Many things have happened since my last blog post and for the better. Sure, the angst comes and goes, but the direction has become much clearer--ha, ha!

I've finished a training to start doing placenta encapsulation the fancy way, as opposed to my back-alley way and now have neon-pink business cards that have my name Placenta Encapsulation Specialist printed on them. Oh! and Placenta Power!-->which is my new catch phrase/slogan/battle cry. More details about this to come!

Also, in addition to doing illustration, I've also become a co-editor for hipMama--this is pretty amazing. The next issue is coming out soon! Just another week or so... Our next issue is about secrets, the following is on the body, then faith, education and home. If you feel inspired to submit--->submissions@hipmamazine.com.

Things on the baby front are going well--Lev is a full fledged toddler--breaking things, eating pennies (hasn't swallowed one yet!), trying to escape through the front door, climbing stairs, dancing, making out words...We are lucky enough to have a good friend living with us, in addition to my sister, so I'm on my way to actually having a little more personal time and space away from my boy. The next catastrophe will likely be weaning...an event that I'm not planning, but anticipating. I have a lot of mixed feelings about weaning--I planned on waiting until Lev was at least two before even thinking about attempting to cut him off. But then I start imagining a world where Lev doesn't whine to nurse, where he doesn't try to tear open my shirts, where he doesn't grab at my nipples like they were mashed banana...

Its a really hard call. I found myself in awe of our hipMama lawyer, whose son is two weeks younger then Lev--she weaned him, laughingly called herself "the bad mama" and, smiling, went back to looking over our LLC documents. Another of the hipmamas and I were nursing our children at the time and I felt our shared sensation of being duped. At the same time, I know that there are countless benefits to continuing to nurse Lev--and I still love nursing him. However, I am really aware that I need to start making some boundaries with nursing him. I have been attempting to cut off night nursing (to no avail) and I want to start restricting where and when I nurse him. I am going back to the beginning lessons of breastfeeding: this is a relationship that has to work for both of us or it won't be successful. That means, if I don't want to nurse him, I don't have to. That means, he is going to cry more and ask for it and I'll have to find new ways to comfort him, to distract him. Its not easy (he approaches me as I'm writing this, asking for, guess what?). I want to talk to some other moms about their tactics--I think it might include just having more snacks available to him--enter the hotdog!

Its amazing how much things can change--from my idealistic beginnings of attachment parenting, to my here, just eat this finger-food distractions. I know that this is a natural course, and that while Lev was really little I was doing the best I knew how for him. And he is older now--I don't feel guilty for not giving him the same kinds of attentions as I did when he was an infant; I don't feel guilty for not making the same kinds of personal sacrifices. I'm noticing that I need to pay attention to what other parents are doing; perhaps toys that make noise aren't necessarily from the dark side.

We really are doing great, though. A wonderful holiday in Costa Rica to visit Jared's family was just what we needed to gain some perspective, rest, rejoice and to experience some amazing waves. This is a photo of Lev and I at the lake near the Arenal Volcano--little did we realize that the reason why no one else tends to swim here is that it is home to the Cayman crocodile...or is it an alligator...
More info on placenta encapsulation to come. I have lots to share and will post about the birthing class I'm attending this evening, where I will be talking about the benefits of placenta to postpartum recovery. Did I mention that I feel like a shaman...?

This is what a post-partum shot-gun wedding wife looks like.

While driving my friend Chelsea to the airport today, she said something to me that shed some light on my recent identity crisis. I was doing the usual bitch and moan routine, filling her in on the details of my life she had missed from so much travelling. She listened thoughtfully, then said, "I think part of the reason things are so hard for you, is that it seems your life was so different before the whole baby-marriage thing." Thunderbolt strikes, the ground opens up, the undead begin rising from their dusty graves...



In a more roundabout way, I have considered this fact. I do a lot of comparing my current life situation to my peers--a game that only gets me into more trouble. I also find myself thinking longingly of the days of yore--of late nights and blurred vision, of holding hands with handsome strangers, of entire days spent in bed, of travelling to distant lands, of independence, of coffee and cigarettes with my best friend. Sure, perhaps I idealize the past. Perhaps the rock and roll lifestyle really wasn't what I wanted... but I think that before I was able to really figure out what it was I DID want, I ended up here. Life took me in this direction, and now that I've come out of the new-mom haze, my thoughts are...WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED??



I'm married, with a baby and feel like I am stuck. One thought I've had is that Jared and I have very few role models. Most married people we know are middle-aged. So we've been copying that scene, and I feel like a bitter housewife, who gave up her dreams to roast chickens and do laundry. However, I have learned that roasting chickens and doing laundry are important-you gotta eat, you gotta be reasonable clean. On the other hand, I'm sick of both of them. What does a young married couple look like? How do THEY cope with the stresses that this life brings? Are they happy? And if so, how the hell did they pull it off??



I feel like I've been telling myself that there are ways for me to still accomplish my dreams as a mother and a wife. I know this is true. BUT HOW? I want to travel, I want to have adventures... are these just the unreasonable ramblings of a nieve and unrealistic babymama? This is where the identity crisis comes in. I'm not really happy. Okay, I've admitted it. What am I unhappy with? That I'm a stay at home mom? In theory, I should love this. I get to not work, I get to make whatever kind of breakfast I want, I get to do all sorts of things that many only get to do on the weekends. BUT. I do it with a soon-to-be-toddler. I once thought, "This is great! No boss to tell me what to do...ahh!" But, now I think... I don't have a boss, but I have a child who demands most of my attention, and a husband with high expectations of me to keep our Kombucha business afloat. So, I don't have a job, but I have many responsibilities, most of which I kind of was tossed into. Is it wrong of me to want to walk out? Really, this all just happened so fast. I might be having the freak out that many thought I should have had months ago.



I have been really hellbent on finding a community for myself--finding creative endevours, making new friends, trying new things... however, I still come home to the same people. I am still a mommy. I am still a wifey.. I can't make those things go away. I ultimately feel trapped. I am stuck with these two dudes for the rest of my life. Its a hard call. I love them, but I have sacrificed what feels like everything for them. It could just be a melodramatic episode, but it sure feels like hell to me. How can I be a mom/wife, and still feel like me? Part of the trouble is that I will never again feel like "me" or the "me" I was before I ended up a stepford wife. Too much has changed--I mean, I became a mother for christsake.



I've been told and I've learned through hearsay that close friends and family have trouble identifying with and relating to the person I've become. Who is she? they ask. Who did she used to be? And... What has she become? What happened to that old Amanda spunk? My response to this is...I've been asking myself the same goddamn questions. I think it is important for me to take some initiative... but, christ, its hard to get anything done without real childcare.

September is this kind of Month

This is what is going on with me, other then what is going on with Lev in relation to me:

Did I mention that I started helping out on this amazing parenting zine called HipMama? Well guess what!! I am now the staff illustrator of this seasonal publication. The fall issue is about to come out. Its also the first issue that I've drawn for, in addition to doing some editing work as well. This has really been an amazing experience and opportunity for me to build my portfolio, learn the tricks and trades of smallish-time-DIY publication and to hang with some hip-ass mamatchkas. I like it, I like it. If you have a chance to pick up a copy, or to even go as far as subscribing, you could see my little drawings hither and thither within. I'm doing a comic for each zine, located on the inside of the cover as well as illustrating for the articles where needed.

Super cool.

Check out this place for a better look...HipMama!

Goodness, gracious. In addition to these goings on, there are other goings on as well. Think big! Think bigger! Think... muffins? Alright, its really nothing more than a temporary obsession with almond meal--the wheat-free enthusiasts new dream of culinary possibilities. I have this idea of making delicious coffee with hot baked-goods with butter. Somehow, this vision also includes an open window, a stretch of green, lush landscape with livestock braying in the nearby barn. Yes, my barn to be exact. I've been having more ideas about chickens and making my dream of living off the land come true...while still keeping a Portland zipcode and being close by to Jared's job. Alright, so its not going to happen this year, or even the next...but a gal can dream. And if almond-meal muffins can bring me even an iota closer to that dream, so be it!

Meanwhile, our kombucha business continues. We have big plans for the fall--more advertising, bigger classes and more buyers. If you're a friend of ours, you live nearby, and you drink kombucha, there is no reason to continue buying it in the store. I know you're out there, kombucha friends! Do yourselves a favor and buy it cheaper from us! I won't beg, but I will stop saying Oh, Its okay...when you make apologetic faces at us with your bottle of GT's in hand.

In conflusion, Lev is playing with big kids, little kids and with our toes. He is pulling chairs over and on top of himself. He will stand upright unassisted for up to a full minute. And... everything else you'll have to see for yourselves. I've been meaning to post more pictures here and I swear I'll make a better habit of it in the future.

Night Nurse

We went camping to a beautiful spot near Mt Hood called Lost Lake. Georgous, simply breathtaking. 30 miles or so from any towns, totally isolated, crystal clear water... I was ready to give it all up and become a hermit, forage for huckleberries and live in an old log. We settled into our tent for the night and I found that I was more comfortable on the hard ground than ever before! The air--so fresh! The stars--so bright! At first I felt wide awake from all the excitement of the day, but then...my lids got heavy and I found myself so ready to slumber at a shocking 9:00pm.

And then it began. Lev woke up to nurse, thrashing around to find me through the sweaters and sleepingbags, about every two hours. Maybe more frequently (I should have been charting it by the movement of the stars I suppose). And everytime I woke up, I marvelled at how well I had been sleeping, how deeply I was resting, how comfortable I was in our little tent. (Ususally, I sleep like hell in the great outdoors...) The night was long, made even longer by our early to bed routine. When the sun finally rose, I felt Jared move around in a well-rested outdoorsman seize-the-day type way; I tossed Lev to him with a snarl and fell back to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later and announced to Jared that I was through! "I'm through!", I said. "I am no longer a night nurse! I've had it!" Jared basically knows every reggae song ever written, and began singing a Greggory Issac song entitled "Night Nurse". I felt outraged. He began singing the lyrics to me: "Night nurse Only you alone can quench this Jah thirst. " I saw red. "I said, I"m through!" I said. And, struggling with the zipper on the tent door, I managed to make as impressive an exit as I could.

I feel it appropriate to post the lyrics to this song here. This is basically my life. Minus the broken heart stuff. I've bolded the lines that speak to my experience the most...

Tell her try her best just to make it quick
Woman tend to the sick
'Cause there must be something she can do
This heart is broken in two
Tell her it's a case of emergency
There's a patient by the name of Gregory

Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this Jah thirst
My night nurse, oh gosh
Oh the pain is getting worse

I don't wanna see no doc
I need attendance from my nurse around the clock
'Cause there's no prescription for me
She's the one, the only remedy

Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this Jah thirst
My night nurse
Oh the pain is getting worse

I hurt my love
And I'm sure
No doctor can cure
Night nurse
Night nurse

Lev continues to have very wakeful sleep...G-d, make this phase end soon!!

Now I lay you down to sleep...

Its been some time since my last update, and with good reason! Summer began, J-daddy got out of work, we moved, Mirabel arrived from Vermont and J's mom from Japan. So its been nuts.

One thing that I've been up against recently is the old "let your baby cry themselves to sleep" routine. When I express my sentiments against this practice, I have noticed that some people react with an internal "well, she's just hysterical", while others share my feelings and make me feel pretty right on. J tends to think that my maternal instincts are "too strong", which is a load of shit as far as I'm concerned. I know he means well, but I also know that there is no way in hell I'm letting Lev cry it out just so I can watch action movies all night.

We're in Vermont visiting my family right now. A member of my best friend Meara just had a baby, and also has a three-year-old son. Today I had the chance to be in the same room with both of them, and it made me feel very acutely how fast children grow. Lev was once the size of this little newborn, but is far from being 3...however, he is on his way. He is on the brink of crawling, he is about to sprout his third tooth and today he called out "Mama" as I was leaving a room. What does this tell you? Lev is going to be a little boy in no time. He is going to grow, and change, and develop and evolve dramatically all in this amazingly short amount of time. So what's a few action movies compared to precious time soothing my child to sleep?

I now understand that it is all about your additude. You can take the same scenario and see it either as a problem or as a night-time routine. Take Mom A for example:

"He justs wants me to hold him and nurse him until he falls asleep. I find myself just laying there and wishing that it would just end already! I can't stand how he depends on me and forces me to make him comfortable, while all I want is to relax after a long day!"

And then we have Mom B:

"Every night at bedtime, I lay down with my baby and nurse him until he falls alseep. Sometimes it takes an hour, sometimes it takes ten minutes, but I know that eventually he will drift off and then I can spend the rest of the evening doing what I want to do. It is sometimes hard knowing that I am the only one who can help him fall asleep, but I know that this is only temporary."

So there you have it. I don't want to be too judgy to all those Mom A's out there. I have it easy compared to some women; I don't have to go to work in the morning and I have the luxury of a caring partner. However, just because I nurse him to sleep doesn't mean he has a problem. Or, if I am willing to spend the time doing this, it doesn't mean I am hysterical.

Just wanted to clear that up.

So, in recent more creative news, I've been having inspirations to try and develop a comic for this parenting zine in Portland. They don't know about it yet, but I think they'd go nuts for it. Thus far, my vision is a comic of the experience I had at the Dr's office regarding vaccines and breastfeeding... Once I've got something throw together, I might post it here!

Lev updates include that we are feeding him bananas and mashed carrot. His poop smells bad, he loves eating, and that's basically all I have to say about it.

Also, its dark and rainy and I have next to no energy... Lev will wake up from his nap soon and I'll be back in sluggish action.

More to come...

My Lovely Lady Lumps

It has been a week and a half of plugged ducts from hell. For those of you who aren't in the know: this means the milk duct is not allowing the milk to flow, resulting in a hard lump that grows increasingly more painful as you try your damnest to get the milk flowing again--this means, pressure, squeezing, massaging and holding it under hot water in hopes of loosening up whatever it is that is keeping it clogged...

This is not a sensual experience, this is not a laughing matter...this is probably the worst part of breast feeding. Every mother has their "thing"--apparently this is mine.

I've talked to a Le Leche League leader, who advised me to rest up and keep drinking water. I talked to a Board Certified Lactation Consultant, who basically didn't really hear me and kept repeating her standard phrases...however, she told me about the use of ultrasound as a way to break up the clog. I'm considering this as a seriously last resort. She also informed me that it can take up to TWO WEEKS for some plugged ducts to heal, so she wasn't too concerned with my measley week and a half. Have I mentioned that I've had FOUR flare ups in that time? Each time, I was so relieved when it ended, only to find myself in a panic as it returned some 24-36 hours later...

Picture this: your breast has a lump in it and you know that if you don't do something about it, there is a chance it will become infected meaning that you'll likely get a fever and be treated with antibiotics. Picture this: you are nursing your baby on that breast hoping that they will help unplug that duct, all the while "massaging" the affected area. Picture this: you're irritable as all hell, dragging yourself around the house in a baggy house-dress (no bras! nothing restricting), grumbing as your baby insists on being bounced/sang to/played with/fed/cooed at/entertained and all you want to do is pull the covers over your head and hide from your own boob. Picture this: you're half-clothed, dipping your boob in a hot-tea-concoction while grating potatoes, which you plan on applying to the affected boob once you're done leaning over a bowl of tea.

Listen, I've done this a thousand times. I've done it more times than the average woman. I've done this so many times that I don't even want to have breasts anymore. I'm done. I'll have them removed, donated, returned! Take them back!

But for the rest of you out there--don't let this dissuade you from breast feeding--I'm just this freak show with a boob lump. I don't know anyone else who has suffered from this like I have. Its just my thing--a thing that I would like to end NOW.