breastmilk

Charitable

The Miracle Milk Fund for Jamie, A Warrior Mother

by Jill
written by Jill

Click Here to To Donate!

For as much attention as mainstream media likes to give mothers and drama (or “mommy wars”) on the internet, I’m convinced that’s not representative of the majority of interactions between women within this great space.

I know. I’ve witnessed the better side first-hand, countless times. Women and the internet can be the most powerful, inspirational combination. Give us a tool to wrap our virtual arms around each other from every corner of the world, and we can use it to pull each other closer than ever before. We can use it to hold each other up.

We can use it to support a mother who was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer at 6 months pregnant.

And we can use it to change the way the medical community recognizes early stages of breast cancer in lactating women.

Let me back up here for a minute and say that if it seems this is all a bit more than what the original goal of Jamie’s first call for help was, you’re right.  Because we CAN do more. The outpouring of support for Jamie was overwhelming. Within an hour of posting her simple request for donated breastmilk for her soon-to-be-born baby girl, Jamie and I both knew this was something much bigger than that.

HUNDREDS of you commented to say you’d be happy to help, thousands of you shared the story, hundreds of thousands of you read it. 

Enter Best For Babes.

I have massive respect for BfB as an organization. They are making tremendous strides in supporting breastfeeding women and new moms, and they do it without the guilt and judgement.

Bettina Forbes, one of the co-founders of BfB, reached out to me right after the first post of Jamie’s story with a sincere interest in wanting to help in a big way. The other co-founder of BfB, Danielle Rigg, is a breast cancer survivor. Her story is eerily similar to Jamie’s. This story spoke to their hearts.

I’m thrilled to tell you that BfB has set up a way for ALL of us to not only help make sure Jamie and her baby’s needs are met, but to also help Jamie turn her experience into a positive and something that could benefit women from here on out.

(We) offered to set up a cash donation fund through Best for Babes, so that people who wanted to, could donate money to help cover Jamie’s medical costs, or childcare help, or transportation, collection and storage of  donor milk, or whatever is needed to care for her baby and herself, while she recovers from surgery and undergoes more chemo.   By setting up the fund through Best for Babes (a 501(c)(3) non-profit), donors can receive a tax deduction and know that their gift is going directly to help Jamie.

By making a donation to the Miracle Milk(TM) Fund you will also help educate physicians about lactation management, breast care, and cancer warning signs while breastfeeding, so that any abnormalities can be found earlier.

You can read more about what your donations can do, and you can donate by heading to the BestForBabes.org/Miracle-Milk-Fund page here.

While I know so many of you were anxious to pack your breastmilk in dry-ice and ship it across the country,  I urge you to instead use the money you would spend on shipping and donate it to the fund. Then perhaps find a mother locally who could use that extra milk in your freezer.

We are quite confident that Jamie will be able to source all the breastmilk she needs for her baby from women and milk banks near her, but we want to let anyone around the world support her AND this mission, knowing your money is going directly to the cause.

I know I speak for Danielle, Bettina and the entire BfB organization when I say we could not be more proud of this community and of all of you who have expressed wanting to help Jamie and her family in any way possible.

When you give women the power of the internet, sometimes we can change the world. I have no doubt that the Miracle Milk(TM) Fund, powered by Jamie’s tremendous courage to share her story can help us do just that.

Thank you x 1 million.

Oh, and if you’re wanting to check in and see how Jamie’s doing, she started a blog – 22 Weeks And Cancer.  

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(Breast)Milk On Ice
BabiesStuffThe Story

(Breast)Milk On Ice

by Jill
written by Jill

“Hey, the ice machine isn’t working anymore. I tried several times to unjam it, but I don’t think there are any chunks of ice that are keeping it from dispensing. I think it’s broken,” I said with a sigh as Scott walked in from work this evening.

And I really had “tried” in that I had jostled the ice drawer back and forth with great force several times, and then ran my hand through it, searching for… I didn’t know… a large chunk of ice that was too big to pass through the hole? No dice.

Scott pulled it out of the freezer, refusing to accept my hypothesis that the ice dispenser was suddenly out of commission based on my findings. He emptied the ice into the sink as I stood there with my empty glass.

“Wait!” I shouted, “Ugh. I wanted some ice.”

“Well, I don’t know if you want this ice,” he replied. Then he added “So, that’s what the white stuff in my water was last night,” as he handed the drawer back to me.

“Ohhhhhh…nah, I’m good. Lukewarm water, it is.”

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BabiesThe Story

Photographic Evidence of Why I Have Fat Babies

by Jill
written by Jill

That’s 12 oz. of milk pumped in 12 hours I was away from my baby, straight from the fridge.

People always ask me if I make straight cream, or milkshakes in these boobs. Whatever it is, I joke that I was a dairy cow in another life… the kind they use to make ice cream… ice cream that makes you very chubby.

Like this:

Wow. She’s going to HATE ME for this when she gets older. But I just can’t resist. The ankle chub?? I die.

Leyna is 11.5 months old, and all ad revenue generated from this post is going directly to her future-therapy fund. 

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BabiesThe Story

This Is How a Mommy Keeps A Baby Down

by Jill
written by Jill

This is the chubby baby I left at home last week…

This is the baby I came home to…

I don’t know about you, but I could tell immediately that she’d thinned out. Oh sure, she probably grew longer, too, but? She had a neck.

Who are you and where is your back fat?! I thought as I ran my hands around her svelte rib cage.

My frozen breastmilk stash wasn’t overflowing when I left last week. It was *just enough* to get her by. And Scott, being the prepare-for-the-end-of-the-world kind of guy he is, wanted to be sure he didn’t use all of it. So she ate a lot more solids while I was gone than she has been. Solids like fruits and vegetables, and things with not even a fraction of the fat content in my could-pass-for-melted-ice-cream breastmilk.

The upside was some of her diapers fit a little better around her thighs, but the result was still unacceptable. 

No. I like my babies fat. Let her get too thin, and, before I know it, she’ll be crawling, which we all know leads to pulling up, then walking, then my head exploding as I chase 2 kids who spin in opposite directions.

She wants to crawl. Oh, how she wants to crawl, but I put my boob in her mouth as many times as she wanted this week, and I think I successfully put a couple rolls back on her… just enough to keep her down… for now.

(This is the part where you should hide your ovaries. Her chubby cuteness is going to jump out the screen and try to invade them, FYI.)

That black mark is not a bug on your screen. I think there’s a scratch on my phone lens.

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BabiesCharitableThe Story

Special Delivery In Seattle- A Tale of Donated Breastmilk

by Jill
written by Jill

It’s a good thing I’m not a modest person. My trip through security on my way to Seattle involved lots of hollering back and forth about my “BREAST PUMP!” and me “BREASTFEEDING!” and confused looks and requests for inspection… and so on and so forth.  But I made it through without any real hiccups or drama.

I shoved my Hygeia Enjoye back in my already over stuffed tote bag and made my way to the Starbucks. Standing in line, I heard faint crying noises coming from my bag. Heads turned, eyes shifted. “Oh, it’s just my breast pump,” I smiled, making everyone in line all squirmy and uncomfortable. (The Enjoye has a feature where you can record your baby’s cries to help with let down.) It provided much fun and entertainment for me as it continued to randomly play throughout my wait in the terminal while people, I’m sure, wondered how and why I would be smuggling a baby on board.

While in flight, I had to lug my bag to the butt-crack sized closet known as the restroom on the plane to pump. One quarter turn of my head in there and I was glad I also had my small, manual pump with me. There wasn’t enough room in there for me to take my sweater off, let alone set up an electric pump. Plus, I didn’t even want to know what the passengers and flight attendants would think about the noises coming from within. I pumped out 5 ounces in about 5 minutes, then realized I didn’t bring a cap for the bottle I pumped into and left my storage bags in my checked baggage. I figured if I left the bottle attached to the pump, zipped tightly inside a cooler, and kept it in my bag upright, it wouldn’t be an issue.

Fast forward to baggage claim. I lean over, tote slung across my shoulder (now randomly playing airplane noises, which somehow recorded over my crying baby and, I’m pretty sure, don’t do anything for letdown), and I feel something wet on my arm. Hmmm… that’s strange. I double checked the cap on my water bottle and figured it was condensation.

However, upon further inspection once I arrived at the hotel, I discovered a full 2.5 ounces were missing from the bottle, the entire bottom of my bag was soaked with breastmilk, and I’m fairly certain at least an ounce of it leaked out into the overhead compartment without my knowledge. Let that be your PSA.

Always check the overhead cabin for breastmilk before laying your bag up there.

As I type this, I can smell the sour breastmilk wafting from my unpacked baggage. Excuse me… let me just go toss that in the wash real quick. ::gag::

I decided to just haul my handy, small manual pump with me out to Nintendo HQ the next day. Nintendo was a very super secret place where they didn’t allow us to take any photos (except in a very plain, devoid of anything super interesting room), and they required us to be escorted everywhere… even to the bathroom (with the CUTEST silhouette of the Princess outside the ladies room, which I totally wanted to take a picture of and Tweet, but I’m in no place to deal with a lawsuit).

The first time I went to pump, I felt I should warn my escort that my bathroom visit would be a while.

“I’m probably going to be at least 10 minutes,” I said.

He looked concerned.

“Oh, it’s just because I’m going to need to pump.”

He looked confused.

“Like, breastmilk, you know? I’m breastfeeding and-”

“Oh! Yeah. Fine. Okay,” he hurriedly cut me off with a “Whoa! TMI” look.

You’d think I just told him, “I’m going to go into the bathroom, expose my breasts, attach these suction cups the size of a cat’s head to my nipples and milk myself like a dairy cow,” all while miming the process.

But he was cute and nice and obviously not used to being around lactating women. It was funny.

Throughout the 2.5 days I was there, I pumped and saved 64 ounces. And on Saturday morning, minutes before my shuttle picked me up, I handed it off to a mother from Portland, visiting friends in Seattle. She plans to use it to supplement her own breastmilk supply for her 3 month old daughter (born on Leyna’s due date). She expressed her gratitude several times, offered to buy me coffee and gave me a big hug. It was an AMAZING feeling.

A week ago I wasn’t even thinking of donating my milk to anyone. I was struggling with the decision to bring it home with me on the plane or dump it. Neither option was one I was really comfortable with. I already had so much stuff I was lugging home with me, and the trip logistics were stressful enough. I didn’t want to deal with hauling it all home. But to dump it? Gah. No. That just couldn’t happen.

Then I posted this blog the day before I left. I knew women donate breastmilk, but didn’t think I had enough time to coordinate it, to fill out paperwork or get bloodwork done. A couple readers and Facebook fans pointed me to HM4HB (Human Milk 4 Human Babies). I posted on the Washington chapter’s Facebook page that I was willing to donate what I pumped if someone could pick it up from me at the hotel, and I had a reply within minutes. Easy peasy.

She didn’t ask that I have any medical tests done. It was very much an honor system. She asked if I had any illnesses, was on any medication or any special diets. I informed her I’d be having some adult beverages while there, and she was comfortable with that. Beyond that, there was no paperwork to fill out, no doctors to see, no tests to take.

Now, I’ll be honest and say I’m not sure I’d ever be comfortable feeding my children breastmilk from strangers (though I would consider breastmilk from women I know well), BUT I had no problem giving it, and I certainly don’t judge my recipient for using it. Just, for me, I’m not sure it’s something I’d feel comfortable with (and I know my husband wouldn’t). What about you?

Regardless, it felt like the right thing to do, and I’d rather it go to a family who needs it than to the Seattle sewer system.

I’ll be back tomorrow to share more details about my Seattle trip to Nintendo and how MIND BLOWING the new Nintendo 3DS (#SAMP) is, but I just had to share this story with you all today. It warmed my heart that rainy, cold and gray day.

Kendall is 2 years 11 months and Leyna is 3 months old

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Cloth DiapersThe Story

The boy was born to eat

by Jill
written by Jill

As if you couldn’t tell from pictures, he relishes meal time, and while his love for the boob still remains, he’s slowly growing accustomed to the joys of solid foods that are not produced by my super calorie burning mammary glands (seriously, I will be in the market for a personal trainer and gym membership when this kid weans, which is almost enough incentive to be one of *those* moms that breastfeeds her 8 year old… almost).

So I’m sure you all can gather that being nearly seven months old for his first Thanksgiving was PERFECT timing.  Not only had he been practicing eating solids for a good three weeks, but he also had 4 teeth to help with the gnashing.  (As I type this he has 5 and is working on his 6th…Oh Lord, will there ever be a break from this teething nightmare?!)  And he can thank his grandparents for feeding him the “good stuff”, like cinnamon rolls and bacon, and convincing me to leave behind my so very thoughtfully planned out all organic and homemade baby food diet for him, at least for the week we were visiting.  That’s right folks… I said HOMEMADE baby food!  I am SO that mom that I swore I would never be.  From a post dated July 21, 2007

Prior to the Rabies, I always associated slings with hippie parents – not that that’s a bad thing. I just always thought you had to be the type of mom who made her own organic baby food from the organic vegetables she grew in her own garden to wear one, and I have no time or desire for that shit. However, I found some adorable Hotslings in very stylish patterns, and I like the idea of baby as accessory (wonder how many people I pissed off with that statement).

Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!  I have to admit, though, that the Moby with Kendall’s chubby head and arms peaking out did make quite the fashion statement.  And it turns out I do have the time and desire to make my own baby food.  It’s ridiculously easy to do and it is so much cheaper than those jars.  I’ve found wholesomebabyfood.com to be an excellent resource and I’ve picked up a lot of great tips from the book The Super Baby Food Diet (Although I don’t know that it warrants buying it full price.  I found mine for $3 at our consignment store.)

We started out with simple mashed avocado and some breastmilk, or baby guacamole, and then advanced to smashed bananas, pureed sweet potatoes, peas, applesauce, carrots, and pears, and we’ve been adding Earth’s Best oatmeal cereal and plain organic yogurt on occasion.  The guac and bananas are the easiest since there is no real prep. involved.  Just remove from the peel and smoosh.  Now that he’s okay with the thicker consistency I don’t even bother diluting it  with breastmilk.  I may add just the tiniest bit of water if need be.

My method of making the food is to steam the veggies, then puree in the food processor, fill ice cube trays, freeze over night, then store on freezer bags.   I defrost a couple cubes at a time when I need them.  Easy peasy.

Why, you may ask, did we wait until six months? Mainly, it boiled down to these reasons:

1.  I dealt with a colicky baby for the first 10-12 weeks of his life and was happy with the peace that came with the digestive tract truce thereafter.  I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to go screwing around with his gut.

2.   Breastmilk did the boy good.  He was in the 92nd percentile for weight at his 6 month appointment and never had so much as a spoonful of cereal.

3.  Breastfeeding was working for him and me.  It was easy.  Why rush the mess and hassle of purees and spoons and bibs and dishes when you don’t need to?  Not to mention the poop!

4.  Seriously.  The poop.  Breastmilk poops are damn near close to pleasant.  Nary a smell to them, very easy to clean up, wash right off the old diapers.  Now that we are onto solids, I have a lovely transition period known as peanutbutter poop to look forward to.  Nothing a little flushable liner won’t fix, but still, not nearly as delightful as curdled breastmilk poops.

(Note for cloth diaper followers – this really hasn’t been that bad to deal with.  I mean, okay, it’s a little gross sometimes, but I deal.  It’s a short phase.  We put a flushable liner in each diaper.  He only poops like once every other day, so if it’s not soiled with poop, we just throw it in with the wash.  You can reuse a liner a couple times.  When he does poop, I can just peel the liner off and flush it and the peanutbutter poop right down the toilet.  Supposedly, this gets better once the poop gets more solid.  Then it just rolls right off the diaper into the toilet, no liner required.  At least, this is what I hear.)

Now, I so wish I could sit here and tell all of you that starting solids was the magical thing that made my baby sleep through the night.  I mean, that’s what everyone tells you from the beginning, isn’t it?  “Oh, he’s not sleeping through the night yet?  He needs cereal.  Feed him solids and he’ll sleep for you.”  Really?  REALLY?!!!  LIARS LIARS PANTS. ON. FIRE.  Not ONLY is he not sleeping through the night (yeah… that last post… that one where he slept for 7 hours… total, utter, complete fluke, nature’s way of screwing with my head, punishing me for God knows what, never happened again), but he has gone from waking 2 times a night to every 2 to 3 hours!  Who knows why.  Could be the sixth tooth he’s working on.  Could be a growth spurt.  Could be some sort of rebellion or clingyness.  I don’t freaking know because, once again, I can’t find the damn Baby Manual that SURELY must have shot out of my vagina sometime between the baby and the placenta.

Kendall is 7 months old… and awake… again

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BabiesThe Story

Picture this

by Jill
written by Jill

Me, hovering over Kendall, squeezing my already tapped out boobs to get a couple drops of breast milk to drip in his eyes while Scott holds his chubby cheeks still and Kendall looks up, mouth wide open, completely bewildered as to why I’m aiming so high.  Inevitably, I always miss the first couple of tries and Kendall ends up with milk dripping down his nose or over his hair line.  A couple times I’ve gone for a drop and got a full blown stream.  Kendall screams as he is drenched by the projectile milk.  No.  This is not a fun game of Baby Bullseye with Breastmilk.  This is the what the pediatrician prescribed to get rid of the yellow gunk that frequently develops all around Kendall’s  eyes.  It gets so bad that he can barely open them after a nap and I have to free his eyelids from what looks like a thick layer of dried snot.  Apparently, the best cure for this is not a prescribed cream or pill, but to rub breastmilk in the tearducts of his eyes.  Talk about a Kodak moment.  It’s a freaking miracle that I can get through it without pissing my pants.  I laugh my ass off every time.

9 weeks 5 days old

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