Saturday, October 20, 2012

This is my confessions Pt. 1

I use TV as a babysitter. 

I told myself before I was pregnant and while my oldest was a baby that I wouldn't resort to that. Studies show, after all, that TV before a child is two isn't healthy. I know those studies by heart. It doesn't stop me, because the house isn't going to clean itself. 

I don't buy organic milk.

I did. Back when my oldest (Buggy) was a baby. He would drink one 8oz sippy of whole, organic milk. I was so proud of myself for doing the best for my oldest. Then I had my youngest (Fat Baby) and told everyone that I'd give him organic milk until he turned two. That didn't last. I didn't count on how much money it would be to feed not only Buggy but Fat Baby too. I just can't afford nearly $7 a gallon of milk when I can get two and a half gallons for that price. My kids love milk. My husband loves milk. I hate the stuff. So we go through so milk. 

It wouldn't be so bad if M. didn't fuss so badly about drinking the kids organic milk. The problem really lies with the fact that M. isn't satisfied with regular milk if we have organic in the house. Then he'd sneak it. Then I'd get mad. Then we would fight. I solved this problem by not buying organic milk. 

I didn't breast feed.

Every. Single. Person. In America know that breastfeeding is the absolute best for your children. I had planned on breastfeeding Buggy but then I got sick after he was born and was afraid of passing my medicines on to him. I get a pass from everyone about that. So he drank Similac from his Dr. Brown bottle and thrived.   

When Fat Baby came along I was determined to breastfeed. I had a lactation consultant that I talked to weekly. She had breastfed seven children (while maintaining the ABSOLUTE BEST figure.) She told me with a smile that if she could do it, I could. I believed her.

In the hospital Fat Baby refused to latch on. Doctors, nurses, and the on-site lactation consultant were stumped. So we started formula to get something into him. 

When I took him home, I tried to breastfeed and he's latch on to one side. He'd ignore the other one. It would frustrate me and then M. would start talking to me in the most condescending tone while I was breastfeeding. He'd try and tell me that he'd make a much better mother than I would. I finally told him that I was done with breastfeeding and that I wanted to bottle feed. 

M. rolled his eyes at me and that was the end of the fighting. About that at least.

I Fight With M. Too Much

That is enough confession in itself.

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