausted and frustrated, but my need to be right about everything was stronger than my need to sleep.  I pushed through and a few weeks later things eased up.  I had milk flowing all over the place, latch issues had been fixed, and I had begun pumping to donate.  I preached breastfeeding education, attended mommy groups, and proudly nursed my baby anywhere and everywhere.  I really chalked up everyone's issues to a lack of education and support.

Months passed, and Haley and I decided to go in on a pregnancy pact.  We were both wanting second babies, and what a great idea it was to get pregnant together!  Haley was by my side through 12 months of fertility issues, a miscarriage, and nursing while pregnant.  She was my rock.  Finally I got pregnant, and she was only 12 weeks behind me.  We talked about all the possibilities of the outcomes of our pregnancies, births, and breastfeeding.  I asked her to be my kid's God mother, I asked her to nurse my baby if I had died, and of course I asked her to photograph my upcoming birth.  I had a beautiful, successful, home birth, and I continued to tandem nurse my boys.  Again, I had an abundance of milk, and it all came pretty naturally to me, especially with all the experience I had with my older son.  We quickly diagnosed and revised this baby's tongue and lip ties, got through a case of mastitis, and began to pump to donate again.  It was Haley's turn.  I sped to the hospital at 3am to meet her newest little!  I watched her latch him on and get settled and I left to let the family bond.  A few days later I met her at her house to spend some time with her.  I walked in and saw her nursing Elliott with pure exhaustion on her face.  She was so determined this time to make her breastfeeding journey happen with no interventions.  With frustration in her voice she said "He wont get off my boob...all day!  all night!"  I responded with "well, just hang in there, it's always tough those first few weeks."  I decided to sit and observe the entire picture for a while.  She was clearly making milk, she could express some out, and he was gulping and eating.  We talked about his weight gain and diaper changes and something just didn't seem right, but this was way out of my league of knowledge.  She decided it was time to get some help.  Elliott was failing to thrive.

I got a call a few days later.  "My heart is broken.  I have breast hypoplasia."  My heart broke for her.  I had a hundred questions, but I couldn't cry for her.  I immediately went into "fix-it" mode.  There HAS to be a solution.  Our bodies were made for this.  That's when it hit me.  Everything I had believed had shifted.  My sanciti-mommy idea of "nature has made it this way" changed to "nature sometimes messes up".  The sadness in my best friend's voice left me shaken.  I was not going to leave her alone in this.  I immediately started pumping for Elliott.  She gladly took my milk, and I watched our community of friends wrap around her and she was getting love, support, and spare milk.  This is how it was meant to be.  Women loving women.  We went back to that tribal mentality of "it takes a village."  The village is there to balance out nature's mistakes.  One has what another lacks.  The Yin to the Yang.  If we were all perfect, we would never need each other, and God intends for us to work together.

The years of being friends we were always trying to break social stigmas.  We worked hard to promote love, community, peace, honesty, and equality.  This milk sharing relationship just brought us closer.  I felt a love for Elliott that I had never felt for someone else's child.  I was nourishing his little body and I loved it.  We promoted our milk sharing friendship in mommy groups and social media.  We heard so many different things from different people.  "Wow, I never thought of using donor milk!"  "Isn't that a little gross?"  "I'd pump for a baby, I guess that's better than wet nursing!"

Why was there so much controvery?  What if we weren't so selfish with our milk?  What if we fed each other babies all the time?  I grew angry at the changes in society in the last few generations.  We now live in a world where a working mother has to struggle to pump on short lunch breaks and pray that she has enough for her baby in day care.  We live in a world where it's more normal to make a mixture in a bottle for your baby rather than let another mom help.  I was not okay with this, and neither was Haley.  We began talking about wet-nursing one another's babies.  Would this be weird?  It was weird, but it was weird because we had never seen it before.  Everything is strange before we experience it ourselves.  We wanted to normalize this too.  We decided that we would have this event photographed and documented.  We were going to share this with everyone we knew.

Here I was, about to hand my baby to my best friend to nurse.  This baby that I grew, birthed, and had solely nourished myself.  I had a mixture of feelings of jealousy, love, confusion, nerves, and peace.  This was meant to happen.  God put us here for this.  Everything in this moment made sense.  I got pregnant 12 weeks before her so I'd have an established supply by the time she needed my milk.  I had an over supply because she didn't have enough.  I met her in 8th grade because one day we were going to change the world together.  Haley and I are soulmates and I believe that to my core.  I could write a book on how our friendship is based on fate.  I can do this.  I can share my body with someone else's baby.  I can share this bond that was meant for my babies.  I can break this weirdness.  I can love my best friend's baby.

So we looked into one anothers eyes and we swapped babies.  We sat down and pulled our breasts out.  I wondered what Haley was thinking as she was looking at my baby.  I wondered the whole time if he was okay, if he would latch, if he would be confused.  I looked at tiny Elliott.  It's amazing the difference 12 weeks makes in development.  I was working hard to get him to latch.  He could smell that I was different I'm sure, and I was fumbly as it had been a while since I nursed a baby that still needed help latching.  I was surprised that this wasn't weird for me.  I thought I might have experienced some aversion, but all I saw was a little baby that was hungry.  He latched on and he still had a newborn suckle and I melted a little bit inside.  This is okay.  This was good.  I could hear my baby next to me needing me though, and my instinct was to go to him.  I don't think I could ever love someone else's baby the way I love mine, but in that moment Elliott came close. 

Amber wetnursing Elliott

Elliott & Forest

 I love the connection that breastfeeding has between mother and baby.  I loved that I got to experience a glimpse of that with Elliott.  I love that Forest got to experience an intimate moment with my best friend.  I love that Haley and I are forever milk sisters, and Elliott and Forest are forever milk brothers.  I love the piece of us that we all carry with each other.  I love that our older children, Tucker and Amelia, got to witness this and never even questioned it.  I love that we are forming gentle and natural futures for all our children.  I love that we are forever family.

Pumping for Elliott

After our photo shoot we sat around and we pumped milk together, and Tucker helped bottle feed Elliott for the first time.  Every family is so different, and I love that my son is seeing a variety of parenting styles and understanding that moms are meant to work together.  He recently told me with no question in his voice that he saw that some babies use bottles and some babies have boobies.  I love that he observes these things.  I love that he sees that some

Bottle Feeding Elliott

families do things differently and he didn't even think to judge, question, or critique the situation.  Sometimes I think I can learn a thing or two from my 3 year old.

 


Overall I'm so pleased with this experience.  Yes, I did this just to prove a point.  No, we did not HAVE to wet nurse.  But, there is a woman out there who needs the courage to do what we did, on either end.  There is a baby out there hungry.  There is a desperate mom.  I believe a single drop in the ocean can change the weather.  So, if we helped one mom, one baby, then this entire experience helped change everything.  To that mom who needed their baby to be nursed by a friend while she was in surgery.  To that mom who couldn't pump enough for the baby sitter and needed her to nurse her baby.  To that mom with Breast Hypoplasia.  To the dad taking care of his baby after his wife died in labor.  To the adoptive mom.  To the mom who needed to take anti-depressants.  To the mom who needed a break.  Whatever your nursing journey has entailed, just keep on keeping on.  We are all on the same team.  Your journey is a personal one, a beautiful one, your own story.  Whatever your story, I hope your village has supported you and uplifted you.  To whoever you are, we did this for you.

- Amber

 
 
And here I stand… about to hand over my newborn to my best friend.
Amber has been a significant part of my life for a little over a decade now. Describing Amber isn’t very easy to do because there isn’t a stereotype that anyone could possibly lump her into. In my eyes she is goofy, offbeat, beautiful, honest, and most of all, she is deep. She has the ability to think outside the box as well as within. That’s unique and with that being said we easily bonded from the day we met. Our conversations consist of but aren’t limited to philosophy, politics, culture, how we will change the world, and most of all birth, babies, and boobies. We have always stood together as we have crushed social stigmas, as we did today. I have never cared for cultural norms because in my head, I could not possibly understand, what is defined as normal. We all have such different perceptions of the world. My vision of the future is the same as Amber’s vision. We want people to love, accept, and connect.
And here I stand… handing my newborn son to my best friend as I receive her son.
I lock eyes with her and there is a current, this current connects us. As mothers, as friends, as sisters. I quickly reminisce about a current event. The reason why we are standing here at this very moment. Amber has been nourishing my son since he was a week and a half old. I flash back to giving birth to him, the moment Amber first walked in and saw him, and the moment I learned that Elliott was failure to thrive (over a week later). The emotions, painful and beautiful, flooded my brain, causing a release of endorphins and oxytocin.
My son, the person I created, was failure to thrive. I breastfed early and I breastfed more than often. How was this so? I did everything right… How am I failing AGAIN? Amber encouraged me to keep trying and to keep seeing Sara (my friend and lactation consultant). She was as confused as I was. A couple of days later I saw Sara and the doctor. The information I received was devastating. I felt like someone tore my beating heart out of my chest. The pain to me was equivalent to someone close to me dying. I called Amber and broke it to her, while in tears. “I have breast hypoplasia and Insignificant glandular tissue”. This meant that I couldn’t exclusively breastfeed my son. This meant the body that created , grew, and nourished him for 9 months, could not fully do so anymore. Amber listened to me and sympathized, while feeling broken herself. “I will help feed him. What do you need? How much milk do you need?” she said without hesitation. This was an understanding that we mutually had for a while. We had agreed in the past, that if something were to happen to one of us that we would breastfeed each others children. This was the beginning of our milk sharing journey and just another bond we share, added to the list. 




And here I sit… looking into Forest’s eyes.
Forest. A baby that I am so connected with. I was there when he drew his first breath and I was about to nurse him. I felt butterflies, which made me feel anxious in my stomach, but my heart and mind were as calm and grounded as can be. This wasn’t weird. Amber’s children are my second set of children. Tucker and Amelia, our older children, played and danced around us as he latched. Forest nursed for only moments and he was done. I looked over to see Elliott nursing contently, with his little head bobbing as he suckled. This moment stood still for a moment, as I took it all in. I’m completely connected to Amber, she is my soul sister, but in this moment I had never been more connected.
We then nursed our own babies while lying in the grass. I smiled and laughed, as I enjoyed the

company of Rowan (who captured these lovely photos), Amber, and our children.
I can’t ever thank Amber enough. Her love for others radiates through her every pore. She loves me enough to do this for me, she loves my son enough to do this for him. I know how hard pumping is since it’s a vital part of my life to keep my supply up (along with nursing on demand). She pumps for my son, while balancing her busy life and nourishing her own babies.

 I only make an estimated 35-40% of what Elliott needs. This unity between Amber and I bound us and our sons together as milk sisters and brothers for life. This unity helped me heal in some ways.

Every ounce counts

I want everyone to know, that if you are healthy, it’s okay to milk share. It is not weird. It is not gross. It is beautiful. We need to connect as a community now, more than ever before. Don’t let our culture tell you it’s not okay because it is. Babies deserve to be breastfed. 

Elliott's donor milk from San Jose Milk Bank

I have a few other thank you comments to make. Thank you to my friend Heather for donating about 75 (or more) ounces to Elliott. Thank you to all the mothers who donate milk to others or milk banks (my son can’t have formula due to intolerance). Thank you, to Mother’s Milk Bank in San Jose, CA, for testing, processing, and sending milk to my son (and thank you for being non-profit). Thank you to every person who has provided me with comfort during this hard time (you know who you are). Thank you Sara Stone for helping me with my breastfeeding journey for the last 4 years and for finding my biological lactation issue.
This has been a spiritual journey for me. 

-Haley 







A special thank you to our local WIC for providing us with breast pumps, love, encouragement, information, and community.  Support your local WIC!
Thank you to our friends who have become our special village.
Thank you to our supportive husbands who held our hands during birth, cleaned our pump parts for us, and occasionally even rub our feet!
Thank you to the online mommy community for helping the entire breastfeeding cause.  Some days it feels like we know you all in real life.
Thank you to Rowan Price for capturing these beautiful photos and for your excitement for this project.


More photos from our wonderful day!