Nachi's pointless rants and recollections

In a small section of the Bronx, there is a place called Little Italy.
In that place, there is a quaint Catholic School. In that school, there is a Kindergarten class led by a very strict teacher.
That teacher has her windows decorated with plants. One of those plants is a cactus plant and my son is terrified of it.

Not the actual culprit

How did this all came to be you say?
Well, I have a very sensitive child. He is also very visual.
He can't look at disturbing things without freaking out.
Chicken bones at the dinner table you say?
He'll freak out over them unless we throw them away or at least we cover them with a napkin.

Anyways, as we were walking to school today, he casually mentions the dreaded flower. He tells me he is very bothered by it and he can't just look away because he knows it's there.
I reassure him by telling him it will be alright, just ignore it.
When we got to school, the waterworks began. He started to get more and more anxious about the fact that he would have to sit next to that plant.
The conversation went something like this:

Luka: "Please, I'm too shy about that flower, can we go home?"
Me: "No bubba, you must go to school. Just turn around and ignore it."
Luka: "I can't! It looks at me, I know it!"
Me: "It doesn't have eyes baby, it can't look at you."
Luka: "I KNOW IT'S LOOKING AT ME!"

By then he was on full blown sobbing. The teacher by the door kept calling him over with a very gentle voice but I knew it wouldn't work.
I'm also not one of the parents that would leave a visibly upset child in school and just walk away. Sorry, can't do it, not happening.
The school closed it's door at 8:00 on the dot and Luka thought he was in the clear.
No such luck buddy!

We went over to the main entrance to get a tardy slip so he could make it to class.
Luka was still upset but I promised I would write a letter to his teacher right there and then to explain the situation.
I made the poor assistant scramble for some paper and pencil so I could write something before he was taken to class.
While I was writing I could see my son start to relax. The fact that I was actively doing something about it made him feel better.
By the time I was done, he was calm and he promised to try to relax in class.

I know this whole ordeal may seem silly to some.
I don't even know if his teacher will do anything about Luka's anxiety, I hope she does though.
What I do know is that my child has a very real fear of this plant and I couldn't just ignore it.
I just wonder if his anxiety and overall feeling of being uncomfortable is something I need to address or it's just new school jitters.

I'll keep you all updated.

I guess most of you have read Sophia's birth story and got to sort or experience what I went through giving birth to her. It hit me out of nowhere, that there is an untold story to this. My son Luka was there for most of it.

I made it my mission early on, to include my son in all aspects of my pregnancy. He came with me on many of my prenatal appointments, he was there for our first ultrasound and he was there rubbing my head whenever I was in pain. I wanted him to form a bond with his little sister very early on. Something that will carry throughout birth and the years to come. I happily report, that it worked. He adores his sister.

Well, regardless, that's not the point of this post. I was just in awe the other day when it finally hit me, my son was with me while I was in labor at home. He heard me moan, he heard me scream, he heard me cry and even though he felt bad for me, he held his composure really well. This is a four year old boy who could easily get scared but he was so brave and understanding for me. He knew full well I was in pain, but he also knew why I was having that pain and he welcomed it just as much as I did.
Never once did he show signs of distress. He didn't get too frustrated with my moans either.
He was just there, a presence, a rock, the perfect picture of composure, and I am so proud of him.
He welcomed birth as a natural thing.

It finally happened.
The day I was dreading the most.

You see, I knew it was coming. I wasn't so naive to think that it would never come. I just thought I had a little more time you know?

In my dreams, I envisioned a little boy who would never want to leave my side. I would be his teacher, his guide, and he would be a total momma's boy!

But nooooooooo! This little devil had other plans.
He had decided, long before I was ready, that he wanted to go to school.

The conversation went a little like this a few months ago:
"Jeannette, when I go to school?"
"School? Why do you want to go to school?"
"I want to learn, and raise my hand and say me me me me!"

And that was it guys! Right then and there he decided that he was ready to go school, even if I wasn't.

So we signed him up, we mentally prepared him (and me) for this huge milestone.
The day finally arrived and it did not go like I expected.

There were tears, OMG, there were tons of tears! A little tantrum here, a mini nervous breakdown there...
Oh, Luka was fine, all of that happened to me, not him!
He was as happy as ever. Very excited and relaxed.
I on the other hand was breaking down inside.
How could this be? Where did these four years go? It cannot be! My little boy is growing up!

I had a plan all set out though. We would take him to school and I would stay behind with him to keep him company. After all, he has never been in daycare nor does he know about babysitters. This was going to be his first time being without his parents and in the care of a total stranger.

Nope!
The little jerk didn't even care about me!
He went on his merry way, making friends, having fun and all that jazz.
Ronald and I thought about leaving, but I wanted to give Luka a last chance to beg me to stay.
I go up to him and say "Bubba, dada and I are going shopping ok? You stay here, we'll be right back."
"Ok", he said

Ok?
JUST OK?

Dammit, I left the traitor there and went shopping with my husband.
So much for moral support!

Anyway, we came back a few hours later to pick him up. He was lined up with the rest of his classmates waiting to be picked up.
He looked so happy!
Dammit!
Traitor, traitor I said!

All in all, I'm so proud of him. There were two other kids who cried for ages and eventually left with their parents. Luka didn't even show any signs of sadness.
He had fun and made new friends.
He told us all about his day. He colored, they had story time, they had clean-up time and snack time.
He ate "LOTSA cookies" and regular milk and oh, let's not forget the apple.

When we were finally home and he was playing with his toys, I caught a little snippet of a song he made up.
It went something like this:

"Miss Briton, Miss Briton, Miss Briton is a good teacher....She taught us coloring, she made us clean-up. She's a good teacher la la la."

Luka has recently turned four years old.
In the days leading up to his birthday, I started to think about all the decisions I made as a parent even before he was born. Every parent wants the best for their children. For some that means buying them everything they need and want, for others it means teaching them values, and for others it means putting them in the best schools and programs. Whatever it is, we all want to give them the very best, and that's exactly what we wanted for our son.

So, what is it that I wanted for him?
I wanted for him to grow up surrounded by love. I wanted him to look back 30 years from now and remember that his parents loved him no matter what. I wanted him to remember a happy childhood, a stable home no matter how small, and to be proud of the person he turned out to be.

I always talk about how proud I am of him. He is a caring boy, he shows affection, and he is compassionate. These are very good qualities to have, but seeing them on a four year old, my four year old, is even more amazing to me. I feel like every single decision we've made towards raising him has molded him into the little person he is today. Some may not agree with our approach, but everything we do for him is with love.

One of the biggest sacrifices we had to make to give him the best care in the world, was for me to stay home and raise him while my husband worked crazy hours to bring in extra income. I never thought I'd be a stay at home mom, but I did it, and I don't regret it. Sure it was hard, sure I wanted to just go out and be me without having to care for someone else, but this is how it had to be. My husband comes from work tired as heck. He barely sleeps, and there's little time to spend with us, but he's doing his part to provide for us. This allows me the freedom to care for and teach my child as much as I can. It's hard, but it's what we chose.

As a result, I look back into the four years that have passed and I am so proud of us as a family. I couldn't have wished for a more perfect little boy. He makes my heart melt with everything he says. Sure he drives me nuts on more than one occasion. I want to hang him by his feet sometimes. But regardless, he is a representation of our hard work. We did this for him and as a result, we have raised a wonderful son.

Parenting isn't easy. Boy, it's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, but it is so rewarding.
Now we have a little girl who is soon to arrive, and I have the same dreams and expectations for her.
I'm not too worried though. We have a special little boy whom she can look up to and learn from.
Life is good. No regrets.

When I was 16 or 17, living in Peru, I had a puppy named Orion. He was a rottweiler that my mom "stole" from my grand-mother when he was three days old. She gave him to me to raise. I cared for that little doggy like he was my own child.
One day, while I was coming to the kitchen to get something, I heard him yelp. He was about two months old or so or maybe three. I saw that he was struggling to get free from a wooden crate that was laying around there. He kept yelping and pulling away but couldn't manage to get free. When I got close to inspect the situation, I saw something horrifying. There was a bent nail stuck under his eyelid.
How in the world did he manager to get in that situation, I'll never know.
Panic started creeping up. I didn't know how to save him. He kept squirming around and wouldn't let me help.
I yelled for help but everyone was very far away from where I was, nobody could hear him.
So, I came to the realization that if I was going to save my puppy, I had to do something.
I hugged him tight and I talked to him. I said to him "You need to stay still, if you keep pulling, you'll damage your eye. You need to trust me, I'll get you out of there."
Somehow, he understood. He kept yelping but he stood very still. I managed to pull his eyelid out and free him.
With tears streaming down my eyes, I managed to carry him to my mom who helped me clean him up and decided he was ok.
He didn't have any major damage, not even a puncture wound.
It was a miracle.

I've never had to go through something like that again. Well, all that changed a few days ago.
Last Wednesday my son and I were at my in-law's. I was in the kitchen with my mother-in-law and my son was going to see his grand-father in the living-room.
While I was chatting away, I heard my son call for me.
"Jeannette? uh, Jeannette?"
It was a simple call, nothing alarming in his voice it would seem.
I knew better though, I guess mothers always know, but I knew something was wrong.
I went to look for him and found him in the spare room where my-in-law's keep their clothing and other things.
He was bent down with his hands on an old bicycle.
I was about to yell at him for touching things that don't belong to him, until I saw his face.
Pain, all I saw was pain and desperation.
He was very calm though, no crying, no yelling, nothing, just a look that said help me!
I got near him and saw that his right hand was stuck in between the chain of the bike and the wheel thing that moves when you pedal. I tried to pull his hand a little to see if it would budge.
No luck.
I wanted to spin the wheels in the opposite direction but I couldn't. The bike was stuck in between several bags of clothing and it was too heavy for me to lift.
I decided that it was time for help.
I called for my in-law's and shortly after they came I regretted my decision.
I thought they would help, but instead panic started.
Once my mother-in-law saw what was happening she started crying and screaming.
My father-in-law looked like a poor lost puppy not knowing what to do.
My poor little brother-in-law just stood against the wall covering his mouth.
I felt helpless again but this time I had so much noise in my head, I couldn't think straight.
Luka, who had been calm up to this point started to panic. The yells and cries of my family were so loud, I couldn't think straight. My brain was telling me that I needed to turn the pedals towards the opposite direction, but somehow my brain didn't know what direction that was. If I turned it wrong, his hand was going to be fed even further in.
His little fingers looked like they were only holding on by the skin.
I resigned myself to the idea that he would loose at least two fingers, so my mission now was to get him out of there and into the hospital so they could at least reconstruct his hand if it was possible.
I started to yank the chain with my own hands in hopes of breaking it. Nothing was working.
The screams were getting louder, I finally yelled "Shut up, everyone needs to shut up!"
I felt the panic creeping up on me but I couldn't let it take over. If I allowed myself to feel despair, I wouldn't be able to free my son. He was counting on me to free him and I wasn't going to fail him.
I told my father-in-law to bring something to cut the chain with. Finally, I hugged Luka and told him he needed to stay very still and quiet so I could help him. I covered his mouth and he stood still.
My brain finally decided to work. "Turn the pedal this way" it told me.
As soon as I did, I freed his hand.
Relief....

I saw no blood, just very smooshed fingers.
I yelled at my MIL to give me a cloth or something to cover his hand.
I carried my son and I told my FIL to take me to the hospital.
He started to say "Wait, let me see.."
"No, HOSPITAL, NOW!" I yelled.
"But..." he continued.
"H O S P I T A L" I demanded.
Finally he go the message.
I told my brother in law to call my husband and let him know what happened. I had to repeat it twice because he seemed to be in shock.
\
When we finally got to the ER, they wanted to check him but Luka wouldn't allow it. He wasn't crying at all. That little boy is so brave, he wouldn't cry. He was in pain though, you could see it in his face, but he refused to cry. He was very scared and very sad. I kept hugging him and telling him how brave he was and that the Doctors would help him feel better.
Long story short, they gave him medicine for the pain and he started to perk up.
The amazing thing though is that every time I checked his hand, his fingers started to plump up and look almost normal.
By the end of the whole ordeal, his fingers looked almost like before but with a few bruises and cuts.
I couldn't believe it, it was a miracle!

Finally, my body started to react to the whole ordeal. I realized I had been wanting to pee for hours. I also started to feel pain on my left hand. When I looked at it, I saw chain marks from when I almost broke the stupid thing. My body was finally telling me that I needed to be taken care of. I had been carrying my son the whole afternoon and he is not light-weight by any standards. Add to it that I'm pregnant and I can't quite understand how I managed to do all that I did to not only rescue my son, but remain calm and endure everything else.

The Doctors told us that Luka's hand would make a full recovery. They advised us to clean the wound at home because he wouldn't allow them to do it. They also told us to give him Motrin or Tylenol for the pain and come back in a few days if the swelling didn't go down.
Luka was finally perky and responsive. He actually smiled and laughed. It was as if the whole thing never  happened.
Yes, he was still in a little pain, but nothing compared to what he felt before.

That night, while I put him to sleep, I hugged him tight and read him a bed-time story.
He was so happy and kept telling me he loved me.
Finally, when he was snoring away, I let myself feel something.
Tears started to stream down my eyes and I started to sob.
My son had gotten hurt, and in that moment I would have traded places with him in an instant. I would rather go through the pain he went a thousand times if only to avoid him going through it.
My emotions were taking over now and I couldn't stop crying, that is until Luka woke up and asked me:
"Jeannette, are you crying?"
"No"
"Jeannette, why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying bubba."
"I want you."
"I love you, goodnight"

Finally my baby went to sleep, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes all I could see were his fingers stuck in the chains. The image still hunts me two days after but I'm glad I was able to help him. He counted on me to rescue him and I didn't fail him.
I like to believe that mommy-mode was activated when he called for me. Otherwise, I don't know how else I would have remained so calm and in control.
I haven't had a chance to cry again. It seems that I was only able to cry for those 10 seconds before he awoke that night. Now it seems silly to cry. I can live with that. My son is alright now, his hand is healing and that's all that matters.

I was going through the older posts in my blog and I realized that most of the ones about my son are positive ones.
I mean, yes, he is a very good kid, but it's not always that way.

There are times, like right now for example while he is trying to catch me with a piece of string and tie me down until I scream, that I want to strangle him.
Obviously, I don't want to harm my child, but it gets to that point where I think to myself "wtf did I get myself into by having a child?!"

I try to set rules and guidelines, but I am also of the belief that children need to be children so I let him do his own thing as well.

For example, I will allow him to draw pretty pictures with markers on his own body or clothing, but I will not allow him to do it on the walls. My reasoning behind it is, the walls belong to all of us, it's something we should respect, but his clothes are his and I don't care if they get stained. He's the one that's going to have to wear them not me.

When it comes to mealtime, we never force him to eat everything. Yes, we encourage him to finish all of the yumminess daddy and mommy worked so hard to make, but he is a such a good healthy eater anyway, so it really doesn't matter if he didn't finish all of the vegetables in his plate once in a while.

What drives me insane though is when he starts playing with food. I loathe it!
Just eat the damn banana dude! You do not have to use the tail of your toy airplane to cut it into pieces...

Recently he has gotten to the point where he likes to yell back. I am not afraid or ashamed to admit that I have raised my voice at him. I refuse to be ordered around by a three year old and my mean voice usually demands attention and respect. But, not too long ago, I heard him yell at Ronald when he asked him to clean something up.
It went something like this:

Ronald: "Luka, go put (insert toy here) away."
Luka: "no.."
Ronald: "Luka, go put (insert toy here again) away please."
Luka: "No!"
Ronald: "Luka carajo guarda ese juguete ahora antes que me moleste!" (Spanish daddy getting angry)
Luka: "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I couldn't help but laugh, very quietly of course, but I also didn't like that Luka was yelling back. I didn't intervene, I usually don't, unless Ronald comes and asks for help. Then I have to put my angry voice to work to get things done.

So yes, raising this little boy is beautiful, I love that he is his own person that doesn't always agree with me. I mean, I won't admit this to him now, but I am glad that he questions things and pushes boundaries. I want him to carry this with him until he is an adult. Never conform, always ask the why behind anything.

Still, he drives me nuts at least once a day. As he gets older, he finds new ways to test my temper, and the more he does it, the meaner I seem to get. I have to remind myself that I love this child, I carried this child in my now stretch-marked belly for nine months and it was all worth it. Otherwise we might both end up in the front page of all major newspapers saying that some crazy lady hung her kid by the feet while she started chanting to the moon to release the evil spirits from him.
Or something crazy like that...

I'm a very open minded person, or at least I try to be.
There are certain things in the world that I don't understand. For example, violence towards people such as school shootings and horrible beatings because someone was angry at the world.

There are three things though that I very much understand and support 100%.

The first one, and this should not come as a surprise, is breastfeeding.
The second one is attachment parenting (look it up)
The third one is human rights.

Now, a part of being a human being comes with the advantage of having rights. One of those rights is to be able to love whomever you chose regardless of sex. To me, love is love and love knows nothing about sexual orientation.
Bare with me here, I know this is a lot of background info but there is a point to it.

I was reading about a guy who came out to his mother a few years back and told her he was gay. In his story he tells us that his mother cried in her bed saying she didn't want her son to be gay. A few years later it was established that the mother finally accepted his son for being gay and all was good in the world.
I mean, yay for the mom but it left me with the obvious "What if" question.

What if Luka came to me one day and told me he was gay? Would I cry, would I yell, would I disown him and kick him out?

Of course not hahaha!
He is my son. No matter who he chooses to like or love he will always be my son.
I carried this person in my womb, I gave birth to him, I breastfed him and I raised him to be the lovely little boy he is today. I hope one day he will become a kind, gentle soul who cares for other human beings. I hope that he will grow up with compassion and respect for all living things in this earth. I hope he becomes a man who can be proud of himself and proud of his parents for helping him become that man.
His sexual orientation has nothing to do with the kind of person who I hope he becomes. It will never change the love I have for him. It will never make me feel less proud or ashamed of him in the least.

So if my son ever comes to me telling me he is gay, I shall give him a big hug and say "that's great, so what's his name?"
I will not cry in pain and question myself on what I did wrong, because I will know that his sexual orientation had nothing to do with my parenting. It's just what his heart wants and we all know that the heart wants what the heart wants.

I know a lot of people won't agree with me and will probably tell me that I won't know what my reaction will be if that ever happens. But I know now, I know with all my soul that the love I feel for my son will never falter one bit.

He is my son and I love him.
I will always love him, gay, straight, bisexual, transsexual and any other -sexual

If you were to randomly come visit us without warning and see my two year old just being himself, you would be horrified!

He would be either dripping wet from his hair, have a big stain on his shirt, or have something mushy around his hands and feet.
Worse case scenario, he would have all three of those things going on at the same time.

No, I am not neglecting my child, yes he does take baths and no I am not spoiling him.
I just let him be messy.

I can't tell you how many times I've seen those mothers either in the park or in their homes (my family) obsessing about their kids getting dirty. I understand that people don't like to see their kids dirty, but think about this, at the end of the day, do they really remain clean? Most likely your answer will be no.
Kids have this amazing ability of getting dirty no matter what you do. They grab things they aren't supposed and stick them in places you wouldn't even imagine they would fit in.

Luka eats on his own, most of the time half of the food doesn't make it into his mouth. Where does it go? Some of it goes to the floor, other parts are on the table and sometimes I even find some in his socks or in his belly button.
Now you may be wondering why in the world would I let him make such a mess?
Well, kids learn by playing and to them getting messy is playtime. Feeling food getting mushed against their fingers, bringing out all of their toys and lining them up in a perfect line, or chewing on a crayon like it's bubble gum, all of those things help develop their senses. Those things give kids a chance to explore, to understand how things work and how far they can push their limits.
I won't lie to you, on several occasions I find myself yelling "no, don't eat that, no don't step on that!" I try to remind myself though, it's only a crayon, it's only a ruined shirt, it's only stained teeth until bedtime when he gets to brush them.

The point is, if it's not going to hurt them, let them be. You're going to have to clean up the mess eventually, so just let them make the mess. If you are worried about your precious walls getting vandalized by your little Picasso, then buy him/her tons of paper for them to express their creativity. If you are concerned about your carpet getting food, put some newspaper or plastic on the floor, or just eat somewhere else where you may find it easier to clean up.
Just give your kid a chance to be his or herself. They grow up so fast and these years when they're little don't last forever.

Encourage them to get messy, it's nothing a shower can't fix right?

This post is long overdue.
I'm not sure why I put it off for so long.
My baby has been two years old for a week now and I can't believe I didn't start writing this the minute that clock marked 12:19 am on July 21st.

I guess writing about it made it real.
Writing is my outlet, it's what separates reality from the dreams.
So yes, Luka is now two years old and my oh my, what wonderful years they have been.
I am immensely impressed by this small person everyday.
I know, I know, everyone says that about their children, but watching it happen before your eyes is just an amazing experience.
One day you have this little tiny baby who could barely open his eyes, and then all of a sudden he turns into this babbling, jumping, dancing, turning, throw-a-cup-in-the-garbage-because-you-no-longer-need-it toddler!
I mean, he's learned so much, and I know that that's natural human nature, but I can't help feel proud that I've contributed so much to his development.
I've put him on the right path to personal success; to be the best that he can be.

Two years have gone by quickly, just yesterday it seems that he was given to me all wrapped up in a blanket wearing one of those funny hospital caps to keep his head warm. He was so beautiful, I mean, he looked wrinkly and tired and to be honest he looked pissed, but to me he was perfect.
Now he has started to show his personality, his independence, his curiosity and his reasoning.
The other day on facebook I posted that my greatest achievement as a parent was to have a son who at this age would say please and thank you without being told and really mean it.
That means the world to me, because I know that as parents, Ronald and I have given him the best thing we could give him: values.

I know I must sound like I'm repeating myself, but what else can you do for a human being. In the end, when they are older and parents become uncool, they will not come to you when they need to make decisions, they will just make them, but what will help them choose between right and wrong is the foundation which we provide for them since they are infants.

Happy Bday bubba. I hope one day when your older you get to read this and understand how important you are in my life right now while reading this post as well as when I was writing it.

On another note, Peru was great, I mean it did not go too well for me but Luka had a blast. He met his grand-mother and they instantly feel in love. He also met his aunts and uncles and some other family members. There was loads of space for him to run around and many animals for him to play with.
The only sad part is that we had to leave and he is missing his grand-mother so much. It hurts me to hear him wake-up at night crying calling out for her. I know eventually he will forget a bit about her, and it's not that I want him to forget, but the sadness will wither away slowly until he can finally be with her again.

I miss writing about my life I should do it more often.

XOXO
Jeannette

Well this post is long overdue.
My son will be two years old very soon and I have to admit, raising him was not as hard as everyone painted it.
I did experience tons of ups and downs, and there were arguments and fights, but nothing that would make me not want anymore kids in the future.
How did I do it?
Well it's simple really, I trusted my instincts.
Let me show you what I mean.

Breastfeeding.-
This was a no brainer for me. I've talked about this time and time again. I am very passionate about it and although I believe that breastfeeding is the best you can give your child, I understand that not everyone can/will do it and I respect that.
Well brestfeeding is such a big part of my parenting choices because everything revolves around it. The health of my child, his upbringing, our social standards. Everything roots from breastfeeding.
My mother did it, my grandmother did it, my aunts did it, almost every female in my family and extended family has breastfed all of their children. Naturally breastfeeding was something I was going to do.
This made things much easier if you ask me.
First of all, I did not need to buy any special equipment to breastfeed, all I needed were my breasts and a lot of patience.
Secondly, I could do it anywhere and anytime. No washing and preparing bottles, no carrying around a huge diaper bag filled with equipment. None of that.
It is as simple as bringing out a breast, latching on baby and relaxing when he feeds.
Most of you may not now this, but to this day I still breastfeed my son. I don't like to announce that I am breastfeeding a toddler because that will cause people to ask questions and they may become judgmental. So I kept it between my very supportive family members who understand what the benefits are. Most of them are encouraging and that helps a lot.

Co-sleeping.-
This one was obvious with a breastfeeding baby. I have to admit that at first I resisted to the idea. There is so much talk about SIDS, I was terrified that sleeping with my baby would cause his death. So, what's a mother to do? I sucked it up and woke up every two hours to breastfeed my newborn. His crib was situated right next to my bed, but I physically had to get up from my bed, bring him out to my bed, breastfeed him, put him back to sleep, then put him back in his crib. The whole ordeal took time, and before I knew it, I had to get up and do it all over again.
One night I was so tired that I decided to bring baby to bed. I pushed Ronald to the very edge of the bed, put a pillow next to him and then put baby to sleep between the pillow and I. Regardless of how safe I knew my baby was, I still had doubts, so to the internet I went. There were tons of studies showing how safe co-sleeping can be. There were so many tips on how to do it safely. What I found a lack of were studies saying that there was an increase risk of SIDS while safely co-sleeping like everyone said.
I studied this information for several days until I finally decided that I did meet the requirement to safely co-sleep with my son. I finally gave in to it, we experimented with different sleeping arrangements until we finally found one that worked for us.
My oh my, what a difference it made. Why didn't I do this from the beginning? Night feeding was so much easier when we slept together in the same bed. So many things clicked at that moment. My mother raised all three of her daughters this way, my memory finally showed me some sense and I remembered that we all shared one common bed. She had a king bed with an open sided crib where all four of us slept.
Anyway, since co-sleeping I have rarely had a bad night's sleep. I sleep the whole night through, baby would wake up and I instinctively knew to breastfeed him without fully waking up.

Discipline.-
This one was a bit more trickier.
How does one discipline their kids in a country where hitting your child is frowned upon. That's not to say that I agree with physically abusing a child, not at all, but in my country it is socially accepted to spank your kid as a form of discipline. I was spanked, my cousins were too, it is just the way it is.
I knew from the start that we would not hit a baby, infants do not know right from wrong, and smacking a baby because he is crying too much is not the way to go. This would change soon though as he got bigger. We teach our children right from wrong, we give them rules to live by and values that will carry them through adulthood. Still, sometimes they stray from what's right and they need to know when their behavior is not acceptable. Ronald and I decided that we would try to use our words as much as possible, we would give time-outs when he was old enough to understand and as he grew older we would ground him. Once in a while though spanking needed to be an open option, and we both agreed that we would either spank his bottom or slap his hand if he was going beyond his limits too many times in a row.
The first times we did it we felt awful. Hurting our child was the last thing we wanted to do, but there comes a time where we need to realize that raising a child who knows that bad actions will not go unpunished is important, hence why discipline is must. This is what works for us. We do not apologize after hitting him, we stand by our punishments and reward him when he corrects himself.

So what's my conclusion in this funny parenting style?
We do what's right for us. We threw away the rule-book, we dismissed the judgmental comments, and we followed our instincts. You may not believe it but every person has that paternal/maternal instinct that kicks in when you have a child. Some of us choose to ignore it and fear that what they do is not enough because they let themselves be guided by what others think about them. We don't let others dictate how we raise our kid. Yes we listen to the advice of our elders and fellow young parents, but their word is not our final word. We are the ones raising this kid and we want our kid to be the best he can be. He has the freedom to explore himself and his surroundings. He plays with what he wants as long as it is safe. He learned to crawl, walk, and talk at his own pace even though his grandparents were eager to push him every step of the way. He will wean himself from breatsfeeding whenever he is ready and he will continue to sleep with us for as long as we are all comfortable because it doesn't last long. Before we know it he will no longer be a baby and we will miss these days where we get to snuggle with him and where he will always ask for our help.
Enjoy your kid, they aren't babies forever, carry him as much as he wants, yes your arms will get tired, but soon he will be too heavy to do so.
I have no regrets, everything I've done for him and with him has been done to the best of my abilities. I've raised in my eyes and independent loving, healthy, strong child who will one day raise his own little children the same way.
That's something I am proud about and for that reason I feel that my parenting choices have been the best I could have chosen and I would not have it any other way.