Formula Is Not A Gateway Drug

Ooh! A baby! How old is he?
Six weeks.
Ooh! He's so little! How much does he weigh?
Six pounds, ten ounces.
Oh. How much did he weigh when he was born?
Six pounds, ten ounces.
Oh.

This conversation happened a few weeks ago in the grocery store just after one of many weight checks The Herdsman has had in his short twelve weeks of life. Because yes, The Herdsman took six weeks to get back to his birth weight after dropping down to five pounds, nine ounces two days after we left the hospital. For those who are unaware of a typical baby's first few weeks of life, babies do lose weight after they are born...they just aren't supposed to lose 16% of their body weight. And they typically gain back the few ounces they lose by their two week appointment.

The Herdsman did not get this memo and did not follow protocol. While so many things about The Herdsman have been going wonderfully, this has not been one of them.

To prevent you all from worrying, at The Herdsman's latest appointment he weighed seven pounds, eleven ounces, gaining over a pound in three weeks. He also graduated to a once a month weight check schedule (a vast improvement from the every-other-day schedule he had the first week).

While this post is most likely crossing my oversharing threshold, I'm writing it because I think there is this myth out there that breast feeding is the end-all-be-all of motherhood and the first 12 months of life.

It's what is best.
It's what the baby needs.
It's what you as a mother are put on this earth to do.

That's a whole lotta pressure, people! And for some, like me, it isn't always so easy.

And yes, I get the irony.

I am married to a dairy farmer.

And yes, at one point he did say to me, "I didn't marry you for your milk." (For those who might be appalled at this comment that compares me to a cow, please know I was laughing at this point.)

My doctor very diplomatically said to me six weeks ago that she still finds it baffling/amazing/crazy that some women struggle with this part of motherhood and other women could feed triplets. She also looked me straight in the eye and told me that formula is not a bad thing.

Translation: Formula Is Not A Gateway Drug.

Because yes, this was where my head had been for six weeks. I had a container of formula hidden out of sight in my cupboard; The Farmer insisted I purchase it around Day Six. Admittedly, I was ashamed it was in my house. It wasn't even open, but I knew it was there. And it was poison, right? It was the gateway for all things unnatural. It meant I was failing.

Well, in some regards that last sentence is true. I was failing on this one front. But it took me six weeks to be okay with the fact that this failure wasn't commentary on any other part of my life. It just was fact...I needed to do something else because this wasn't working.

Oh, I'd tried everything...a syringe, supplemental bottles of pumped milk, long feedings, short back-to-back feedings, I've increased my protein and liquid intakes, I've added dietary supplements...and that green container of formula was the last resort.

The first day I only allowed The Farmer to mix a "halfies" bottle before bedtime - my "real" milk mixed with the "fake" stuff.

The Herdsman slept six hours that first night.

And yes, while that fact was a celebration, there was also guilt in the result...

He was hungry.
I should have done this weeks ago.

In those first few days - OK, weeks, including at one point today - I've had many moments of guilt and shame. When people have asked how things were going, I'd sheepishly admit that I'd slipped The Herdsman a bit of formula in with his breastmilk. The thoughts running through my head were/are still revolving around the idea that by supplementing this into his diet I've introduced him to some sort of gateway drug, and next thing I know he'll be mainlining red dye #5, high fructose corn syrup, and MSG.

Amazingly, two women - both in the women's health field - immediately exclaimed, "Oh! Me too! It was a savior!"

Why don't the baby books tell you this?!?!?! Instead what you take away from the 1,782 articles and books you read is that formula is a gateway drug and your six-week old will be forever impacted by the dried milk product you laced his bottle and your precious breastmilk with.

So here we are...twelve weeks old today...six weeks after I admitted "failure"...and The Herdsman has kinda chubby cheeks. His skin is not quite falling off his thighs. I almost can't see his rib cage. And just this morning I retired the first newborn outfit he's grown out of.

He is thriving.

So to all the mothers out there that have read one too many articles...formula is not a gateway drug. You may be surprised by how many of us have that can hiding in our cupboards.

I'm going to put mine on the counter. Without guilt.

Cow Parades

Spring and summer afternoons on the farm include bringing the cows in from the field. It has been sunny around the farm recently, so The Herdsman and I decided we would venture out recently and help with the herding duties. Really, we just wanted to go for a walk and say "hi" to some cows. They are cute, aren't they?

It also helps that the cute handsome Farmer also participates in the herding process.

As we are still counting the Herdsman's age in weeks, he and I stayed behind the gate and really just watched the cow parade and enjoyed the scenery.

We also were the object of curiosity.

Despite it being a beautiful day and we were able to say hello to all our cow friends up close and personal (see above photo), The Herdsman slept through his duties once again.

And so while The Herdsman slept, The Farmer and I watched the cow parade. 

The Farmer insisted on taking a few photos, and I think these next three are payback for all my a**less chaps comments. 

Yeah, this one especially...definitely payback for the multiple a**less chaps posts.

Now you may notice it is a bit muddy in the cow parade lane.

I normally wear my boots for herding duties, but I decided on this day it would be OK to wear my ankle slip-on boots. 

This was a poor decision on my part. 

These ankle boots were purchased when I was eight months pregnant as I was having tough time getting my boots on. We purchased the ankle version one size too big so I could just slip them on without much difficulty.

However, now these ankle boots feel like clown shoes. They are just a tad too big and my ankles, well, they are no longer swollen. As such they are a bit too easy to slip on - and off.

Case in point...

Yes, that is my footprint in the mud after my right clown boot got stuck in the mud.

And this is my bare sock-foot after my left foot followed suit and stepped right out of the clown boots.

This reminded me of the first time I helped bring the cows in with The Farmer. I was nervous, hoping to pass this very important test of farm life. I was wearing appropriate foot attire - knee-high rubber boots - but as we walked through a huge mud bog near the front gate (there's no way around it), my boot sank...up to mid-calf.

I was stuck.

While we have no photos of the incident, imagine me standing there in a huge vat of mud with one foot buried a good 12 inches in the sloppy, sticky, gooey tar-like substance. And since this was my first time herding the cows I had a lot to prove I was up to the task. Instead I was motionless, teetering on the brink of falling head-first into this pile of muck. And just to be clear, it's not all mud when you are on a dairy farm.

And despite my impending self-inflicted mud-pie face all I could think was "The hat!" Because yes, I had accidentally worn one of The Farmer's good hats out into the field. Who knew that amongst his 834 baseball caps he had good ones and bad ones? But yes, he does! I had forgotten my hat that trip and thus naively picked one out of The Farmer's closet. And yes, I picked a cute one. If I'm going to wear a hat and try to impress The Farmer with my rookie herding skills I'm gonna look cute! However, it turns out this particular cute hat was The Farmer's new/nice/going-to-town hat. 

Oops.

When The Farmer saw said hat on my head he gave a stern warning..."Just don't get it dirty."

So as The Farmer pulled me out of the mud bog - yes, I needed rescuing and the fairy-tale-damsel-in-distress sort of rescuing is not really be-still-my-heart-inducing, but rather borders on mortification - all I could think was how to prevent the hat from impending mud-bog doom. I was sure I would not be invited back to the farm should a minute speck of brown goo appear on the hat upon post-herding inspection. Farming is messy business but there is no excuse for  ruining the going-to-town hat.

Fortunately, the cute/new/nice/going-to-town hat survived intact. My boot was rescued from the mud. I was invited back. 

And The Farmer bought me my own hat.

Hilton Points

The Farmer will tell you he married me for my Hilton points.

Being a Hilton Diamond member has its benefits - who can deny free wi-fi, free snacks, and valet parking (select locations)? It also says you travel too much.

So when The Farmer and I can use some of my thousands of Hilton points it is exciting. And The Farmer can remind me that he married me for my free hotel stays.

While not very romantic, I like having a long list of things The Farmer loves about me. And if hotel bills equaling zero is on his list, I'll take it.

Fall in admission world is "Travel Season" and this fall I'll have some travel companions...The Herdsman is coming along for the ride! My mother - who has dubbed herself "Mary Poppins" - will complete the trio. And if I can tear The Farmer away from the island, I hope he'll join in on a few trips as well.

We introduced The Herdsman to the glamorous life of travel a few weeks ago. We went away for an evening for our anniversary - and stayed a whopping 30 miles from home at the Astoria Hampton Inn.

And look at the room we got!

The Farmall tractor room!

The Farmer has a Farmall tractor. The Farmer has a Farmall tractor hat. He didn't bring either on this trip. He also didn't want his picture taken with the room number sign...something about he doesn't need a photo with the photo of a tractor he already owns, or something like that.

While I was excited about the room number sign, The Farmer and The Herdsman were very excited about free HBO.

The Herdsman was also excited about the big bed.

And this photo...taken at 5:00 am...required me to remind The Herdsman that having a party in a hotel room is an easy way to get kicked out of a hotel and should be reserved for college.

Here's to your first night in what will be many nights of hotel living, my little travel partner! 

Your mama is a Hilton Diamond member.

May Day From The Sidelines

Today is May Day.

A little celebrated holiday once you are over the age of eight and done making flower head-wreaths (or part of the labor force).

But in the admission world - my world - May Day takes on so much more significance.

It is Election Day.
It is the last day of school.
It is opening night.

May 1st is the nationally recognized day in which seniors must make their college decision. As such, admission counselors eagerly await (OK, we aren't really waiting...we are emailing and greeting visitors and note-writing and calling and reception hosting...) this day as the day in which we find out who will be arriving on campus the following fall. It is the day we have been working for all year (plus).

We are also doing a whole lot of praying. Pleasepleaseplease may the numbers come in on target. Pleasepleaseplease may that really cool student from Montana decide to enroll. Pleasepleaseplease may the Dean have a smile on his face come 5 o'clock.

Yes, our livelihood is centered around the whims of 18 year-olds whose prefrontal cortex has yet to completely develop. Yep, that same prefrontal cortex that functions as a decision maker. We are in for a bumpy ride...

When I started in admissions almost 20 years ago enrollment deposits (and declines) came in pre-addressed/stamped #10 envelopes. We had one person in the office that opened the mail and everyone hovered around her desk as she calmly slit open the day's mail. We paced. We looked over her shoulder. In short...we drove her nuts.

Nowadays students can let us know online, on Facebook, with a swipe of that square dohickey you attach to your smart phone. And yes, we still accept that pre-addressed/stamped #10 envelope for the quaint of heart. But despite how they tell us of their decision, when they tell us still hasn't changed. My life for the past (almost) 20 years holds this day as significant.

It is the first day of spring training.
It is Tax Day (if you are an accountant).
It is Christmas.

So here I sit, this May 1st, not having checked my work email since noon-ish on March 20th. I can't believe I've lasted this long (I'm sure some people took bets on how long I could stay away). Oh, yes, I'll admit I sent a text to a colleague this morning wishing the office a "Happy May 1st", but that's it.

Instead of checking email every 3.5 minutes for an updated list from the Dean, and then eagerly scanning that list of names for "my" students, I'm staring at this:

May Day 2014 couldn't be any better.

But I do hope I get an email today from the office with the results of those pre-addressed/stamped #10 envelopes.

Old habits die hard.

The New Herdsman

It's been a while since I posted, but with good reason...we've been training a new herdsman. He arrived three weeks ago on March 21st.

We are in love.

The Farmer threatened that he was going to roll the new herdsman around in the mud upon arrival. I managed to negotiate "at least a week". Yes, we live on a farm but let's not push things too much.

So earlier this week the cows finally went out after a long winter. In farm terms, this is a big deal!

And the new herdsman was ready ...

The Farmer was excited to introduce him to the ways of the farm.

His first task...bringing in the cows...

The new herdsman slept through the entire thing. 

The Farmer has some work to do with this one...but I don't think he minds teaching him in the days and years ahead.

Again, we are in love.

Farmer Quotes: 2013 in Review

Reader Note: He's gonna hate this post...

Farmer Quote #33:

As he looks into the full dishwasher

Farmer: “How'd this happen?”

Me: “Uh, I came home.”

Farmer: “Oh. Yeah. I might have used the same plate for three days.”

Farmer Quote #24:

“Can't we just leave the tree up? I kinda like it. It's like a huge air freshener.”

Sidenote: The tree has been "naked" - ornaments and lights removed - for over a week. Now I know why he keeps stalling on the removal front.

Farmer/Mother Texting #14:

In prep for her visit this week we finally got the upstairs bathroom shower curtain hung.

Me (Farmer): “T says no chin-ups on the shower curtain rod.”

Mom: “Can I just swing from it then?”

Me (Farmer): “That was an emphatic nooooo.”

Mom: “Tell T he's interfering with my exercise program.”

Me (Farmer): “Cleaning calf pens will work just fine as a substitute.”

Mom: “Never mind.”

Sent from my phone because The Farmer has yet to figure out he can text my mother directly. He just likes to tell her stuff through me.

Farmer Quote #89:

Context: We have hunters on our property each weekend during goose hunting season.

Farmer: “You know, I feel a little bad for the geese. They shoot a goose and the mate comes back looking for it, and then they shoot the mate.”

Me: “Would you come back for me?”

Farmer: “With guns ablazin'.”

Farmer Quote #3:

Context: I have been in NY for 20 days.

Farmer: “Are you glad to be coming home today?”

Me: “Yes! Are you glad I'm coming home today?”

Farmer: “I think so. I think the house is clean.”

Farmer Quote #92:

Me: “Why is there so much of that hay left-over from last night?”

Farmer: “The bale was more straw-like. The cows don't like it as much. It's kinda bland. Kinda like hummus.”

Farmer Quote #365:

“A year ago today you were in Hawaii*, and I was up to my armpits in vines. And as I walked home today and saw what we've done...it has all been worth it.”

*An ill-timed or perfectly timed business trip...two days after closing.

Farmer Quote #19:

"If I find a casket, I'm burying it in here."

Farmer Quote #61:

As he's standing in front of the book/magazine section of Lowe's

“Don't they have Pimp My Laundry Room?”

Farmer Quote #68:

Context: After the party port-a-pottys were removed from the front yard, The Farmer was a bit sad.

"The hand washing station was so convenient!"

Farmer Quote #46:
As he is signing thank you notes.

“Do any of these people just know me as The Farmer? How should I sign their card?”

Farmer Quote #44:

“We are going to have to build a fence before we can go on vacation.”

Thank goodness we aren't going to leave for another week and a half...

Farmer Text #73:

"Welcome to WWF Friday night RAW! The FARMER vs ALEXANDER the GREEK GOD."

Apparently new calf Alexander wasn't happy about his move to his new pen...

Farmer Phone Call #911:

"Can you check in the bathroom for what sort of large bandages we have..."

FYI...he really did just need a band-aid. Just a large one.

Farmer Quote #70:

Me: I really like the smell of this new laundry detergent.

Farmer: Are you sure it's not my pit stick?

Farmer Quote #82:

"Just make sure I have enough ranch dressing."

In response to my request to let me know if he wanted anything particular from my pre-trip-to-NY grocery store run.

Farmer Quote #6:
As I unloaded the dishwasher

Farmer: "Did I even use a fork while you were gone?"

Me: "Uh...There's one in here."

Farmer: "Oh yeah. That was the pickle fork."

Farmer Quote #57:

Over the phone

Me (as I answer): “You don't want to know where I am right now.”

Farmer: “The hospital?”

Me: “No. Target.”