Turning 4

My son turns 4 years old today. So do I. Noah’s birth was my rebirth. I awakened to the glorious, to the awful. To the sweeping power of a God who saves, redeems, loves. For awhile I mourned the death of my old self. Had life gone

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Looking for Moms to Interview for Book Proposal

I’m working on a book proposal and looking for potential sources to interview. My proposal is focused on women who have brutal first brushes with motherhood. That includes anything along the lines of: a difficult pregnancy or complicated birth postpartum depression/anxiety, postpartum post-traumatic stress disorder, postpartum obsessive-compulsive

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Attachment Parenting, 1970s-style

While researching my post on the social and economic costs of breastfeeding, I realized new moms often face scrutiny no matter how they feed their babies. Stories shared by friends and colleagues sent me reflecting on my own experiences, which some have called unusual. My mom nursed me until

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Mom’s Milk+Formula=A Happy Baby

Annabelle, a friend of mine for just about 20 years, used a mix of her milk and formula to create the optimal feeding plan for her son. She worried her approach might threaten bonding with her son and draw reproach from others. Two years later, her son

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The Joy of Nursing

After a briefly bumpy start, Kristin mastered the art of nursing her daughter, thanks in part to a lactation consultant. She breastfed for about two years, cherishing the midnight bonding that comes when baby cozies up to mom, and the rest of the world yawns to a

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‘Your Son Will Be Fat, Lazy and Sick’

My cousin Rachel encountered complications as she sought to nurse her first child, Reid, in the fall of 2008. When she switched to formula, a close friend scorned her decision, suggesting that formula would turn Reid into a fat, lazy and sick child. This added an unnecessary layer of guilt

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The Bright One

Shortly after my daughter’s arrival, I considered having another baby. Syma’s birth was so triumphant, I wanted to relive it. Nevermind 10 months of little or no access to some of my favorite foods and beverages. Or those last pregnant weeks of myriad aches and severely distorted sleeping positions. Even

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Joy Comes

Summer was in full-and-glorious bloom when last I wrote here. So was my belly, nearly 40 weeks full of my darling daughter. Nine days later, I gave birth. I settled into a self-imposed hiatus from writing, and suddenly it’s winter. Or so the calendar says. Most of North

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