Hello, It's Me...

The Girl Who Basically Flashed Everyone While Nursing and Happily Continued To Flaunt Herself While Others Bled Out Their Eyes

or

The Nursing Mother Who Angrily Advises Hundreds of Others to Leave Negative Facebook Reviews of Tourist Trap Cider Mill in Nowhereville, NY

or

The Comfortably Happy Mom Nourishing Infant While Browsing Array of Mustards With Family



It might seem strange that it has taken me this long to address what happened back in Thanksgiving 2015. It is clear now that I needed much time and space between the occurrence to gain clarity. To be brief, I was called out at a popular cider mill for discreetly nursing my 5 month old son, who was in a baby carrier, and was asked to cover up. Looking back, I wonder if silently obliging would have been easier, but my clenching jaw and racing heart told me otherwise. I whispered to my husband who shared my discontent and we asked two younger coworkers if we could please speak to the manager. They obliged and out of curiosity asked what was wrong. I told them and they both seemed surprised, one even saying that she was personally offended as she had been a nursing mother herself. The manager sided with the employee who had said I "should really cover up" and we silently paid for our items and haven't been back.

Days passed and I couldn't shake the shaky feeling. I felt distracted while I nursed my baby, distracted while I cared for my 3 year old son. I felt like I had been reprimanded for doing something wrong, even though I hadn't. I  decided to write the owner of the store and let him know what happened and how it made me feel. I mentioned that we were frequent customers and had a good rapport with the employee prior to the possibly well-meaning comment. About that, part of me did wonder from time to time if I had misinterpreted something on my end of the exchange. But it wasn't really a comment nor was it an exchange; it seemed to be more of a command, repeated twice, and it wasn't an exchange because in typical Marissa fashion, I clammed up despite being a passionate advocate for nursing.

Back to this letter, it was sent but not forgotten about. This incident had seemingly cast a shadow over my life, with bits of darkness slipping in and out. I had come to realize that this all had taken something from me. It reached in and snatched a part of me I didn't even know was in there until it's haunting absence. Even today, I can't exactly articulate the feeling that leaves a little less confidence, a little less dignity and a little less hope. It felt that I had lost a small part of myself.

It wasn't until recently that I understood that part wasn't lost, but transformed.

I told my story on a private Facebook group of local moms and a few had asked if they could share it. I was met with 100% support and understanding from everyone, regardless of their thoughts on feeding babies. It didn't become a great debate of nursing public or breastfeeding versus formula feeding, it remained a platform of strong women sharing in each other's joys and struggles of parenthood, a forum to ask questions in a judgement-free zone.

Then I woke up the next morning. My post had been shared hundreds of times. My private messages were climbing, as were my friend requests. Dumbfounded, I scrolled through to see what on earth was happening and while my mind was trying to comprehend the sheer power of social media and it's sudden grasp on my little town story, my phone rang. And rang. And rang. It was the TV station. And the radio station. And the newspaper. I'm in my robe, haven't had my coffee, my three year old throwing tupperware everywhere. Hundreds of people, many of whom were complete strangers, had left negative reviews on the business's Facebook page. These media outlets wanted to know, did I have a comment? I think my resounding comment was "Ummmm."

I reluctantly gave the interviews and remained sheepish throughout. I have always felt uncomfortable in the panic-inducing focus of attention. I had never experienced anything of this magnitude and at times had wished I could delete the whole thing. The post, that day, that decision that led us there as it had many times before. But then would I have to delete that nursing session? Take away one of my baby's feedings because it made people uncomfortable enough to call me out on it? To make me more self-conscious and less mindful of the beauty and calm of a nursing relationship?

Of course not all of the comments were supportive or even very kind. I tried not to read those ones, already feeling incredibly sensitive and vulnerable that this one hour of my life exploded all over everyone's newsfeeds. I remember in the ensuing days posting to my own account, "Is it over yet?"

And then it was.

It would still catch up to me from time to time and nearly knock the wind out of me. Today I am still worried that my reputation will precede me when I walk into businesses or even when I am minding my own business. Do the parents on the playground recognize me? Is my new chiropractor fearful of a negative review? It's a borderline paranoia when people treat me too kindly and I worry it's insincere. Are they treading lightly to not trigger an eruption of exposed nipples and breastmilk and a slew of angry Facebookers? This is the strange new reality hidden in my daily existence.

Nearly a year and a half out, I still feel like placing my hands on my forehead, closing my eyes and shaking my head BUT now I also understand why this happened and why it happened to me. In looking at the positives I know for sure that I fed my hungry baby. I created a dialogue in many communities regarding an important issue, though it need not be an issue at all. It is just a regular, basic thing. Even (and especially) in a culture that deems the sole existence of breasts for sexual pleasure and perpetuating that flawed belief by shaming a nursing mother.

While passionate about the topic, this advocacy still fell onto my lap unexpectedly, unwarranted and unwanted in some ways. But the thing about advocacy is just that: you fight for the thing you know in your heart you shouldn't even have to fight for, no matter what it takes from you. It's giving the gift to the next nursing mom in line, and being incredibly grateful to do so.

The Story of Miles

We found out we were expecting our second child some time in November and that we were due in July. Soon-to-be-big-brother Maxwell had just turned two and I wondered how is it possible that I will love another child that much? Many mothers had told me my love will not be halved; it will multiply. I couldn't wait to gain that understanding for myself. Our pregnancy wasn't anything out of the ordinary, until the last few weeks when I just kept growing and growing. My previous boy had been teeny (5lb9oz) at birth and came a little early (38w2d) so as this pregnancy kept progressing, I was experiencing the true long haul of the full 40 weeks. Everyday I would wonder if I 'felt special' and if my senses were sharper (nope and maybe? no, I don't know. I can't tell. I should be able to tell, right?) I would make it through another day, hot and uncomfortable, as all mommies who've been full term in a humid summer can attest. There were feet in my ribcage constantly. I was outgrowing my maternity clothes. I couldn't handle the anxiety of the gender surprise this time around. I wanted to know, but couldn't imagine knowing. We had opted for a homebirth this time around. It wasn't a decision that came easy at first, as I had really liked my care providers previously. The first trimester was filled with uncertainty. The list of pros and cons constantly swirling in my head, like sugarplums dancing but classic yellow Post-Its instead. I worried if I was strong enough and trusted my body enough. I worried about Travis and how he would handle it. I worried about Maxwell and how badly I wanted him to be a part of the experience. He wouldn't be allowed to stay with me at the hospital and we had never spent the night apart before. I didn't want to just have him show up and all of the sudden there was a new baby. After weeks of mulling the decision over and having interviewed a few different midwives, my pro-Homebirth Post-It took the lead and it felt right immediately. To prepare, I read books about midwifery and homebirthing, hypnobabies and all of the books by Ina May Gaskin. I kept our plans to myself. I did not want any negative thoughts surrounding this birth plan. No "so and so had complications" or "at least you are close to a hospital." I didn't have time for doubts, for naysayers, for explaining myself. I had less than 40 weeks to learn about the birth I wanted and how to go for it, wholeheartedly. I read about my body, the process of birth and stories of women like myself, who were apprehensive about letting doctors be in charge of us, our bodies, our birth. We found a great midwife and doula team about two hours away. We would go there for our monthly visits or meet halfway and shock fellow diners at a pizza place as we listened to our growing baby with the fetalscope over slices and sodas. I had said no to all sonograms and all pelvic checks, as I deemed both unnecessary and had endured more than my share in my first pregnancy. (I feel the need to point out that during the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy with Maxwell, the OBs had suspected IUGR. With that and a bout of preterm labor at 32 weeks I was placed on bedrest and has pelvic exams and ultrasounds twice a week for the remainder of the pregnancy. As we neared 38 weeks, they began discussing induction. Following a more painful than usual pelvic exam, I was told it 'shouldn't be long now' and my water broke 12 hours later. Looking back, I am certain my membranes were stripped without my knowledge. I cannot even find the words to describe the wrongness of it all. My baby wasn't ready. My body was disrespected. A doctor used their authority over me, an unsuspecting pregnant woman, who didn't know I was allowed to speak up or that I needed to. Blind trust.) I started having contractions on a Friday night, date night. I timed them and it was apparent they had a rhythm but I was adamant about getting dressed up and going out with Travis. I was huge and wanted to feel pretty all dolled up. We both ate nervously but tried to remain calm. I texted our midwife as I sipped on another Shirley Temple, my first intense craving with this pregnancy. She felt the consistent contractions (5mins apart, lasting 1min) was reason enough to meet up with the doula and head over. Since they had a two hour trek ahead of them, I talked Travis into going to the toy store so we could pick up some gifts for Maxwell from his new baby sibling, in hopes of creating a smoother transition into big brotherhood for him. After 20 mins or so, I couldn't even walk the aisles anymore. We still had to pick up Maxwell from my parents and get home and somehow mentally and physically prepare. As Travis put Maxwell to bed, I gathered our birth box and the bag with birthing tub in it to be inflated. Somewhere along the way, my contractions fizzled out. I paced hoping they would gain momentum and that the midwives wouldn't have wasted a trip. They got here after 10 and I felt frustrated and disappointed. We all went to bed. The next morning Maxwell was excited to have company so early in the morning and ran over to the birth box exclaiming, "Baby out!" We kept telling him "soon" and that we were hoping today was the day. But still, no more contractions. After a cup of coffee and profusely apologizing about the unnecessary trip, the midwives left and as Travis went to put the birth supplies away, Maxwell began to cry "Baby. Out." He was as impatient as me! Travis and Maxwell and I tried to make plans for the day to get my mind off of the fact that there wasn't a baby coming out of my vagina right now. We ended up driving to my friend Kate's farm to pick up our CSA share and have lunch and play with the other kiddos. I felt like I was going to be pregnant forever. The humidity level was fucked up. We drove around while Maxwell napped, Travis stopped in to a record store while I ate the first Pennsylvania peach of the season in the car. We drove to my dad's work to drop Maxwell off for the evening and my dad showed Maxwell a police car and firetruck he had in the parking lot. My dad's boss showed Maxwell the lights and horn and sirens and the kid was AMAZED. And despite being so effing hot, I was amazed too! Travis and I had to pick up a truck so we could haul some crap out of our rental property. It was huge and I had trouble getting in and out of it, which was very often as I could not stop peeing. Trying to satiate my apparent never-ending hunger for a pork BBQ, we attempted to go out to eat but my contractions started up again. It was 6pm and they were happening every 5 minutes, lasting a minute. I decided I couldn't eat or stand the heat or this pregnancy any longer. I cried and begged Travis to take me home. By 7pm, I was laying on my bed trying to cool down and Travis went to get himself some tex mex and a beer. I moved to the yoga ball hoping to relieve some of the discomfort from the contractions and when I laid back down, my water broke! I texted Travis and started to time contractions again to see if things were picking up. They were. I let the midwives know and Travis picked up Maxwell from my parents and started to get him ready for bed. It was nearing 930 at this point and it was evident Travis had fallen asleep while trying to get Maxwell to bed. I hopped in the shower and planned my next move. I would inflate the birthing tub, contractions every three minutes or not. I woke Travis to fill the tub. Midwives were still about 45 minutes out. When I climbed in that tub...HEAVEN. Game-changer. Every contraction, I would grab the conveniently located handles and hoist myself up against the side of the pool and Travis would rub my back. Rinse and repeat countless times until the midwives showed up, and then they would all take turns making sure I was comfortable. We spent to next hour talking when I would have a break and then there were little to no breaks. My dearest friend Megan had sent me a beautiful banner she had made for her own homebirth just weeks before and now it hung in our living room. The vintage-y light pink and blue paisley fabric had been cut into triangles and each bore a powerful affirmation to keep me present during birth. At one point, I told my team to read me one while I tried my best not to clench my teeth during another surge. "Peaceful birth, healthy baby." "I am capable." And Travis said, "I will tell you at the end of this contraction..." "Smile." And I did. After midnight, I was gonna let it all hang out. (Hahahaha. Sorry.) But seriously, after midnight, things picked right on up. Contractions one on top of the other. My water broke some more. And then some terrible pressure and what felt like a charlie horse in my right groin. I didn't know if it was from being in the water too long or if the baby was aggravating a previously torn ligament that had happened right around the time I got pregnant. I started thrashing around in the water and begging for help. My doula suggested I hop out of the tub, as I was starting to feel like I wanted to push. I didn't think I could make it the literal foot and a half to the couch. They helped lay me down and said it was okay to try to push if I felt like it was time. I tried and barely anything moved, but it felt good. This happened a few more times and at some point I felt the head make it's way down. I was sweaty and things felt carnal. It felt like a really big head. With Maxwell, he came shooting out in 2 small pushes. This was not the same as that. I was able to experience what I had thought was freakin' nuts when reading birth stories on the farm, of women who were able to pant through crowning to avoid pushing and tearing. My midwife put some nice olive oil on my lady bits to help with stretching. The head came in and out of my cervix a few times before I was able to get it out. Our baby's head was out at 130am. At 132am, HIS body was born and he was placed on my belly. We waited for the cord to stop pulsing before it was reluctantly cut by Travis (he hates the texture) and then he was placed on my chest. I did it!!!!!!! Travis took over on holding baby Miles and I worked with Jenn and Jean to deliver the placenta, that would later be encapsulated for me. Things got a little messy and gross after this. But then things were beautiful again when Miles was handed back over and I spent the next hour holding him against me, in love, and beginning to drift off to dreamland. Around 3am it was time for a shower and to be checked to see if had any tearing. We hadn't even weighed him yet and as my midwife helped me into the shower she told me, "You have a big baby out there!" Both postpartum showers I have experienced in my life thus far have been a little traumatic. There is nothing quite like looking down at your now-deflated gut and streaks of blood on parts of your body and going down the drain. No one prepares you for that nor can anyone prepare you for that. It's scary a little bit. It's sobering. It's surreal. After the shower, which I could have stayed in forever, I went into the bedroom with Miles and my ladies to be looked over. We weighed the young man and he was a WHOPPING 8lbs 4oz! That's a huge difference from my little 5lb 9oz Maxwell and I believe it was due to the minimal routine checks and scans throughout this pregnancy and also of course that I was able to carry him longer. The ladies checked me and I needed no stitches. Travis and Miles and I cuddled up in bed together and Travis and I whispered to each other and smiled and kissed. I don't know if I could have done it without him! He was so helpful and present with me. We maybe slept an hour that night before Maxwell awoke at 6am. He was shocked to learn he had a new brother while he was sleeping! "Baby, out?" he said pointing at Miles lying next to me in bed. Since the initial confusion, Maxwell has surprised us with the ease (thus far) of his transition into big brotherhood. His gentleness and sweetness (as usual) made him perfect for this role. He loves to lay with his little brother and hold his hand and kiss him. I never felt our family was incomplete in any way but somehow with addition of this baby, things seem complete---for now. At 16 days old, Miles loves to sleep and nurse and be held by mama and Maxwell. He makes cute little sounds post-sneeze and enjoys baths and showers. We think he looks like Mr. Bean and his Grandfather. He has his great-grandmother's nose and potential dimples like his Da. Born happily and healthy at home on July 19th 2015 at 132am, Miles Richard Olivera weighs 8lbs 4oz and is 21 inches of absolute perfection.

feeling the disconnect

broken dialogue between connections via disconnect human contact is lost and our screen-savers are no longer saving face. this was the end of losing touch or, had we already. wasting time scrolling and scrolling and not searching anymore.

dulldrums

Winter is bringing me down, man. Went and saw trains with Maxwell yesterday and I am getting the travel bug bad. Wanted to hop on, no destination, my thoughts, music, paper and pen. Feeling lost and out of touch, disconnected and uninspired. Bored and scared of turning into mush on these long days spent indoors with a toddler. The inner conflicts make little sense; lonely but desperately wanting to have a moment to myself. A moment of peace, a moment to create that the desire isn't extinguished by a marathon of angst while trying to get the kiddo down for a nap. Too exhausted, too burned out to even get dressed. Feeling feelings that I'm too scared to even write down. Nothing is fun anymore. I don't even think I know how to have fun anymore. The day in and back out and back in in this little town is stifling to me today, although I have found it a source of comfort and home for so long, though off and on. How do moms do it? How did my mom do it? Am I destined to turn into the shell that she is today? Paranoid and angry and unable to love? Jaded, but by what? I'd like to think that sunshine is the answer, and it is, in a way. My sun has set. I need to rise.

We are prose.

emotions are spinning the negative winning insecurities weaving and i am believing.

Toyotally traveled and unraveled.

I don't know what is more exciting, the fact that I have a moment to myself (and am actually using it to blog) or that I remember my login info. Either way, score! Recently, I was reading my O mag and came across a Toyota ad. Actually I turned the page and thought I was still reading an article from O, since the content of the page was weighty and reflective and asserts that our attitude is what makes the journey worthwhile (wait, it's not the Camry?)The big wigs over at Toyota think I need to journal more so they gave me a list of questions and are eagerly and unknowingly awaiting my responses. I am to start writing about where my life is at this moment. About my life, work and relationships. Am I where I want to be? Absolutely I am where I want to be. Right now, in this chair, with my blankets and my cats, yes, yes, yes. Right now, with my toddler asleep (THANK GOD) in the other room, in his big room in our new house that was my grandparents house. This is where my life is, now, and where it was, then, growing up. How lucky is that? A home that was always home is now our home. It's a beautiful, comfy, cozy little life that I thank my husband often for helping me create. Create. Many hours of my stay at home mom (SAHM) life have been spent creating via crafting. Right after Maxwell was born I randomly started affixing vintage buttons onto bobby pins and doing craft shows. What a fun little journey and a very interesting avenue to be rolling down. Not only is it totally conducive to my very free-spirited, noncommittal attitude toward "work," but I have met great people, learned lots and seen some cool shit along the way. A few crafter gals and myself have also started our own craft show, starting this weekend! I'm totally enthralled with all of the planning and soliciting vendors and chatting with people about the importance of shopping local and about libraries (where we will hold our series of shows). I think this is probably one of those rare occasions where doing work doesn't feel like work. It's fun and a great outlet to get me out of mom-mode for a few minutes a day. Toyota is now asking me what my ideal life looks like. My guess is they want me to compare it to my statements above and in all honesty, it doesn't look much different. Sure, the rest of the siding on my house would be up, and the attic insulated…but the basics (husband, kiddo, cats) are all I need. If we are talking wants though…"Write about what makes you truly happy and the possibilities for your future." What TRULY makes me happy…and makes my heart sing unlike much else I have experienced is TRAVEL. Abroad is always my top choice but I will settle for pretty much anywhere. The last six years (save a trip to Canada) has been pretty much spent on American soil since the previous years had been spent elsewhere. I am grateful everyday I have seen cobblestone roads (in heels) of Switzerland, and windy roads with an Alp or two imposing a jagged skyline. I cherish that day I ventured by bus, to a chairlift that placed me atop the Alps only to take a train ride back down and catching a boat at the bottom. That day I witnessed all season in a day. Snowcapped peaks to melty waterfalls to a sunny cruise along the coast of Lucerne. I am thankful for the food in Italy and my god I know what you are thinking, it's not all about the food but I am here to tell you that the food is fucking great. But beyond that, I hold in my heart the times I spent with Travis in Italy. He bought me a beautiful pearl engagement ring in Milan. We wandered down narrow streets, aimlessly, slowly, hand in hand. There was simply nowhere else to be but there. Together. If I close my eyes, I can feel the warmth in my chest and in my cheeks of the syrupy-sweet Limoncello that we sipped outside of a cafe. The wrought iron table and chairs were wobbly but who gives a shit when you are sitting under quaint lampposts and your view is of an incredible cathedral. I close my eyes and see strings of lights decorating the outdoor tables, the beautiful foreigners drinking their vino and chatting and picking at delicious slabs of buffalo mozzarella and delicate slices of prosciutto. Church bells ring and everything in this country is purely magical. The tall, unencumbered grass of Giant's Causeway, the pattern and the folklore that lives within the rock and the Cliffs of Moher, words simply fall short. An experience that changes you and you aren't really sure how just that it has. Somehow. I'm in Ireland (in my mind) now. Dozens of bus trips to various spots along the east coast, with friends, with Travis. A goddamned Guinness. Places that aren't truly home, but feels like it for a while. That's what I love about travel. I could go into great detail of my love of Scotland and it's abandoned castles and its frigidly bitter winds. I could recount the tale of one of the longest and most memorable nights of my life in Barcelona, but I feel I've done so before. But what I keep meditating on, recently anyhow, is strolling along the canal in Amsterdam and soaking in the charming home fronts we've passed. Many are apartments, like brownstones, or very narrow and tall with a stoop. Some are ground level with a big picture window. I would wonder what it looked like inside or who lived there. Some had colorful doors, some had flower boxes, some had a cat, many had a bike or two chained up outside. What was daily life like for an Amsterdamian? Now that I've more than elaborated on what gives me the greatest joy, Toyota says I need to meditate on my hopes for the future. I hope to travel. Duh. I'm urged now to create an 'attitude of gratitude' and this not the first (or last if I continue reading O) time I've heard/read this notion. I must admit I have an extremely hard time with remaining focused on the positive when shit hits the fan. And as a regular spaz, shit hits the fan often. My focus innately (I've come to believe) shifts to the negative and quickly spirals into doom. I no longer wonder WHY ME! WHY DO I GIVE FUCKS?! because I now know this is how I am. Not WHO I am, but simply my go-to method of dealing or not dealing with whatever crud is happening. My graciousness factor is nil for the most part. I'm cynical and angry and resentful in general, which can be incredibly tiring and which is why little writing exercises and meditations such as this can help me keep my misanthropic nature at bay. For like, a day. I am urged to take stock and to look how far I've come. Thanks, Toyota. No, really.

Bibbity Bobbity Who?

There are so many excuses out there (in my house, in my head) as to why I don't update this often, or write as much as I'd like. My main argument is generally "I have nothing to write about." This statement is far from true. Possibilities of topics to ruminate over are endless. I guess I feel I am trying to cater to imaginary readers' literary appetite when, in fact, a shit I do not give! At least that's what I will keep telling myself! This blog contains 500+ entries chronicling my life's last nine years. It's seen me change and grow as much as it has seen me stay the same. Though a tad less cynical these days and much more grateful, I am finally comfortable in my own (uncomfortable) shoes. That too has changed little. My closet shelves are still lined with shoeboxes, many of them high heels that aren't worn often enough... ...but who would expect a new mother to tread down a flight of icy Upstate NY steps in stilettos while gripping an infant carrier?! This isn't Sex and the City! This is Motherhood in Boonies! So my Steve Maddens turned into old slippers. And my party dresses into pajamas. This is some ass-backwards Cinderella shit. And I wouldn't wish for it to be any other way.