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'm a private person.

Ugly pump and it's parts

Perfectly perfect breastfed baby

Years ago, when Luka was a baby, a lady approached me at the Doctor's office and told me he was fat.
You can read that story here.

Well, now that Sophia is six months old, she has turned into a chunky monkey as expected.
My children are breastfed babies, and if you know anything about breastfeeding babies, you know that they get really chunky when they are small and then thin out once they become mobile. Furthermore, breastfed babies have their own growth pattern and it can vary greatly from baby to baby.



Anyway, with that being said, it irks me when people approach a mother to tell them how fat their baby is. I mean, seriously? Babies are supposed to have some cushion to them. They are babies after all. I can sometimes excuse someone approach me and comment on how rotund my babies are because most of the time, after I explain that they are breastfed, they back off.
This wasn't the case with a particular lady the last time I went out with Sophia.
Here's what went down:

Setting: Jcpenney checkout point

Cashier: "Next! Hi, your baby is soooo cute! That's a latino baby for sure."
Me: "Thank you, yes she is lol."
Lady #1: "God bless your baby, she is so precious. She's breastfed isn't she?"
Me: "Yes she is. Thank you!"

We spent a while trying to pay for my purchases because my coupons weren't working and I was not going to pay full price if I had coupons. We were almost done and in came another lady.

Cashier: "Your total is $ XX.XX"
Lady #2: (In Spanish) "Umm, excuse, that baby is really fat"
Me: "She's not fat, she's perfect."
Lady #2: "You should really cut back on the feedings."
Me: "My baby is fine, her Dr. agrees, she is breastfed, I'm not cutting anything."

I then turn around and start ignoring her. She, not pleased with herself, kept on talking.

Lady #2 talking to Sophia: "Yes baby, you are so chunky, you should eat less. If you keep getting so big you won't fit into any of the sexy dresses!"

Seriously lady? Seriously?!
First of all, who does she think she is lecturing me about my baby. Second of all, did you not get the hint that the conversation was over? I turned around, I was in fact IGNORING you.
Third of all, this is a six month old baby. Why would she care if she fits into SEXY dresses?
Way to start sexualizing infants!

It took all of me not to turn back around and bitch her out. I took the "bigger person" route and kept ignoring. I payed for my purchases and thanked the cashier. I gave the lady a sideways look and left.

The nerve on some people!

I'm raising readers and breastfeders,
humans with a heart.
Compassionate individuals,
who will always do their part.

My children may not grow up to be perfect
But of one thing I am certain,
they will exude love, humility, tolerance
and above all, purpose.

As I sit here in front of my desk breastfeeding my daughter and browsing the net, I started to wonder if I was being a bit careless by letting my 12 year old brother-in-law see me doing it.

You see, when I breastfeed, I do not use a cover. Not only is it too much work, it is also silly to try to shield others from something so natural and simple. I'm sure there are different opinions on this, but this is mine and I'm sticking to it.

When I'm at home, I breastfeed in front of my 4 year old. He doesn't pay much attention. He has seen my breasts countless times and he knows what they are for.

Today though, I have my brother-in-law visiting because he needs help with this homework. It didn't occur to me that I should cover. I mean, why would I? But it also made me think about whether or not he had seen other women breastfeeding. Of course he knows I breastfeed. He also knows that his mom breastfed all of his brothers as well as him. He knows that he comes from a long line of exclusively breast feeders, so it shouldn't surprise him that breasts produce milk and that's what babies eat.

So as I sit here breastfeeding my daughter, this conversation occurred:

Me: "Stop looking at my boobs!" (in a teasing manner)
Him: "I'm not!"
Me: "Ronald, he's looking at my boobs!"
Him: "I'm not! I'm looking at Sophia!"
Me: "Lol, I know, I'm just messing with you. When you went to Peru, you saw breastfeeding mothers right?"
Him: "Yeah, they don't cover themselves over there."

Plain and simple. They don't cover over there. Why? Because it's not necessary and this little man knows how pure and simple the act of breastfeeding is.
So it is with pride, that today, I breastfeed in front of him. I am convinced that the more exposure he gets, the more accepting and supportive he will be towards other breastfeeding mothers in public as well as his own wife when the time comes.

Boobies FTW!

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.

Disclaimer: This blog post is a birth story. If you dislike graphic descriptions of births or anything of that sort, please stop right here. I should also add, that this is a very personal experience, but I chose to share it with the interwebs because I just feel like it. Yeah..


I never liked the phrase "becoming a mom once again", I mean, do you ever stop being a mom after you have your first? No, I didn't think so. You'll always be a mother, it's not something you shut off and turn back on once you're pregnant again. Now, I add this bit of info in here, because as you can tell by the title, what I'm going to write is one of the most amazing experiences in my life. Nevertheless, it does not take away from the experience of becoming a mother, and that is something Luka did for me. Nobody else can ever replicate that moment in my life.

For the  last month or so, I had been actively looking for a doula (google it). Without much luck, I couldn't find one that would come assist me for free. Finally, I got one all set to go, but she had to cancel at the last minute. I mean, its not like I NEEDED one, but I felt like having one would make things so much easier and pleasant for me. At the very last minute, a wonderful doula contacted me and told me she would be coming this past Saturday. I was thrilled. I woke up Ronald from his nap and told him "we have a doula!"

I went to sleep that Friday with a little discomfort. I propped myself up with the seven pillows that reside on my bed and just dozed off. I woke up a few times that night to pee and again with a little discomfort. Nothing major. Finally, at exactly 8:00 am on the dot, something woke me up. Was it pain? I'm not sure, something just dragged me out of dreamworld very abruptly. Something felt off.

At 8:30 am the pain began. I was used to it though. Once you've had a child, you learn to recognize what contractions feel like. I was having them alright, but this didn't mean much to me. I could have them for a while and it still wouldn't mean much. I knew that they were helping progress things along, but I also knew that it could be days or even weeks before I gave birth. I started timing them nonetheless.
The doula was set to come at 11 am. She texted me letting me know she would come at 1 pm. No biggie, I texted her back and let  her know that I was having pains and I was timing them. Everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.

Every so often I would go use the bathroom. Any pregnant woman will tell you that obsessing over discharge is pretty common. You just HAVE to look. It's what we do. Things looked different. A good kind of different. I kept telling myself "this doesn't mean anything." It was good, I was happy that my body was getting ready but I didn't want to get my hopes up. I just didn't want to set myself for disappointment.

I kept timing my contractions throughout the day. Some were 6 minutes apart, then they would go to 10 minutes, then again down to 5-6 minutes. They weren't steady enough to be of concern yet, but I did notice that they weren't going away either. Hmmm...

The doula got home and we instantly got to work. She started showing the techniques we would try once I was finally in labor. We were practicing them so that I could get familiar with them and also to pick which ones felt the most comfortable for me. We did this for a while. All throughout it though, whenever I would get a contraction, she was there telling me to breathe and also helping me cope with the pain. It was amazing. I was in a lot of pain, but she helped me get through them.
Ronald went to get us Pizza for dinner, we ate, then we went for a walk. The contractions weren't stopping, but again, I refused to get my hopes up. By night time, I was really tired and she could tell. She gave me an awesome massage and let me rest.

At around 10 or 11 pm, the pain was starting to become too strong for me. I was not comfortable at all. I was having a very hard time breathing through the contractions. I kept feeling like I needed to use the bathroom, but of course, once I sat down, nothing would come out. I decided to use the shower and just let the warm water soothe my pain. It helped a bit, but not much. Finally, I told myself that this was NOT false labor. It felt like the real deal. Once I admitted that to myself, things started to get intense.

I laid in bed and informed the doula that the pain was starting to get unbearable. At some points, I actually shed a tear. I was determined though. I would NOT go to the hospital until A) My water broke or B) The pain was so bad, I actually cried. I refused to go in and then be sent home because it wasn't time yet.

At around 1 am Sunday, I finally felt them. The toe-curling, wall-scratching, manic-state of mind pain. This was it. I told the doula that I needed to go in even though she suggested I wait until 2am. Nope! I NEED TO GO IN!

We called my father in law to take me. Ronald would stay home and care for Luka until  I was admitted. There was no point in waking him up just in case they sent me back home. I had a couple of contractions in the car and one more in the waiting room. People there are very in tune to laboring women it seems. I didn't have to say a word, they just knew what was going on, before long, I was being whisked away to triage.

I had a few more contractions there. I barely remember seeing faces. All I heard were voices. "How's the pain?" "How far apart?" "Do you feel like pushing?" "I will send you home, tell me the truth."
I answered the best as I could. I don't know who I was talking to but I did my best to answer.

I got hooked up to the machine and that's when things started to feel bad. Not being able to move to cope with the pain was torture. They kept telling me to hold still so they could monitor the baby. I told them that if I held still, I couldn't manage the pain. I needed to lay on my side, or sit down, or move my hips. They weren't hearing it, all they wanted me was to hold still. They even caged me in with both sides of the bed railings so I wouldn't sit down. Well guess what, I wasn't having that either. I sat up and labored as best as I could. They weren't happy, they threatened to write down on their chart that my baby was having heart problems because they couldn't see it on the monitored. I assured them that my baby was fine, call it motherly instinct, and they could very well write whatever the hell they wanted on their chart. I was NOT going to stay still. Finally, the OB came to check me. I was 6 cm dilated, 100% effaced and the baby was at station +1 (google it). Holy shit!

This was it!
I was being admitted!
OMG!

I started to text and call all the people necessary to help get my husband here ASAP.
They offered the epidural and I gladly accepted.
Now, I wasn't planning on getting it, and even when they offered, I really didn't want it.
My logic was, I should say yes now, by the time it takes the anesthesiologist to get here and get everything set up, I could change my mind.

A little while later, I was in my bed, people were setting things up and I was still not staying still for the nurses. I heard at least three of them begging/threatening me to please stay still. Yes ladies, I'm doing this on purpose. The OB finally came to their aid and talked to me. She and I agreed on a compromise. I would stay still if they let me sit up. I would also hold the monitor for them so that it wouldn't fall off while I was wriggling in pain. This didn't go well with the nurse but fuck it. It's the best they were going to get.
The anesthesiologist finally came and informed me that I could get the epidural but warned me that at this point, it might not do anything for me. Did I still want it in place? Yes, I said. I still do. The OB came to check me. I was 8cm already. It seemed silly now, I could have said no for all the good it did me, but at the time, it felt like the right choice. It still does, you'll see.

Now the tricky part came. How is this wonderful pain doctor going to stick me in the back if I couldn't sit still for two minutes? I made a deal with the nurse. You be my "center", you hold me and coach me through the pain and I promise to stay still.
I don't know how in the world I did it, but I stayed still for 15 minutes. I didn't move an inch. I just kept letting my body go through the pain and I concentrated on the task at hand. Finally, the damn thing was in my spine.

By then, Ronald had arrived, he was waiting outside. The pain was still there obviously. Epidurals don't work immediately. Something happened though, I felt a gush. I strongly believed that my water broke. The OB was called in, it wasn't my water, just blood. Bloody show! (google it)

The pain was getting worse and worse, at this point everything was set up for me. They were just waiting on me. What were they waiting for?
Suddenly I knew "I feel like pushing!"
That's what they were waiting on.
The OB and a student were called in and they started getting ready.
Finally, I felt like I exploded and I gushed out again.
My water broke! I was sure this time.
"Yes, that was your water" the OB informed me.

OMG, IT'S GO TIME!

Now this is where everything that came felt new to me.
I felt the urge to push, that's something I didn't feel with my first.
They told me that when that urge came, to hold my breath, bare down, and just push with all I had.
I could feel all of it! I felt my body tense up, I felt my husband's hand on the back of my neck supporting me. I felt strong tight feeling on my bottom when I pushed. I felt my baby's head descending.
So many feelings at once. I was amazed!
After three pushes, the amazing feeling went away.
You see, while you're pushing, your body is actually expelling a baby, but once you stop pushing, it feels like you have something stuck up your vagina. That feeling is NOT pleasant at all.
I went with it though, it was uncomfortable but I let it be and I allowed my body to rest for a few seconds before the next contraction came and I was ready to push.

Again, we went through the same motions. Me pushing, my husband supporting, the OB lubricating. It felt wonderful! Then, when the three pushes were done came the "stuck" feeling.
Ugh!!! I hated it. Each time we took that little break, I would start to panic. It wasn't just unpleasant anymore, it hurt.
I remember saying that I couldn't do it anymore. I hoped they knew that I meant I couldn't deal with the breaks. I was actually enjoying the pushing part.

By the third or fourth contraction of the pushing phase, I remember the OB saying that her head was 1/4 of the way out. "What?!" All of this pushing for just a 1/4? No way! No way I was going to push that many times to get another 1/4 of a head out, and then another, and then another. No! I started to do weird math mentally and I refused the results!
On my fifth contraction I was determined to do more than 1/4. I pushed once, pushed twice but I was ready to give up on the third push.
Something magical happened then. I don't know what my husband said, I don't know what possessed me, but something shifted. The motivation and the strength combined with the panic that was going to come if that baby didn't come soon allowed me to do unthinkable. On that last push, I gathered all the power of all the women who mean something in my life and I pushed down with them. I felt it, I felt her head come out.
OH.MY.GOODNESS.SWEET.RELIEF!

I was told to stop pushing so they could check for the cord or anything else.
Sorry lady, I was no longer in control. My body finished pushing my sweet little baby on its own.
I had nothing to do with that push. It was all instinctual.

I cannot being to describe the rush of emotions that come with birthing a child.
It's combination of relief, happiness, fear, and many other things.
I felt them all.

They put the baby on my chest and I said hi.
Perfection looked at me in the eyes.
She was perfect.


There is obviously more to this story, but if I kept writing, we would end up with a novel and aint nobody got time for dat.