"Mother and Child," by William Zorach

For me, breastfeeding ROCKED.

I absolutely reveled in the nine months I spent nursing each of my daughters. It brought sweetness, peace, health, relaxation, natural breast enhancement, rapid weight loss – what’s not to love?

I’ll tell ya: PUMPING.

Now, I haven’t tested the latest model portable breast pumps, but I’m pretty darn sure they’ve evolved greatly from the one I used 15 years ago. The contraption was unwieldy and uncomfortable. It took quite an effort to assemble and put to use. Worst of all, it was noisy.

No, make that NOISY.

I recall a particularly cringeworthy 20 minutes spent pumping in the ladies’ room of a client’s office during a meeting break. It’s quite possible passersby thought the restroom was being renovated — if not completely demolished and rebuilt from scratch — as the monstrous whirring of the milking machine echoed off the tile.

But of course it was worth the effort to be able to provide that free and natural wonder food for my babes while I was away from them. And I was recently reminded of my pumping days when a dear friend, the mom of 6-month-old twins, told me she’d tipped over a full bottle of breast milk and…had a bit of a freak out. All that time and effort down the drain — or the side of the kitchen counter, as it were.

She knew I’d empathize.

She knew I’d understand that she wasn’t overreacting.

She knew I’d write a poem about it.

So, here’s to you, dear friend, and every breastfeeding mom out there: May your pumps run smoothly, may your freezers stay full and may you never spill a single drop.

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Sob Story

After hours at a pump that’s been plying
Liquid gold from them, there’s no denying
Moms of lactating ilk
Know there’s one kind of milk
That – when spilt – fully justifies crying.

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©2012 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz

Stream of Consciousness

I can’t help thinking
on this misty morn so fine
that it only rained
’cause my laundry’s on the line.

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©2011 Carlotta Eike Stankiewcz

Last year: "The Red Queen."

AS CHILDREN, my sister and I always had homemade Halloween costumes, so it’s no surprise that I’ve eschewed store-bought outfits for my two girls –  for nearly 15 years now.

As "Edward Scissorhands," Halloween 2009.

Given today’s generally disappointing (and often infuriating) selection of overpriced costumes offered at major retailers and Halloween superstores, I find it far more satisfying, both financially and emotionally, to create something from scratch.

Of the two, my younger girl is more of a Halloween fanatic. No sooner has she said her last “Trick or treat!” and scored her final handful of Kit-Kats, than she’s already brainstorming about next year’s get-up.

As "Sally," Halloween 2008.

We’re huge Tim Burton fans, so in the past she’s dressed up as different characters from his films: Sally the Rag Doll from The Nightmare Before Christmas; Edward from Edward Scissorhands; and The Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland.

Her dad and I are somewhat artistically inclined, so we eagerly embrace each year’s new costume challenge. He’s a master with an X-acto knife and foam core. I have a sewing machine, pinking shears and a hot glue gun — and I’m not afraid to use them. Collectively, we’ve logged many a midnight hour in service of  cobbling together the coolest kid costume in the neighborhood.

We typically don’t mind burning the midnight oil for these creations, although they do take a bit of planning. Which of course means that we can never expect things to go exactly as we hope – especially when we factor in the simple truth that we are, after all, making a costume for a kid.

And you know what that means…

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Quick Change Artist

Right after Halloween last year,
she already had a plan
about her costume for THIS year,
how it’d be better than

the one she still was wearing,
so intricate and cool,
the one that prompted “Epic!” cries
from all the kids at school.

And so throughout the holidays
and in the brand new year
her costume thoughts and planning
were all that I would hear.

She talked of it past Valentine’s,
right through the end of spring;
in summer, she did research
on every little thing:

the outfit and accessories,
the make-up and the hair,
she even noted how to walk
and how to talk, I swear.

And then, when autumn finally came
and Halloween drew near,
‘twas time for me to organize
and get my act in gear.

Out came my pins and velcro,
my trusty hot glue gun;
and soon the fabrication
of her costume I’d begun.

After many nights of
cutting,
pinning,
stitching
and
glue gunning,
I proudly held that costume up
and it was…simply stunning.

So carefully I brought it
to her room for the revealing,
assuming that with pure delight
she’d soon be loudly squealing.

She met me with a smile
as she surveyed that fine creation;
Her reaction, though, I’m sad to say,
fell far short of elation.

Instead, she handed me a sketch
of a costume she’d designed:
A different one (to make tonight)
because

“I’ve changed my mind.”

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©2011 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz