Can I get a little appreciation here?

So, today is my very last day of maternity leave. I've had 9 wonderful weeks with my baby, fruit of my loins, flesh of my flesh, my lovable angel.
And as of tomorrow I get to hand her off to a virtual stranger, five days a week, for the majority of her waking hours.

In my overriding desire to do the best I can for my baby, I will be dusting off the old breast pump to lug around with me at work. I'll be parking in secluded corners, looking shiftily around to make sure no-one sees me, trying to be covert and discreet - all for the sake of providing my baby with the best and most natural nutrition I can. And I'll be doing this for the second time in my life - I made a brave attempt with Nikhil despite the difficulties.

Now, please understand, I don't judge women who feed their babies formula. Formula is one of the many blessings of modern technology... when needed. And there are definitely times when it is needed - I fed Nikhil formula a few times a day because I just didn't have enough milk to keep him satisfied. I weaned him fully onto formula when I became pregnant and couldn't supply him with any nutrition. I have a friend whose baby was allergic to her breastmilk. I have another friend whose anatomy doesn't allow her to breastfeed (for my readers with no children I'll refrain from going into details). For all of us, formula was a blessing that allowed our children to thrive.

But.

I have a serious problem with people who have become so sensitized to the voluntarily formula-feeding mother's feelings that they almost advocate formula as EQUALLY good as breastmilk. Formula is an acceptable alternative when breastfeeding has failed. However, numerous studies spanning decades and continents, and including thousands of participants, have proven time and again that there will never be a formula that can match the qualities of breastmilk.

And yet, I have heard of a peadiatrician in the Northern suburbs of Johannesburg who is telling parents that there is no additional benefit to breastfeeding as opposed to formula feeding. At a congress of neurologists that I attended, one of the neurologists was saying that his wife had decided to feed their new baby formula, "because breastmilk only has one of the five immune complexes". Well, perhaps that's the only immune complex babies need at their age. I fail to see how a perfectly designed food would include only one of five immune complexes if they were all needed - surely if the designer was adding one, it would have been no extra trouble to add the other four? And besides, formula has NO immune complexes at all.

This neurologist also chose to ignore the fact that breastmilk is made up of the exact balance of nutrients that a human baby needs - the right proteins, the right amount of fat, iron in a form that is absorbed well by human babies (unlike iron in supplements or formula), and that babies can regulate how much of that nutrition they receive. A thirsty breastfed baby will suck for a shorter time, getting the watery foremilk only, efficiently quenching its thirst. A hungry breastfed baby will suck longer, getting both the initially filling foremilk, rich in sugars, and the longer-lasting hindmilk, rich in fat. A formula-fed baby is not able to do this.

Not wishing to cause too much of a stir (I'm much less opinionated in real life than in print) I timidly pointed out to this neurologist that researchers were still constantly discovering the wonders of breastmilk. Why, only recently, they found live stem cells in breastmilk. "Bah," he scoffed, "why does a baby need stem cells?"
I should have reminded him that stem cells themselves were only discovered quite recently, and that if they were present in breastmilk we were sure to discover the reason in the near future. Not even neurologists should be expected to know EVERYTHING. But apparently he was of the opinion that he did. Sometimes what we should say doesn't come out and we end up kicking ourselves for months afterwards...

So having established that breast really is best, I have made a gargantuan effort to give it to my children. What floored me from the very beginning, was the lack of support and encouragement I got from the medical community.

Even at prenatal classes, we were merely given a peremptory list of (some of) the pro's and cons of breast vs bottle. The pro's of bottle-feeding? Dad can have a go. Whoopee. Dad can have a go at soothing, rocking, bathing, changing nappies, stimulating... Dad does not have breasts and will get along fine if he can't feed his baby for the first few months.

When I had my first baby at Bedford Gardens Hospital, I was positively discouraged from breastfeeding. I was pronounced devoid of milk by some very ill-informed nurses, intimidated into feeding him formula in a bottle (although I pleaded to be allowed to feed him by cup to avoid future breastfeeding problems) and never once given any support on how to position baby, increase milk, or even admitting to the existence of colostrum.

A few weeks later, my baby's paediatrician asked me what I was feeding him. I answered that I was breastfeeding but supplementing with formula. His response? "There's no extra nutrition in formula, you know." This was as close as I ever got to being encouraged to breastfeed. He never asked why I supplemented, offered resources to help me breastfeed more, or tried to establish the problem.

Despite this I continued to breastfeed for 8 months, 10 months, 12 months, 14 months... Wow, I really felt that was an achievement. Never once did the pediatrician, GP or baby wellness nurse say so much as "Good for you!" In the face of maternity nurses, mothers-in-law and a few other uninformed individuals pressuring me to give up breastfeeding, I really would have appreciated a healthcare professional just confirming that I was making the right choice.

Dr Jack Newman has some theories on why they don't.

I'm now older, wiser and stronger, and don't need external validation for the choices I know are right. But if I hadn't been as stubborn and committed as I was, I could easily have been deterred from offering my child the best I had. I often wonder how many moms are pushed over to feeding their babies formula - especially in those first few weeks that are so difficult. At a time when all a new mother might need is a little encouragement or some technical expertise to keep breastfeeding, a trusted health professional will step in and tell her it's fine to feed her baby formula. And another baby misses out on the perfect food that is his birthright.

Meanwhile, sitting quietly in the back row, with shawls draped over their shoulders in the classic breastfeeding pose, are my heroes. Women who go against the grain (7% of South African babies are exclusively breastfed, according to the November issue of Your Baby magazine), who persevere despite negative comments and lack of encouragement, who choose the age-old way and give their babies the best they can. Women who refuse to "train" their babies to take bottles when those babies won't take anything but the breast (clever babies!). Women who would rather be strapped to mechanical "milking machines" than feed their babies formula. Women who watch every morsel that goes into their mouths, sacrificing such pleasures as chocolate and the odd glass of wine for their babies' wellbeing.

These women are the flag-bearers of breastfeeding, who will encourage the next generation of mothers to give their own babies the very best. To these women I say, "I salute you, sisters!"

Maternity leave = 3 month holiday?

We're on a tight daily schedule at the moment. I find it's the only way to survive the learning curve of having two small children. We all do whatever we do from 7am to 4pm (go to work, go food shopping, find homeschooling activities, etc.). Then from 4pm to 6pm, I am all alone with both the kids. It's scary enough to have induced a severe quatrohoraphobia in me (fear of the hour of 4pm).

As soon as Brad walks in the door at 6pm, the drill starts. Six o'clock is dinner time - we complete cooking supper, eat, pick food up off the floor, wipe it off the walls, catch it as it is spat out for the simple joy of watching it come out, and sometimes take turns standing and rocking niggly babies as we shovel food into our mouths, tasting nothing.

If we manage to get all that done by 7pm, we're on schedule and bath-time can begin. We take turns. One of us will bath a purple screaming infant, who needs to be fully supported and manoeuvred. This is literally back-breaking work. The other will bath a splashing, shrieking toddler who is into asserting his independence. This involves advanced negotiating skills, being sprayed with various bath toys, pulling a dripping, peeing child out of the bath and holding him over the toilet, and chasing him all over the bed trying to get his nappy on before he pees on the bed.

And that brings us to 8pm - bedtime. Again, we share the load. One takes the baby, calms her down from her traumatic bath experience, and rocks her for sixty to ninety minutes. Simple.
The other takes Nikhil, makes him a bottle, lies in bed with him while he drinks it. Sings to him, tells him stories, pats his back. Lets him put his fingers in their mouth, nostrils and cleavage (ok that's only one of us). Gets him more milk if he decides he wants it, gets up to put nose drops in his congested nose, gets up again to put ointment on his eczema. Until eventually exhausted parent falls asleep and Nikhil finally follows suit.

Around 9:30pm the parent on baby-duty will wake the parent on toddler-duty, and the adults can begin bedding down for the night - showering, brushing teeth... Well, that's about it, really. Gone are the days of flossing, Plax-ing, cleansing-toning-moisturising, shaving, body brushing, eye-gelling, lip-lubricating or callus-softening. We neglect those in favour of getting an extra half-hour in bed. (Frankly I think we were bored in those pre-baby days.)

And that's when the night shift begins... Listening out for Ariane's desperate snuffling when she loses her dummy, and trying to plug it back in in the dark, as she rubs her face into the mattress in a vain attempt to find it. (Does she really think that even if she found it, she would be able to put it back in?) This happens about every fifteen minutes, throughout the night. After about four cycles, the snuffling gets more desperate, and the plug doesn't stop it. That's the signal for feed time. Every hour.

In-between feeds and dummy duty, a sleepy croak will emanate from the next room, "Mo-o-ommeeee...". "Yes, Nikhil". "Want a botty." I go downstairs, make the botty, I mean, bottle, and lie with him while he drinks it. Fall asleep. Snap eyes open to the sound of Ariane stirring: it's feeding time.

Repeat entire cycle throughout the night, until finally the alarm goes off at 6am. Time to rise and shine - it's a new day!

Poor Bedless Brad

The other night, I was asleep in my bed with Ariane, and Brad was sharing Nikhil's bed (not an uncommon occurrence in our house of late). Sometime in the middle of the wee hours, I heard Brad shouting, "No, YOU go!", followed by a tearful Nikhil stumbling to my bedside through the darkness. Desperately wanting to salvage as many sleeping hours as I could, I wordlessly scooped him up and settled him to sleep next to me.

The next morning, discovering myself surrounded by two babies and no husband, I asked Brad what had happened. I usually wake up feeling quite hung over and completely oblivious to what has occurred during my exhausted but sleepless night.

This was Brad's story.

We were experiencing an unexpected cold front in the middle of summer. Since Nikhil now has no warm pyjamas or warm blankets, and his room is the coldest in the house, and all the heaters have been stowed away, I had asked Brad to sleep with Nikhil to keep him warm. Insult no.1 - I kicked Brad out of our bed.

Sometime in the middle of the wee hours, Nikhil woke up and started calling for me. Brad unsuccessfully tried to put him back to sleep, so we swapped places - Brad slept in our room, I slept in Nikhil's room. Insult no.2 - Nikhil kicked Brad out of his bed.

After getting Nikhil back to sleep, I went back to my bed, to be there when Ariane woke for a feed. It was miserably cold in Nikhil's room, so I asked Brad to go back and keep him warm. Insult no.3 - I kicked Brad out of our bed AGAIN.

Sometime in the middle of the (slightly later) wee hours, Nikhil woke up again and called for me. Brad said he was crying, "Daddy go. Not you, only Mommy". Insult no.4 - Nikhil kicking Brad out of his bed AGAIN. And that's when I heard Brad shouting "No, YOU go!" and kicking NIKHIL out of his bed.

Apparently Brad had just had enough of being shunted around the house. Poor unwanted Brad - no wonder he's craving a bit of attention.

Healthy chocolate brownies!

A deviously deceptive way to sneak veggies into anyone's diet, including your own.
I got this idea from iVillage, I tried it and it works! Still chock-full of sugar, but it reduces the guilt of a wonderful treat.

So, take 1 package of brownie mix. Any brand, I used Ina Paarman's mix. Empty contents into a bowl. Now, here's the weird secret. DON'T ADD ANY OF THE REQUIRED WET INGREDIENTS. No eggs, milk, oil, butter, nothing. Instead add 1-1.5 cups of... wait for it... PUREED PUMPKIN. I kid you not. Just cook your pumpkin, smash it up with a fork, (or a blender if you must make more washing up for yourself) and add as much as you need to make a batter of a good consistency. Then bake as directed.

The result is just delicious chocolate brownies - no pumpkin taste at all, I promise.
Now go try it out on your kids.

Simple Chicken Pasta Dinner

This is a dish that my friend Kerry and I concocted many years ago, during those long summer school holidays, to satiate our mutual craving for tomatoes.
I've since made a few adaptations, but the result is still simple, delicious, and oh, so tomatoey!

Use as much or as little of the following as you like:
pasta (penne or fusilli are quite nice)
chicken, cut into cubes
soya sauce
salt
sugar
cornstarch
olive oil
minced garlic
chopped onion
3-4 ripe tomatoes, peeled and chopped
fresh or dried herbs (e.g. thyme, rosemary, origanum or basil)
black pepper

Cook pasta according to packet instructions. After draining, stir through a little olive oil to prevent sticking.

Season chicken as follows: Into the bowl of chicken pieces, add a dash of salt, a dash of sugar, and moisten well with soya sauce. Bind with about a teaspoon of cornstarch. (This entire step is optional, but my Chinese husband maintains that all meat should be seasoned like this, and he can actually taste the difference when I don't do it and pretend I did...)

Fry onions and garlic in oil for about a minute. Add chicken to hot oil and fry, stirring regularly, till cooked on the outside. Chuck in your chopped tomatoes and a pinch of salt. Turn heat down a little and cook for about 20 minutes, till chicken is cooked through. Check seasoning and adjust salt if necessary.
Immediately before serving, sprinkle with herbs and freshly ground black pepper.

Serve large bowls of pasta topped generously with sauce. You can sprinkle some cheddar or parmesan on top if you wish. Perfectly accompanied by a chilled glass of white wine.

This is what we'll be having for dinner tonight. I'll be thinking of you, Kerry!

Profile of an Ariane

Species: Arianus Japonicum

Habitat: Lives in a pouch attached to parents' chests. Nocturnally, this species can be found sleeping between long-suffering parents.

Size: Currently 5kg, will continue to grow up to 55-60kg.

Diet: Mother's milk

Distinguishing features: A shock of thick dark hair, small beguiling eyes and chubby thighs riddled with folds

Activities: Sleeping, eating, outputting, smiling and occasionally crying.

Sounds and translations:
Cooing, sighing and gurgling: "All is well with the world. Hi Mom!"
Squeaking: "I'm so comfortable."
Sucking very fast on dummy: "Hey, this thing doesn't have any milk!"
Panicked sniffling and snuffling: "Where's my milk? Somebody bring me my milk!!!"
Annoyed "Eh" vocalisation: "This is my last warning - get me my milk!"
Grunt: "Now you've had it!"
Full blown crying: "You have angered me to the point of no return! I will now scream deafeningly and refuse to eat until you move Heaven and Earth to show your remorse!"
Screaming accompanied by red face: "How dare you bath me, evil parents!"
Irregular burps, farts and giggles: "I'm fast asleep, leave me alone."

If well cared-for, this species is generally calm, placid and content. It attracts a lot of attention, and is well-loved by siblings. Owners must be aware though, that exercise needs to be strictly enforced, as the species is not inherently active.

Empowerment!

After months of waiting for Brad to set up our family website with a blog for me, I discovered Blogger, and set up my blog in a matter of minutes. I feel so empowered by the internet!

This is my very last week of maternity leave. I go back to work next Tuesday when Ariane is only 9 weeks old. Although it will be difficult to leave her, I feel a lot more relaxed this time than I did when I first left Nikhil at home. Ariane has been getting acquainted with her nanny Gertrude, and I've accepted that Gertrude is as good a caregiver as any, barring myself, Brad or one of our mothers.

Ariane is growing at a rapid rate. I don't remember Nikhil growing so quickly. She is alert and interested in her surroundings, and smiles at me when I talk to her. If she is with Brad or Gertrude and I walk into her sight, she starts crying for me. It's very flattering.


Nikhil is a typical almost-2-year-old sponge. He is absorbing information at an alarming rate. This morning he sang the whole of "Sing a song of sixpence" to me, and I haven't sung it to him for at least 3 weeks. He's been memorising the text of the books I read to him, and then he points at the words and "reads" the book to me. And he can now sing the entire alphabet song without help. So I decided it's not too early to start teaching him to read.

Yes, I know he's not quite two years old. And no, I don't think I'm pushing him too hard, despite the fact that our public school system only gets children to learn to read at age seven. He is interested in books, he's picking up information faster than I can supply it, and he's more than ready to learn the shapes of letters.

All the research I've done suggests that teaching children to read phonetically is superior to getting them to just recognise entire words from the outset. So I will be following the sequence of teaching him the alphabet song, then teaching him to recognise and name letters ("cee" as opposed to "cuh for cat") so that he doesn't learn to associate C with Cat. Then moving on to learning the sounds - A gives "a" as in apple, "aw" as in ball, "ay" as in cake, "aa" as in arm, etc. And finally combining sounds into words like hat, mat, bat. That's how I learnt to read, but apparently not how the American school system teaches it.

As for Brad, he is DEATHLY ill. He can't get out of bed, cook, or do much for the kids. Poor guy, he's come down with the potentially fatal Congested Sinuses. I hope he feels better soon, but my prognosis is that he will have repeated attacks of a similar nature until Ariane is a little older and I can give him more attention.