Boobs.

I have two. Surprise.

They work really good. At feeding babies and other things, like making my shirts not fit.

Recently there has been somewhat of a controversy brewing over on facebook regarding photos depicting babies/children breastfeeding. Several women who have profile and/or album pictures of themselves nursing their children have had their photos and/or entire accounts deleted because of "objectionable content". This has led to a kind of online protest. Apparently "objectionable content" includes a half exposed breast being used for the purposes of feeding.

For example this:
Would be deleted.

And this:
Would also be deleted.

That is my baby. And yes, those are my breasts. (Well one of my breasts. The one on the other side looks just about identical.) Those photos of my infant child enjoying her booby time are considered objectionable by facebook standards.

This one though, is just fine.

By the way this is Heidi Montag (in case you live in a cave). I did not actually get this picture from facebook but I have a good fb friend who has a photo of herself far more scantily clad than this so Heidi pales in comparison. I didn't ask my friend if I could use her photo otherwise I would have just to make a point. Anyway. There you go. Appropriate. By facebook standards.

(Those aren't real. Just in case you were confused and thought we had evolved into milking cows.)

Here's the law: Cal. Civil Code § 43.3 (1997) allows a mother to breastfeed her child in any location, public or private, EXCEPT the private home or residence of another, where the mother and the child are otherwise authorized to be present. (AB 157) (emphasis mine). Ok so facebook is a private site and therefore can apparently self govern so I guess laws about breastfeeding don't specifically apply to them because technically facebook is considered a "home". Go ahead read that again, see if it makes sense. It doesn't.

Now, I'm not one to get my panties in a bunch over much but there are a few things at the top of my list and guess what, breastfeeding is one of them.

There are a few reasons for this:

a. Because of my education and health care background I happen to know scientifically (not that that means much) of the health benefits of breastfeeding. In case you didn't know they include things like improved health of mother and baby, reduced cancer risks and protection against asthma, diabetes, leukemia and a host of other things. If you need more than that, read the link above. I'd hope not.

b. Because I've seen firsthand (four times now) what breastfeeding (and especially exclusive and prolonged breastfeeding) can do for a mother and her baby.

c. Because we are one of the most educated and advanced countries in the world (or so I'm told) and yet we still breastfeed our babies less and for a shorter duration than many other countries (see here for data).

d. Because I think (this is just me thinking btw) that a whole load of the problems in our country are directly related to a few things. One of those things is parent-child bonding and attachment. If you aren't attached to your breastfeeding baby you're a monster, or you have a detachable breast, which last I checked isn't possible.

There you go. Reasons a through d. (Also on the list of "thing to get your panties in a bunch about": racism, sexism, homophobia and fear mongering. Just so you're aware of my hot points.)

So like I said this one chaps my hide just a little bit. Besides being utterly ridiculous it only further perpetuates the image of breastfeeding being somehow sexual in nature (right, because milk is so sexy) when we need to be normalizing it as part of our culture.

I nurse in public. Yep. I'm one of those women. I just take my breast right out at the dinner table of a restaurant or in a store or at the mall or wherever I happen to be when Ella is hungry. You know, cause she's HUNGRY. I'm certainly not going to make her wait to eat while I go find some filthy empty bathroom stall. No. Thank. You. Also, I don't generally cover her head because, well, that's silly. I'm not hanging my nipple out for goodness sake. I realize I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said a hundred million times by breastfeeding advocates all over the world, I'm just saying it again. Because *some* people appear to not be getting the picture.

Like this one:


The picture of a happy, healthy, exclusively breastfed baby.

Alprazolam. And Thanksgiving.

To the non-medical types that word might mean nothing. But to those who have used it, that word might mean the difference between panic and sanity. You know what I'm talking about.

Xanax.

I've never taken it.

But, with the holidays approaching... well, I'm still not taking it.

We should talk about my family. I don't think it would be completely out of line to perhaps have a candy dish of said alprazolam on hand for such stress-laden holiday events as Thanksgiving. I can't talk about the crazy parts of my family because that would be rude. Not that they read my blog. But anyway. It's rude to say your family is crazy. I'm pretty sure.

Thanksgiving is approaching. I'm cooking for the Hubs, the big kids, Sister (if she can make it after eating in 2 other places) and my perpetually single father. (He's funny, attractive and 60 [but acts 45] years old and available, ladies.) I should say "We" are cooking because the Hubs will be in the kitchen too. He's that guy. Anyway we are not going to the Big Family Dinner. That's another blog post. Xanax not necessary. I hope.

Once I had a patient who kept a candy dish of vicodin on the table next to his easy chair. (Privacy disclaimer: Because all patients are protected by HIPPA, as they should be, I will not reveal details about patients or their families. I will not reveal details about specific illnesses nor will I reveal names or locations. Specific situations will be slightly altered to protect privacy. Because most of my readers know where I live there is no point in me trying to pretend I live somewhere else or not reveal where I live at all. My patients privacy is of utmost importance to me so I will not compromise it. If something I say resembles you or someone you know, I promise you, it is only coincidence. OK. That is all.) Anywho, candy dish of vicodin... I thought that was funny at the time but now I see it's just a matter of convienence. I mean you keep the remote next to your chair right? Right. Save yourself the trip to the cupboard. (I don't advocate the use of so much of any medication that you ought to have it in a candy dish. By the way.) This is purely anectodal and has no real bearing on this blog post except that it's funny that someone would keep vicodin in a candy dish. Thankfully no one actually expected to find candy in his house.

All you're likely to find in the candy dish here is actual candy.

And probably some turkey. Probably.

Slacky Mc Slackerton

That's me.

I have a good reason.

No, really.

I was sick.

Well, first my eldest daughter was sick. Then I was sick. Then the other big kids were sick. Then of course Ella was sick. The, after he thought he was going to escape it, the Hubs got sick too. I think we've sufficiently covered our bases now. Thank you. Oh wait, did the dog get sick? OK she's next. Then we're done.

Amidst all the business of being sick my Sister came. Yep, Sister. Capital S. Even though she's my little sister (by 14 years no less), she's HUGE to me. I haven't blogged much about my sister but you'll hear about her. A. Because she's like one of my children (for a variety of reasons I won't go into now) and B. She's A-mazing. Like really. Anyway she's in grad school right now which means she has time to study and occasionally pee and get food, so I haven't seen her since two weeks before Ella's arrival, which might be close to the longest we've ever been apart. So she met Ella and it went as suspected... Smashingly. (As an aside: Why don't more people use the term smashingly? Fantastic. I'm using it.) There is little that pleases me more than having all my lovelies in one place together. If she had come with godiva I might have fallen over dead. On the spot.

Since she arrived two important things have happened.

1. Ella slept on her for like a hundred hours. This gave me the opportunity to bake cookies, bake rolls, make fried chicken, fold laundry. Wow. I should have gotten a massage.

2. She figured out how to get Ella's stroller open. I confess. I went to school for several years to learn how to care for the afflicted but I haven't the first idea how to open Ella's stroller (nor do I care since I carry her everywhere). Raegan figured it out.

She only smashed her hand once.

As a result of her arrival I haven't even been thinking about blogging or anything else other than talking to her like we do (and blowing my nose).

My apologies.

Not really.

I mean could I miss this?
Or this?

No. Way.


And while I'm talking about having my loves together and how happy it makes me, let me take a turn to serious town. I have lots of photographs of myself over the years. Well not lots exactly, but enough to document my presence. I typically don't like the way I look in photos. Do any women? I'll find something wrong. For example: I look fat. My skin looks bad. My right eye is smaller than my left eye (it's totally true). I look fat. Or.. I look too skinny (Yes. I had that phase too. We'll talk about that another day). Or whatever. I'm my worst critic as they say. It's pathetic. No really. Stop criticizing yourselves ladies. Monumental waster of time. Anyway, I digress.

But recently something strange has happened. Suddenly, and by suddenly I mean like WHAMMO, I see someone different looking back at me. Oh sure I can still find flaw (I'll spare you that detail). But all of sudden my wrinkles look sweet to me because they mean I laugh. My face appears eased because my stresses pale compared to my joys. My smile genuine because I have so much to smile about. My body relaxed because it is. I might be imagining it but I've heard it from other people too. So, probably not.

"You look so happy."

Why yes. Yes, I do.

There has been a change in me in the last year and a half and even in the last 2 months that I recognize and that others can see. I'm still the same Joni under those wrinkles. I'm just a better version of myself. It's being a happy and loving wife and mother and a thoughtful and intelligent nurse. It's being at peace. I like what I see when I look at me.

That is all.

Sister is visiting the other family that's not me. (What? We have other family? Hmph.) Big kids are with their dad from this evening through Wednesday. And finally after a weekend of sneezes and coughs I've got time to re-tidy the house, scrub toilets, wash all the clothes and spend some time being otherwise crafty and housewife-ly. But what I'd really like is for everyone to just come back home.

So we can laugh. And cry. And destroy the house. And I can make some more wrinkles.

out of the mouths of 15 year olds (daughters in this case)

Disclaimer: These are just things MY 15 year old says (or has said at some point over the last year or so, give or take). I make no guarantee that every 15 year old will say all (or any) of these things. There is a pretty good chance you're going to hear some of them though. Repeatedly.


a. Mom, I can't wear the black Uggs with the brown belt. Ohmigawd (yes, it's one word). You just don't KNOW.

{No, clearly I do not.}

b. Mom, you are NEVER going to believe what (insert any girls name here) said today. She said she couldn't believe (insert any other girls name here) even LIKED (insert any boys name here). He's such a JERK. He was totally flirting with (insert yet another girls name here). He doesn't even deserve (insert 2nd girls name again).

{Things used to be so simple.}

c. Mom, I'm hungry.

{Why am I not surprised?}

d. Mom, we don't have ANYTHING to eat.

{Except that cabinet full of food.}

e. Oh. Em. Gee. Mom. Your boob is totally bigger than the babies HEAD.

{Gee. Thanks.}

f. Mom, don't worry, it's ok for you to get big when you're pregnant.

{And. Again.}

g. Mom, are stretch marks inherited?

{Yeah. In reverse. I got mine from you.}

h. Mom, I have the BEST idea. Let's go SHOPPING!

{Wow. That sounds super fun. Let me ask my huge human head sized boob if it wants to go too.}

i. Mom, my room IS clean. No, it's clean. I swear.

{By the standards of? A homeless guy? Oh, ok. As long as we're clear.}

j. Mom, WTH, why can't I have a facebook. Come ON. PUH-LEASE.

{Ask your father.}

k. Mom, how do you know when you're in love?

{If you have to ask, you aren't}

l. Mom, what if you like a boy but he doesn't like you? Ooooor what if he doesn't even KNOW you?

{Introduce yourself. If he still doesn't like you, he's a idiot. At least temporarily. Move on. Wait 20 years. Call him up. See what happens. Maybe you'll get married. :)}

m. Mom, why is your hair like so awesome and stays curly and mine won't stay curled at all. It's LAME.

{Genetics. Learn to love the hair you've got. There is a no exchange policy on hair.}

n. Mom, does this purse look ok with this outfit? (always say yes. Always. You're going to be wrong anyway) . NO, it does NOT. You just don't KNOW.

{No. Obviously not. Oh see h. We should go get another one. :-|}

o. Mom, when did you lose your virginity? Were you like married? Or what.

{How about we talk about my stretch marks again?.}

p. Mom, what is sex like?

{Fun. Or it should be. Next topic. }

q. Mom, you are like (btw, insert the word 'like' randomly in any sentence for 15 yo effect) SO good at being a mom. No mom, really. You're like (there it is again) GOOD. How did you get so good?

{Years of practice. Mostly on you. Sorry about that.}

r. Mom, Ella is the luckiest baby ever to have you for a mommy.

{Thanks honey. I love you too.}