Blog Hiatus

I haven't felt much up to blogging lately. One, with a fully mobile toddler and two high-energy preschoolers, my life doesn't exactly have a lot of blank spaces. I feel like I barely have time to sleep, let alone do anything extra. Two, I actually haven't felt the urge to really write. Which doesn't happen often for me and I don't generally push the issue. One of the perks of not having to write for a living means not having to write when I don't feel like it. 

But now I feel up to writing. So I will call an end to my hiatus. And try to get back into writing to some degree of regularity. 

A couple of weeks ago, my "little" family of five and my parents journeyed to the Outer Banks for a vacation. My family hadn't been since 2011 so Elisabeth had never gone. It was an adventure, that's for sure. Elisabeth hated the beach. Hated the sand. Hated the ocean. Hated the sun and the wind. She didn't like being away from home and sleeping in a pack-n-play. She didn't like having to ride in the car for a long time. All in all, she wasn't a fan of the whole vacation experience. 

At Evie's next therapy session, we mentioned Elisabeth's negative beach feelings to the therapist. It raised some red flags for her and after some further questioning, she recommended that we have Elisabeth evaluated and potentially start her in therapy for Sensory Processing Disorder. 

On one hand, it certainly explains a lot of the issues we have had with Elisabeth. Things that we thought/hoped might just be her personality. Things we thought were just a phase. Things we hoped she would just outgrow. Knowing she has SPD (if she does) would give us the tools to handle her and a piece of support to help her. However, it would mean two of our three have it and it breaks my heart for poor little Elly. 

Sweet little Ellynor, who already puts her sisters before herself to a fault. Selfless and kind, more than many children and especially uncommon when compared to a lot of other three-year-old's. Not only is she the middle and somewhat preordained to be left out and forgotten, but then with both sisters having "special needs" her needs will be even further overshadowed. 

When Elly and Buffy share these sort of tender moments, it just makes me want to scoop Elly up and make her understand how wonderful and precious she is. She dotes over this baby, even when the baby is screaming and throwing toys and being pretty much as ugly as a toddler can be. 

The therapist was asking me questions this past week about Elisabeth's outbursts and issues. She wanted to know if they were a typical toddler tantrum or more of an SPD meltdown. And I had to admit I wasn't sure. When Evie was a toddler, I thought her tantrums were normal. I mean, they were awful and scary and seemed way worse than the parenting books made them out to be. But isn't everything in real life worse than how it seems in black and white? Everything with Evie was. So I just chalked it up to one more thing on the list. Elly has always been Evie's polar opposite. I don't know if it's because she is "normal" or if she's just a really fabulous kid. I mean, beyond the obvious fabulousness of her. An exceptionally well-behaved kid. So, whereas Elisabeth's behavior runs a lot closer to Evie's, it's hard for me to say how far she is outside the realm of "normal." 

So, next week, I will be going through another long evaluation, this time with Elisabeth. And then trying to figure out how to juggle therapy for two kids and still make sure the third one gets some attention and one-on-one time. It sounds overwhelming! 

I have a confession...

While I have had a lot of thoughts on this I have been afraid to blog about it...

Why? Well, I've been a bit worried about the reaction. Or the fallout. And even the potential retaliations if this whole thing doesn't go well.

No. I am not pregnant. Hush your mouth.

I am going crunchy.

No really.

And by crunchy I mean green, hippie, eco-minded...and possibly a little crazy.

And why?

Well, I'm not exactly sure. I don't know what has gotten me so into this kick of reducing our environmental footprint and trying to eliminate so many of the harmful chemicals that are in our daily lives. Maybe it was reading an article about the carcinogens found in baby shampoos. Or that there might be a link between antiperspirant and breast cancer. Or seeing an image of the number of diapers used in the three years the average baby wears diapers along with the fact that the very FIRST disposable diapers ever used are still sitting in landfills and will still be there when my children's children's children are old.

Maybe I'm feeling trendy. Or I've succumbed to the peer pressure of Pinterest and all those DIY recipes for shampoos and face masks and laundry detergents.

Either way. The Dowd family is going green.

Step one is to ditch the diapers. Also, I'm ditching the commercial shampoo and conditioners and hopefully hair products. Going to make some of my own lotions and washes. We are going to start a lot of "reduce, reuse, recycle" as well. I will be trying out some natural deodorant and making my own baby wipes. We will also be trying out some natural and DIY cleaning products and trying to "green" our medicine cabinets.

Overall, I'm really excited about this whole endeavor. A month from now, I may be greasy, stinky and exhausted of this whole little project. In which case I feel like a bit of a buffoon. But I doubt that will happen. I mean...it probably won't.

At least the diaper thing is going well so far. I have been VERY happy with the cloth diapers I was given by a friend to get me started. I only have four right now, so we are still doing a whole lot of disposable diapers. And we may continue to use them at night because the baby seems to pee ridiculous amounts at night and I'm not sure I can pack enough padding into the cloth diaper to last that long. I hope we are able to find something that will work without using disposables but I'm not against some compromise. Besides, 30 diapers a month is a lot better than the 240ish we are currently using. And I'm excited about the money that will be saved as well. We are averaging $30 a month on diapers right now. I found my stock of cloth diapers on eBay for $45. Plus got my stuff to make my own reusable cloth wipes and some all natural diaper ointment. I also needed to buy some natural soap to wash the diapers in (and I'm using it on the baby's clothes too) and a couple of wet bags to keep the used diapers in. All in all, with everything I've bought, the total expense has been less than $100. I will round up and say $100 for the start up investment. And I won't have to buy anything else for baby to poop in, pee in or wipe her butt with. I think that's pretty awesome. And if we decide to have additional kids, the diapers will carry over. If we don't, they've got a pretty high resale value, so I will be able to get at least part of my investment back. Seems like a win-win to me.

Next on the list is the new deodorant. I don't think I will have any problems since I don't tend to have a lot of perspiration or stink anyways. Then replacing cleaning products and detergents as we run out with the green varieties. I've also gone with some all natural black soap for washing and my skin has really appreciated it. And I'm nearly out of lotion, so I will be making my own batch soon with shea butter and coconut oil.

I still have a bit of shampoo left before I try either a no 'poo or honey 'poo method. I can already go nearly a week between washes without greasy issues, so I don't think I will have any problems with either of those. My only concern with the no 'poo method is that a lot of people have issues with over-drying from the baking soda and apple cider vinegar.

I will have a hard time giving up my commercial face wash and make up products. Though I only wear make up a couple of days a week max. I am pretty attached to my foundations and mascaras and especially my commercial cleansers and moisturizers. But who knows, I may get brave if all the other "natural" products work out.

Any green products you have tried that have worked? Or maybe that didn't? Suggestions for things to try or avoid? I'm very open to suggestions!

What's in a diagnosis?

For four years, Evie has been our beloved tyrant.

She came from the hospital and immediately put us on a schedule. She was exhausting. Beyond exhausting with her strict schedule and highly volatile nature. I remember the night I walked the floors with her all night, in tears and crying with her, because family from out of town had visited that day and her whole schedule had been tossed out the window. She just screamed and arched her back and screamed more. At my wit's end, I broke down and called my mom. I had walked the floors until I was too tired to walk more and I simply didn't know what to do. She came right over, sat with the baby while I got a couple of hours of sleep. I swore then that I wouldn't put her through anything like that again and we all stuck rigidly to her schedule from that day on.

As an older baby, I read autism check-lists and development lists. I always just had this nagging worry. One I chalked up to first-time mom. She grew fast, she passed all her physical milestones, most of them early. And as soon as she was walking, she was climbing, jumping, falling all over the house. She didn't babble. And she didn't talk. But the doctors reassured me she was meeting her milestones and she was fine.

As a toddler, she continued to be strict about her schedule. You could nearly set a clock by her. As we moved from mushy, squishy baby foods to lumpy, chewy baby foods and even real foods, Evie became a picky eater. She became one of those kids who lived off chicken nuggets and goldfish. She only wanted to watch Dora the Explorer. She still wouldn't talk. She could. Sometimes she would talk, but only if she had to. When her little sister came along, Evie was 18 months old and she regressed quite a bit, which I expected. But socially, she never sprang back forward like she should have.

As she grew into a preschooler, something continued to gnaw at me. She finally started talking more, but it was minimal at first. Only just enough to prevent the doctor from referring us to a speech therapist. I spoke to the pediatrician at Evie's two year check up. Asked about how strict Evie was about sticking to her schedule, her horrifying meltdowns when there was any change in her life, her many "quirks"...the pediatrician told me that she was clearly very bright. And that unfortunately for me, life with smart kids was difficult. Uh, thanks.

At another doctor's appointment, the doctor just told me that Evie was obviously very sensitive. Beyond that my concerns were dismissed and I was once more told she was healthy. She was fine.

But she wasn't.

Evie continued to need a strict daily regimen. She woke up, she had breakfast. If she had oatmeal, which some days she did, it could not be above room temperature. If she dropped some food on herself or her eating area, it had to be cleaned up immediately. Afterwards, she needed to get dressed. She could not put on her regular clothes before breakfast. When dressing, clothes needed to be specific. Not to tight. Nothing scratchy or pokey. Seams needed to be small. Socks needed to be low. No turtle necks. No wool.

I learned what she needed and just adapted to it. To not adhere was not worth the struggle. Putting her in clothes she didn't like resulted in meltdowns of colossal proportions. Changes to our schedule led to unbearable evenings and nights where Evie could not and would not go to sleep. Until she became old enough to say specifically what she did and didn't like and explain what was wrong, life with Evie was quite miserable. Even once she was able to express herself, life was only slightly less miserable.

People told me she needed more discipline. More time outs. More spankings. I couldn't let her be the boss. When she threw her fits I needed to put her in her room and let her cry it out and she would stop. As soon as she didn't have an audience, she would stop. I tried that. Her meltdowns were borderline scary, and I would try putting her in her room and she would just get more and more upset. Until she was on the verge of hyperventilating and too exhausted to scream. Only then would she calm down. More spankings and more discipline only worsened things as well. I could tell looking in her eyes that frequently her behavior scared her. That when she was beyond my control, she was beyond her own control as well.

I tried a new tactic. Instead of raising my voice and trying to boss her into submission, I got quieter. I sat with her and helped her take deep breaths and tell me what was wrong when she got upset. Most days, that helped. She started to learn to help herself and learn new tactics for dealing with her feelings. The miserable months changed to bearable ones. Though I told my mom that it worried me that Evie wasn't able to manage herself, that we were managing her. And I felt that she would never be able to go to school because there was no way a teacher could handle her in a room full of other kids. But I didn't know what else to do. Everyone seemed to feel that Evie was spoiled and undisciplined or simply high-maintenance and strong-willed. I learned to stop telling friends and outsiders about life with her, because I felt like I was the worst parent in the world. Why couldn't I control my child? Why couldn't I teach her to stop freaking out over the smallest things?

One day, I was perusing the internet, blog hopping, and found a blog about a mom whose son had been diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder. She told a story about going on a bug hunt with his class from school, and how her son was unable to find a bug in the allotted time, like many of the other children. However, when the teacher instructed them it was time to go back inside, her son had a meltdown. Crying inconsolably, heartbroken, devastated. Beyond anything you would expect or could truly express in words. And the mom stayed out with him until he was able to find a bug. This was Evie. We hadn't been in that particular situation before, but similar ones. And Evie was inconsolable.

A sad light bulb went off. I began scouring the internet for everything I could find about Sensory Processing Disorder, or SPD. I found dozens of sites, blogs, check lists. Types of therapies and tools to help SPD kids. But even though I thought this was the answer to what had always been going on with Evie, I didn't know what the next step was.

I thought maybe I should call the pediatrician. But honestly, I was terrified. To call the doctor's office would be to admit that maybe something was "wrong" with Evie. That it wasn't me being a crappy mom or a phase or a bad day. Something was wrong. And I wasn't sure I was ready to admit that. Finally, after wavering back and forth for over a week, I called. My heart was in my throat when I spoke with the nurse. I told her I wanted Evie evaluated for Sensory Processing Disorder and waited with bated breath to hear what she'd say next. Of course, next she says, "Oh. Well, I will have the doctor call you." Great...the next night the doctor finally calls back and I have pages of notes and lists. Checklists that I have filled out about Evie and reasons I have for thinking she might have this disorder. Pages, I kid you not. After a brief discussion, the doctor agreed we should have her evaluated and we discussed where to go. She told me she would submit the paperwork for a referral and wished us luck.

The phone call came from the therapist's office the same week my brother passed away. So, while the appointment was scribbled on the calendar, it went on the back burner. It wasn't something I fretted over or obsessed about. Next thing we knew, the day was upon us. I was a ball of nerves again when we went for her evaluation. And an hour later, the therapist was handing me a fat folder full of reading materials on SPD. She was walking me through home treatments to go through with Evie and talking about what all we would be doing during her weekly therapy sessions.

So there it is. My baby has Sensory Processing Disorder. It is weird on one hand to think about. But at the same time, it's really nice to know she's going to be getting help now. Help that will make it possible for her to control her reactions, control her feelings, limit her meltdowns (which is what the clinical term is for what a SPD child has, not a tantrum). I was told that I have actually already done a lot to make Evie's life easier, like being understanding of her needs and enrolling her in gymnastics so she has an outlet for all that wild bouncing energy. We have a diagnosis, but she still likes her oatmeal cold and her baths lukewarm. And maybe, that's just life with Evie.

Moving On

Like it or not, life always keeps moving.

When you live with little people, life moves quickly and messily forward. Every waking minute of every day is quite full. From wake up and breakfast to clean up and getting dressed to more clean up to activities and play time to more clean up. Lunch, clean up. Naps, snacks, clean up. Supper, baths, clean up. Stories, teeth, bed, more clean up. It's a bit exhausting just to type.

I believe it is something that has made my mother's days easier to bear. The busy work. There is no time for grieving when you are so exhausted.

So here we are. Three weeks into the rest of our lives. Five days into a new year. The first year without Ethan.

And moving on is something we have no choice but to do.

I celebrated Christmas Eve with my in-laws. We celebrated Christmas Eve. Then Christmas. Then New Year's. My mom and Ethan's best friend and myself all went and got Ethan tattoos. The girls stay with my mom. I go to work. Every day goes by much like the one before. This weekend I felt up to making plans with friends. Had a wonderful time and it was great to be with other grown ups. Talk. Laugh.

Life marches on. The day to day pulls us right along.

Most days, I am doing okay. Sometimes I will see something or think something and it all hits me all over again. And then there is that big gaping hole ready to swallow me up. Sometimes I have had the luxury of being able to put my head in my hands and cry for a minute. Or take big gulps of air and replay all the lines that have made all this easier. He's finally better. We will see him again. He's happy now.

But he's still gone.

Sometimes my mantra cannot stop my mind and all I can think of instead is the times we were together and the moments I missed. The dreams that we had for his future that will never come to fruition. All the things I will never get to say. The things he will never get to do.

Sometimes I think we are doing good. Sometimes not so much. Either way. We are moving on.

The Things I Never Said

Dear Ethan,

Hello little brother. I hope you're doing well. I'm sure you're doing better now than you were the last time we spoke. For so long, your eyes have held a pain that you couldn't fix. Your body has carried a burden you weren't able to bear. I'm sure that weight is gone and your pain is lifted. I know your eyes are clear and you're walking tall under bright blue skies. Sometimes, thinking how happy you must be now brings a smile to my own face. That and knowing that you've probably had a least a dozen of Ma Mary's warm hugs. And you've seen Pa Booker. And of course Jesus.

I want to say sorry. For so many things. First, I'm sorry I never wrote you when you were in jail. But you never wrote me either. I'm sure if you had asked for my address, Grandma or Momma would have given it to you. So maybe you just didn't want to write me. Reading Momma's letters though, I wish I had some of my own. Reading them I can hear your voice and even though it's hard and sad, it's nice to hear.

I'm sorry I never called. But you never called either. You never asked for my number. So maybe you didn't want to talk. Maybe you knew yourself better than we give you credit for sometimes. You were prone to calling those you loved and complaining, fussing and blaming. Cussing sometimes. I like to think you cared enough about me and my opinion of you that you didn't want to risk doing that with me. So while we both missed out on the potential good calls, you spared me the bad ones too.

I'm sorry we didn't talk more.

I wish when you talked to me about one day getting your life straightened out and having kids I was more enthusiastic. It wasn't that I didn't want you to get your life straight. Because I wanted it more than I could ever say. Or because I didn't want you to have kids. Because I did! Being an aunt to your kids would have been awesome. They could come hang out with my kids. We could have taken turns babysitting. The kids could spend the night together. Christmas would have been a wild rumpus of wrapping paper and screaming, snotty-nosed little people. I tried to keep enthusiasm in check because I didn't want you to jump into something before you were ready for it. Especially if that something involved a baby. Babies are a serious business after all.

I wish I had made sure to tell you how much my kids liked you. Rather than assuming you guessed it from their enthusiasm and from what family told you. I wish I had told you more often that I loved you. Because I did. And I do. And I always will. I wish I had given you more hugs. Because you gave such excellent hugs. I wish we had spent more time together during the last five years. Not just holidays and special occasions. But weekends and meals and just hanging out together. I wish I had more good memories with you from the last few years. But I'm really glad I don't have more bad memories. I wish I had more pictures of you. I didn't realize until after you were gone that we have no pictures of you with my kids. As much as they meant to you, I hate that I didn't make sure and get some shots of Uncle Ethan with the three Es.

I'm sorry things didn't go differently for you. That you weren't able to get free from your addiction and get better. I'm sorry that you got addicted in the first place.

I miss you. Which is weird kinda. Because you weren't really a part of my every day life. And yet I think I have thought about you every day since we learned you passed away. I miss you. Your death has left a hole in my life that I would never have expected.

Momma said something after your funeral that helped me a lot. That has made my regret easier to bear. Repeating it in my head stops my tears. None of us knew we were working with an expiration date. We didn't know that we wouldn't have next year with you. Or the next ten years. I didn't know in August that I wouldn't be seeing you for Thanksgiving. And Christmas. When I was mad at you for not showing up on Thanksgiving, I didn't know I wouldn't be seeing you for Christmas. I thought we had time. That there would be plenty of time. And I guess that is how most people live their lives...with the expectation that there is a tomorrow. That there is a next week and a next year. Your death has reminded me that there never is. We aren't promised a next Christmas. We can't plan on doing things better next year. Or next week. We aren't promised a next breath. None of us know when our time will come. Or when the time of a loved one will come. And that knowledge has a profound effect on me. Though I am trying valiantly to not let that knowledge become something that makes me bitter or hostile or worry over much. Granted, I already worry a lot. But I'm trying to use it to remind me NOT to worry. Not to hang on to fears or failures. Because I might not have a chance to right a wrong.

All in all, it's the knowledge that you're better that is getting me through. Knowing you are happy now. That everything finally makes sense for you. That you are at peace.

Please take care of yourself. Remember that we love you. And we all miss you. For you, things are easy and good. No matter how much we miss you, none of us would ever want to change things and take you away from how much better you are now. I hope I am always able to hear your voice in my head, jokingly calling me "Big Sis" and asking how I am. I hope you're watching over us, worrying about Momma like you always have. I bet Christmas in Heaven was phenomenal and that Jesus throws a killer birthday smash. I'm sure his cake was even better than the one I made. We will all be back together one day. Until then we will miss you though.

Love always,

Your "BIG" sister

We Survived...The First of the Rest of our Lives...

I am usually a Christmas nut. I get my shopping done early. I count down the days with enthusiasm. I have a harder time sleeping on Christmas Eve than the kids. But this year, I just wanted to get it over with.

After Ethan's funeral, I tried really hard to get back into the Christmas spirit. It was two days after his funeral when we went to my in-laws for our Christmas celebration with them. While it was great to get away for a couple of days, I just did not feel the same excitement that I usually have. We made it through. I pushed through with a lot of fake smiles and forced laughter. But I made it.

Then it was only a couple more days until our annual Christmas Eve celebration at my mom's. It was our first holiday without Ethan. Ethan always loved Christmas. It was one of the few times we could count on seeing him each year. Of course, he was motivated to show up because he might be getting a gift...not always because he was interested in spending time with the rest of us. Last year was a great Christmas. Ethan had been sober for a while and was excited to be spending the holiday with all of us. He was excited to see the girls and had even made an effort to get THEM something. Giving to others wasn't something he was usually known for. And it meant a lot to me that he cared. The girls were beyond ecstatic. For whatever reason they had really taken to Ethan and getting to see their Uncle Ethan made their day.

I thought I was going to make it through Christmas Eve without actually crying. But my grandmother brought me a small bag with something she found in Ethan's things that she thought I would like to have: Ethan's hat. Of course that brought on the tears. I cried a little on Christmas but mostly managed okay. Here we are three days later though...we made it. The first holiday of the rest of our lives.

Our first holiday with a hole in it. But we made it through. We have a couple of months until Elisabeth and Elly's birthdays. Then a couple more months until my grandmother and Ethan's shared birthday. I know that will be a challenging month. Then we will have four months until another family get together, Evie's birthday. That was the last time that I saw Ethan this year. In August. He had started using again and didn't look as good as I wanted him to. But he was there. And he seemed sober.

He's in many of the pictures from that day. I have found myself perusing them and trying to remember any conversation I had with him that day. Any contact. That was the last time I had any contact with him. And I can't even remember if I hugged him bye. I was so busy with the party and trying to take care of everyone. And I was disappointed in him for having started using drugs again. I'd like to go back to that day and give him a big hug. Tell him I loved him and that I always would. Ask him to take care of himself. See if he wanted to go to lunch one day and catch up. I would sit with him, the heck with everyone else at the party, and just talk.

Of course, that isn't possible. Nothing can change the past and there's no way to bring him back or change things. I know that next year, Christmas will be easier. In a few years, we might even be able to talk about him without getting all watery-eyed and snotty. Many years down the road, we will be better. The hole will still be there but we will be better at dealing with it. But we survived the first one.

Breastfeeding: Ten Months In!

From the get go I wanted to be able to post regular updates on my nursing journey as an encouragement to other mommas who were just starting out. Honestly, it gets so much better!

Of course, I think I posted one or two updates on the blog that I have lost. And those were back in the beginning, when things were less than splendiforous.

Now I have a ten and a half month old baby. Blows my mind. Even more impressive to me is that fact that she has never had a drop of formula. I can't believe that I have been able to stick with it. And I wish that I were able to pin point some magical secret that has worked this time.

If I had to narrow it down to one thing I had this go round that I didn't feel like I had the previous two babies, it would be support. It's not that my family or friends didn't "support" me during the first two babies. They did. I mean, they were the sort of blind support that every momma needs, they supported me whichever choice I made. But this go round I had much more extended support. My doctor's office had a lot of breastfeeding education and a lactation consultant. I was encouraged much more to breastfeed and was even given the information before I had the baby on how to get a pump before I went back to work. And of course I had the support of 12 weeks home with the baby. If I had that the first two times I might have been able to breastfeed them this long.

Occasionally, I feel a twinge of regret over the fact that I didn't nurse Evie and Elly. But I am not one of those people who likes to dedicate time and energy to the what-if's and should-have's. They're healthy. Seem to be fairly normal, functional kids. So all in all, I did alright. Right?

Being a mom of three, I had a lot more internal support as well. I knew that I would have to let a lot of things go when baby #3 came. Laundry might pile up. Floors might be sticky. Dishes may go unwashed. It will all be okay. I knew going in that I wouldn't sleep...Ever. Again. And I just accepted it. One day they will be teenagers and I will be waking their butts up at the crack of dawn. Revenge will be sweet. But babies need to eat. And babies need to eat around the clock. When babies need to eat they cry. I felt like breastfeeding was something I could probably do. Or at least try really hard to do. And since this would be my last baby, I felt like it was something I needed to give a good effort.

So I did it. And when I felt like I couldn't, I frantically called, messaged and texted people. I cried and I called and texted more. I got a lactation consultant involved. And then I got another lactation consultant involved. Baby grew and things got easier. Eventually nursing got easier and I felt comfortable with adding pumping into the regimen. Pumping still sucks. But I stick with it because it makes the rest possible.

My original goal of one year is in sight. And I have extended my breastfeeding plans to two years. At least. No, I don't plan on having a kindergartner nursling. But I have read so many articles and have taken in so much information about breastfeeding that I simply don't believe that one year is the age to wean. When you look at other species and the age when a mother naturally weans her baby, you see functioning juveniles who can largely fend for themselves in their society. Think about 8 week old puppies or yearling colts. They eat the same food the adults do. They walk, talk, able to hold their bladder enough not to pee on themselves every few minutes. They are members of their pack or herd. Compare that to the functionality of a one year old. Many one year-olds are neither walking nor talking. Not beyond a weak toddle and a bunch of baby gibberish. Doctors around the world have found that the nutrition found in breast milk is needed well beyond the 12 month mark. Not only do they need the nutrition and the antibodies and the vitamins, the physical and psychological comfort are invaluable and difficult to measure. The World Health Organization now recommends that mothers breastfeed for the first two years. And then as long after that as the mother and baby are happy.

Nursing Elisabeth is still going well. On days I work, she nurses frequently. Two or three times in the morning before work. Then two or three in the evening when we are home. Then once or twice at night. She is the sweetest baby too. She always wants to touch my face or rub my arm while she nurses. Though sometimes she also wants to try and put her foot in my mouth. Or pull on my eye lashes. (I dont get it, but she thinks it's HILARIOUS.)

As she gets older, I can tell a difference between the times she wants to nurse because she's hungry and the times she wants to nurse because she missed me or she fell down or she's tired or she's teething or she doesn't feel good or...well, the list goes on. The bee-bee's are the magical miracle cure to whatever ails her. I feel like nursing is as close to recreating the womb as a baby can get. That's why newborns relish in it. Why babies get that blissed out look when they nurse. It's adorable. And I totally understand that the real world is really difficult for them and any wonderful, warm, happy, belly-full place for them is a happy one. Even at 10 months, sometimes Elisabeth just needs that warm comfort. Needs to be warm and safe and have mommy's smell and mommy's heartbeat close.

I am proud that we have made it this far. I hope things continue to go well for us. But if something were to happen, I can take pride in the fact that we made it this long. I love the feeling of snuggling up to a warm baby and snoozing a bit while she nurses herself back to sleep. I love the big grins she gives while she smacks her lips and pats me after she nurses. And I feel cherished when she cries "mama" and holds her hands up for me, then when I pick her up, immediately rests her tear-streaked cheeks on my shoulder while she pats my back and hugs me tight.