The Esteem of Motherhood

  Have you heard of Mom Bods? The internet has pictorial lists celebrating the feat of motherhood-- showing non-airbrushed women flaunting their stretch marks, engorged breasts, newfound roundness, and shifted body parts. I love these lists; I love these women and think they're beautiful and confident and have done something great with their bodies--creating a new life. But I don't feel the same about my own reflection. The scale tells me I'm the heaviest I've ever been, even larger than my awkward high school self. I despise the way I gorge from my clothing--with pudgy skin or giant pieces of bra fabric. My hair hasn't been dyed since finding out I was pregnant and I know I don't care for a natural look. Beneath my eyes are permanent indents, scars of sleepless nights. I find myself sifting through old photos, remembering when my hair was bright and fun and I was taking up less physical space. It's a guilty, covert act. Having a baby is a beautiful, endearing experience that I never regret--but why did motherhood have to make me so fat and frumpy?

Before: When priorities were skewed, but I looked cool.

  Motherhood begets inertia. Some days you are too exhausted to think or move. Nursing is a sedentary task. There's many hours of sitting in a chair while baby eats at their own pace,  usually in slow motion. You sit there for forty-five minutes while they slow-suckle their snack, and then they're hungry thirty minutes later. Like I said, it's sedentary. Add to the mix that Tallulah was born right before cold weather swarmed in, and you don't have much exercise in your regimen. Still, I tried. I took a baby wearing barre class. Once the weather warmed up I took advantage of early wakeup times and walked for an hour. I always take the stairs. I eat a lot of vegetables (although, as all nursing mothers will tell you, your serving sizes increase. Lactation stretches your appetite to a level you never knew existed). I drink my weight in water. My scale doesn't budge. That repulsive number stays the same, in the same glaring, red, digital font. Some mothers credit nursing to helping them melt into their former self. I'm not one of those mothers.

Before (again): With my brother, after my ten year journey to my BA was over. And I thought i was fat then. 

  Unwanted Weight makes your clothing look bad (so does nursing, really. Everything is based on how quick you can access your boobs to feed your baby). It doesn't help the under eye circles or mom-hair either. But it isn't all Unwanted Weight's fault.

 Time is no longer yours.

 That makes for speedy showers and mornings of baby wearing while you try to drag the mascara wand above your eyes. Putting on decent makeup means taking advantage of a baby nap, which may or may not happen. It also means that may be all you get to do--and I like using baby naps to write, and sometimes have to use them to clean. My appearance suffers. This same factor affects my hair. I stopped dyeing my hair during pregnancy to avoid chemicals. I still don't want the chemical aroma floating around the house, but there are other reasons I don't start painting my boring brown color with something vibrant and true to myself. Again, time is no longer yours. Nor is it certain. I could coat my hair in dye and be rushed to a baby who woke up early from her nap. When would I rinse it out? I don't like this natural look, but I'm not ready for bald either. I peruse pinterest for hairspiration, knowing that I would need to go to a salon to get these looks. That could mean extra babysitting, or several hours away when I need to pump or nurse, or an amount that is hard to pay when you were used to playing beauty parlor in your own bathroom.

  I opted for eyelash extensions instead.

  I've had them for a week and am already feeling the pangs of them not being long for my world. To keep them at their best, you have to make frequent trips to the salon. The trips aren't super long, but they still mean finding someone to watch the baby and a piece of your own time is now delegated to another chair. There's stories to write and litterboxes to change and breathing to be had. I'll enjoy them while they last.

Now: Tired and makeup-less and feeling out of place in my skin. But, SO in love with this little baby. I'd rather be a gargoyle than without her. 

  Have I reached a solution to this self mom-bod shaming? No, not exactly. I can tell myself that it isn't permanent and that it's more important to enjoy time with my daughter (DUH). It doesn't mean that I won't cringe at my reflection or see an old photo and say, "Man, I looked so much better before." It doesn't mean life was better. Not at all. It's way better now. I just need to avoid mirrors and cameras. Well, unless I'm holding the cutest-baby-ever in my arms. Then we're all about mirrors and cameras.

Vegan Parents: Healthy Choice or Ethical Necessity?

  Blogs are excellent dinner resources. I have some favorites, one of which is Oh, She Glows. I like that she focuses on healthier vegan choices--which appeal to me at this point in my life.


  Let me say, though. I never chose vegan to be healthy. I chose a vegan life after becoming vegetarian a few years prior. I became a vegetarian because I didn't want to eat animals, because I loved them and believed that they were not meant for my consumption. Veganism was a choice made after learning more about the animal-exploitation market. It isn't just about meat. It's about dairy, entertainment, textiles, beauty and household products, etcetera.

  But, I digress.

  Back to Oh, She Glows--and the blogger, Angela Liddon. Her and I were pregnant the same time, and I enjoyed following our almost parallel paths. Funny, we intersected at delivery; our daughters were born only a day apart. It was like having a virtual mom-friend who believed the same things you did. It was awesome!

  Angela recently posted about whether or not she would raise her daughter vegan. I've been asked this question repeatedly--I think anyone who has read this knows the answer, too. I've been judged as "forcing" Tallulah to be vegan. Don't all parents teach their children values--whether through religion or personal choice? Don't all parents choose the foods their children will eat? Don't all parents choose what they find acceptable entertainment for their children? Why should a vegan parent be any different. I find it unethical to consume animals, make them perform at a circus, or to chase them down in a hunt. As a parent, I want to instill this value to Tallulah. I will explain why we don't eat meat, drink dairy, or wear leather. She can make her own decisions at some point, but not at three or four or even seven--because what kid at that age does? If, at sixteen, she decides my reasons are invalid and she wants to eat hamburgers and go to the zoo--I suppose she could take her own money and do those things; but, my intuition tells me she won't. Isn't that what all parents hope for--that their children grow with the values they fostered in them?  That's my view on vegan parenting, anyway.

  Angela Liddon did have a different view--which she is entitled to. She says she doesn't want to restrict her daughter or force anything on her. Plus, Angela's husband isn't vegan and she doesn't want to separate them. I politely disagree with her stance, but, again, it is her choice.

   The vegan community was confused. One of their bloggers seemed to be apathetic to the animal suffering that they thought was ubiquitous in the community. Her post caused arguments--what is it to be vegan? What is it to be a vegan parent?

   There doesn't seem to be one definition anymore.

  To me, vegan will always be a lifestyle based on ethics. It isn't just about food. However, the food part has become mainstream with people wanting healthier lifestyles. I'm happy about that because it means less animals slaughtered. It also saddens me because I worry the true definition is fading beneath the health appeal.

  Bottom line: Vegan is healthier and I plan on feeding lots of kale to Tallulah. But I also plan to go beyond that. She's a kid who will sometimes want junk--it will just be vegan junk. I'll tell her that sugar isn't for everyday and we chose these items because they didn't have animal products in them.


That's my view on vegan parenting.

Life With a Vegan Baby: Changing up the Blog Look

  I started this blog when I was pregnant. My whole existence ran on weeks. Each week brought a new sensation and new developments within my body. E-mails flooded my inbox from baby sites, telling me what the womb was like for my growing fetus. It made sense that this blog, the journey of my vegan pregnancy, would be written in weeks.

  Baby-life runs in weeks at first. Especially preemie baby-life. With them, even days are drastically different. Each day at the NICU alters the timeline of when they come home. They come home, and you still function day by day. A week is a victory.

  My blog transitioned into life with my vegan baby, leaving the pregnancy aspect. I kept the weekly format; it still made sense, and I had a baby content to sleep long stretches in the Moby. And I didn't have to go to work. Everything changed when maternity leave ended. I had to simultaneously be a mother, a writer, a retail employee, an individual--and, a blogger. Mother always trumps all, obviously. The blog suffered. I tried to cram an entire months into one post--that was the only way I could manage that particular task.

  I don't think it's working anymore, if it ever did.

  So, I want to do frequent updates--once a week? Tallulah is having several experiences that warrant their own posts. She's much more aware and preparing to enter the world of solids--both of which mean she will be more involved in the vegan world. I feel like I'm more of vegan parent now, rather than your average sleep-deprived new mother. It's an exciting time, for sure.

For the last time, here's a quick run-down of an entire month. Condensed and brief:

April 2015: Life With A Vegan Baby

  On April 1st, we took a baby wearing barre class at our local Blooma. I knew I wasn't in the best shape--but, geez, I was worse off than I realized! Tallulah loved it, especially when the mothers did push ups over their wiggling babies. She loves the face-is-far-then-it's-close game. We haven't done it since, but I have contemplated getting a pass of some sort. Blooma is a great place--tons of classes and mom-resources. Plus, they are super close to Vegan Vee. If you live in Nashville and haven't gone, you need to. They make treats that are both vegan and gluten-free. Vegan treats are usually delicious (sugar is sugar, after all)--I'm impressed with the gluten-free aspect. Their baked goods are ridiculously soft. A big rarity for anything gluten-free.

  Every bunny's favorite holiday was in April. Some call it Easter, some call is Ostara. Both are centered around eggs and bunnies. We still have a few years to veganize the "egg" dyeing process, but Tallulah still had a very festive holiday. Her play-mat became jeweled in bunny ears, stuffed bunnies of all sizes, books on chicks and rabbits, and a plushy duck. These holiday gifts were the first ones she really seemed interested in. She took adorable photos at Christmas, but was still pretty glazed over. Now she rolls around wearing her ears and reaching for a bunny.

  Speaking of which--did she first roll over in April? Or March? This is exactly why I need to post more frequently. She's a rolling champion now. Even if she still loathes tummy time for the most part. I think that's why she first learned to roll, to be on her back again.

  I mentioned a writing project in prior posts. It's a project that combines my favorite identities--vegan, mother, and writer. I've been working on it and letting it percolate into something real. It has turned into a collaboration with my fabulous cousin, Becky. She is the founder/owner of One Lane Road, a screen printing business. She's taught at workshops and retreats, too. I would love to give more details, but you'll have to wait for that.

  I experienced a loss in April. Brandy, my grandparents' cat, passed away. Tallulah was supposed to meet her on the California trip we have planned for summer. I lived with my grandparents when Pandora and I came together at the pound. Pandora was picked up at the vet, after being spayed, and taken back there with me. Brandy sat right by the cat carrier, waiting for her new friend. Pandora doesn't care for other cats. She came out, her back arched and baring her tiny teeth. Later that evening, she trapped Brandy in a motorized litter box. Brandy didn't get the friend she hoped for, not in Pandora anyway. I'm heartbroken that I wasn't able to say good-bye to her.

There it is. The last crammed post. I'm excited for the new format. I hope you are, too.