Jan 9 2014
Three kids in, I will nurse (and have done) in front of anyone. Father-in-law? Check. Rabbi? Check. Boss? Check. Graduate students? Check. Everyone who goes to my local park, grocery store, coffee shop, and (obviously) doctor’s office? Check, check, check, and (obviously) check. To me, nursing is natural, life-giving and life-affirming, and simply a part of my baby’s nutritional needs, much like any other kind of food.
Pumping is a different story.
I barely let my spouse see me pump, let alone anyone else. Where nursing is a normal part of the routine, pumping feels utterly abnormal, both mechanic and animalistic, dehumanizing from every perspective.
I really don’t enjoy pumping.
And I have the easiest possible pumping scenario: I get a very generous maternity leave (by US standards) and will return to work in a private office with a door that locks and a small bar fridge. I don’t have to crouch in the corner of a public bathroom, or monopolize a private one, or face the wall and pretend that others can’t see or hear what I’m doing.
I really don’t enjoy pumping in public. Read the rest of this entry →
Aug 7 2013
In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, I am inspired to publicly declare that I breastfeed and support other mothers who nurse their children.
My twin girls were born just over 12 weeks ago. They arrived five weeks early and were so small and fragile that I had to learn how to hold a baby all over again. As preemies, they were automatically placed in the NICU and carried no body fat that would have regulated their temperature., Therefore, until my milk started to flow, I agreed to supplement my colostrum with formula. Thankfully, by the time my milk arrived two and half days later, they were latching and suckling easily. The girls lost some weight those first few days in the hospital and when they came home, Elora weighed 3 lbs, 15 oz and Pepper clocked in at 4 lbs, 9 oz. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 23 2011
I’m beginning to think that being a mother is the best possible preparation you can have for any job. After all, when you’re a mom, you are accustomed to unreasonable demands that will require you to bend time and space. Pick up two kids at two different activities that end at the same time, but are fifteen minutes away from each other? No sweat. That’s what we do.
I didn’t submit my dispatch on Day 4 until now, the morning of Day 5, because there is only so much a human being can do. Thursday was the UN’s Durban commemoration or Durban III. This is the tenth anniversary of an anti-racism conference held in Durban, South Africa which went from being against racism to being a platform for anti-Israel sentiment. The UN’s decision to hold an official commemoration of the event this year – an event that many nations feel is a stain on the UN rather than something to celebrate – was greeted with much uproar. Especially by Israel, a veritable punching bag at the UN generally.
So many nations opted to boycott the Durban commemoration, and many protests and conferences in opposition to the UN goings-on are transpiring. Which brings me to a bizarre dilemma: how does one cover Durban and anti-Durban simultaneously? Because, of course, they are happening at the same time. Did I mention that Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is also speaking at the UN, as is UK Prime Minister David Cameron and Turkish leader Tayyip Erdogan – all of which are extremely relevant to Israel, and hence to me?
Throw in the pumping, and it doesn’t give much time for phone calls home to check on the baby, the other kids, or Wonder Husband. You know it’s bad news when the babysitter calls you to make sure you’re doing okay.
So the way you do this is by having help (a recurring theme in my life, to be sure). Another Jerusalem Post reporter will cover the Durban commemoration – everything is webcast, leaving me free to race around by the UN. Like all reporters who have covered the UN General Assembly before, I only wear flats. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 22 2011
The line to get into the United Nations for press this morning just before 8 am was a veritable polyglot scrum. People from all over the world, waiting to get into a place where all nations can join together in attempts at harmony. To me, that sounds a hell of a lot like the line for Disneyworld’s It’s A Small World. It’s hard to say which line moves faster.
I got to the security screening tent, where people wearing flak jackets yell at us to turn off our cell phones. I’m not entirely sure why that is. I did so anyway and put my stuff through the scanner. The breast pump got a raised eyebrow from the male security guard, but he let it pass through.
As I picked it up and shouldered my backpack, I walked toward the media center. I was preoccupied by a response to my post yesterday in which I dared say that I feel that breastfeeding, and in particular pumping, can be a real pain in the ass. I find this a noncontroversial point – having to be hooked up to machinery, if I’m not with my baby, every three hours is no picnic and even borders on unpleasant. That would be true even if the machine was something Sarah’s rabbi found in her drawer instead of what I’m talking about… okay, maybe that would be more enjoyable than the nipple-tweaking going on here. But there were still people who responded to that post saying that I was being selfish, that my priorities were in the wrong place — in short, accusing me of bad mommying.
I think parenting’s greatest problem is the sanctimony that can come with it — the feeling, nurtured by the welcoming availability of the Internet, that doing things your way when it comes to parenting gives you free license to openly denigrate what others do. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 20 2011
It’s Monday morning, and I have a phone interview with the Israeli Ambassador to the United Nations scheduled in five minutes. This should be a fascinating opportunity to get into the head of the person at the center of the maelstrom. The ambassador has only been on the job a few months, but has effectively been thrown in the deep end of the pool with Friday’s prospective showdown on Palestinian statehood. He’s a good person and I genuinely enjoy talking with him, and look forward to the interview.
It’s also coming up on time to pump my breasts, I can tell. I decide to wait to do it until after he calls. My breastpump works splendidly, but when it does, it is accompanied by an unmistakable loud sucking sound that sounds like words depending on the speed of the pumping. Sometimes, the breastpump says, “Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort.” Sometimes it says “Crapper. Crapper. Crapper.” Unless the breastpump has any insights to offer into the Middle East peace process, I decide, I really don’t need it squeezing my breasts like a psychotic, sadomasochistic juicer gone rogue in the background over the phone.
On an intellectual level, I know that breastfeeding is best for my now-two-month-old baby. But on a selfish, “What about me?” level, I will say that it can be pretty goddamn irritating.
I realize we mothers aren’t supposed to say stuff like that. We’re supposed to say that we love bonding with our babies, that young cherub-like mouth at our breasts, and knowing that we are doing something wonderful for their development. That’s nice. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 19 2011
This week, Jordana will be covering the UN General Assembly for The Jerusalem Post. Here’s her dispatch from yesterday, Day 1.
For many reporters, the drama of this week at the UN is simply a front-page story. For those of us who are more directly involved – such as me, by virtue of being Jewish and writing for an Israeli paper – it’s unbelievably tense. This week will see an important moment in the Middle East and the world with the possibility of the unilateral declaration of a Palestinian state in the United Nations. While the US has said it will exercise its veto on such a move in the Security Council, the Palestinians may approach the General Assembly for approval instead. The gesture is largely symbolic but is a big one for Palestinians and Israelis alike. It is a region of the world where symbols hold tremendous import, where diplomacy is exceptionally difficult and where mistrust is high. And my job puts me on the front lines, my pen poised to transcribe history.
It’s Sunday and the meeting of the Palestinian Donor Conference at the United Nations is this evening. It’s closed to the media, but there will be a “stake out,” a terrific phrase meaning a press conference with question-and-answer opportunities, so I need to be there. I preemptively sign permission slips, make tomorrow’s lunches for the kids and make sure that their backpacks are ready to go to school in the morning, knowing that by the time I get home, I will barely have the wherewithal to pour a glass of wine.
Having finished breastfeeding baby G, I get ready to saddle up and ride, driving into the city to the UN from our New Jersey home. I’m leaving Wonder Husband at home with a baby who is much crankier than usual, i.e. screaming her head off. My husband seems unfazed and wishes me good night and good luck. I, on the other hand, get in the car wondering if the little girl, who has a cold, has an ear infection, too.
Immediately, the first contingency surfaces. Foolishly, I was so engrossed in finding out the schedule of speakers for the UN that I neglected to check the schedule of the Jets, who play in the Meadowlands: their thousands of fans use the same road I’m using. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and decide to call my boys at their dad’s house. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 16 2011
The film “I Don’t Know How She Does It,” an adaptation of the terrifically funny and true book of the same name by Allison Pearson, is due to emerge on screens nationwide this weekend. The film is meant to pose the dilemma of those who work out of the home and simultaneously parent – specifically if you have a vagina, since tons of men do this every day and seldom do we hear the admiring query, “Wow, he’s a dad and has a job – how does he DO it?”
In my book, you don’t need to have a job outside the home for me to wonder how you do it. Basically, if you’re a mother and show up in public with your hair combed, I wonder how you do it. If you are a parent and you shower every day, I wonder how you do it. If you’re a mother and you’re on time for picking up your kids when school lets out, I think you should get a bronze star. Silver is for you making it to the nurse’s office at school in under 10 minutes. Gold is for having a kid who doesn’t go to the nurse’s office. These things usually go unsung, and they shouldn’t. Because it’s really hard to make this whole operation work, much less to make it look as seamless as you do, and you should be proud of yourself for doing it.
Whether you have help or not, as I’ve made clear, doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me: if you’re a parent, you have a huge job that is more challenging and time-consuming than anything anyone without kids can ever imagine. You remember to put your kid’s lunch in his backpack every day? If you think no one is clapping for you, you’re wrong. I am. I’m proud of you, little soldier!
So I’m writing this now because I find the opening date of this movie’s timing suspect – because I, newly-minted parent of three, also work outside the home, and next week is about to be the biggest week of my professional year. And I Don’t Know How I’m Going To Do It. Read the rest of this entry →
Sep 12 2011
Do you think the waitress would mind if I sneak off to pump in the bathroom?
Back when we were newlyweds–three long years ago–life was simple. If we wanted to go out for dinner, the only question was where we would dine.
Fast forward to this spring. Our duo transformed into a trio. The husband and I managed to get out for Sunday brunch the May weekend after we came home from the hospital, when my parents were still around and could babysit.
But what do you do when you’re a nursing mother, and all of your family lives in a different metro area? In our case, you don’t go out much, and when you do, baby is always in tow. That makes it nearly impossible to enjoy a calm and leisurely dinner, while you worry about the possibility of impending meltdown or have to feed baby before, or while, you yourself eat.
For our wedding anniversary, what we really wanted was some time together, just the two of us. The thought of adult conversation over dinner–without a side of spunky baby attempting to back-flip out of the Ergo carrier or grab my place setting–was highly appealing.
I don’t mean to say that I don’t adore my Baby Girl. I do. But, if parenthood were a law firm, I would have billed north of 600 hours a month for the last four months. It’s meaningful and fun, but it’s also exhausting work to be a full-time stay-at-home mother. Now and again, you need to take a break. Read the rest of this entry →
Aug 22 2011
Maggie Ball in the AJWS Lactation Room--check out those cute baby photos!
Here’s the story of 10 lactating mamas who turned an office into a shared pumping area. (You can imagine that it would get quite cozy.) The women work at American Jewish World Service and they put together their story for a contest for World Breastfeeding Week sponsored by Health Connect One.
We are the “Milk Mamas” of AJWS, 10 women (that’s 10% of our staff!) who are deeply grateful for the love and support we have received over the last year after being thrown together in our office’s lactation room. There is NO private pumping time in our lactation room. Therefore, we consider ourselves more than lucky to have accidentally formed the most wonderful new moms’ group.
Our Lactation Room
We meet there in twos and threes throughout the day to express milk, problem-solve the challenges of motherhood, and joke about the constant foibles of being a nursing mother in the workplace. Despite struggles with supply, thrush, mastitis, and travels (and pumping!) around the world, many of our children are approaching their first birthday and we are all still pumping. They say it takes a village to raise a child, but in our experience, it takes a pumping room full of thoughtful, encouraging and hilarious moms to get a working mama through the first year without losing her sanity!
Our lactation room consists of four chairs, two computers, a mini fridge, hand sanitizer, adorable pictures of all the babies, a notebook where we can ask each other questions and provide notes of encouragement. We think our stories below should be called “Oh, the Places We’ve Pumped,” because as every working mom knows, there is no breastfeeding without pumping.
In Turkey, They Wanted My Pump
I was in Turkey for my first work trip away from my almost 1-year-old daughter. Read the rest of this entry →