Breastfeeding State Laws

I just want to keep this info handy in case I ever need to reference it.
Breastfeeding State Laws

For Sean

I Love My Boys

Gospel Aerobics - Let The Praise Begin

Dear Sean

Dear Sean,

Last night while you were sleeping, I picked you up and I held you. I cradled you in my arms. I placed you over my shoulder and turned my head to watch you sleep. I kissed your cheek and neck repeatedly. I held you to my chest and wished that I could stay like this all night. You are only 3 months, but you dont let me hold you like you used to. You do not sleep on my chest. You will not cuddle with me. When you are awake, you kick and scream when I cradle you and you never put your head down when I hold you over my shoulder. Sure, you let me hold you. You let me kiss you. You even cry for me when I walk away. But, each day you are getting bigger. Each day you are reaching out and growing into your own person. You are learning your likes and your dislikes. I feel as each day I am losing a part of you. I just realized that I must kiss you every chance I get because soon you will have the ability to push me away. I must make you smile as much as I can because one day I will make you sad. And now, I must pick you up and watch you sleep in my arms because you will not let me hold you like you used to.

Mom

Talking with mommy and daddy

Tummy Time

HIStory

***Still working on this***

One day I will tell my son that he was made from love. He was made from irrevocable, unequivocal love. Whether or not he understands, I need him to know that my world got brighter the day I met him. In the midst of all my love and joy for this precious gift, I need him to know what it means to love and what it means to be a good person. He didn't cry when he was born. I remember looking up and seeing his eyes open. He was alert and shell-shocked. The tears did come, of course. Now, when he does find a reason to cry, I think to myself, "cry now, baby boy! For one day the world will frown on your tears." It is my duty to make him tough so the world won't break him down. Give him thick skin. I chuckle to myself as I console this tiny part of me. My love, personified. Cry now, baby boy.

Throughout his lifetime he will seek acceptance. I want him to know that in this world of have and have-nots, the main person who should accept him is himself. He must love himself and the rest will follow. I want him to find beauty in places where people question its existence. He needs to learn that he will never find a woman's beauty between her thighs no matter how much he looks. I need him to know his family and where he comes from so he knows where he is going. I want him to see things in color rather than just black and white. I will teach him that his fingers, his mouth and his mind are all musical instruments that play to peoples emotions. He must learn to be careful of the tune he plays in order to avoid unearthing the wrong emotion. I want him to know self preservation, hard work and responsibility. I want him to know me. He needs to know I have good intentions.

I know there are things in this world that I can't control. I will not be able to control him as much as I might try. And, one day, we may find ourselves in a tug-o-war. I want different things for him than he wants for himself. I will plant my feet to the ground, throw my weight back and pull. When that day comes, I hope I can remind myself of what I feel when I look at him right now. Undeniable pride.

Super Pooper

Renowned psychiatrist, Sigmund Freud pioneered the psychoanalytic method of psychiatry. While it is his theory on the subconscious mind and his Oedipus complex that keeps his name buzzing in Psychology and English classrooms, it is his theory on poop that makes him a relevant addition to this blog. Freud contended that there was a connection between sexual experiences and defecation when we are babies. This leads me to believe one of two things. First, Freud really enjoyed taking poops. In fact, he was such a fan of "popping a squat" that he just knew in his heart there was more to the 15 minutes of pleasure spent passing his waste and gas. Second, Freud never watched a baby grunt and cry in pain when trying to soil a diaper.

Poop has never been the topic of polite conversation. We teach our children to associate our bathroom activities with numbers (#1 or #2). Even men work hard to believe that women are the only creatures on this Earth that do not poop. Personally, I find the good ol' #2 to be a great form of stress relief. Who wouldn't want to spend 15 minutes in a bathroom flipping through a magazine just to walk out half a pound lighter? However, there are times when I do not appreciate defecation (particularly when it is not mine).

It was a morning like any other. Each morning like clockwork, Sean starts his day with a big poop. As I watched Sean squirm and grunt, I felt sorry for the little guy. "They will get easier," I reassured him. I lifted his legs to assist him. Soon, the glorious sound of poop filling his diaper rang in the room. Half asleep, I laid there watching him, secretly congratulating him on his victory. Suddenly, Sean began to spit up. He choked and gasped. I immediately rolled him over to his side. I patted his back while he recovered. Once the look of alarm left his face, I picked him up and sat him on my lap so I could clean his face and neck. He looked up at me. His eyes were big and glossy. It was almost like he was thanking me. In that moment, I was his hero. His eyes told me how much he loved me and appreciated me coming to his rescue. I smiled at him and told him I loved him. I watched his eyes grow bigger. He started to grunt. The smile slowly left my face as I felt something warm rolling down my thigh. I looked down... There it was. The slime that is my son's poop. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" I shouted. I picked up Sean and raced him to the changing table attached to his Pack-n-Play. I watched as my son's enemy invaded my pillowcase, my sheets and my by-standing blankets. His diaper did nothing to protect us. I almost forgot there was an army of poop making its way down my leg at that very moment. I raced to the bathroom and defeated the stinky invader. I could hear Sean exploding another army out of his butt while he laid on the changing table. When all was quiet and I was sure it was safe, I gave Sean a bath. (His feet and part of his leg were covered in poop, after all.) After his bath, I secured a new diaper on him. I looked across the room at my poor sheets and blankets. What was once a safe haven for warmth and comfort was now a big baby wipe. I looked back at my son."I am so going to write a blog about this," I told him.
He smiled and let out a small chuckle.
That chuckle made it all worth it.