remedies. period.

  Today I spent Evening's naps looking for natural ways to keep those menstrual demons I talked about yesterday at bay.  Surprisingly, there isn't a lot of information out there when you consider that every woman on the planet menstruates for a significant portion of her life.

  I did find a smattering of herbs recommended for cramps; all of them a diuretic.  Midol™ works this way as well: they make you pee.  Peeing relieves pressure and thus, eases cramps.  Rather than cross-referencing diuretic herbs for their safety with breastfeeding, I believe it would be much easier to just....(ahem)..drink water.  Water also makes me pee, though it is rarely considered a diuretic (hmmmm...).  With water I also don't have to worry about getting myself and my beloved dehydrated because I'm actually urinating too much for the summer weather.

drink up ladies!

   Being well hydrated can also help you avoid cramps to begin with.  This works for me.  However, I am not every woman, and I've know many ladies who get crippling cramps during their heavy days.  I did run across a lot of recommendations for using red raspberry leaves for cramps, since the herb relaxes your uterus (sorry, but I can't resist a giggle picturing my uterus getting a massage from a raspberry leaf).  Though I cannot test this out beyond my own wimpy cramps, I do recommend red raspberry leaf tea for women everywhere, because it helps a lady's uterus stay healthy and strong and there's nothing wrong with that.

  There's a lot controversy surrounding the use red raspberry leaves during pregnancy, and I would advise everylady do her own research and make her own decision on that, but it is considered quite safe for the breastfeeding mummy.   It is also a galactogogue; it will increase your milk supply (hurray - fewer cramps and leaking breasts!).  I drank it by the gallon during my first post partum weeks to help my own uterus out after 'the big show'.  I should note that I cannot handle pure red raspberry leaf tea.  It reminds me of having morning sickness.  Instead, I use 'Fecundi tea' from Mountain Rose Herbs  which diffuses the raspberry leaf with other lady-friendly herbs and tastes a lot better. 

  If you are interested, there is nothing complicated about red raspberry leaf - it is indeed the leaves from the raspberry canes that yield the yummy berries, so next time you're out picking berries, help yourself to a few leaves as well and give your uterus a treat.

  The worst part of my cycle is not cramps, it is not bloating (like I'd notice with this pregnancy weight anyway), it is hormones.  I go from singing all day and being a generally positive mummy to being a silent, brooding, tortured soul with the most negative self-talk you can imagine.  Needless to say, I'm not terribly pleasant to be around, even though I try my best to hide it.  I wouldn't mind keeping to myself if I wasn't so miserable within as well.  Not even Midol™ could help with that. 

  Until now.  Stop the presses ladies - we have a miracle.  Despite being in the depths of despair I crawled out of my hole long enough to brew a cup of Earth Mama Angel Baby's Monthly Comfort Tea.  A lovely, comforting and citrusy aroma rose from my tea cup, and the taste did not disappoint.  I will happily admit that it is now a favourite based upon flavour alone.  In the meantime, I drank my tea and waited for something to happen.  It took about an hour, but despite the tension that remained in my shoulders (I do that) my mood lifted significantly.  So I drank another cup.  And felt - like ME again.  I felt like someone capable of both menstruating and raising my child without significantly scarring her once a month.  Gasp.

  I love this tea. 

  On another note, during my nap-time research I also came across a whole new breed of activism that I had never heard of (and I went to UVic!): menstrual activism.  Seriously.  Apparently there are a great deal of women who are sick of being ashamed of their periods and having to be secretive about the fact that it happens to each and every one of us (women).  Particularly about how nobody talks about it...I guess I didn't get the memo on that one.  But even they weren't talking about home remedies for menstrual symptoms.  Nope, these ladies are setting about to reclaim their menstrual cycle through knowledge and empowerment (verdict's out on whether knowledge and empowerment eases cramping).

  The first such site I stumbled across was Re: Cycle which is an amazing resource for information on cloth pads, talking to your daughters about menstruating (I lingered there for a while), and generally contemplating why menstruation is so taboo to begin with while being so lucrative for the myriads of unnecessary products and businesses aimed at it.  The anthropologist in me was so fascinated, I love it when the mirror is turned on mainstream culture. 

  In all honesty, I use re-usable menstrual products because I don't want to pack a bunch of chemicals and synthetics into my body and then into landfills; I never realized what a mega-industry periods have created in the world.  Rather shocking when you actually think about it. 

  The other site I discovered is Adventures in Menstruating (brilliant, eh?), an ever so crunchy blog and zine dedicated to the same ideals as above, but focusing on humour to deliver the message.  Menstruating, they tell me, "is the new fart joke."  They even offer the reader a pattern for a fake blood stain that can be attached to one's pants.  Um...

  

the return of the monthlies

  Well, it's happened.  The inevitable return to reality...the return...of the monthlies.

  I actually had a brief, stabbing moment of panic, thinking I had torn open my inner c-mummy scar doing some crazy yoga exercises yesterday - but nope!  It was the return of my old nemesis after more than a year away.

  I didn't miss it.   I seriously think pregnancy and birth are preferable to my menstrual cycle.  Mine, anyway.  I've been feeling the cold chill of inner negativity for a few days now, unable to place why this was happening and making a mental note to be nicer to myself.  With the inner negativity comes the outer crankiness and extreme sensitivity.  Some of my closest friends mark a hasty retreat this time of the month, probably wisely.  Sigh.  Does anyone have any tips for remaining a good and loving mummy when the mensies are clawing at your guts?  I can't imagine being patient enough to care for a toddler on the bad days.  This terrifies me.

  According the la Leche League's theWomanly Art of Breastfeeding, the flavour of a woman's breastmilk changes when she commences menstruating again.  Nursing strikes are to be expected.  I can't help but think how troublesome that must to a baby who has the same (and only) food their entire life.  Considering that the return of my menstruation is also a sign that my body has decided "Yes, you can do this.  Time to get started on a sibling," I'm guessing our milk tastes a little bitter for our wee ones.  Evening already has nursing strikes due to teething pain (and no pearly whites as yet I might add) so I wasn't certain if this taste change would have a noticeable effect on her or not.

  It did.  There is no good thing to say about being emotionally flattened by your first period in over a year while your infant is screaming on the top of her lungs because her beloved milk is likely poisoned or something, which is so heart breaking to her that she cannot eat despite much hunger, thus exacerbating the whole situation by throwing another reason for baby to cry in there while your hormones have robbed you of every shred of patience and ability to handle a crisis.  I cried right along with her, yet managed to avoid screaming along with her (very proud).

Let's do this. 

   At least now I have some new weapons in my menstrual arsenal.  The estrogen that I have never gotten along with has enabled me to produce this wonderful child, so I can forgive, even it still doesn't want to be friends.  While shopping for cloth diapers I discovered Sckoon Organics who sell 'irregular' organic cloth pads for a deep discount, so my supply of pads has doubled (if you don't mind that something no one will see but you has aesthetic faults, check them out!).  I've also discovered the Earth Mama Angel Baby™ Organics line and I've got a good supply of 'Monthly Comfort Tea' that will hopefully keep that mean inner voice locked up in my mental menstrual hut where she can do less harm.

  My love for Evening has changed me in a lot of ways, and that means that the desperately-seeking-Midol™ old me has to go, at least while I'm breastfeeding and hopefully forever.  So, as I bravely face the days ahead, the only thing to do now is to doggedly research natural ways to keep those inner menstrual demons at bay.  Therefore I dedicate this period to this endeavour and I shall share my discoveries and experiments with you right here.  

eating for breastmilk

  Breastfeeding changes a lot of things, and not just physically - I'm fairly certain my diet has become unrecognizable compared to my pre-preggers days.  Pineapple?  I dream of you.  Ice cream?  Not this mummy.  Tomatoes?  See you in a few years.  Hey, at least a little space in my garden is freed up with that one.  Beloved coffee?  Hello, decaf. 

  Generally, these changes have been easy sacrifices for the joy of providing my pumpkin with nature's wonder food.  Then 'spaghetti night' rolls around again, as it does once, sometimes twice, a week.  Yes, spaghetti is nature daddy's comfort food, his favourite food, his no-fail pick me up meal, and it is often requested.  This same man that holds my hand when I'm upset, despises all those who dare make me cry (no matter how baby-bluesy I was), talks baby-talk with not even the slightest hint of self-consciousness, and went to every single appointment with me when I was pregnant.  I am not denying this man a meal that means this much to him, even if it means making two meals that night because Evening will be screaming bloody murder if I eat spaghetti with tomato sauce (she really doesn't do acidic very well). 

  At first I simply had white sauce in place of tomato sauce, but then I realized I was missing out on the entire vegetable portion of the meal, so I started tossing veggies in.  Then I got really tired of white sauce.  So I tried pesto, rose, you name it.  They were not bad, but still I was missing that vitamin punch of a vegetable sauce, and vitamins are even more important than ever now that I'm breastfeeding.  Then, my idea was born: carrot sauce for pasta.  Different, yes, but yummy.  So for all you acid-avoiding mummys out there with spaghetti nights looming large, I offer my alternative. 

Ingredients:
- vegetables that need to be eaten up
- lotsa carrots
- 4 shakes of cinnamon (just cinnamon, not cinnamon and sugar)
- tbsp fennel seed
- 2 tbsp molasses
- large onion
- 2 cloves of garlic (omit if you've noticed your baby reacts poorly to garlic)
-1/4 cup grated cheddar cheese 

  This recipe was born by raiding my vegetable drawers.   I pulled out: a frozen bag of carrots [turned down fridge], 1/2 crown of broccoli, 1 leek, and half a cucumber.  I piled it all in my soup pot and boiled them soft.  I let the pot cool and then I blended it, water and all, into an orange liquid.  It took a few blender-fulls, and then I poured it all into my slow cooker, turned on low.  It was fairly thick, so I kept adding water throughout the cooking process. 

  Two hours later I remembered that the leek was in the fridge a little past its prime because its mate, a leek I'd already eaten, may have been the cause for some tummy upset for Evening.  In a minor panic I tossed in some fennel seed to counteract the leek's affects.  Then for funsies I added cinnamon.

   I googled recipes for carrot soup to discover what herbs were most popular for seasoning carrots.  As it turns out, ginger and curry won the day.  Unfortunately, I don't love ginger and curry doesn't agree with Evening either, so I'll be sticking with my fennel and cinnamon.  For someone else, ginger and curry might be a dream come true (and if you try it, let me know how it turns out!).

  After another two hours in the slow cooker I tried a taste.  It was rather tart, so I looked around for a sweetener and decided that molasses would probably go well.  In it went .  Yes, this all getting a bit strange, but bear with me here.

  In honour of spaghetti sauce, I chopped an onion and crushed two cloves of garlic to add.  In honour of my greener summer resolutions, I kept it vegetarian.

  I served it up on a bed of spaghetti noodles and topped it off with a sprinkle of grated cheddar cheese for garnish (and deliciousness).  Then, with a great deal of trepidation...I took a bite.

  Yum!!  Somehow the noodles complemented the sauce perfectly, and the cheese took the  residual bitterness out of the carrots beautifully, leaving me a pleasant, sweet taste.  It even has a lovely after-taste that lingers.  Goodbye white sauce, hello orange sauce!

  Thank goodness it turned out, since I have an entire slow cooker full of it.  If I had a pressure cooker I could can the rest, but I don't so I'll be freezing it in serving portions for later.  My Bernardin Guide to Home Preserving tells me that cooked vegetables can last one month in the freezer before they start losing nutrients, so keep this in mind if you wish to make a batch of your own. 
  
  Happy cooking!

quirky family moments

  My mummy brain can come up with a lot of unusual things, often unconsciously, and also faster than I ever could if I was actually trying.  They might also be much better if I was actually trying, however with my audience generally consisting of one four month old, I tend to let the current take me where it likes.  For example, Evening and I have completely changed the lyrics to 'she'll be coming round the mountain when she comes' to a song that we sing when we're waiting for naturedaddy to come home from work - 'he'll be coming 'round the corner when he comes...he'll be driving the toyota when he comes...oh, we'll both go out to greet him when he comes...'

  This particular song strikes me that it might stick around a few years (assuming the toyota lasts) as something her and I sing to bring him home again.  One of those oddball family traditions that never really make sense outside the family circle.  When I was really young, my family had this habit of seeing our home in the distance and saying 'I wonder if the Shelby's are home?'  I'm not sure where that began or why it ended, but I do know we never came home without one of us saying it.  It was hilarious when I was six, and even now it feels warm and familiar.  

  I was reading A Soft Place to Land by Susan Rebecca White the other day and fell in love with another one of those strange quirks - the way the main character's older sister would pretend to cast a spell on the moon to make it follow their car when they were driving at night.  Of course the moon would always oblige.  I've been working on my own version of this one with a bit of a story to tell Evening when she's older.  It has that nice tang of innocent and easy-going wonder that always thrills me.

  Then today I was playing with her toes and suddenly heard myself saying,

  This little piggy went to the farmer's market to purchase some locally grown organic produce,
  and this little piggy went too
  This little piggy made an ecologically sustainable meal for his family,
  and this little piggy helped out
  And this little piggy cried 'oui, oui, oui' all the way to the compost bin.  

  Really.  Apparently a little piggy staying home while another went out doesn't set well with me.  Eating roast beef while someone else goes hungry?  Not my girl.  Her piggies are bilingual, and I guess it's never too early to teach her to eat well either...and compost.  Or for her to learn that her mummy is a bit of an eco-dork.

the wonder and delight

  "She seems so grown up," I was thinking to myself as Evening lay sleeping and cuddled up close to me this morning.  Her experiences so great, her personality decidedly pronounced, and a year ago today I was just beginning to be aware of her possible existence.  What a different world of fear and trepidation that was from today.

  Does every baby have so distinct a personality?  Somehow I believed they were empty little creatures, just sleeping and pooping for their first months of life.  What a silly girl I was.  I used to wonder what kept mothers going in the midst of all that work.  If only I knew.  Evening has such a big personality at four months I can't help but wonder at how gregarious she will be at eight years.  How fun-loving at twelve.  I find myself worrying about the first time she comes to me crying because she has overheard someone talking behind her back, losing this innocence and absolute lack of self-consciousness I so admire in her now.  I wish there were some way to preserve this, even as I try and imagine words to say to her that may allow me to.

  How much will her personality change in the upcoming years?  At four months she is determined, self-motivated, curious, and outgoing.  She smiles at every person and animal she sees.  Cats are absolutely hilarious and she takes delight in the simplest of things...like me yawning.  Everything new gets explored with wide, hungry eyes and reaching fingertips.  She grows angry when she's frustrated and does not want to be comforted.  She prefers, instead, to be angry for a while until the next thing distracts her and she forgets that she's upset.  She can squirm out of almost anything whenever I look away.  She enjoys music and birdsong; she is a constant chatterbox and she can't sit still.  Oh yes, and she is rather fond of chewing on her big toe. 

  How much of this is here to stay?  Will she keep her wonder and her delight, the things that will make her life happier, and let go of all of that frustration?  I can hope, but I cannot know.  I can also hope she keeps them both and finds her balance.  Will she be like me, and pack up the best bits of herself when she enters adolescence, missing them horrifically but unable to find where she left them until she reaches adulthood on the other side?  Will I remember that and try to stay by her side as all of this happens?  Deep down I know the answer to that one, and the rest...well, it's not my story to tell this time, is it? 

this is what delight looks like (Evening in the garden)

DIY living willow play house (part 1)

  I have uncovered a way to channel my desire to build a fort for Evening without being absurdly early: I shall build her a willow house.

  I am choosing to make her a willow house because it will be a few years before it is grown up into a proper fort.  Essentially, I will plant willow (of the pussy willow variety, not the weeping) into a circle.  This circle will become the circumference of our future fort.  When the willow grows tall enough, I will bend it over and weave it together to make a roof.  Like so...

  The first step is to collect some willow, and even just one long whip will do.  We are using willow because it roots quickly and easily, and grows swiftly.  It also grows pretty much everywhere in the wild, so it's easy to find some with just a simple walk.  In our area, there are four types of willow growing on most road sides.  I recommend avoiding willow species that flower, as they will attract bees and nobody wants bees in their fort.

the arrows indicate leaf scars on red willow (all are similar)

  The second step is to root the willow.  To do this, I take my willow whip and remove the leaves, cutting it into 3" sections, ensuring that each section contains a leaf scar.  Within that little notch lies everything needed to grow a new willow.  Next we need to tuck our section of willow into a little pot of soil, making sure that the leaf scar is pointing upwards, and water.  The sections can also be stored in water until you are ready to plant them (just in case baby has other plans).  Once planted, these little guys need to stay wet until their roots are strong, so placing the pots in a pan of water is a great idea if you are the type to forget to water them or if your baby is of the sort that may not let you.

   How many of these rooted pieces you need depends on how big you would like your willow house to be.  I recommend planting one every foot, and rooting a few extra in case some of them don't make it.

  Once the willow has become rooted and established, it will send up a shoot from the leaf scar that will become the main shoot, and it will quickly leaf out to feed itself with yummy sunlight.  Once this happens, you are ready to plant your wee clones into the earth. 

  Choose your spot wisely, for the willow may want to spread and you don't want the fort too close to the road or other places where you wouldn't want your kids playing.  Too close to a forest may be tempting for other fort-loving critters to den in, or ground laying birds to nest in (this fort is so fantastic everyone wants to live in one).  In summer your child will also be well hidden inside the fort, so you might want to aim the willow house's entrance toward a window or a door you use often.

  After a summer or two, it will be time for the next step: weaving.  This will be best done in early spring before the willow has leafed out so you can see the stems clearly.  Remember, they will very likely have many more branches by now, and this is good.  Simply take one stem, leaning over the inner circle, and weave it together with the opposite stem until it stays put.  This is the most difficult part to weave, because it has the least to work with.  Next, pull in the others, weaving the stems over that inner circle and closing the gap, moving up and down the 'walls' with the branches and leaving a gap for the entryway.  Underneath lay the secret fort; the willow house.  For larger forts, it might be easiest to weave from inside the willow house.

  Don't worry if it doesn't look perfect; your kids won't notice whatsoever because they will be too busy being thrilled that mummy made them a fort.  When the willow leafs out the frame will be well hidden in a mound of green and you will be thrilled with your creation.

grow little guys, grow!

  Of course, for now I'm just waiting for my willow to root, and soon I'll be scouting potential spots to plant our willow house.  We are hoping to move sooner rather than later but that's alright - a willow house is free so we don't have anything to lose!

Review: Heimess teething toys

  I picked up the Heimess™ 'touch ring moon' teething toy for Evening a week ago because I found myself intrigued by the design and because I missed her and felt guilty that she wasn't with me.  She was outside in the truck, with her dad.  I can see a very bad pattern starting here.  And yes, I have broken one of my 'greener summer resolutions' BUT I believe that teething toys must be excluded from the no new toys rule, because well, they go in her mouth, I need to know their full histories. 

"touch ring moon" toy

  This 'touch ring moon' has become her favourite teething toy, debunking even Sophie la girafe™.  We still love Sophie and think her hooves are delicious, but the moon ring has so many places for Evening's little fingers to clutch onto and grab, and it is the first time I've seen her able to draw anything to her mouth consistently with her limited coordination (besides her hands).  The half moon also spins around, which she watches with fascination (though she cannot spin it herself as yet) and always makes her smile.  At either pole of the circle, there is a large bead not unlike a nipple, which Evening thinks is just fantastic to gnaw on, working her little gums for almost an hour at a time.  

  The beads and the moon are threaded onto a firm elastic-like cord that runs through the outer circle.  I get a little nervous that this might break, sending that bead she's chewing on straight into her esophagus and causing some terrifying baby Heimlich maneuvering, so I chewed on myself for a bit to reassure myself; its tough.  I would definitely recommend keeping an eye on that cord for any fraying...and taking baby First Aid, just in case. 

  The toy is safety certified with CE in the EU, EN71.  Their website tells me the toys are made from local walnut, beech or sycamore.  They are made by hand "to a large extent" in Germany.  I'm not entirely sure what that "to a large extent" is all about, but it does seem as though tiny children in sweatshops wielding ridiculously sharp whittling knives are not involved.  While we're at it, that 'local' wood seems pretty much irrelevant once it's been imported from Germany as well, even if it does mean a smaller footprint than a similar imported product made from equally imported wood.  I suddenly feel like a jerk for buying this toy.  Sigh.  Oh yes, and all of the paints and oils are non-toxic, baby friendly, and I can wash it up in the sink with just a bit of hot water.  It has a feel of quality to it, and being of a classic and timeless design, I can see myself storing this away for Evening so she can have it for her own children some day (I think I just gave myself a heart attack there). 

  Aside from this mummy feeling like a jerk for denuding German trees of...a branch or so...Evening really seems to enjoy this toy.  I suppose that a German tree branch is far better than plastic made from a million-year-old German dinosaur that rotted into oil deep in the belly of the earth.

 

UPDATE: July 22, 2012 – I was putting Evening’s toys away tonight and noticed that the yellow paint on the surface of the moon was beginning to chip.  I prodded it gently with my nail and large chunks of it flaked off.  This isn’t something I am happy about in a teething toy, which is too bad, because it truly is Evening’s favourite.  Yes, it gets a lot of use, but it has only been in use for a little over a month.  It has never soaked in water (beyond baby drool) though it has been cleaned a few times.  Please use your discretion purchasing this toy for your  baby. 

nature family

  Mike has had a few days off because of incessant rain which is unusual for this area, but reminds us of home.  It's been fairly wet, but with lengthy sunny breaks, so it's been fun weather for exploring a park not far from our house.  We have pretty much had the place to ourselves, save for a few mud-boggers on the trails (we even had to rescue a few of them).  Gumboots were definitely a must, as was Evening's teeny tiny raincoat, and we felt this was a great way to celebrate a belated Father's Day and Evening's 4-month birthday. 

  I gathered some nootka rose petals and woodland strawberry leaves for some tea, both of which were plentiful everywhere you looked.  I think we'll have to go back for when the strawberries are ripe this summer, even Mike mentioned how delicious the sun-warmed tiny berries were on the farm when he was a kid. There are actually fire pits there as well, quite sodden these days, but maybe we could return for a camp fire come autumn (and collect some rosehips as well) when the sun sets a bit earlier. At our northerly latitude, it isn't particularly dark until midnight, which takes some of the fun out of campfires. 

lunch with a view

  We slogged around in the puddles, dodging mosquitoes, and discovering some amazing lookout points complete with breastfeeding-friendly benches.  Thank goodness for that, because trying to feed her tangled up like a pretzel, balanced on one gumboot to keep myself just a little dry was an absolute gong show.

asleep in her sling

  The mud did slow us down just once, when Mike slipped heading up a slick hill.  Normally, he would have simply caught himself, but he was holding Evening so he heroically fell and twisted his body just enough to take the force of the fall on the shoulder that wasn't holding his precious girl.  Evening wasn't even muddy, though maybe just a little surprised.  And dads wear mud so well, it was hardly noticeable.

   I was secretly so proud of him.  I have wondered so many times what would happen if I fell while holding her - would I have the reflexes and instinct to make sure I didn't land on her?  It does seem likely with all of these protective hormones that have been prowling about of late, but you never know until it happens.  Dad, however, has passed with flying colours.

beaver daddy, protecting his kits

  A few trails further on we came across a body of water...definitely man-made but why I cannot tell you.  The layout reminds me of older settling ponds I've seen, and if it is the ecosystem is certainly flourishing now. Evening got to glimpse at her first mallards, ducklings, and even a beaver father and his lodge (where I assume his family was safely installed).  He actually followed us for quite a ways, making certain that we did not mean his family any harm  and seeing us move away from them until he was satisfied with the distance.  There were plenty of moose and deer tracks as well, though we didn't glimpse any through the trees. 

  Some kids were also busy making forts up there, which gave me a grin and reminded me well of my childhood summers.  There were several styles of lean-to and teepees scattered about, tiny little things begging to explored but I'd likely dash them to bits with my adult size.  Suddenly I am feeling nostalgic for my old forts - exactly how old does Evening need to be before I can start building forts for - ahem - her?  Maybe I need to get some practice in early...

I am a superhero and my name is Breastmilk

  When I was falling asleep last night, I sleepily remembered reading something once upon a time that breastmilk was good for scrapes and cuts.  I double-checked to be sure, and then I soon found myself expelling milk while Evening looked on curiously.

the international symbol of breastfeeding

  When she was still a newborn I remember tugging on my breasts to encourage let-down, and to pump extra milk for our trips to the children's hospital back in the 'scary days'.  It seemed so difficult then, when breastfeeding was still so new and strange and painful.  It felt so long ago! It is Evening's four-month birthday today, so it really wasn't.  I remember using the nipple shields the lactation consultant gave me for days on end, and taking a friend's advice to putting frozen cabbage leaves on my nipples to ease the pain (do not ever do this, it is extraordinarily painful.  Cabbage leaves yes, frozen cabbage leaves no).

  This time as I expelled my milk, I laughed as it shot out at all angles; delicate arcs of impossibly thin streams of white gold dancing in several directions at once.  I am reminded of all those books I was reading in those early days, books that promised me in a few months my baby and I would be in a new world of confidence, books that I didn't believe for one moment.  Ahem.  They were right.

  Onto my pumpkin's scraped up bum the breastmilk went.  I surveyed her bottom and sat back, waiting.  Yet nothing happened, which was shocking, because I'm fairly certain this creme de maman is a superhero in its own right.  The wound did not disappear into thin air.  However, this evening when I looked at it, it is so much better I almost blushed to remember how upset I had been.

  I spent some more time today reminding myself of all the handy uses of my breastmilk, as I naively thought I would not need the topical antibiotic and antiviral properties until Evening was at least crawling around and scraping herself up on her own adventures.   Sigh.

 I came across La Trobe University's paper on antiviral factors in breastmilk here .  Remember, this is antiviral, not just antibiotic (qualities which breastmilk also has).  This is what vaccines are given for, because there isn't much else doctors can do to make us immune to most viruses.  In an attempt to simplify and clarify: a vaccine is given with a low dose of a virus that our bodies can fight off; intending that we will have a store of antibodies that will keep this particular virus from bothering us again (immunity).  Breastmilk can do this on its own, using mummy's store of immunities; a quality that has yet to be replicated to my knowledge.  This is why a lot of woman are starting to choose extended breastfeeding and why the WHO recommends breastfeeding for at least two years.

  My ultimate conclusion is that the world's greatest wonder drug can be found in the breasts of breastfeeding mummys everywhere.   Breastmilk can also be used for treating ear aches, diaper rash, pink eye, insect bites, itchy rashes, burns...just about anywhere where an infection is culprit, breastmilk can help you.  Nature gave us everything we needed to keep our babies healthy right there in...their dinner.  Which is especially genius if you have a child like mine, who is constantly spitting it up all over herself. 

an accident and a wounded bum

  Our diaper free overnight went remarkably well.  As I was getting into bed myself I noticed she was squirming and almost waking up and I wondered if that meant she had to potty or not...but I hesitated, not wanting to wake her if she didn't need to pee, and of course moments later she peed, still asleep.  I just swapped out the nappies I had laid underneath her and we were none the worse for wear.  For the rest of the night there were three more pees, each with a bit of squirming but no waking up.  I know this precisely because I was so anxious about understanding the night-time hygiene that I just couldn't sleep.  Not ideal, but I have always been a terrible sleeper so I didn't get too upset at myself for it.

 The phone rang very early and Mike had to run to work.  This was rather disappointing on his first Father's Day but we knew it was a possibility and we'd talked it over.  Just in case, we went for a family hike Saturday afternoon, with Evening in the 'big daddy carrier' (a structural backpack carrier) to celebrate a day early.  If we could, we'd make a weekend of it, and if not, we wouldn't sweat it.  

in the 'big daddy carrier' with daddy

  Somehow everything just collapsed after he left and we started our day.  I won't name any characters because there are no villains in an accident, but I will tell you there was a fright, there was a scream, there was a crash, something broke, and all heck broke lose in my living room for a fateful moment.  Evening, who had been laying in her bed naked, playing with her feet and cooing away happily, started screaming.  I picked her up, wrapped her in a blanket, and held her close, thinking she was just frightened.   Then I slowly realized that that was her pain cry.  "Please let it be teething, please let it be teething," I said to myself.  I pulled the blanket away, about to lay her down and check her over, when I noticed blood on the blanket.  My entire body turned ice cold immediately, and I turned her around to discover a jagged gash on her tiny little butt cheek.  Blood collected into drops as I watched, horrified.  

  I was certain I was the WORST MOTHER ON THE PLANET to have let this happen.  Sorry for the yelling, dear reader, but that was exactly how it was.

  Shockingly, she actually stopped crying within moments.  I put her down gently onto her tummy and went to the bathroom, looking for polysporin and a soapy cloth to wash her, completely on autopilot.  This only took moments, and when I returned Evening was up on her elbows, looking around cheerfully.  Same as I was just admiring her doing when I was just waking up this morning, thinking to myself I had to get my camera out to get a photo of her sitting like that, her cute little butt dimpled and flexed.  That cute little butt was still dimpled and flexed, only now it was also bloody.

  I couldn't help it, I started crying - quietly so I wouldn't scare her - and tried to wash her up.  This, of course, hurt, so she was crying in pain again, and there I was, knowing I had to clean this cut, but causing untold pain on the love of my life - a helpless child of not even four months.  I was sobbing by the end of it, repeating, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," over and over again.  Sorry that she wasn't wearing pants, sorry that I didn't protect her from that unseen projectile, sorry that she got hurt, sorry that I had to hurt her more to keep her safe from infection.

  I am now amazed by how protective I got as well.  I cleared out the house as quickly as I could, because I have never been so angry before.  I had no doubt that it was a crazy accident, but being human my mind was desperately seeking someone to blame, anything to believe that I hadn't failed in my main mummy duty: to protect my child.   Everyone managed to leave before I lost it (I think they understood) and lashed out or over-reacted in some fashion.  I just picked her up after they left and held her tight for a good hour, still telling her how sorry I was and how much I loved her. 

  Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but I did not recover from this all day.  Nothing could have prepared me for this.  Every time I saw that hurt little bum the tears returned.   It wasn't easy for her, either.  As you can imagine, a hurt bum is hard to sit on.  Couple that with an infant that can't stand up and has to sleep on her back and you've got a bad situation.  In the end, the usual pile of nappies under her bottom made her comfortable to lay down.  Every time she had to 'go' that poor bottom needed another cleaning to keep infection out and it hurt her every single time.  At least on the potty nothing splashes up on her most times so a good wipe was all she needed.

  I put a diaper on her once that afternoon without thinking, and of course she quickly peed without me noticing.  It must have stung like mad judging by the screams.  It was officially our first diaper-free weekend.  At least if I missed a cue and the nappies got wet, at least the acidic urine wasn't held against her wound.

  Mike didn't get home till quite late, and while he ate his dinner, I went out on the porch and had another good cry.  Mike came out and did his best to convince that I was not, in fact, the WORST MOTHER ON THE PLANET, but it didn't matter.  As far as I was concerned, the proof was her poor bum. 

  This morning that gorgeous little butt is looking a lot better, and healing already.  A good night's sleep helped us both, she didn't seem to be in pain anymore, and I can admit that the gaping wound I saw the day before was really  a very bad scratch.  Deep, but a scratch nonetheless (I'd share a photo but please understand there are far too many creepy people on the internet to post a photo of my daughter's bottom). I wonder if all mummies reach such a level of despair the first time their child is really hurt in a preventable accident.

  Evening had her four-month check up scheduled for this morning, and while last night I was convinced they were going to take her away because I was unfit, this morning I was glad to have it, because at least her doctor could have a look at it.  Sure, it's a scratch, but it's a scratch that can come into contact with fecal matter, and an infant with an infection is freaking scary. 

  I did put a diaper on her to get her into the doctor's office, and thankfully was able to remove it before she needed to use it.  That may seem bad, but with distractions we both miss the cues, and at least this way the pee that would contact the would was easily removed, as opposed to our sling.  In the end, it seemed like the doctor was more concerned with why she was naked rather than the wound on her bottom.  That seemed odd to me, but I suppose a doctor's got to be on the lookout for potential issues.

  So the doc looked over her bum, and advised me to keep checking her lymph nodes for swelling, because that was a better indication of infection than the actual wound itself.  This was something I was very happy to learn.   She took my hands to guide them to where these lymph nodes are located...and I discovered how very dirty Evening was behind her ears and had another WORST MOTHER ON THE PLANET moment.  Then I recovered myself, let it go, and focused on feeling those lymph nodes, which was far more important.  So I missed behind her ears in her bath; I washed her butt forty times already that morning. 

  Somehow, whenever I think of this, I imagine I am reduced to a five year old boy circa 1910 whose mother demands if he has washed behind his ears before he is allowed to have his dinner.  Poor kid.

  Next it was time for Evening's proper check up, so the doctor lay her on her back on the paper covered bed-thingy, and Evening immediately flips over, holds herself up and grins cheekily at the doctor.  The doctor was completely shocked and admired her greatly, continually commenting on how active Evening is throughout the examination.

  At the end of our session, she tells me how well our pumpkin is developing and mentions the roll over and grin move again.  She confided to me that her 6-month-old daughter isn't even rolling over yet and I, feeling a tad embarrassed, don't know what to say.  I know what I want to say, it's on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't.  I kept it to myself.  I didn't say to her, "well, you get a painful wound on your daughter's butt and she'll be flipping over in no time as well."

  Okay, so she's rolled over a few times before this, but I can attest there was a lot of rolling over practice yesterday.  Her little bum continues to heal, and I check her lymph nodes for swelling about every 2.5 seconds, and she's okay.  She's okay.  The worst day of my life thus far has passed, and she's okay.  It still hurts to see her bum, but she's okay.  I just have to keep repeating this, and maybe, somehow, I will survive this mummy adventure of mine.