Hello, Pushkin

As of this weekend, Mae is no longer breastfeeding. Da be da de de dum dum. Bring in the brass band! Release the balloons! Break out the pretty bras!! I've got my body back!!

All the books I read told me I'd miss it. The nice, snuggly, close times. The special bond, the convenience, etc. But they were so wrong. It stopped hurting so much after the first three months, and I eventually stopped hating it, but I would never go so far as to say I liked it.

And as for convenience, bottles are where it's at. I wasn't a very good public breast feeder at the best of times and - since she sprouted teeth four months ago - I haven't even attempted it. Near the end, Mae and I just weren't a pretty picture while breastfeeding, what with her biting me, kicking me, wiggling around, getting bored and deciding to pull off mid-let-down, and me yelling "Ouch!" or else "Focus!!! Focus!!! Focus!!!". But now we can go anywhere we want with a bottle in tow. I don't even have to warm it up. She doesn't care. She's chill like that. And if she wants to bite the plastic nipple or wrench her head around 90 degrees while eating, she can now be my guest.

I've heard and read horror stories but, for us, the whole weaning thing was, thankfully, a non event. I just dropped a feed every couple of days - whenever I felt like it - and she just started taking a bottle - whenever she felt like it. And, honestly, we're both much happier with our new arrangement.

I'm glad I breastfed her, don't get me wrong. I'm glad because of the health benefits ... and I'm glad because it was free and money has been tight... and I'm glad because it helped me to drop my pregnancy weight fast... but more than any of those things, right now, I'm glad it's over.

a review for the Parent Bloggers network

I don't get people who don't vaccinate their kids. I seriously don't. I remember one woman in our prenatal class was so against any kind of "unnecessary western medicine" that, not only was she not going to vaccinate, she was adamant her newborn not even be given eye drops after the birth (something that's standard procedure in Canadian hospitals). She felt this way even after the midwife warned her that some babies who don't get the drops go blind. Hello??? Blind!!!

To each his own, and whatever, but I just can't imagine personally taking that kind of risk when it comes to my daughter. Even the debate about the possible link between the MMR vaccine and autism (something there's no scientific evidence to support) doesn't dissuade me one bit... not when you weigh the remote risk of a possible connection with the definite dangers of measles, mumps and rubella.

So, there. I've warned you up front. I read the book Vaccinated - One Man's Quest to Defeat the World's Deadliest Diseases (by Paul A. Offit, MD.) with a bias, to say the least.

Still, as pro-vaccine as I am, I was amazed at how much I didn't know. I was surprised to learn that many of the vaccines we give children today were invented relatively recently. Vaccines for measles, mumps, rubella, chickenpox, hepatitis A, hepatitis B, pneumococcus, meningococcus and Haemophilus influenza type b were all invented after the year 1950. I was also surprised to learn that all 9 of them were invented by the same guy: Maurice Hilleman - arguably one of the most important scientists of our time, and a man the majority of people have never heard of (myself included, until I got this book in the mail).

"Before these vaccinations were made, Americans could expect that every year measles would cause severe, fatal pneumonia; rubella would attack unborn babies causing them to go blind or deaf or become mentally retarded; and Hib would infect the brain and spinal cord , killing or disabling thousands of young children. These nine vaccines virtually eliminated all of this suffering and disability and death." - from Vaccinated

To say we all owe the guy a great big "Hey, thanks. Great job," is an understatement. But, unfortunately, we're a little late. He died in 2005 without ever having been properly recognized by the public, the press or the Nobel Prize Committee.

Better late than never though, I figure. So I'm grateful for the chance to have learned about Hillman through this book - a detailed, interesting, sometimes disturbing and other times disgusting look at his work.

Raised on a farm in Montana after being practically orphaned at birth, he harnesed a relentless drive to succeed and became a genius in his field. Through direct quotes from interviews with Hillman as well as commentary from his family and fellow scientists, Offit pieces together a portrait of a man who was as surly and uncompromising as he was kind and brilliant. Hillman was truly a force to be reckoned with, which was a lucky thing, considering he had a lot of roadblocks to overcome in the making of his vaccines.

Aside from describing the processes Hillman used to invent and produce his vaccines, as well as describing the work of other scientists which he built on, the book goes into great detail about the ethical battles Hilleman and other scientist faced. One such controversy had to do with their decision to use cells from an aborted fetus in the creation of vaccines (even though using cells from monkeys, chickens and other animals was proven to be unsafe as they could contain undetectable viruses that could be spread to humans).

I was also astounded to learn about the uphill battle Hilleman sometimes faced to get adequate funding and facilities. You'd think curing the world's deadliest diseases might be considered somewhat of a priority, but apparently not. To treat a military outbreak of Japanese encephalitis virus (JEV) - an infection of the brain which is transmitted by mosquitos - in 1944, Hillman was forced to produce a vaccine in an old barn by putting diseased mouse brains in a leaky cocktail blender. Okay. Ick.

He also faced controversy (understandably) over the testing of vaccines. Many vaccines at the time were tested on institutionalized mentally retarded children. Hilleman rationalized it by pointing out that retarded children, who were confined to institutions, were at greater risk during outbreaks of diseases... "They weren't used for testing because they were expendable, but rather because they were vulnerable." (p. 25). Yeah. It's a little hard to swallow.

But whether or not you agree with his methods (and some of them were, admittedly, harder to agree with than others) you can't deny that Maurice Hilleman had a mission, and a whole lot of stick-to-it-iv-ness. As a result, he saved the lives - and continues to save the lives - of millions of children around the world.

If you're in to science, you'll definitely enjoy this book. If you're not, it's still worth skimming. And the second-last chapter, which deals with the autism debate, is especially relevant. At the very least, you'll gain an appreciation for the work of a true modern hero.

Mae's first words have been (in this order):

1. Dada
2. Kitty
   
3. Hi
   
4. Quack, quack, quack
   

And while I whole-heartedly approve of her appreciation of my husband, the cats, friendly greetings and the sound a duck makes, I still can't help lamenting... where, oh where, is Mommy? Will it ever come? I'm seriously considering making her an entire deck of flash cards with my face on them. Okay, not seriously... but I'm definitely un-seriously considering it. It has fleetingly crossed my mind at least once... possibly twice.

... cried the first time he held you and, in seven years, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him cry.

... gets up with you every morning at 6:30 (or earlier), just so he can spend a few hours playing with you before he leaves for work, then comes straight home afterwards so he can see you again.

... loves to see you laugh and will do just about anything to make it happen, whether it's miewing like a kitty, balancing toys on his head, recklessly flipping you upside down or pushing you endlessly in your swing.

... can't wait to take you rock climbing, bike riding, kite-skiing and parachuting (okay, maybe not parachuting, but all of those other dangerous things), because he's so excited to show you the things he loves to do.

... always makes a show of going bananas over the latest hand print craft you've made, even though you've made a million.

... cheers you on with every word you say, inch you crawl and step you take.

... will always love you, right down to your tippy-toes.

It's been a long time since I wrote my last post about Mae's favourite things. She's so big now, and so much has changed, so here we go again. In no particular order...

#1 - Washcloths
Gladly the Cross-eyed Bear, her former lovey, (which made for such a nice, sentimental story) has been unceremoniously replaced by baby-sized washcloths. She sleeps with one clenched in each hand. Sometimes, when I go in to get her after a nap, I'll find her waving one out the slats of the crib, like she's some kind of damsel, bidding her lover farewell as the train pulls away.

#2 - Spatula
Why do we bother having an entire box full of gaudy, musical battery-sucking toys? Mae's happiest times are with the spatula. She chews it, drops it on the floor, hits the cat with it, drops it on the floor again, chews it again.

#3 - Kitties
Mae's first word was, technically dada. She says it all the time, but we aren't convinced she really knows what it means yet. She definitely calls her daddy dada. But she also called a cardboard box dada the other day.. and the highchair, and the umbrella on the picnic table. But when she sees a kitty go by, she always says the same word. It's something kind of like "kee-ee," but you can tell what she's going for. Plus, when she sees one, she just laughs and laughs like they're the funniest things on four legs. She chases them mercilessly. Still, it's amazing but true (knock wood): we've got three cats, and in nine and a half months, she hasn't been bitten or scratched once.

#4 - Sandbox
Mae is all about the sandbox at the park. We go almost every day. I love it too. It's got all kinds of great digger toys and plastic food that somebody donated, plus great sides for sitting on (for moms), and you never know who you might meet there.

#5 - Bread
Yay carbs! Bread is good for eating, and also good for squishing.

#6 - Books
Sigh. It warms a writer/editor/mother's heart. The first thing she does when she gets downstairs most mornings is to pull every book off her shelf. And while she doesn't exactly treat them with respect, she does become deeply involved with them... tasting, banging, ripping. As long as she keeps being interested in them, it's all okay with me.

It's another blog blast Friday with the Parent Bloggers and Light Iris. The topic this time around: where does the time go?

God, I wish I knew.

Lately, Mae and I putter through the days, going to the park, eating lunch, getting groceries, going for a nap, taking a bath... Every now and then we'll do something special. Like, yesterday, we went to the petting zoo. We visited with the cows, saw the fattest pig, walked underneath the trees that were dropping fluffy white seed pods. It was all very dream-like. But then, so is every day, even if we don't "do" anything. Since Mae was born, I feel like I've been living in a bit of a time warp. The first three months of her life lasted about twenty years, for example... and the past two have lasted six seconds.

Yesterday on the phone my little brother asked, with what sounded like pity, aren't you bored yet? To which I replied, "God, no."

I guess I can see how our life might look a little boring from the outside. I'm not sealing deals or meeting deadlines. There's nowhere we especially have to be, and - with the exception of a few loads of a laundry; a little grocery shopping - there's nothing we especially have to get done. If you stripped our schedule down to its basics, it'd go something like this:

• Mae gets up.
  
• Mae eats.
  
• Mae plays / We do errands.
  
• Mae goes back to sleep.
  
• Repeat.
  
• Repeat.
  
• Repeat.
  

But you'd be missing the hundreds of details, which are what really make it magic. Like under the category of "Mae gets up" alone you could add so many subheadings...

Mae Gets Up

• Mae rocks on her hands and knees in the crib while telling an unintelligible story.
  
• Mae roars when I come in.
  
• I get a hug.
  
• Diaper change during which Mae pulls herself to standing, wiggles all around, takes ten wipes out of the box while I'm not looking and tries to eat them.
  
• Face wash torture.
  
• Tooth brushing torture.
  
• Getting-dressed torture.
  
• We go downstairs.
  
• We stop in the hallway to admire the kitty.
  
• We stop on the stairs to admire the banister.
  
• We stop to wave at our reflections in the mirror while saying things like "Who's that pretty baby? Oh, that's Mae. Mae is a pretty baby. Wave hello to Mae. Oh, hello pretty baby."
  
• We go to the mailbox to see what's there.
  
• We look at all the pictures in the pizza fliers.
  
• We stop to pick a flower from the bush and Mae tries to eat it.
  
• We go inside and stop by the mirror to wave at ourselves one more time.
  
• and on
  
• and on
  
• and on...
  

That probably still doesn't sound so exciting from the outside... but what I can't quite put into words is the almost unbearable sweetness of it all; her sticky little hand on my cheek; the way it feels to be greeted by her two-toothed smile.

Our time goes to just being together, I guess. To just slowing down and looking at everything, and learning about everything, because everything in the world is brand-new to Mae and, somehow, that makes it seem brand new to me as well. And when you're coming at it from that perspective, doing nothing much can take a very long time.