Lately I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about all sorts of things. I’ve also been doing a lot of gulity staring-at whenever I come across things that remind me of my blog. To be honest, I think I’d feel far guiltier if I had enough sleep, but as it is, my guilt simmers low and is working on a guilt reduction over wine. Mm… delicious.

I guess I should also mention that the last sentence I typed was also the last time I came anywhere near the word “reduction” as applied to culinary foodstuffs.

“Reduction” for that matter, is something I would like to engage in very, very much.
I am within 15 lbs. of my prepregnancy weight, and this kid is a little over six weeks old. I don’t really fit into most of my clothes, really, and I must say this is one of the things I’ve been thinking about very very very very VERY much these days:

When the pregnants-ahead-of-me mention their pregnancy, they NEVER mention the part about how your hips stay distended thanks to the ridiculous amounts of relaxin coursing through the body during pregnancy. Somehow it’s far more fascinating to mysteriously complain about FEET growing (feet? FEET? Who cares if your feet grow??! That means SHOE SHOPPING! And everyone knows that shoe shopping is the only reason I would ever consider becoming a fundamentalist Muslim — because I would replace all instances of “virgins” with “shoes”…. but I digress).

Yes. Apparently many women’s feet do grow and stay that way due to the relaxin (that hormone that makes it possible to become freakishly play-doh flexible during pregnancy too). My feet have not grown– thank goodness they have a memory of all the cute shoes the would have otherwise not been able to wear if they’d grown that dreaded half size. But my hips never got the “go back so we can wear pre-pregnancy clothes again and feel human, dammit!” memo.

My hips are huge. They make me feel like the obstetrician replaced them with a silver tray to serve coffee to 16.

I am not sure whether to laugh or cry, of course, because I can’t really look down without taking in an eyeful of my new impressive rack. Which, being that breasts contain no bone, didn’t get the no-growth memo either. I am not surprised: some women get pregnant seemingly only for the boobal benefits.

Which brings me to the whole breast vs. formula debate, of course.

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The longer I breastfeed, the more I can understand other women’s reasons to use formula. But I must say that I cannot understand ALL the reasons to use formula, and it really upsets me to see this insiduous push for formula from doctors and hospitals. When we left the hospital — frustrated because of our slow start in the breastfeeding drama that is …. breastfeeding– the nurse who’d pushed us to not give up breastfeeding handed us TWO diaper bags full of coupons and samples of the two biggies, Enfamil and Similac.

“But I don’t want formula”

Apparently, they are just some of the ways formula companies like to product-place.

They like to place their simple solution in a can within the reach of frustrated and sleep-deprived parents, who might just reach for it “just this once.” After all, you can’t see how many ounces of breastmilk your baby is consuming, now can you?

But these little artificial godsends can tell you in ounce-lovely precision. Mmm…. pass the milk-based artificial infant food. And they are so helpful and cheerful and just…. wholesome, the bastards. Even their evil newsletter on baby’s milestones is useful– because of course they also have tie-ins to the maternity store where you get your boob-holders for the breasts you may or may not use. Because we’re in modern times and you have a choice as far as nutrition goes, of course.

…in the same way that you can always replace a limb with a prosthesis. Hey… no one will notice and it works just as well, right?

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I realize that not every mother can give their baby breastmilk, and that I am no one to judge them or their decision. This is not about them. This is about the formula companies with their carefully packaged goosey-decorated, goldleafed letters and their cheerful admonishment that, apparently, “breast is best.” So if breast is best then why do you try to sabotage every effort by the breast, huh? Why do we allow formula companies to have a chance to be baby’s first meal when it’s NOT MEDICALLY NECESSARY? Why do we allow them to have SO MUCH advertising budget that they can send 26 ounces of formula to every single mother who’s managed to procreate in the neighborhood, nay, in the country!!! Why do we let them fund infant nutrition studies so that we can see that although a 5-7 ounce per week gain is adequate for infants in the first three months, that this standard was set more for formula-consuming infants who will invariably overeat, since they don’t have to work as hard for the money, so to speak?

Okay. I will stop rambling– I think I have my outrage off my chest. Now I just have a funny tingling in my chest.

Baby time. Adieux for now.

12 Jan This entry was published on January 12, 2006 at 8:12 pm and is filed under Domestic Bliss. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.