Saturday, 8 December 2012

The Baby Feeding Minefield

Before Walter came along I used to stumble across child-rearing articles in the paper and find myself amused & surprised by the amount of vitriol that the comments section collected. I was always surprised that people got so passionate about various theories. I naively assumed that how one chose to raise their children, provided they were not causing them abusive harm, was their own business and I didn’t see why the media was always harping on about various theories and studies. The breastfeeding debate was one that I found particularly silly, as it always seemed fairly obvious to me that breastfeeding was the best way to feed a baby, since it is a natural function. Then I had Walter and many things changed.

It didn’t take me much time after his birth to see why people get so passionate about feeding their babies. The debate seems to be designed to separate good mothers (those who breastfeed) from bad mothers (those who give their babies formula). It’s that old human need to win the “competition” rearing its ugly head, and it arms itself from the best motives (I hope!) but has a really horrible effect. What I mean is this:

I don’t think it takes much to see that breastfeeding really is the ideal way for feeding a baby. It’s natural, it’s right there, and our bodies create a milk specifically to meet a human baby’s needs. If something natural can do the trick, then I don’t think that mucking about with unnatural means is the way to go. But knowing this, there are still a lot of mothers who either choose to, or who have to, feed their babies on formula. And this is where it starts to get tricky. The breastfeeding movement has led to the distortion of certain ‘facts’ about formula, has sugar-coated the practice of breastfeeding, and has negatively used the media against those of us who need to feed our children with formula. It is no wonder that women like myself who planned to breastfeed but have had to resort to formula get so passionately upset.

Distortion of Facts

We are given all sorts of reasons that breast-feeding is better for babies. One thing that was often emphasized is just how inexpensive it is compared to formula. That is true, but what I do have a quarrel with is that the pamphlets on the subject seem to have lit onto a rather high figure for calculating the costs of raising a formula-baby. In fact it seemed to be about £200 higher than what I would expect the maximum to be for Walter if we stayed in the UK, and he drinks the most expensive brand of formula. Yes, it does increase the grocery bill by about £10/week, but he’s going to increase my grocery bill once he starts on solids anyway. I find this to be a rather cheap shot.

Formula is often portrayed as the easy way out, which spins off into all sorts of tangents about mothers who just don’t care enough to put that extra effort into their baby. Bollocks. Yes, establishing breastfeeding is difficult. I know so many mothers who breastfeed and complain that no one warned them that they would have to dedicate the first six weeks of their baby's life to just trying to get enough food into it. Formula is certainly easy compared to those first six weeks. But that doesn't mean that it's easy, and that doesn't mean that it is easier than established breastfeeding. Anyone who has had to listen to me complain about Walter’s eating habits should clue in that it’s not as simple as just giving him a bottle. He doesn’t necessarily eat according to the suggested amounts for his age group and it’s a constant guessing game of trying to ensure he is getting enough to eat. And, because no one seems to actually know anything about babies, it’s difficult to even get advice on how to tell if he’s eating too much, too little, or just enough. For example, I can read in a book that babies will stop eating when they’re full. But this same book will then say that one reason babies spit up is that they’re eating too much. Which is it? Why is the media always telling us that formula babies have a tendency towards obesity because they're easy to overfeed if they'll stop eating when they're full?And, because babies keep gaining weight, it's a constant game of trying to guess what size of bottle to make him.

It is also a challenge because I, of course, cannot just produce food for him when he needs it. I always need to plan ahead and I carry packets of emergency formula powder in his diaper bag just in case. I have had many an anxious moment wondering where I will get water from to mix up his meal when we’re out, or worrying when I cannot get to the store and his powder is running low. Feeding a baby a bottle in public may, unfortunately, be more socially acceptable than flagrantly breastfeeding, but going out with a formula baby poses its own sets of challenges.

A Rosy View of Breastfeeding

The sugar-coating begins in ante-natal classes, where at least in my experience any supposed ‘barriers’ to breastfeeding were seen as inconsequential, simply the result of maternal ignorance and a problem easily sorted. I still wonder why, if it is quite so simple as all that, none of the midwives at the hospital, or the lactation consultant, or the health visitor could figure out why Walter would only drink from a bottle. Perhaps my experience was worse than others – exhausted from labour & surgery, unable to move from bed to even pick up my crying baby, and then being told that I wouldn’t be discharged until he could successfully breastfeed even when it was clear that no one could figure out why he wasn’t eating. I was in tears before anyone bothered to tell me that if I bought him some formula I could leave the hospital.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, the first couple of weeks where I had to resign myself to giving Walter formula were rough. I wanted to breastfeed. I planned to breastfeed. I tried to breastfeed. And all to no avail. I felt let down by my own body and, until we got the hang of a feeding routine that helped him, frustrated with my stubborn little boy who either turned into a screaming red-faced monster or latched on and refused to suck when given the option of breastfeeding. Some of the health visitors I saw were amazing. They encouraged me to try different ways of getting breastmilk into him but also gave me free reign to supplement his diet with formula. That was a blessing, because the flip side of the coin are the disapproving looks and the glossing over my difficulties with the idea that it will happen in time. One day I took Walter to the doctor’s for a routine appointment and I sat across from a woman who was feeding her newborn from a bottle. As soon as she saw me looking in her direction she began trying to justify why her daughter was eating from a bottle. I was saddened by the fact that she would feel so judged for her actions that she needed to defend them without me even saying a word.

I think you need to be a pretty strong-minded woman to choose to feed your baby formula from the start, without exploring breastfeeding. If you’re that strong does the disapproval of others bother you? I don’t know, but I do know that the inability of health care professionals to hide their disapproval is a blow to those who are already feeling like a failure because they are forced to choose the option they didn’t want.

The Media Impact

And now we get to the part that really bothers me, and which prompted me to finally get all these thoughts down on paper. Formula feeding is such a perceived problem that it has become very difficult to get any actual information on it. Formula companies are not supposed to advertise their “from birth” products, which is so wrong! You walk into the store and are confronted with a number of different products. How do you know which one to choose? Walter drinks the brand recommend by the hospital, but sometimes that isn’t available so in this situations he drinks a different brand that is made by the same company. I prefer this latter brand, but I can’t discover what the difference between the two is, aside from price. I don’t want to switch him completely unless I know what the difference is, but it’s hard to find this info without advertising!

All of the packaging has to have statements that “breastfeeding is best for infants”, statements which echo the “breast is best” posters in the lobbies of various baby-care units. I am thus constantly given reminders that I am choosing a lesser option. Before I had trouble feeding him I didn’t see any problem with these slogans, because they speak the truth. But now that I know how difficult it can be, and how painful it is to be told that formula needs to be part of the feeding routine, I find their prominence quite offensive.

These are just a few examples of my experiences. I am by no means against breastfeeding, and I hope to be able to successfully breastfeed our next child, but I think that it is important to see the other side of the issue. I know that I found comfort in reading stories similar to mine, and I also think that it is important that we treat each other with respect and be able to commiserate with each other’s difficulties whether we give our babies breast or bottle.

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Spandauer Vorstadt

It's been awhile since I've had a chance to post, although we did keep having adventures in Berlin right up until we left. So now I'm playing catch-up from Canada...


On the first sunny day in November, which happened to be a Friday, Walter & I set out on our next adventure. We decided to go to the Spandauer Vorstadt, which used to be Berlin’s Jewish quarter. It is the site of the Neue Synagogue, a large synagogue built for Berlin’s pre-war Jewish community and, of course, destroyed during the Nazi era. It has been restored in a very fascinating way and now serves as a Jewish community centre and as a small museum.

The building is fantastic, as it is built in a mozarabique style – an artistic style I happen to be quite fond of. The dome of the synagogue has been completely restored so the building beautifully dominates its surroundings. As a sad testimony to continuing tensions between the Jewish community and certain individuals, there is a heavy police presence outside the synagogue and we had to pass through airport-style security in order to get in. Walter was exempt from the checks but his bottle of milk was not!

Photographs of the interior aren’t permitted, so you’ll have to take my word on how excellent of an exhibition it is. The interior has been restored to a hint of its former glory by only using what could be salvaged from the rubble. It has been done in such a fascinating way that one gets an idea of its beauty while seeing just how much was destroyed. For example, where pieces of stained glass have been recovered they’ve been inserted into the windows, while the rest of the window will just be plain glass. A restoration like this could go quite wrong, but the salvaged pieces are allowed to shine and the rebuilt structure is a very quiet backdrop. Walter really enjoyed our tour, because the ceiling still retains some of its original floral & geometric painting, so there was a lot for him to look. He also enjoyed the large black & white photograph of the original interior of the synagogue.

The museum covers both the history of the synagogue and the history of Jewish life in the district. In its setting which so eloquently depicts the level of destruction which the Jewish community underwent it is a very effective memorial to the holocaust and the persecution of the Jews. I found it much more poignant than any new statue, complete restoration, or complete ruin would have been.

After viewing the synagogue we both agreed that it was time for lunch. Following a suggestion in my guidebook, we decided to take in the tastes at Dada Falaffel. It was a great choice – as soon as the manager saw me queuing outside with a baby he bustled me into the busy cafe and found a seat for us. To maximize space there are special chairs that fit onto the unused flight of stairs at the back of the cafe (it is a wide flight, like you find in museums). I took the lowest seat and was able to park Walter’s pram in front of me. It was ideal. Being a Friday I ordered the falaffel sandwich and it was superb, and also a lot healthier than the excellent falaffel we get in our neighbourhood. A wrap filled with salad, yogurt, and the most delicious freshly made falaffel I’ve had – crunchy on the outside, well-spiced and soft on the inside. For those who don’t know, which I guess is possible, falaffel is a spiced chickpea purée that is formed into a ball or disc shape and then deep-fried.

After lunch Walter & I trekked to a special joint-cemetery, the Französicher Friedhof & the Dortheenstädtische Friedhof. The former is the city’s oldest Huguenot graveyard, whilst the latter is the resting place of many of Berlin’s more famous residents, like Brecht. It was a beautiful place for an afternoon stroll, as the ground was carpeted with the autumn leaves and many of the graves are covered in ivy. We kept seeing black cats playing amongst the tombstones and were careful to not let them cross our path.

Note the kitty!

I actually really like these bare-bones headstones. The Brechts' weren't the only ones like this.
When we finished our wander we left the quiet of the graveyard to head towards the Berlin Wall Memorial in Nordbahnhof. In this area the wall was built on the grounds of a graveyard, and the graves had to be moved. Before all the graves were moved some people tried to leap over the wall by standing on some of the taller tombstones. Now the site shows excavations several feet into the earth, where the original lines of the graves can be seen, as well as a large pictorial monument commemorating the “victims of the wall”, namely those who perished in trying to cross it. As David keeps saying, it is strange to think that while we were still children this giant wall divided the whole city in two. The height of the wall is something I have thought much about it, because it is just tall enough to prevent one from jumping over it (although you could easily climb it now if you had a rope) and from seeing what’s on the immediate other side. But of course you can see tall buildings, and as you back away from it you can see what lies on the other side. It must have been so strange to have hints of “the other” Berlin without being able to actually see it.

Dusk was quickly turning to dark by the time we left the wall. We walked in the direction of Große Hamburger Straße to view more of the old Jewish quarter. But I dislike being out with Walter in the dark, especially in strange cities, so we didn’t linger for too long. It is an area with a mixture of holocaust memorials and modern shops, but there was nothing seemed particularly special when compared with what we had already seen that day. 

A creepy building which we passed on our way to the train station

Monday, 19 November 2012

Hallowe'en & All Souls

I love the month of October. For one thing, it is my birthday month. For another, it is usually the best of autumn – the days have a crisp bite to them, the sun is still making a regular appearance, and the trees are in the height of their dying splendour. Best of all, as the golden light of October changes to the dreary gray of November, we have the holidays of Hallowe’en & All Saints/All Souls.

I love Hallowe’en – what is not to love about dressing up in a costume and reliving the spirit of childhood with one’s friends & children? I’ve never been overly concerned with its supposed ties to paganism, nor have I found the costumes particularly offensive to Christian sensibilities provided that things are all in good fun. Harvest festivals in lieu of Hallowe’en have always seemed to be much more of a pagan thing. As for celebrating Reformation Day instead of Hallowe’en, well, I frankly find that more terrifying and a much more evil holiday – a break in Christian unity is not something that should be celebrated! As for scary costumes that ape the creatures of myth, legend, and darkness – is it not better to be able to face such things through the mockery of a costume than to give them such power that we feel they must be avoided at all costs? I suppose I don’t see scary costumes and decorations as a celebration & exultation in evil, but just as an acknowledgement of the darker things of fiction & legend and breaking them of their power of fear.

I was really looking forward to celebrating Walter’s first Hallowe’en, but being in Germany for only a short while it didn’t seem prudent to splash out on decorations. Our neighbourhood is predominately Turkish and I didn’t know if trick-or-treating was even done here so it seemed silly to buy Walter a costume when we’d be spending the evening at home with no party or trick-or-treaters. So instead we had a special family celebration, watching an animated version of Ray Bradbury’s Halloween Tree (it traces the supposed history of Halloween), eating an autumn themed dinner (bbq chicken, baked potatoes, and corn on the cob), and indulging our sweet tooths (with rittersport, cola, beer, and cakes!). It was a fun little evening and next year I’m hoping that we’re in a place where I can justify buying Walter a little costume.

My slice of shoko-orangen kuchen & David's very questionable looking eclair!

An Autumn dinner

"I asked for milk and they gave me chocolate :("

Right after Hallowe’en comes the Holy Days of All Saints & All Souls, special days of remembering all those who have gone before us in the Great Pilgrimage. All Souls is always a special day for me, a day which I spend remembering departed family members and praying for them. The idea of praying for the dead, and that those in heaven can pray for us, always made sense to me once a Catholic friend explained it to me years ago. If I can ask a friend on earth to pray for me, then why is it any different to ask a friend in heaven to do the same? Praying for the dead perhaps makes less sense if you don’t believe in purgatory, but I still think that believing in the efficacy of prayer it makes sense. Speaking with God is never wasted, for even if the prayers cannot help their object surely we ourselves are helped just by taking the time to spend in reflection & communion with the Lord. I think it is important to remember family, because they are the first ones who set us on our path (for good or for ill). When Walter is old enough to understand I hope that it is a special time we can take to share stories and memories of the family members he won’t have met.

Friday, 16 November 2012


When we moved to Berlin we knew that the main difficulty would be the language barrier. This is particularly so when we thought about church, since neither of us is familiar with the Mass in German. There are the options of English Masses, but we’d need to take the subway to get to them and that quickly gets expensive. David’s solution was to locate a Latin Mass near our house.

For our time here we’ve been going to weekly mass at St Afra’s, part of the St Phillip Neri Institut. It’s Mass in the extraordinary form (for all my non-Catholic readers, that means “old school” or generally the way Hollywood prefers to portray the Catholic Mass) and it’s been a really great experience.

My experience with the extraordinary form until we moved to Berlin was not the best. It was either awkwardly hard to follow or it was ultra-conservative (cute: little girls in mantillas; not-so-cute: priest ranting about male authority/dominance over women) and possibly a little too close to heretical “extraordinary form is the only form and the pope is not the true pope” group. But I’ve really been enjoying our time at St Afra’s – I can’t understand the homilies, which are in German, but based on the crowd and the fact that David hasn’t said “gee, that was a crazy homily” I’m guessing it’s just good, orthodox theology. The Mass is easy to follow and generally it just feels like any other normal church community. There’s even a coffee & cake hour after Mass in the parish shop. We’ve met people from all over the world and it’s a nice mix of everyone from young babies to elderly folks.

The extraordinary form follows a different liturgical calendar, so we got to have the Feast of Christ the King (Christkönigfest) before All Saints. Because it is an important feast we had a special high Mass, with a number of priests in attendance and Adoration at the end, including a litany of saints and the singing of Tantum Ergo. It was so beautiful, with the vestments and banners in the church all changed to gold & white, the lovely chanting of the Schola choir, and the Mass culminating in a beautiful & worshipful time of Adoration. I had convinced Walter to sleep the night before by telling him that he was going to see Jesus at Mass the next day, and therefore needed to sleep so that he could stay in the service, so I was particularly pleased that we had the opportunity for Adoration. Below is the main hymn we sang for the Feast -- Gelobt seist Du, Herr Jesu Christ. It's my new favourite and you can find the German words here.

The solemn beauty and majesty of these extraordinary form Masses is so fitting when you consider that we are actually meeting with Jesus during the Mass. I love that the service begins with the chanting of Asperges me, which always causes me to reflect on Baptism, the remission of sins, and my hope of salvation. You can find an English translation here

 I love the extreme visible reverence shown to Christ & His Body during the Mass, and how we are so often brought to our knees throughout the liturgy. And to be honest, I love the altar rail that separates us from the altar, where we must kneel to receive communion, because this barrier is such a physical reminder of just how sacred the space around the altar & the tabernacle is. 
David & I aren’t planning to become “extraordinary form only” fanatics any time soon. We’ve always enjoyed beautiful liturgy, whether it be in Latin or English, with old hymns or modern worship music. Our main concerns are usually that the homilies/priests/parish are concerned with sound doctrine & adherence to the Church’s teaching, that the music is good and serves the liturgy, and that the community is friendly. We’ve found these things in a variety of very different churches. And in this season we have been given the opportunity to come to enjoy and love the extraordinary form, which I think is a great blessing.