I had one of my most cherished and proud parenting moments at the cottage recently when Lucy spontaneously lifted up her shirt and pretended to breastfeed her dolls.

(OK, so she used her bellybutton. But the premise was there.)

It’s always bothered me a bit that so many baby dolls come laden with bottles and pacifiers. I suppose it’s hard to package a boob in a box, but I often wondered if it was sending a one-sided message to kids (mostly girls) about feeding options for babies.

I guess this Spanish company thought the same thing, because check this out: Bebe Gloton (Gluttonous Baby)

From The Consumerist:

“A Spanish toy company has a new doll out that allows girls to play-breastfeed. Girls put on a special halter top with daisies over their nipples and draw the doll in when it cries. When the doll’s lips press against the girl’s pink daisies, the baby makes little suckling sounds.

Shockingly, not everyone in the media can appreciate the hilarity of Bebe Gloton. Manny Alvarez, the health editor at FoxNews.com, claims the doll will speed up maternal urges and contribute to unwanted pregnancies:

“Pregnancy has to entail maturity and understanding,” Alvarez said. “It’s like introducing sex education in first grade instead of seventh or eighth grade. Or, it could inadvertently lead little girls to become traumatized. You never know the effects this could have until she’s older.”

Unlike the thousands of dolls that come with little milk bottles.”

Lucy was very interested in breastfeeding, especially at the beginning. She wanted to know where the milk came from, how Alice got it, what it looked like, what it tasted like (she had a few drops off my fingertips, pronounced it “YUK-ee!” and that was the end of that) etc.  She dubbed it “Mumma Milk” and told everyone that’s what SHE drank, too.

But we also taught her that sometimes women can’t breastfeed, or choose not to, so formula works as well. We had Alice on one bottle of it a day from an early age, and she now drinks it exclusively since we’re done breastfeeding.

Hopefully we’ve shown our girls the best of both options.

We are back to proliferating as much as we can from cows.

After Angry Baby dissapeared and the green poops dried up solidified stopped, we introduced Alice to small bits of dairy around 8 months. She’s been perfectly fine on everything, and now eats buckets of yogurt, cheeses, baby cereal and regular formula.

So who knows what this was all about. I can only guess her digestive system needed some extra time to mature.

I’m excited to be buying our favourite baby/toddler yogurt again: Li’l Ones by Dairyland. I did a big review back in March 2007 when Lucy was gobbling them up — check it out here. They’re still delicious, sweetened with fruit juice, made with whole milk, have no artificial flavours, colours or sweeteners and come in great baby-pleasing flavours such as banana, pear, peach and grape.

Obviously the line has grown in the past 2.5 years, because I can now buy them at my local grocery store — not just Lawn Mart. Very exciting.

And wait ’till you hear this deal!

As a disclaimer, I’m a coupon whore. If I’m the store and there are coupons for a product, I take, like, 20 of them. So a few weeks ago, when the baby food aisle at the grocery store was laden with Heinz Nurture $10 off any formula coupons (!!), I pounced. I ripped 10 of them off the stack and stuffed them in my pocket like a thief, eyes darting. The Eyes in the Sky at the store probably thought I was trying to stuff baby food down my pants or something.

We were supplementing Alice with soy formula at the time, but I was working towards switching her to a milk-based one like the Nurture line.

Last week the stuff — regularly $23/can — went on sale for $17.50. Do you know how much formula is when it’s on sale and you have a $10 (!!) coupon?

That’s right. I got it for $7.50.

I bought one can on Monday to make sure Alice could digest it alright. Then I went back on Thursday night and bought six more. Regular price = $138. Coupon stuffing price = $45.

I’m getting tingly just reliving those moments. Two managers had to come process the coupons through the register — reading the fine print, turning them over and over — and a bunch of cashiers came to ohh and ahh and congratulate me on the savings. I felt like I’d won the lottery or something.

The timing of the score sale couldn’t be better. My busy baby seems to be done nursing. She’d given up all but the morning feed when she first wakes up. And now she’s more interested in batting the blind behind our bed and trying to climb out the windown that snuggle in with me and drink.

I think this week will be it. She easily drinks formula from a cup, and does not even care if it’s heated anymore. The transition for all of us could not be easier.

From a physical stand point, anyways. There’s still the emotional side that I have to deal with, Alice being our last baby.

But I’m ready. I want to buy pretty bras again and have my Girls settle into their nursing-battered shape. Which, ironically enough, will probably be much like the cow udders that are replacing me.

Introduction and Part 1 available here.

February.

I’m nervous, so I’m sweaty, and that’s making the annoying and loud paper covering the exam table stick to my skin.

I’m in every woman’s least favourite but most necessary position in the world: Flat on my back, legs in stirrups, dreaded speculum down there.

Dr. M peers over the top of my knee.

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat, and I think Shit, this can’t be good, “I think everything is fine. But I’m not an expert on female anatomy, you understand. I’m a GP. I know generally where everything is supposed to be.”

She points a latex gloved hand to the spot that’s troubling me.

“And I’m not sure what that is.”

She hands me a referral to the obstetrician who delivered Lucy in 2006 (the woman who delivered Alice is a regular doctor who delivers babies).

“I want you to see someone with surgical capabilities,” Dr. M says. The appointment is not until June.

I go hot and cold all at once. My hands are shaking as I strap a screaming Alice into her carseat, and I’m fighting back tears. This is not what I wanted to hear. This is the second medical professional that has mentioned surgery to me in the past three months.

How can this be happening? I am healthy. I had two normal deliveries, neither of which had prolonged pushing (Lucy for just over an hour, Alice 12 MINUTES) or major trauma. I was pretty active during both pregnancies. I hadn’t, however, really done kegels at all in the past four years of pregnancy and post-partum living. Was I ever kicking myself for that now.

Who knew I had such a weak pelvic floor? Sure, I’d have the odd pee leak if my bladder was full and I sneezed. And jumping on a trampoline? Forget it.

But there was no indication that anything like this would happen. I remember reading about the importance of a strong pelvic floor during and after pregnancy, but it was never hammered into me the way I now believe it should for every woman — having babies or not.

There is nothing wrong with the way things are functioning, as can be a big problem when you have a suspected prolapse. I’m going to the washroom fine. I’m not in pain. I just feel like something is there. All up up (down?) in my space. In the morning, it’s not so bad. But at the end of long days lifting my girls, chasing my girls, walking and cooking and standing, I feel like something is going to fall out of me.

A few weeks later, I am in a local walk-in clinic with Alice, who has a gooey, crusty green eye, when a bright yellow brochure catches my attention.

It’s targeted to older women with incontinence issues, but also talks about pelvic floor strengthening, learning proper kegels, lifestyle changes. “You don’t have to live this way” it says, and my hands tighten on the paper in hope.

Vicki is a registered physiotherapist specializing in this area. I never even knew such a person existed.

I make an appointment right away.

We spent the better part of an hour together, discussing my symptoms, my babies, my daily routine. Had anyone mentioned a less invasive approach? Taught you how to exercise? All I’d been told so far was to do kegels (no, no one explained how — I looked it up online), wait a year or until I was done breastfeeding, hope for the best, and maybe have surgery if I couldn’t live with “the best.”

“It is shameful in our country the lack of understand and support the medical community gives,” she says shaking her head in frustration. “I see women all ages, and many your age.”

Relief washes over me. I don’t feel so alone or afraid now.

Vicki says she can’t guarantee everything will go back to normal (“Nothing is ‘normal’ after childbirth,” she says with a smile, and we snicker) but she promises it will get better.

“On a scale of 1-10, how much would it bother you if everything stayed exactly how it is right now?” she asks, pen poised over a chart.

For a long while, I can’t answer. The number is stuck in the back of my throat, and the tears slip silently down my cheeks. I watch as they form dark circles on my jeans, and feel Vicki watching me.

“Eleven,” I whisper. “I feel broken. I hate this. I don’t want to be afraid of sex. I want to run and skip after my girls. I want to live without thinking about this with every step I take.”

Vicki’s hand is on my arm, and she hands me a tissue box.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “We’ll get there.”

To be continued…

I’m so far behind on recording the little happenings in our life lately. Before they are forgotten forever in the vortex of summer and growing kids, a list (with pics, below):

• Three Dora & Diego window stickers & a beach ball now grace the glass and floor in Lucy’s room, because my girl has gone poop on the potty FOUR TIMES in a row! That’s right, no 3+-year-old poopy diapers in a week. We are so thrilled. And so is Lucy. She keeps asking if we’re calling everyone to tell them — and that “I’m so proud of myself!”
• If you’re wondering what worked, it was a combo of give and take: I bought some dollar store toys, and put them in a bucket in the bathroom so she could see them. When she went poop, so got a prize. If she went poop in her diaper, she had TV taken away for the rest of the day. We only had to take TV away three times before she realized we meant business. — and that television AND a toy was awesome.
• Speaking of poop, poor Alice is battling terrible constipation. A result, I think, of adding a second bottle of formula a day, Cheerios and crackers. She just hollers like the devil when she goes. We are taking out stock in prunes
• Speaking of butts, Alice can sit up on her own now. It’s so adorable when they can do that! A whole new world to learn about from that angle
• Also, her top two teeth are coming in. Anyone else hate teething? Yeesh.
• I have piles and piles of reviews to do and write (vitamins, food, play centres, pacifiers). I think the week I’m at the cottage with the girls will be review week.
• Our gardens look gorgeous right now. Must post pics.
• We saw the Sound of Music on Saturday (must see the movie still, as I don’t quite get what all the fuss is about…), and we were away from the girls from 9:30 a.m. until 6 p.m. During the performance, I had this pain in my arm that traveled from my elbow to shoulder, and was all freaked out telling Eric to watch in case I had a stroke. When we got home and Alice drained my milk-swollen right breast? Pain disappeared. WEIRD. Can one get milk backed up in their appendages?
• The other weekend was our local Duck Derby, and guess who was there? Bram from Sharon, Lois and Bram! Remember Skinnamarink-A-Dinky-Dink? ALL the parents in the audience were swaying and singing, blissful in reliving their childhoods, while our kids were looking around suspiciously. T’was hilarious.
• For Father’s Day, Lucy made personalized keepsake jars for Eric, her Papa and Grandpa. They were a hit, and she loved doing them.
• It’s stinkin’ hot out, and I LOVE IT. Been hanging tons of laundry, with Alice babbling away in her booster seat outside on the deck
• I lost three nose pins this weekend — two down the drain, and one in bed. Grr…
• Lucy and I did swimming lessons together for eight weeks. More on this later.
• Stroller Fit class continues to be great fun, and an even awesomer workout now that instructor Kelly has kicked it up: We walk faster, use benches, tip toe up hills. No weight loss, but this weekend I fit into pants I haven’t been able to in years!

And pics:

I have been too scared to write this post.

Yet I need to write it. For myself and you and every woman out there dealing with this and its related issues, in my continuing quest to give voice to the personal, embarrassing, challenging and emotional side of pregnancy and parenting that we as women don’t talk enough about.

I wish I had access to another mom’s personal story while going through…this, so in turn, I write it for us.

(Like when I almost hurt Alice and had to get help, a post and your comments that I’m grateful for every day.)

It’s also written for my girls, so a) one day they’ll know they’re not alone, and b) one day they’ll know what their growing little in utero selves did to me, adding another guilt trip I can whip out in an argument when they want to borrow the car.

So, here goes…

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