Worst. Mother. Ever.

My friend Caitlin and I have a little joke that we use to keep from crying and we call it the "Bad Mother Sash".  As in, "Pass me that sash, Amy, I am officially the worst mother ever."  One day I'll find myself over at Caitlin's house and she admits that her mother in law just told her that her children watch too much television, and I get to say "Here's that sash, Caitlin."  And then later that week I discover while I'm at Walmart that I forgot to put more diapers in the diaper bag just as I *really* need one.  You know.  And Caitlin, laughing while I recount the story that night, will cheerfully give me back the sash and title of Worst Mother Ever.

Of course we don't mean it!  It's a funny little nod to the image of perfect parenting and a way for us to learn to laugh at ourselves.

Now, usually I'm pretty good at laughing at myself, Heaven knows I get enough experience with it, but yesterday stretched my abilities a bit as well as giving me back the Worst Mother Ever Sash for, oh at least a week this time!  Here's what happened:

David and I took Samuel to the Public Health clinic to get his one year innoculations.  We had decided on a slightly delayed vaccination schedule for his one-year shots because they give them four at the same time (1 in each arm and leg) and that was too much, we knew, for our baby.  So we would take two one day and then come back a month later and get the other two.  We felt informed and confident in our decision.  We arrive, sit for a few minutes in the waiting room, and are ushered into the treatment room by a friendly, clean cut sort of nurse who seems nice.  The nurse and I chat for a minute about the schedule and we're on the same page.  I mention that as soon as the needles are done I want Samuel back to nurse him as a comfort, and she's fine with that.  Everything is going smoothly.

As she's getting the serum ready she asks me if we started giving him solids around 6 months.  "Oh" I say blithely "Samuel was almost exclusively breastfed until about 11 and a half months."  She turns to stare at me and begins a 30 minute lecture on how, essentially, I am depriving my child of the nutrition he needs to grow into an adult.  It is humiliating.  Not that I need to explain myself to her, but I try anyway.
"Well, you see, Samuel was tongue tied so he had a lot of trouble managing solid foods.  He's being followed by a pediatric ear, nose and throat specialist as well as our family doctor for this.  But still, he would throw up, a LOT.  There was truly no real point to giving him food in his mouth.  We did try, though, starting at around 6 months.  We gave him all of the usual pureed stuff, and yogurt, baby cereal, etc.  Most of it he didn't like and/or spit up and the rest, well, he just didn't seem hungry!  Truly, he would sit with his mouth closed and ignore the spoon.  Or, given the chance to 'feed himself' he would spend 10 minutes doing everything BUT eating the food in front of him.  Oh, I'm sure he ate a bit, he must have, but nothing worth a lot of nutritional value.  What he did do, with great success, was nurse.  He nursed a lot.  And as you can see by his charts he has always been above average in weight and height, he started crawling at 4 months, walking at 9 and a half and is an active, eager little guy.  He's healthy, he's just fine.  About a month ago he started to seem hungrier so at that point I got him a high chair and we started making meal time a bigger priority.  Still, he doesn't eat an awful lot, but mostly nurses."

She was appalled.  Appalled.  She told me that nursing might be easier for me but it was depriving him of nutrition.  (That isn't true.)  She asked me if my doctor knew about what we were doing.  (Yes, of course!)  She gave me a Canada Food Guide for Toddlers that explained what I was to feed him daily.  She said all of this very nicely and kindly, of course, but with that firm 'don't mess with me' sort of voice that makes you feel as though you, you horrid mother, have been terrible to your child.  I told her that the World Health Organization recommeds breastmilk until at least age 2.  She said I should definately continue to nurse, but to prioritize food now. Which, in this house, would be me saying "No, buddy, no nursies right now, how about a banana!?" to the tune of Samuel crying because he wants to nurse.

As David and I left we looked at the food guide.  "There's no bloody way Samuel could eat this much food in a day!" I said.  "Look at this, half a bagel as a snack?  Three meals with meat in them?  Toast, fruit, milk and a large egg for breakfast?  This is what I eat in a day!"  Still, I was chastised and embarassed.  So I went to the grocery store and dropped $35 on food Samuel is supposed to be able to eat.  Last night, despite not nursing him and forcing the food issue, he had about an eighth of a small quesadilla and half a dozen dried cranberries.  I gave up and nursed him.

I refuse to force feed him, I'll tell you that much.  I'm not going to make him sit in his high chair for 45 minutes until he eats that last bite of pear.  Still, in the interest of fairness I woke up this morning and diligently consulted the 'menu plan' for Samuel's breakfast, 98% of which went to waste, and again for his mid-morning snack, none of which got eaten.  We'll see how long I'm willing to keep throwing large amounts of food in the trash.

Pass me that sash.