A Post-Thanksgiving Day Lament and Lessons Learned From Boob Juice

Food hangover. 

Photo Credit: greenshock

Wherever you may be this post-Thanksgiving Day, you are likely experiencing the same bloated, tryptophan-induced coma that I am in.  As I lay here in a stupor contemplating how yesterday's indulgences are being converted to ass-fat, I can't help but smile remembering the garlic mashed potatoes and pumpkin cheesecake. Classic comfort food mixed with maybe a dash of emotional overeating.

Photo Credit: amasc

 

 

 

 

I have struggled with weight my whole life. In the last three years after two pregnancies, my weight has swung up and down by 80 pounds or more at a time.  I know how to lose weight, but I can also put it on like nobody's business.  With this history, I certainly know what all the doctors, nutritionists and fitness gurus have to say about holiday eating and comfort food.  We should look to food as fuel.  We need to remove the sentimentality we have attached to such high-calorie favorites as mac 'n cheese and sweet potatoes swimming in brown sugar and topped with marshmallows.

{Pause for drool.}

Photo Credit: Christy Scherrer

So in the midst of my Thanksgiving recovery, I take a moment to observe my daughter who is enjoying her own feast at the breast.  This girl is going to town! She is in bliss.  Her little legs are kicking in delight and she's stroking my breast like her favorite puppy.  The mere sight of my areola elicits peals of infant laughter.  (I am glad to know this is because she is happy to see my breasts, not because of the cruelty of gravity.) Upon further reflection I realize no one comfort eats like a baby breastfeeding.  I whip out the boob not only when she is hungry, but when she is tired, when she is sad, when she is hurt, when she is anxious.  Certainly this must be emotional eating at its finest.  Boob juice is her comfort food.  This need to suckle and nurse is a deeply ingrained survival instinct.  So if our natural human tendency is to seek food for comfort (despite what all the experts advise) aren't we all basically screwed?  It's time to call bullshit!  Time to break out the eatin' dress, a bib and a shovel and succumb to our primal urges.  It is our evolutionary destiny to gorge on leftover stuffing!

And yet, studies have shown that breastfeeding reduces the risk of children becoming overweight.  In fact, the longer you breastfeed, the lower the odds of your children being overweight.  Hmmmm... so where is the disconnect?  What do babies innately know that we have forgotten?  Let's take a moment to examine this:

The Daddy Stitch: Is It Really a Myth? OR The Truth About Vaginal Delivery

During my six-week checkup following the birth of my second child, many thoughts ran through my head. I was feeling relatively good versus how I felt after my first delivery (an unplanned c-section,) and pretty proud of having accomplished a successful VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean.) These pleasant thoughts were abruptly replaced with the feeling of "OUCH!"

Photo Credit: Keturah Stickann John Menier

Obviously, I believe in VBAC, but for now I am not going to use this forum as my soapbox to tell you why you should try to avoid a cesarean.  I leave this to other learned sources such as The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and The International Cesarean Awareness Network.  I also believe in giving women a fair and balanced account with a bit of my own brand of naughty chair vernacular.  As I have mentioned before, there's not enough frank and honest dialogue at playgroup, although there's lots of talk about diaper absorbency.

So to my sisters out there considering a VBAC, or even you first-time moms about to deliver, let me tell you what happens to your precious vajay jay.   Sure the recovery is easier but I think a lot of VBAC enthusiasts aren't upfront about what the actual recovery is like.  To hear them tell it, you will be dancing in a field of flowers doing somersaults and cartwheels while cradling your angelic newborn with a cone-shaped head.  The truth is recovery from any birth is not easy.  A VBAC may be easier, but the emphasis is on the "-er" not the "easy".

Sometimes Mommy Needs a Time Out

 

Photo Credit: Bloody Pop

Before I was a mom I was a rock star. Okay, that's a lie I wasn't a rock star. At best I was a groupie although I believe there is a distinction between trying to bed a rock star and actually doing so. But before I had kids I had my share of fun that could fall under the rock star banner. I look fondly back on those days but would I go back? Nah... being a mom rocks in a much better way, with far less risk of being arrested.