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tablondeanuncios.com stories I do not give the breast, so what?

never touched this issue for lack of time and not win, but I just read an article on breastfeeding I returned the blood to boil. When someone says it's very rare that someone does not have enough milk to breastfeed her child and that the problem is usually lack of knowledge and uncertainty, I feel they are insulting.

The campaign for breast-feeding is so huge and so oppressive that talk of bottles is almost considered a sin and death. We agree that breast milk is great but nobody wants to admit that there are numerous reasons why someone is unable or unwilling to breastfeed. Everyone seems to ignore these facts because they are politically incorrect and let the poor mothers in their bubble of frustration, confusion, ignorance and guilt.

There are many reasons why you can not produce milk and I can name a preterm birth, lack of immediate contact with the baby and the stress, only by my insistence on looking for causes to the problem that sometimes do not. My doctor just shrugged and mumbled a "who knows " while the associated doctor who visited me at the clinic, seeing my face in frustration, he said " I just nursed him the first of my three children and did not notice the difference with the rest ... So do not worry . " When it took a six years to conceive a baby, breastfeeding is something special that a mother wants share with your child. One does not want more doctors or consultants or any outside intervention. But as the saying goes " if you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans " and I heard laughter.

I tried everything, because I wanted the best for Maxi and made me believe that the best thing I was. I went to see two lactation consultants, took herbs and Malta, I put warm cloths, I bought the best breast pump, I read a thousand articles on the subject, then rented a pump at a clinic because they were allegedly quality "professional" and Still, he could only fill one inch of the bottles. When Maxi was in the incubator, go see the cows with their bags full of milk for their children and returned to me pictures of rabbits full of children, while one escaped him embryos hands. I'm here, I thought, again contest for against nature. who bore him.

As mandated by my nature, I went looking for help and I just ran into the sermons of the milk. Actually, I was looking for someone to tell me that I'm not alone and that my son would die of a terrible disease if they gave him a bottle. Google could not find a single serious site where they could admit the possibility of not giving milk. When a woman in the class of infants, I started talking about the importance of "keep trying " I left the brakes and I said something like " until two days ago, my son tube fed, so that has learned to suck from a bottle, I consider it a triumph. As long as you eat, me and me well .. " Was speechless.

Without having just shake the guilt that means you are depressed, two and a half months I threw in the towel.

What, finally, I want to say is that there are times when you can not breastfeed, either because it has little milk or because the mother is taking certain medications that could happen to your child (as I learned from my neighbor's incubator, who told me in tears). Other times, the mother does not have the inclination or the desire to breastfeed their own personal reasons, and is entitled to do so. It is true that mothers have done that work without problems for centuries, as filling his mouth saying some called "experts." If one takes the time to talk with mothers and grandmothers, in the Europe of the war, many mothers, poor and tired, did not produce much milk. Their children were crying all day until it got tired and fell asleep. Some died, weak and unable to fight viruses and bacteria, while others more fortunate and children of more affluent women, hired nurses .

assumptions subject experts should drag the burden of being more compassionate with all sorts of situations and people to support them. Women who do not breastfeed are not, therefore, fewer mothers, and frighten the evils of formula brings us back to the Middle Ages, in which parishioners are intimidated with the convictions of hell. I think we've grown as a civilization.

There is no right and wrong in some situations, and if you have to give your child bottle, I have some news: nothing happens ...



Blogalaxia Tags: niños infertilidad amamantar hijos fiv

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Babies

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the electronic age has long been a tester not visit


A mis veintipico, tenía un trabajo decente, vivía sola por primera vez y si bien el sueldo era exiguo, sobraba para comer y alquilar. El resto era rigurosamente gastado hasta su última peseta en ropa, salidas y viajes. Si bien seguía comprando en Zara, empezaba a darme el gusto de tener ciertas piezas especiales, como, por ejemplo, un bolso de Loewe o un pantalón de Adolfo Domínguez. A la vuelta de mi departamento en la calle Bonaire, en Palma de Mallorca, había una pequeña boutique that was my downfall. Occasionally came to kill boredom, and its owner, super nice and gay, for details, I looked exaggerated gestures and phrases like "Good thing you came ! I got a phenomenal blouse when I saw her, I thought "this is for Dana." And the truth is that the unfortunate had good taste, I fell into the trap of trying on what he wanted and always end up buying something. I remember having come later this month, more than once, with a few twenty pesetas in the bank account. But what matter? Day one to fill the coffers again.

In my thirties, Miami looked me up substantial salary, season-ending settlements and a total disregard for the savings. I traveled halfway across the world, I went to the inauguration of the best restaurants and when it was lying on the sand, talking on a cell phone latest model (which, at the time, was the size of a microwave), spent the afternoon trying on clothes in my favorites. He lived in ignorance of the existence of coupons, " outlets" or shopping clubs and lied to my parents about the amount of money that burned to preserve heart health. I still have from that golden era, the most valuable pieces of my wardrobe, tags Armani, Donna Karan, Dolce & Gabbana and Ralph Lauren. Classic and basic.

A mid-thirties, married and the happiest time of my life was accompanied by the Inquisition, religious but not financial. I was fortunate fellow traveler and a "saver" and financial. O. looked frightened credit cards, budgets and made each month was rallying. Apparently, you had to save if wanted to have the financial ability to an uncertain future. Who bore him. I knew it had to happen someday. I knew that someday the time of the "easy money" would end and I took it with soda. I began to find outlets and buying off-season.

In my early forties was Maxi. With this huge milestone, miracle, was also the biggest spender of the house and the biggest thief of time. Asked to choose between a bath and I choose to go shopping, usually into the shower. Or cut my nails. Or other luxuries, such as waxing. I keep dragging my son in his stroller for the mall but I must say that patience with children a year to watch windows scarce. If in addition to looking glass, one wants to get to see what's hanging on the racks, two minutes Maxi looks at me as if to say " you kidding me or what ?" And let me know categorically that that is not your idea of \u200b\u200ba fun afternoon throwing, for example, a bottle at the feet, while delivering a Tarzan yell that would scare. "No way entering the tester ... no?" asked, resigned. So I opted to go to the store quickly, while you entertain with the case of my Blackberry, to decide in a millisecond and eye the pledge that I will be better in color, size and model and firing into the pocket faster.

In summary, in my forties, I buy my clothes in the settlements of the supermarket, not try and discount coupons. Not a complaint, I am still very happy. It is a simple statement of fact. But then do not ask me why do not I want to get photos ...


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Blessed

Today, in the car, I first heard the lyrics this old song by Elton John and cried like pig to the slaughter. So many times I like. I was great coming into the office with eyes to match my red purse. Now I have no time to translate ... Does anyone help? BLESSED



Hey you, you're a child in my head

You Have not Walked yet Your first words yet Have to Be Said
But I swear you'll be blessed
I know you're still just a dream
your eyes might be green
Or the bluest that I've ever seen
Anyway you'll be blessed
And you, you'll be blessed
You'll have the best
I promise you that
I'll pick a star from the sky
Pull your name from a hat
I promise you that, promise you that, promise you that
You'll be blessed
I need you before I'm too old
To have and to hold
To walk with you and watch you grow
And know that you're blessed

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Los aeropuertos sacan el lado torpe de mi personalidad. Hace un par de years ran into the carpet and fell precipitously in the gate for American Airlines. Dress and high heels. I entered the plane with a high forehead and knee bleeding. Again I remember the door swallowed Admirals Club, with bag and all. Was glass. I thought it was open. At the airport in La Guaira also fell without dignity. She was late because of rain, at the output of Caracas, the cars were stopped in all directions. We were like a giant ball of chopsticks, all stacked, not knowing who should move first tab. There was one night flight to Miami and were always full so you should get on that plane at all costs, but had to let off steam down the runway. I got off the taxi and ran to the check, as my suitcase was panting at my side, draining their wheels. In an attempt to more athletic than my physique allowed, I wanted to cut road, passing under those tapes that place to bring us as sheep, with such bad aim that tripped, tangled in ribbons, and was scattered over my bag and looking the ceiling.

Yesterday, returning to my wanderings, I was, how could it be otherwise, marching in a hurry. Walking with my same bag of hand with me for years, and fringed by the closure. He was wearing those shoes that are supposed to be sexy, but at one time had been a simple-heeled slippers, because they have no attachment to the heel. He wore, too, socks and shoes, I must confess, I was a little loose. After passing security, I rearranged my belongings and went like an arrow toward the gate. By rushing through the stride and make larger steps, I noticed my right shoe was left without remedy. He shot upwards and forwards, in a perfect parabola, as I looked in panic potential landing sites. The airport was full, so the statistical possibility that does not give anyone in the head were remote.

Fortunately, fell in between a couple who, after look at my left shoe on the floor, looked up, like normal flip flops they rained from the sky.

- "That's my shoe " (that's my shoe ) - said, in a ridiculous attempt to actions for recovery of property; instinct certainly primary and capitalist. As if anyone would be interested in a single worn out and without polish.

I walked, limping and with short steps and the height difference between my walking shoes and my bare feet, muttered a brief "sorry " I put my shoe and I kept wandering my way as if nothing had happened.

In the final analysis, nothing had happened.


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