Blog

Happy New Year to you and yours. I hope your holidays were filled with happiness and surrounded by the ones you love the most.

The holidays are always such an emotional roller coaster, aren’t they? One minute you’re jolly, wrapping presents that you’ve carefully planned and the next, you’re feeling the pressure of not finding a bag of cranberries to make the perfect poinsettia champagne cocktail. We do it to ourselves, don’t we? At least I know I do (my husband reminds me of this often). But, you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Seriously. I live for this season every year. And somehow it has already come to a close. I’m just not ready to turn the page into 2023.

I usually look forward to New Year. It’s a fresh start; new beginning; clean slate. But this year, I find myself holding on to 2022. It was really bothering me, so I spent quite a bit of time pondering why. I think I was finally able to pinpoint my struggle.

We were beyond blessed in 2022. Everything we had been working towards and wishing for came to fruition. We both got new vehicles. We got a camper. We bought a house (which came with the best neighbors ever). And beyond all of those materialistic things, we had many great experiences too. We traveled to Florida, camped in Mackinaw, and went to Great Wolf Lodge in Ohio. We went to concerts and sporting events. We took walks and had picnics. We all suffered from Covid early in the year, but overall stayed healthy. We received great news in Summer’s cleft journey and shouldn’t have any major next steps for a few years. Summer felt anxious about starting at a new school, but she loves it and has made so many new friends. We were busy, but also enjoyed the quiet moments as a family.

My word for 2022 was “healthier.” Jordan and I ended the year much healthier than we began it and definitely plan to continue those habits. We were more mindful about our plans, our circle, our time in general. And it paid off. Honestly, 2022 couldn’t have been any better. Which is why I’m not eager for 2023.

I keep thinking about how impossible it will be to top last year. Something surely has to go wrong this year because last year was so great. Almost as though our luck has run out.

A dear friend of mine helped put it in perspective for me though. She reassured me that life isn’t about keeping score. A bad thing doesn’t happen because too many good things did. Who says it has to be bad, just cuz it was so good? The blessings can and still will be in abundance, we maybe just don’t know what to expect or how we will receive them yet. I know she’s right and it certainly helped me shift my mindset.

With all that being said, I have decided on my word for 2023. Settle. Not in the I-give-up kinda sense. But more like, settle in. Being comfortable. Soaking in the moments of the soon-to-be memory. I like having a word instead of a resolution because it’s like an intention filter as you navigate the year. It helps bring you back to your focus, and ultimately helps you achieve your goals and dreams in the 12 months ahead. And with the word “settle,” I can apply this to our new house (making it a home and uniquely ours this year), using our camper more (“settling” into slowing down and enjoying the outdoors), while also settling into healthier routines and additional time with our friends and family. I can’t wait to see where this word takes me this year.

Even though I’m cautiously entering 2023, I can’t wait for the experiences and memories that are in store. Hello, 2023…whether I’m ready or not.

September 11th, 2001. Virginia Tech shooting. The death of Michael Jackson. The death of Kobe Bryant. Oxford High School shooting. All events that I remember exactly where I was, what I was doing, and who I was with when the news broke. All tragedies.

November 30th, 2021

I was driving home from Costco. I crested the hill of the most terribly paved road in our county and my phone dinged. I looked down and it was my brother to our family chat. “Shooter at Oxford High School.” I froze. And then responded, “omg no.” I was stopped at the traffic light to cross the main road and enter our complex. State Trooper. Fire Truck. Ambulance. SWAT Team. All heading towards Oxford. Omg, no. I just kept repeating those words and kind of went into a fog of sorts to finish my short drive home.

I unloaded the car in a trance, called for Jordan to help me carry stuff upstairs and collapsed into him as soon as he met me on the bottom stair. Disbelief. Heartache. Sadness. Fear.

All day, I couldn’t help but think about the students. In that hallway. Fleeing to Meijer (the very Meijer I did my weekly grocery shopping) because running was worth the risk. The students huddled in a corner calling their parents crying or whispering to their teacher for some sort of guidance. How scared they must have been. I thought about the teachers. How surreal it must have been to implement the training they had in the summertime. Or how they put the safety of their students before their own while they prepped the room and hid. I thought about custodians, cafeteria staff, and secretaries who are all vital in helping the day run smoothly, yet usually the last to know what’s happening and why. I thought about the parents who knew what was going on, but couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Waiting, anxiously for any sort of sign that the madness was over. Holding onto a glimmer of hope that their baby was going to be okay. I also thought about MY baby. Living in the neighboring city at the time, meant she went into lockdown as well. Five years old, in an active shooter drill at school. I was sure she was safe, and for the most part clueless, but the worry was still there. All of it makes me nauseous just thinking about it. My heart literally aches for those that experienced it first-hand.

This town has been on every news and media outlet, locally and nationally. Updates on the legal case are always floating around. The publicity part is especially surreal. We have an official recovery plan that was carefully designed with professionals and other districts that are all too familiar. It’s far from over, but everyone is doing what they can to provide comfort amongst the chaos.

I’ve been trying to find the words for a year. I realized this morning, there will never be the “right” words to explain this because it would have to be understood in order to do that. And I’m not sure such a senseless act can ever be understood.

Our first house was in Oxford and we had been looking to buy again for nearly a year when this happened. A few people asked us if this event changed our mind, and with confidence, it did not. What it actually did was reassure us. I know that sounds weird, but it taught us that this type of violence and intense pain can happen anywhere. No one is exempt. No one should be naive. As unfortunate as this sounds, this could have happened (and does happy) anywhere: a shopping mall, grocery store, concert, airport, the list goes on. We must not live in fear.

Even as somewhat of an “outsider” during the recovery, the community blossomed. Those four lives were not lost for nothing and that was evident right away. People offered services, money, time, meals, and so much more in order to grieve, process, and heal. Together. Oxford refused to let evil win.

I used to sub a lot for Oxford schools before I got a permanent teaching gig. I was a classroom teacher for several years and had to report “alarming” signs of students to prevent this very thing from happening. I’ve been an enrollment specialist where I’ve heard these stories. I’ve been an admin where I had to sit in these types of meetings and make an on-the-spot decision for the well being of that student and the student body. I’m also now a parent, where the only thing in the world that matters is my kid.

I felt so distraught, and still do honestly over the entire situation. It’s easy to become overwhelmed, stressed, scared, and want to point fingers or question everything (processes, protocols, people). This is mostly true when we think about our own kiddos. But I know better than to do all that.

And that’s not what the people of Oxford did in the wake of such tragedy. I admire that about this community and I am forever grateful to live here once again.

Today has been deemed Wildcat Remembrance Day. No school. Businesses closed. The whole town pauses and comes together in solidarity. We all lit luminaries at 7pm, had a moment of silence, and 4 strong beams soared through the dark, crisp air to honor the four lives taken far too soon: Hana, Madisyn, Tate, and Justin. Their legacy will live on forever.

I wish I could give my daughter the world and shelter her from it at the same time. She is only six right now, so what we discuss as a family pertaining to this is limited, but we know there will be a day she knows the whole truth. We are raising some strong and loved kids. Even though the road is often messy and complicated, they are worth it.

We will never be done healing. Today, and every day, we will lead with light and love. Because we are #OxfordStrong.

Have you ever thought about the last time you did something for the first time? As we “grow up,” those moments become fewer and farther between.

Well, today I did something for the last time and it’s a bittersweet feeling. I opened the pages of Summer’s baby book, updated a few sections, taped in a couple of pictures and pieces of artwork, and flipped through it again.

Every time I update this keepsake, I treasure the memories captured: fun facts about the year she was born, milestones achieved, favorite things, special pictures, and my all-time favorite section, birthdays (years 1-5). I love to document our life and am probably the last living person to print pictures and put them in photo albums, so this book is the perfect blend of both.

As things would happen throughout the year, I’d make a note of it in my phone. Every six months or so, I’d set aside a quiet afternoon to fill the baby book with those snapshots of her growth and development. I imagine this is the kind of joy scrapbookers feel after finishing a page.

Updating Summer’s baby book has made my heart full. I have enjoyed this semi-annual task since the day we brought her home. I can’t really explain it, but I have such an emotional connection to this book.

Now that the pages are full and the covers are bursting with memories of her childhood, the baby years are officially a thing of the past. As I gently tucked it away, I knew that. In my mind, I know she’s growing up, but in my heart, she’ll always be my baby.

Relationships with coworkers can make or break your work day, and sometimes, even your overall enjoyment of the job. I’ve been lucky enough to work alongside some pretty great people, but none of them compare to my most recent co-supervisors.

Almost exactly a year ago, my work bestie and I welcomed a new girl to our tribe. We trained her how to do the job, answered questions as they came up, and provided her with resources to take the role and make it her own. We created a special bond with the newbie very quickly. Before we knew it, we were sharing personal stories and checking in with each other outside of working hours. It wasn’t long before we called ourselves the “trio.”

Because one of us lived in New Mexico, one in North Carolina, and me in Michigan, we’ve never actually met in person. Isn’t it weird how you can become so connected with people you’ve never seen in real life? The more I think about this, the crazier it sounds. But, it’s true. These girls not only make me excited to go to work every day, but they are two of my closest friends. We often dream about a girls weekend together, where we’d go to a country concert, have a cup of coffee together the next morning, and just simply enjoy each other’s company in person and not in a virtual Microsoft Teams Meeting.

On a Thursday afternoon in late January, she unexpectedly popped into a meeting with the three of us and I knew. I think my exact words were, “You’re as good as gone, aren’t you?” She grinned that sly grin she does when she’s about to deliver unfavorable news and it was confirmed. Although I’m feeling a little guilty of how I pounced on her announcement, it made me proud that she was off to pursue an opportunity that was 2 years in the making. All her work, energy, and effort paid off. She felt bad keeping this from us, but due to the nature of the job, she didn’t have a choice. I have truly never been so happy, excited, and eager for anyone to leave their current role (and our team) to chase their dreams. My OG sidekick and I couldn’t begrudge her if we tried.

I learned a lot from her in the 10 months we worked together. The most impactful moment was when she supported my daughter’s gymnastics fundraiser and ordered poinsettias. At first, it made me giggle. Although I don’t need much of an excuse to travel, I didn’t understand why she would do that since she lived many states away.

After she placed her order, she let me know that she’d like us to donate them to a local organization. We started to brainstorm together and came up with senior living facilities, schools, or doctor’s offices. With her permission, I decided to let Summer choose where we took them.

As I explained to Summer the basic principles of donating and giving to others, especially around the holidays, I let her know what my friend at work bought and the task before us. As I was brainstorming the usual places to donate Christmas greenery, Summer interrupted me and said, “Can I take it to the Children’s Hospital? My hospital?” Melt. My. Heart.

So, we picked up the plants and headed downtown Detroit. We had the most beautiful conversation about what the hospital means to our family and that we are so grateful for her doctors and nurses that take such great care of the kiddos there. We also chatted about how it feels good to give to others and we should do that whenever we can.

I cried on the way home from that hospital drop off. My heart was bursting with pride. My child took this moment and truly seized it. My friend provided this experience and touching memory for us. It was absolutely beautiful. And has totally inspired me and Summer.

We can always give back, big or small. I needed that reminder and what a special way to teach that lesson to Summer by doing something so nice, from so far away. I did thank my coworker and friend for supporting Summer and providing this unexpected experience that I will cherish.

She’s already off thriving in training and kicking butt in this next chapter of her life, but I just needed to let her know that she has a permanent cheerleader who resides in Michigan. I sure hope our paths cross again the future – maybe even at a country concert!

Happy New Year! I know I’m a little late, but we’ve just been soaking up the holidays and slowing down as a family. How long is it socially acceptable to say “Happy New Year” anyway? I’m thinking the entire month of January…

I don’t necessarily look forward to the “new year” every 365 days. It typically comes with a lot of unknowns and sometimes that can be scary. Every NYE, I find myself asking, “Where will I be in one year. What will we be doing in one year?” It’s as if I want to skip the entire year already to find out. Sometimes the answer to that question is exciting (like last year when we took a totally unplanned trip to Kentucky with my parents) and other times it’s stale because it’s the same ole, same ole (like this year when we went out for pizza and played games).

But, what I do *love* about each new calendar year flipping over is…

1. Getting a new planner. And pens to match, of course. I know this is an archaic approach, but I can’t function each week without one. It keeps me organized at work and home, aligns our extracurricular activities, helps us plan upcoming vacations/PTO, and is my go-to before committing to anything.

2. We get to map out our year. (See #1 haha!) We start by discussing pre-planned events, or things we already know to be scheduled. These are often holidays, weddings, surgeries, and other milestone events. Then, we chat about trips or experiences we want to take or have (summer camping, our anniversary, winter break, spring break, etc.) We rarely get everything booked in January, but we start the conversation and create a pretty solid outline.

3. New Years is a fresh start, if you want it. I’ve been in places where I desperately needed that reset. Other years, I dreaded the question, “What’s your resolution?” because I felt ashamed saying I didn’t have one, as if I felt I didn’t “need” one.

One of my best girlfriends got me hooked on a new practice. At each calendar year, pick a meaningful word to guide your year, instead of a resolution or goal. This word becomes your filter as you make decisions and live each day. So much easier to keep focused on it day-by-day and less likely to fall short of your goal.

Last year, after hearing about her word, I decided to give it a try and jump on the bandwagon. And ya know what? I never fell off. My word was “invest” and I chose it because I wanted to be more in tune with our spending, but also invest in myself and family with experiences and doing what makes me/us happy. Not gonna lie, I also chose it because I thought we’d be making our biggest investment ever last year by buying our dream home, but that didn’t happen. Nevertheless, I invested my time, effort, and energy into myself, relationships, and things that made my year worthy. We beefed up our retirement goals, paid off several things, saved, bought crypto, and invested our hearts a little more. And we did end the year with a few unexpected investments: a hamster and a new truck.

This year, my word is “healthier.” I want to make daily decisions that make me a little healthier. Of course this includes eating better, drinking more water, and moving my body more regularly, but it also includes the intangibles. Things like setting boundaries or saying “no” when it doesn’t serve me. Moments of being silent when my opinion doesn’t add value. Doing more of what betters me and my crew. These decisions won’t always make sense to everyone, and they don’t have to. I’m on a general path to being happier and healthier in 2022.

What do you think about using a word instead of a resolution? I hope you’re setting yourself up for success in 2022.

One last “new year, new you” thought. I heard the song “‘Til You Can’t” by Cody Johnson on the radio and the chorus had me in my January feels.

“If you’re gonna love somebody, hold ’em as long and as strong and as close as you can…If you got a chance, take it, take it while you got a chance. If you got a dream, chase it, ’cause a dream won’t chase you back. ‘Til you can’t.”

Tomorrow is never promised. If the last couple of years have taught us anything, it’s to enjoy the moment and what we have right now. May 2022 be your best year yet, whether you’re trying for it or not. Happy New Year!

I’ve been joking recently that the month of October has become a mini-December. Always starts out kind of slow with so much to look forward to and then all of a sudden, you’re nearing the end of the month going here and there, making this and that, dressing up, etc. We love it all; it’s just crazy how eventful it’s become.

I should also note, we love dressing up. Well, Summer and I do and Jordan is usually a good sport about it. Summer picks her costume and then we dress up accordingly to support her theme. We’ve agreed to do this for as long as she’ll let us. This year, she wanted to be a flight attendant, so Jordan was a pilot and I was a traveler/passenger.

One of the best celebrations each year was held at school. You got to see your friends all decked out, feel a little rebellious wearing makeup or bringing props to school, and certainly had a blast with the classroom parties. I became to love this day as a teacher too and was so excited for Summer to experience it all this year.

Until the green note came home. No parties. No parade. No parents. No costumes. The dress-up theme that Friday was pumpkin shirts and/or black and orange colored clothes. So, they aren’t allowed to wear their costumes, but they can wear Halloween-themed attire? They can’t celebrate Halloween with a class party/parade, but the teachers have fun activities planned all day? Parents can’t attend, but we could contribute? I kept reading…

They mentioned that parents could donate supplies to the classroom activities planned for that day (googly eyes, Play-Doh, pipe cleaners, etc.) so it was clear they were still acknowledging this holiday at school, just without costumes. I was irked, but appreciative that the teachers were working within district guidelines and determined to make it a fun and festive day for the kiddos, with or without costumes.

The letter never identified the reason why it was off this year, but I heard some rumblings that it was because the district was being conscious of those with lower socioeconomic means because it puts a lot of pressure and stress on them to buy a costume for their child. Hmmm…more on this later.

Friday, October 29th, Summer went to school in her pumpkin shirt, candy leggings, and spooky JoJo bow. Her teacher put on a fun day of activities and sent lots of pictures and videos via the app so parents could see. She had a blast.

We had a great holiday weekend celebrating with trunk-or-treat at her school and trick-or-treating on Halloween. We were all still coming down from our sugar rushes, when we got the orange note sent home on Monday, November 1st.

It was a letter explaining their next assignment. To celebrate the students’ reading of their “starbooks,” on November 11th students are encouraged to dress up as their favorite character from one of their storybooks. They plan on having a parade in the 1st grade classrooms to showcase their learning and hard work towards becoming readers. Is this real life?

The timing of this task was impeccable. My kid can’t wear her costume to school to celebrate a holiday, but the very next school day, you send home an assignment that requires her to dress up? I tried not to be irritated, but the more I thought about the irony, the more frustrated I became.

I am definitely behind the school’s initiative of trying to be more conscious of these things. But, in my opinion, this character task is far more difficult (and potentially more stressful and expensive) to someone with limited resources than buying a costume (of which they likely are already buying or making for their child anyway to participate in other Halloween activities). You can easily create a costume from common things around the house, but that’s more difficult when you have to dress as a character in a book, of you which you may have never read and don’t have the means to get the book or do the research on the character.

Don’t get me wrong…as a stand alone assignment, I’m all in on something like this. I can see the academic merit behind it and the joy it sparks in young readers to identify with a character in a story while being recognized by their peers in a fun way. It’s also a great way to get involved in your kiddos’ reading and spark that love of books at home.

Regardless of the true reason Halloween costumes weren’t permitted at school (not isolating those that can’t afford it, not wanting to deal with costumes at school, or not drawing attention to various costume levels), this assignment is the SAME thing. And it came ONE day after Halloween.

We already have Summer’s outfit planned and it was cool to do this with her. I’m still not over the no Halloween costume party and will never understand the logic behind something like that being canceled followed by this request. If I wasn’t so afraid of parent/educational politics, I would do more with my “complaint,” but for now, venting will do.

Stay tuned to see Summy as “Cookie” from “Cookie’s Week.”

What do you think? Am I overreacting? Would you be annoyed too?

“Summer did so great! I can’t believe she did her bridge kick-over,” the gymnastics mom standing next to me squealed as I plopped on the metal barstool. Trying to hide my confusion as I scrambled to get settled 45 minutes into practice, I scoffed at her comment and replied, “Yeah, she’s really been practicing at home…” my voice and attention trailing off. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “It’s so cool she got to ring the bell.”

It clicked. Summer mastered a skill, the bridge kick-over and she got to celebrate with the whole gym by ringing the bell. In front of her coaches, teammates, and parents. Except for me; I missed it. I immediately felt a wave of sadness with a dose of panic. I didn’t even realize they did this sort of thing at her level.

When I greeted her after practice, I congratulated her. She was ecstatic! Summer recalled how it happened and how special she felt ringing that bell. I selfishly asked probing questions, so I could reinvent the moment in my mind, but I had to come clean. “I’m super proud of you, Summy, but I’m so sad I missed it,” I blurted.

She looked up, sort of puzzled, but also confirming what she already knew. I explained that I was in the car working when it happened, but another mom told me about it. Summer mentioned that after she did the bridge kick-over for her team, she was looking around on her way to the bell (presumably searching for me). I felt myself shrinking even more. Then she said, “But you heard me ring the bell at least…” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t hear that, either. I gave her a huge hug and we talked about her accomplishment. She’s the first person on her team to ring the bell. And I missed it.

“Summer, I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. I know you’ve been working so hard on that.” “It’s ok, mama. I’ll show you how I can do it when we get home!” Even when she should be disappointed, she was concerned about how I felt. She has the sweetest soul and in this instance, I didn’t deserve her grace.

I’m thankful for some really good country songs that she wanted to belt out on the way home. I cranked the radio and let the tears fall all the way home while she sang her heart out.

I texted Jordan before we left the gym and he knew I was distraught. He reassured me that she will continue to do great things and achieve other milestones and we may or may not witness them. It’s ok. It’s normal. I’m very much aware of this, and certainly needed to hear that, but I still felt so lame. I was there. All because I needed to wrap up my work day and didn’t want to watch warm-ups from an uncomfortable stool. I’ve been trying not to be so irrational about it because know it’s not the end of the world. I just feel lame to have missed out on such a milestone for her.

We made a family event of it after dinner and treated her to ice cream. I hope she felt special. I’m so proud of her. And I’ll never miss a moment to let her know that.

It’s been a year. One year since my last post. And exactly a year since my words destroyed another relationship. I say it that way and it makes it sound like it’s my fault, but I know it isn’t.

I wrote about a touchy topic, breastfeeding, and tried to shed some light on it from my perspective, which I feel is a unique one. I’ve really only been able to openly discuss it with a handful of people, so I was vulnerable when I posted and was fully expecting the backlash. But not from her. Not my best friend of 20+ years.

It was the most hurtful email (yeah, email) I’ve ever read and the most awkward way to let a relationship crumble. I mean, I guess in the long run, if that’s the end result anyway, it was better to cut to the chase. I’m not here to bash her because I do wish her and her family the absolute best, but just shedding some light on the wound I’m healing and the lapse in time. I guess in some ways I’m still processing something that will never make sense.

My relationships with family, friends, and colleagues, is something I don’t take for granted. I work at them. I nourish them. And often times, I give more than what I get in return. I know this about myself and sometimes it’s the thing I’m most proud of and other times it’s the thing I’m most ashamed of – mostly because it can leave me heartbroken, confused, and disappointed.

No one seeks to understand anymore? We can’t have differing opinions? We just cut right to cancelling and moving on?

That’s what happened last year on this day. So, I backed off. But, I value this outlet, and I’ve had the itch to write again the last few months. So, with a little encouragement from my sis in law, I’m back.

And I’m gonna continue to write about my experiences, my opinions, and my truth because I feel fake otherwise. I always welcome pushing those boundaries or having a conversation with each other around those norms. I sincerely believe that’s how we grow and evolve.

She can have our friendship, but she can’t take my words.

I usually have no problem being outspoken. Except when this topic comes up; I have trouble finding my voice. I think it’s usually because the person I’m talking with doesn’t give me the chance, but also because I’d have to go into this whole big thing about my version, or my story. Sometimes, I just don’t have the energy, especially when I know my audience won’t really listen anyway. With that, I’m going to use this platform and dive right in with something that has been bothering me for several years.

I heard that August is Breastfeeding Awareness Month. This has always been a touchy subject for me with a lot of my friends and family because I don’t share their sentiments. On top of that, my feeding journey looked very different than those around me. I had always planned to try to breastfeed, but didn’t have the pressure to if it wasn’t working out for whatever reason. That approach in and of itself is not very “mainstream” these days.

Little did I know that Summer would make that choice easy for me when she was born with a cleft lip/palate. On her third day of life, we met with her plastic surgeon, who basically flipped out when she found out the doctor’s at the hospital forced me to breast feed her during our delivery stay and set us up to go home with the same method. In as nice a voice as possible, the surgeon told me I had been starving my baby. The most “natural” and “instinctual” thing you do as a mom, especially in those first few moments, is to feed your baby. But, those doctor’s and lactation consultants were on such a mission to force me to breastfeed for the sake of breastfeeding that they misadvised me and completely disregarded our individual situation, which required a different path (something we would become very used to). Needless to say, I was furious and embarrassed.

With the inability to suck and no way to latch, a special bottle was our only option. Her surgeon and pediatrician both supported us and with a surgery on the horizon, our main mission was to plump up our tiny newborn – using breastmilk or formula, it didn’t matter. Because of my milk supply, I knew I needed to give pumping a shot. But this meant pumping throughout the day, getting up in the middle of the night to pump, AND feed her each time. Separately. I was fortunate to have an insane milk supply (we actually had to buy another fridge/freezer to accommodate all the storage). Although I didn’t realize the work this would entail initially, I didn’t bat an eye at pumping. I was willing to do anything for Summer, as her journey the next few months was already going to be tough enough.

Let me tell you about pumping. I would pump every 2-3 hours the first couple weeks and each pumping would take about 20-30 minutes start to finish (getting it set up, pumping, and cleaning up). The schedule became more consistent after a few weeks and pumping would be required every 3-4 hours. Because I was getting 12+ ounces with each pump (not bragging, but I meant it when I said my supply was insane), I had to bag a lot of the milk and freeze it. Summer wasn’t eating nearly enough to keep up with me and according to my mom friends, I was producing liquid gold at an all-time rate, so I had to preserve it. I didn’t have enough storage containers to keep very much “fresh” milk in the fridge because I needed two bottles for each pumping cycle, 10-12 times a day. Unless I wanted to do dishes every 2 hours, I had to buy the storage bags and pop that milk in the freezer. I also had a labeling system for the freezer, so we knew which bags to grab in order to maximize our supply and freshness.

We invested in a bottle warmer a few days into this because otherwise it took too long to warm up a cold breastmilk bottle for Summer to eat. I loved that little warmer and it makes me smile thinking about how new parents will do anything to prevent hearing a newborn scream. On top of that, Summer’s bottles were $30 a piece and we added a sterilizer to this routine. I know some people skip this with their infant, but we needed it because it was very important to keep Summer’s mouth clean, since everything was exposed inside and we didn’t want any complications with her impending surgery. We did lots of sterilization of her bottles and my pumping equipment to keep everything sanitized.

It was always really confusing when doctors, or anyone for that matter, asked if she was formula-fed or breastfed. Ummm…neither? Breastmilk, bottle fed became my go-to phrase because I wasn’t sure how else to say that she drank from a bottle, but still got the credit for giving her breastmilk. People must have understood, or been scared to know more, because that reply usually satisfied them and no further prodding was done.

Although it required more time and effort, I never questioned what I was doing. It was no one’s fault that I/we were in this situation and we just knew this was what we had to do to make the best of it. This was our journey and I was proud of everything I did to feed her. Because of how at peace I was with this route, it made me comfortable in knowing I wasn’t meant to traditionally breastfeed and here’s why:

1. Anyone could feed my baby. This is definitely my top reason. I love feeding babies and I know my family and friends do, too. As a pumping mom (and even if I wasn’t), I loved when someone asked if they could feed Summer. I got to do it all. the. time and I enjoyed the little break if someone else wanted to. If you solely breastfeed, no one else can help you and no gets that precious time with your baby. (Sometimes, I think breastfeeding moms loooooove this part of breastfeeding, which is weird to me.)
2. That brings me to my next point. Dads don’t get to feed/bond. Every single breastfeeding mom that I’ve talked to has said this to me, “The bond is just so special. It’s magical.” That’s wonderful. But, just for a second, think about how that made ME feel. I medically couldn’t, but thanks for putting me down. I know many people who couldn’t breastfeed for various reasons, so it’s not exactly a great feeling to be automatically put-down by something you can’t control. Also, how do you think it makes your husbands feel? Not only did you get 9 months of special bonding time while you physically carried and spiriturally/emotionally connected with your baby, now you’re taking the feeding time away from your man too.
3. You don’t EVER know how much your baby is actually getting. This part would literally drive me nuts, and sometimes I think it’s irresponsible. Are they cranky cuz they are still hungry? Are they crying because their tummy is upset from something I ate? Are they going through a growth spurt and my supply can’t keep up? Other than time spent on each boob, there is absolutely no way to measure how much milk your baby is getting at each feeding. With pumping, I was able to track everything on an app (how much I produced from each side, how much Summer ate and when, and I was able to identify trends based on growth and/or regression). Several breastfeeding moms I know had really small babies, developmentally delayed, or later developed unhealthy relationships with food, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because they insisted on breastfeeding…
4. It’s free. Yupp, I said it. Breastmilk is free and I was fiscally excited about that for a good 4 months.
5. Feeding in public. This is perhaps the most controversial, but buckle up because I’m going there. I get anxious being out and about with my breastfeeding moms because I know what’s coming. Most act entitled and ignorant to any other opinion or person that might have to be involved in their feeding session, whether they choose to or not. I remember being out to dinner with a good friend, and as she was pulling her cover over her to feed her newborn, she asked me if I was comfortable. I wasn’t, but I knew I couldn’t say no. I absolutely hate feeling like everyone is watching us and I also felt a little envious at how easily she could transition her child from fussing to eating. When Summer and I were at a restaurant, I would have to pump before leaving or in the car, make sure I had a cooler with enough milk and bottles, ask the waiter for a cup of hot water, and then wait several minutes while the bottle warmed up. It was a whole process. I have never been fine with someone breastfeeding at a restaurant, but I know enough to not make it a big deal because I’d be hit with, “Well, how would YOU like to eat in a bathroom?” (my cousin has aggressively thrown that one my way) or, “Could you eat/breathe with a blanket over your head?” First of all, your baby doesn’t know where they are eating. I get a bathroom isn’t ideal, but I’ve had to pump in a high school locker room before, so you’re preaching to the choir here (not that you’d know that because you never asked). I just think it’s like most things in our society now a days – can we just respect everyone instead of being insulted that someone has a different opinion than you do? And I realize you might need to feed in public sometimes, but can you at least cover up?
6. …which leads me to my next reason. I don’t want to see your boobs. And no, I’m not sexualizing your boobs. Everybody pees and poops, but we don’t do that in front of each other. Everyone has sex and that is an intimate moment that happens privately, too. Breastfeeding should be as well, especially if the “bond” is one of the main reasons you do it anyway. I’m not really comfortable with anyone breastfeeding in public (unless covered). You don’t HAVE to, so don’t give me that line. Would you be comfortable with me busting out my pump in the food court and watching it drip milk for 20 minutes into a bottle. No, because that would be weird. So, I feel if I have to cover up and go somewhere private, out of the respect for those around me, everyone should.
7. Capturing the moment. Do you really need to document this? I’m pretty sure your child is never going to want to see pictures of your boob in their mouth eating. You might think it’s special, and it very well could be to you (this is the area that I have no experience in and cannot relate to it emotionally), but you honestly think they are going to feel warm and fuzzy if they see a picture of them like that? Please tell me if they do…
8. Traveling. Jordan and I love to be out and about. We enjoy exploring and doing new things. We knew Summer would contribute to this piece of our family, not hinder it. I couldn’t just whip my boob out. I couldn’t just pull over on the side of the road and give her a minute to suckle and buckle her back up (this part is probably my most envious of traditional breastfeeding moms). No, I was often traveling on I-75 with my pump tugging at my boobs under a feeding cover to either relieve the pressure or make a bottle on our way to wherever we were going. My mom or Jordan were usually driving and sometimes we would just look at each other and bust out laughing. It was comical, really, passing huge trucks or people dressed nicely driving to work, while I was sitting in the front seat being milked like a cow.
9. The only people who care about breastfeeding are those that are breastfeeding. Seriously. Think about it. Do you ever have any authentic conversations about feeding with anyone other than breastfeeding moms? Do you hear your parents talking about whether you were breastfed or not? If your children are beyond the toddler phase, is this something that comes up in conversation at poker night with your friends? Do your neighbors bring it up at the Friday night bonfire? Likely not.
10. Bottle-fed babies are more resilient. I haven’t done an actual study on this, so I’m making a generalization, but hear me out. If your child drinks from a bottle, and is fed by different people, they are interacting with others more frequently than breastfed babies. So many exclusively breastfeeding moms have tried to switch their babies to a bottle and they won’t take them. Why would they? They’ve never had to adjust their method because whenever they want to be fed, it’s instantaneous. Those kiddos that drink from bottles learn to become more flexible and patient because they have to wait. Another example of this was a time when one of my friends was trying to wean her baby off the boob. She said she was trying to prevent the baby from requiring a bottle in the middle of the night and creating a bad habit. I kindly reminded her that her baby waking up in the middle of the night for a bottle is the exact same as the baby waking up in the night and needing milk from her boob. Initially oblivious, she thought for a second and was like, “Oh yeah, that’s true.” We are all going through the same milestones with our kids, regardless of how they are getting the milk, but sometimes breastfeeding moms seem so high and mighty and whether they mean to or not, tend to put us non-breastfeeding moms down.

So there you have it. My long list of why I don’t think typical breastfeeding moms are inclusive to other ways of feeding. I’m aware that it probably sounds like I’m bitter. I’m really not. My daughter was made for me and I really believe her medical situation helped me gain confidence in my feelings of this before I was even able to articulate them myself. Summer was a breastmilk, bottle fed baby until almost 5 months old. She had the best nutrients prior to her surgery and through recovery, but as we approached that 5 month mark, I started to dry up. I took this as a beautiful sign to let go. It was a little hard for me because I didn’t want it to seem like I was lazy, but I also didn’t want to intervene with special teas, regimens, and supplements. I stopped pumping, used up our freezer stash, and began the transition to formula. And guess what? She remained JUST as happy as before and I gained a lot more time on my hands.

I just feel like with most things, the outspoken minority overshadows the thoughts and feelings of the silent majority. Since few people ever give me the chance to communicate what I have to say concerning the matter, this is me asking them to listen to the “other” side. I honestly don’t care how ANY baby is fed, or what sacrifice the parents make to do so, because we ALL go through it one way or another.

Why is breastfeeding such a thing? I know I’m not going to change anyone’s mind and I’ve probably pissed a few people off with my words. I’m just speaking from my experience and thought maybe I could enlighten a few people with it. After all, aren’t we supposed to support each other? My bra was more supportive to me in those first few months than my other breastfeeding mom friends/family. I never needed approval, but I would’ve certainly appreciated listening ears. I’m grateful for my husband, mom, grandma, Aunt Beth, Chelsey, and Mellissa who truly did cheer me on in my, albeit it different, feeding journey. Their patience and understanding with me, their reassurance that I always had Summer’s best interest at heart, and their willingness to feed Summer my sticky, natural breastmilk from a special bottle, will always mean the world to me. It’s no surprise that these are the very people Summer is the closest to (back to that whole bonding thing, ya know…) and that is what matters most to me.

When Summer was born a little over 4 years ago, more than her gender ended up being a surprise to us. She was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate. Although that is usually detected during an ultrasound, Summer’s hands were always up by her face/mouth, so we didn’t know. I was grateful for this unknown information, as weird as that sounds. I know I would have stressed about it, researched too much, and likely pushed aside the excitement of having our first baby due to being consumed with learning all I could about this medical condition we would now be faced with. I rarely believe in this motto, but in this case, ignorance was bliss.

Our first days in the hospital after her birth were a little more complicated than usual. We had to set-up several appointments for that first week to begin her surgical journey. Most new babies have one appointment that first week of life (the pediatrician), but Summer had several because she had to meet with her plastic surgeon and other specialists to design a medical plan tailored to her needs.

I’ll never forget sitting in the plastic surgeon’s office and hearing her tell us all that would happen in the next 3 months to prepare her for her first surgery. WHAT? A three month old, MY three month old, would be going through a major transformative surgery in June? That can’t be possible…she’s so little. But, we dove right into the plan and followed the professionals’ guidelines because we soon learned that the earlier it was fixed, the better.

Summer regularly saw her plastic surgeon and pediatric orthodontist (both in Detroit) to ensure she was on track. And by regularly, I mean 3-4 appointments per week (thank goodness for maternity leave, Jordan’s flexibility at work, and a gamma who loved to tag along). The biggest thing we needed to achieve was to get her to 10 pounds, otherwise the surgery would have to be postponed because she wouldn’t be strong enough. Summer also began the taping process which pulls cheek skin over to make the tissue easier to put in place during reconstruction. The effectiveness of this process was unreal, and I’ll admit, we were skeptical at first.

Fast forward to June 28th, 2016. We had just moved into our new house a few days prior (because we didn’t already have enough going on) and packed an overnight bag and headed downtown Detroit to stay the night. “‘Twas the Night Before Surgery” as I call each of these milestones. We decided to stay in a hotel since we had to be to the hospital just after 6am and wanted to make sure Summer had a good night’s sleep. Even though she was only 3 months old, we did our best to keep her routine the same. The hardest part of this was she couldn’t eat beyond midnight. The closer we got to the 8:30am surgery, the more difficult, and painful, this became. (We shared a sigh of relief that morning in the waiting room when our plastic surgeon told another family their surgery was cancelled because they had given their child apple juice a few hours earlier. There are rules and guidelines to be followed for a reason.)

June 29th was surgery day. This day was one of the worst days of our lives. Heartbroken doesn’t even come close to describing how you feel when your baby leaves your arms to go to the operating room for hours and hours. An overwhelming sadness consumed us when we met her in her recovery room after. She was swollen, groggy, tired, and sore. On top of all that, our baby girl looked and sounded different. We hadn’t thought about that, but certain things changed. The tears constantly flowed that day.

But, we got through it. Like we always do, and we always will. Now, we celebrate June 29th every year. The Cleft Community calls it a “Smileversary” and as soon as I heard about it, I fell in love with the concept of honoring that day that gave Summer a second smile to fall in love with.

June 29th will always be nostalgic for us. We had absolutely no clue what was in store for us as we welcomed her into this world, but even without preparation, we knew Summer was perfect. Four years ago, three month old Summer went into surgery very early in the morning to have her nose and lip repaired. What we experienced on her first surgery day is something we will never forget. It’s crazy to think that the scariest day of our lives has turned into something we annually celebrate.

This year has been particularly memorable because she’s been asking us questions about the tape she had for months prior, how her smile changed, and why. She doesn’t flinch when she asks and we do our best to tell her about her journey in a matter-of-fact way, while also educating and celebrating her. We made photo albums to document her medical path and her Smilerversaries. We always look through them on this day. We are excited to have meaningful conversations with her this year, since she understands more. Her smile story is our favorite and we have so many fun things planned today to enjoy our beautiful girl and her special smile.