I knew breastfeeding might be hard, but had no idea weaning would seem impossible
I’ve come across the advice “If mom isn’t happy, then do something differently,” but that’s not all that helpful in the long-run. I’ve found a few gentle weaning tips online, but the prospect of a few more months of diligence and consistency seems daunting and exhausting. And my friends aren’t much help, either. While they’re in various stages of breastfeeding, we’re all trying to figure out when it’s right to stop breastfeeding and how to go about doing it.
I want to donate my eggs but my partner’s wary: how can I help overcome his doubts?
Now that I’ve had my absolutely perfect son — he’s beautiful, healthy, and right on track developmentally — I think I would be ready to donate. But… my partner doesn’t really feel the same way. I’ve mentioned it to him and he didn’t like the idea, but I’d like one more shot to convince him.
All about my uneventful hospital birth and my plans to home birth the rest of my kids
Our daughter’s birth proved two things. One, that indeed there were reasons why a person from a developing country might reject this first world’s interpretation of healthcare. I don’t blame any single employee or system for my water breaking or the tub or any of the hospital-related unpleasantries. Those just come with the territory of business. Two, and more importantly, it proved to my boyfriend that many women are capable of giving birth on their own.
Parenting sweet spots: spontaneous “I love yous” and eating raw broccoli
Right now we’re in the midst of what I like to call a “parenting sweet spot” — those weeks or months in which there aren’t any major behavioral problems going on, most-to-all of the balanced meals are being eaten, and my child’s general disposition is one of a curious, sweet, and incredibly polite little boy. To me, these sweet spots are evidence that the hard work you put in weeks or sometimes years prior has paid off: your kid has actually learned something from you, and that something is good.
Learning to run the relay that is special needs parenting
I think having a child with a disability is similar to learning how to run. We line up and listen to a whole lot of people tell us what we should do. Sometimes we hear them. Often we don’t. They are usually talking from their own experience anyway and only slivers of what they say will have real applicable value to ourselves. Then we run: we try and try and try and try.
How do you decide which beliefs to pass on to your child?
While discussing all things family related with my fiancee, we were debating whether or not we should raise the kids vegan (I’m vegan, she’s not) or according to my religious beliefs (she’s agnostic and doesn’t follow anything specifically). For us, as a queer couple, this opens some interesting dialogue because if we end up adopting and those kids are older, we don’t necessarily feel right imposing beliefs on someone who is of an age where they can make their own decisions.
My daughter has a dozen parents and it’s awesome
Yes, I am part of the group that parents my daughter, but I am not the only one. I cannot imagine denying her the incredible formative experiences that she is getting now, and that she will continue to get. I am comfortable saying that I am not my child’s only parent. She has over a dozen! She has all these people who are equally invested in guiding her, loving her and seeing her grow into a responsible adult.
Why it’s awesome to raise a city child
My family was never really suburban in the traditional sense of the word. We went downtown often, attended lots of theatre and ate in interesting restaurants. But it was always a long schlep to get anywhere. We needed to leave the house an hour before any dinner reservation. And I always had to make sure to catch the last TTC ride home, curbing late-night teenage adventures. I hated walking across the deserted parking lot of Finch subway station to retrieve the family car and drive the rest of the way home. It was too quiet. I always preferred the noise and bustle of downtown to the eery silence of deserted suburbia.