Making friends as a 36-year-old with an 11-month-old baby isn’t quite the same as making friends as a 26-year-old single guy. One new dad shares his hard-won tips.
I’m a very open-minded guy. I was not always this way, but as I have gotten older and wiser, I have certainly adopted the philosophy that people can, and will, do and say whatever they want, whenever they want and that is totally fine by me, so long as it doesn’t trample on my human rights.
I mean who are we to define items like marriage, or benefits, or set limits on what a person can and cannot do with their bodies… I find a lot of the laws and customs in practice today found their roots in a time when men were seen as better than woman, and heck, white men greater than everyone. We can now see clearly how wrong that has come to be, and if we step even further back, we can see that we are all just human beings trying to make the best lives for ourselves and our children on this planet we call earth.
So when I came across a blog / rant / all out melt-down around breastfeeding mothers and whether or not they should be allowed to breastfeed in restaurants – for attention – I decided to read along in hopes of finding another point of view or see that this post was just a joke.
However as I read it I became confused with the source of the ranting. At first I thought the author was upset because woman breastfeed in restaurants and in some old-school way the author felt that woman’s breasts are sexualized and thus breastfeeding should be done discreetly. Heck, from the tone of the post one would think that at this particular establishment there are boobs flying left and right, out there for everyone to see… A mother feeding her child.
Then as I read on and thought about the words, I thought that the author was upset because the restaurant in question asked a breastfeeding mother to feed her child in a discreet area of the restaurant away from, I dunno, people like this author who thing breastfeeding is gross, or ugly?!? The mother declined, went to the press and from what I could gather all hell broke loose. Either the restaurant was criticized for insensitivity, or there was a breastfeeding sit-in, who knows, but this author clearly felt that that mother needed to go somewhere else to breastfeed.
As a manager, this author would be the same type of employee who would have approached my wife – who breastfed our three children – and asked her to fed the baby in the bathroom. UGH. To that suggestion my wife would comment, very calmly; “Would you eat your lunch in the bathroom?”
But aside from the disgust with breastfeeding I was taking from the article, I felt an overwhelming hatred of mothers. Mothers who want to feed their babies in public. Mothers who ask for discounts because they are mothers. Damn you mothers for carrying children and bringing life.
The author also hates nutrition because her solution is for breastfeeding mothers to bring a bottle to feed their kids, obviously oblivious to the fact that a baby sucking on a bottle even once can ruin the latch on the nipple causing pain and agony for the mother – or a premature end to breastfeeding at worst.
If a mother is unable to pump enough breast milk to fill a bottle, I guess the mother can just buy some over-the-counter product and feed the baby that, right? Who cares what garbage is in that bottle, so long as there are no breasts exposed, right?
Or maybe the author’s “final solution” is best. Since she offended pretty much all moms everywhere by tagging her post “people I hate” and referring to either women or feminists in her university / college as “feminazis”, she finally concluded that moms with young children do not belong in nice restaurants when there are quality family restaurants like “McDonalds or Burger King” around.
I would have commented to the author about her incorrect facts relating to the bottle comment and restaurant solutions in an understanding manner. How else could she feel this way unless she just did not know. It’s easy for her to send moms to McD’s, as her post screams about her lack of understanding of what it takes to be a mother and responsible for children while still trying to have a life of their own. Heck, she referred to children who are breastfeeding – probably under 4-years-old – as “bratty hellspawn” to think that mothers are only feeding their kids for “attention” pretty much rounds out the absurdity.
I had always thought that mothers fed their children out of necessity so the won’t die. Funny how that works…
The “breast” solution for this author is to only go to restaurants where families do not “hang out”.
But with nowhere on her blog to add a comment and me left feeling that I have to educate this woman so she won’t go through life thinking that all breastfeeding mothers are Satan’s spawn, I came to post it here.
The link to the original post is below.
Finally you are 6-years-old today (tonight to be more specific). Wow.
To be honest, it kind of feels like you’ve been 6 for a long time already. You and you almost 8-year-old brother are often mistaken for twins. You eat the most at one seating than your family, including me, and I’ve been known to pack back the food in my day. You are strong like a bull, like your father, which you proved to us and a bunch of 6-year-old’s when you singlehandedly helped your team win a tug-of-war where you were the anchor. You are driven, determined, serious, focussed and everything else that people look at and follow up with “wow”. Quite frankly if I didn’t see your birth with my own eyes, I would have thought you were switched at birth.
I mean you are the reason why I herniated the disc in my back – because until you were 10 months old, you refused to sleep more than 2-3 hours at a time. I carried you morning, noon and night – even though all you wanted was food and mummy. Mummy also had Linus to take care of, so it was me or the cry-way. Tough luck for you! You were stuck with me.
Looking back now I should have known how you would be at 6-years-old… When you were born – a planned home birth – your breathing was shallow so the mid-wives stepped out of our bedroom to call 911 (forgetting that our parents were on the main floor listening and becoming quite worried – I remember my mother calling me as the mid-wives were explaining that calling for backup just in case was a standard practice from babies with shallow breathing – asking me if everything was alright because she heard the call, whereas we did not. But after seeing what you did when you were given oxygen by the mid-wives – you ripped the tube from your mouth over and over again, we all knew you would be just fine! You didn’t want it. You didn’t need it. You didn’t have it.
Fast forward to today and you are the same size and weight as your 7-year-old brother. You look older than you are, you act older than you are and you have an old soul who comes across as a kind, compassionate boy who asks really great questions – some not so great mind you (If Big Show fought all the birds in the world, who would win?).
You love school but get frustrated that you’re not learning fast enough – like after the 2nd day when you wanted to quit school because you were colouring with crayons and you could do that at home, you certainly didn’t need to go to school for that – and you get frustrated when your classmates talk during class or (gasp) try to talk to you when there is work to be done. You also somehow failed to mention to us last year that you were reading at a beginning grade 2 level when you were finishing senior kindergarten. You excel at karate and swimming. You are a trusting friend until someone does you wrong, then you have a memory of an elephant, yet your big brother is your best friend and your worst enemy at the same time. You two fight, then within a few minutes you’ve made up and are playing together again like nothing happened.
You have a very strong sense of justice, and as a result you always protect your brother and sister and I’ve often told the story about how, when you were 2-years-old, a 6-year-old boy took your brother’s balloon. After he had asked for it back, unsuccessfully, you stepped in and grabbed this boy by the shirt, looked him in the eyes and said “I’m going to throw you in the garbage!” He handed you the balloon and quickly walked away. You passed that balloon to your brother and went on playing like nothing happened.
You are a piano whiz, and you said you want to try the violin and learn your way up, trying all the string instruments, until you get to the big ones, like a cello.
When asked what you want to be when you grow up, you replied with; “Everything!” I finally got you to confirm it was because you wanted to know what you would really be good at want to do for the rest of your life.
When I blog about things you have said, like punching G-d, my hits go through the roof. You’re very funny, and the reason we started a Twitter account for you, called @LittleBoyPurple which we don’t update any more, but you probably will one day because you’re a hoot!
So, son, I want to wish you a very happy 6th birthday. I love you and please, keep feeding me the material, and let me know when that middle child syndrome has set in. 🙂
I just realized the Academy Awards were on the same night as the NBA all-star game. Oops. Different genres of people, I guess.
I watched the 2nd half of the NBA All-Star game because at the end of the first half the score was something insane like 109-88 for the Western Conference which meant the Miami Heat threesome of LeBron (I am the King) James, Dwayne (I can win on my own and don’t need these clowns) Wade and… oh yeah that third wheel and former Raptor Chris (Can I please ride on your coat-tails) Bosh, were losing. Yay. so I continued watching hoping for the Eastern conference to lose even though my Raptors play in the East.
But to my utter enjoyment, the East made a game of it, LBJ was putting up 3-pointer after 3-pointer. It was incredible. Sure they were down by 20 points, but that is when LBJ is at his best, right? because when push came to shove, it was LBJ who missed a key 3, and then Wade dropped a long-bomb pass which would have been an easy lay-up and probable East win. Even on the last shot of the game, LBJ didn’t want to take it, he passed it off.
They choked. He choked.
History repeats itself.
And when the camera panned to LBJ, he was laughing and shrugging his shoulders like it was nothing. Then while being interviewed he played it off even more along the lines of it doesn’t really matter, the game is over.
It does matter. LBJ knows he is not the most popular player in the league and that he is slowly developing a reputation of being a bit of a choke artist. It’s getting to him, and it’s clearly obvious. He wants to win but doesn’t want that last shot. Wade will take it. Kobe will take it. Even Bosh is used to taking it since he was forced to in Toronto.
This is the same LBJ who was so popular in high school that either an agent or the school bought his mother a Hummer and when it was made public they denied it. He’s not cut from a moral cloth to be a role model and to be honest, he’s drinking the cool-aid about how great he is (or thinks he is).
Now having said all this, the Heat will probably win the championship this year… UGH.
On Sunday, I took Linus with me to a volunteer event – we, at the urban daddy household volunteer at least once a month with the kids to give back to the community – and we took part in an hour of yoga while at this event. Let me tell you this… Dads… It was hard. I’m sure the moms have done it numerous times and we all know woman are more flexible anyways, but for me it was tough, but as the program went on, I could really feel the stretch. I was sore after, a little bit sweaty – not like playing ball hockey – but I knew I was in a workout. So then after all the cobra’s, downward dogs, sunset’s, etc., the instructor informed me this was a “beginner” class. OY.
By Monday morning, I realized that my back was not sore when I woke up which told me need to do more yoga!
What do you have to say?
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Tonight I ate a warm banana.
Why you ask?
Because my stubborn daughter, Berry would not go to sleep tonight. She had a 1 1/2 hour nap with her nanny this afternoon and that meant she was not happy to be in bed at 8pm. She cried, she yelled, she screamed… She wanted to “eat” which meant STALLING!
Before bed she wants to eat or poo, both opportunities for her to not have to go to sleep even if she is exhausted as I suspected she was tonight.
The Leafs were playing the Penguins and I had the TV on.
I gave her a banana and she took one bite then she leaned her head on the side of the couch while I cleaned up. I asked her if she was ready for bed but she said no and she took the world’s smallest nibble of this banana.
I continued cleaning, checking on her every couple of minutes.
I left the room and came back in to find this;