With a full line of body care products for pregnancy, labor, post-partum, and breastfeeding, Earth Mama Angel Baby has new and expecting moms covered in organic goodness.  The line was created by moms who view pregnancy the way our foremothers did, as a phenomenal natural process to be honored accordingly.  Their offerings feature eco-friendly packaging and 100% natural, vegan ingredients for lotions, potions, sprays, and oils you can feel good about.  We’re big fans of their Mama-to-Be Tea Sampler, which makes a cool, unexpected shower gift.  Learn more at earthmamangelbaby.com.

Marygrace, KIWI intern

In the beginning, it was so easy to go to the movies with Sylvie. We hit the theater at 11 a.m. (“Devil Wears Prada” or “Matchpoint,” anyone?) and she nursed in the dark on and off. I became increasingly proud of my status of nursing mom, and in a shameful moment, I told off a woman in a Cosi sandwich shop who tried to get my friend to abandon the upholstered chair she had marked off with a paper bag and newspaper (looked like trash to us!). My friend needed to nurse and was going a little nutty herself, and I was irate. It was an ugly scene. I am not proud. I thought womankind had taken two steps back because this woman was not being supportive of my friend’s need to breastfeed. If she’s reading this, I am sorry! Blame it on the hormones!

-Audra Hughes

By the time I left the hospital, baby Sylvie had bit my nipple and swallowed part of it. It was bleeding and raw. We both had yeast infections, which my doctor didn’t treat so the pain grew more and more intense. Not only was I angry at my doctor for not knowing anything about breastfeeding, angry at the hospital lactation consultant for pushing her social agenda of “keep breastfeeding no matter what,” but I was also angry at my girlfriends who never told me how difficult and painful it was. I was terrified of my sweet little baby every time she had to eat. So instead of being happy and elated, I felt angry, stupid, scared and alone. Great.. But I was not giving up!

After breast infections, house calls from the amazing boob doctor Dr. Mona Gabbay and the illustrious Susan Berger, emailing photographs of my breasts to them both, weekly breastfeeding support group meetings at Real Birth, begging and paying our post-partum doula Tara Brooke to sleep over, having my dear husband latch Sylvie onto me (which was like waiting for the perfect wave), banning my unsupportive mother from coming over for weeks, and even pumping for two weeks to get of the mental hang-ups I had created, at exactly eight weeks and one day, it stopped hurting. And we got into a rhythm. And no formula! I won! But don’t get me wrong—this was my Olympic Event and no one else’s.

I learned that women don’t tell their pregnant friends how hard it is because they don’t want them to stop trying, give up or be scared. It’s like a gang initiation rite. I now give the Sears “Breastfeeding Book” at any and all baby showers. New moms look at it with an “oh….” and soon-to-be grandmothers look at it equally suspiciously, hoping for cute Baby Gap outfits. But a month after the babies are born, they’re all grateful!

My daughter Sylvie just turned two. For the past year, I’ve been trying to wean her, and guess what: I am failing. I am not in control.

This morning, my fearless toddler leaped out of her crib sideways as if jumping into a wave, all in an effort to coax me into the glider chair that has become my straight jacket. If I try to do anything else, she has a meltdown. What would happen if I got rid of the chair or put it in the family room so my husband could glide, drink beer and watch hockey? Well, we all know what would happen. I’d be sitting on the floor of Sylvie’s room while she wrangles my bra exclaiming “BOOBIE, BOOBIE, BOOBIE!”

So for a moment, I relax, and melt into her moody blue eyes that give me a special flirtatious wink, reserved only for me. A few minutes go by, I fall back into my morning panic, peek at the dog who is desperate to go outside and imagine the boob job I’m going to need in a few years.

I experience a hundred different emotions on a daily basis about breastfeeding. It consumes me. I have my highs and lows. Some days I feel empowered and loving, while other days I feel resentful and guilty. To be a Type-A control freak who is controlled by a baby comes with its own set of issues.

Hello, and welcome to The Boob Chronicles.

-Audra Hughes