Let us oft speak kind words of our mothers

My motto is "leave no creative writing assignment unfooled with."  As long as it can be rendered absurd, I am in.  This is particularly true when people ask my mom personal questions and she comes to me and asks "what should I say?"  Oh I have got your back mom.  The Relief Society Newsletter has asked you what your favorite flavor jelly bean might be? Obviously your favorite flavor is "blood of my vanquished enemies."  Usually my ideas are unprintable, but we have a good giggle. Secretly I think I could rock it as editor of the Relief Society Newsletter but it might get shut down after one issue.

About a decade ago my mom participated in a creative writing group designed to help people feel more confident in writing their family history.  One of their assignments was to write their own obituary -- they were given license to be humorous.  My mom was happy to do the assignment and she wrote a funny obituary.  I, of course, took things way farther even though I wasn't part of the class and nobody asked me.  This week my mom happened upon our obituary offerings.  It's nice to be prepared in the event of tragedy.  Without further ado, here is a (now somewhat out of date) rough draft of my obsequies for my angel mother.

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Last Saturday evening, surrounded by her doting eternal family Carolyn G. Diamond was taken by her Guardian Angel to dance with the Saints in the Eternal Gold and Green Ball.  She was 92.

Carolyn was born in a vermin-infested shack in Louisiana where she spent her carefree girlhood.  At 18 she finally realized what joy is by joining the church and she was able to spend the rest of her life testifying to how people in "The World" are categorically incapable of experiencing happiness.

At BYU she was the head Cougarette and won the prestigious Golden Hairspray Can for her expertly coordinated slap the him and turn move.  Unfortunately she did not graduate with her Mrs. and so she was forced to continue to go to school in the hopes of finally being fulfilled as a human being.

She eventually married P. G. and had two precious angels of children, LeVurl and Harmony.  LeVurl became a mill worker and married his high school Princess Shayna.  They have six children, eighteen grandchildren and live in Payson, UT.  Harmony went on to win the Nobel Prize for Literature, which she gave to her mother as a coaster.  Carolyn always made sure to remind her ward every fast Sunday what righteous children she had and and how that reflected well on both her valiance in the pre-existence and her excellence as a Mother, and she was right.

After 40 years of unrelieved marital bliss Carolyn was left a widow.  The city created a museum to honor their homegirl's handicrafts and she spent several years as head curator of her own museum of crocheted doll ball gowns and acrylic doilies.  It was at a demonstration of how to needle-point kleenex box covers that Carolyn met her eternal companion, Neil Diamond.  He crooned "Hellloooo again, Hellooooo" and his soft buttery voice melted Carolyn's heart faster than a cube of margarine on a hot potato.  He asked her to be his Purl of Great Price and they were married for Time and Part of Eternity in the Provo Temple, after he joined the church and became the Seminary Teacher.

Carolyn was renowned for her charitable works and ability to suck her teeth while giving talks in church.  The world has been plunged into universal bereavement by her passing and a dark cloud has settled over the earth that will probably not ever dissipate.  We can take comfort in knowing that this sweet, sweet, Angel of Mercy is definitely absolutely without a shadow of a doubt in the Great Relief Society Presidency in the sky, distributing rainbows and gumdrop kisses to those who passed on with welfare needs.  Mya our hearts always carry a special glimmer for having known this Beacon of Hope.

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I'm getting excited about penning this year's Christmas newsletter.

Let's just put that into perspective, shall we?

Things have gotten really rough with breastfeeding.  Gotten? oh, yeah it was horrible from the start.  But it was working, in that my baby was gaining weight.  Three weeks ago I returned to work and so Grandma started feeding Fred frozen Mom milk from a bottle.  He was happy as a clam about the bottle (phew!) but it turned out that the amount my bod pumps and the amount Fred wants are not one and the same.  So we were blowing through my stash really fast and the thought of pumping and pumping to feed the lil glutton was disheartening.  I talked to the lactation consultant and she said that, all things considered, it was just fine if I chose to supplement with formula.  What a huge relief!

Then, tonight, Fred went on strike.  He absolutely refused to nurse and screamed and screamed and screamed.  I get it, nursing takes effort, a bottle much less so (for him anyway).  I was in tears as I warmed him expressed milk and fed it in a bottle.  I'm such a failure! I can't even feed my baby! Do I just go to a bottle now, long before the six month mark the World Health Organization has recommended for our guilt?  Another magical evening spent feeding and crying.

I decided to google "am I a terrible mother for switching to formula,"  a search that has doubtless been run millions of times.  I opened my browser and you know what I saw?  Stories about Donald Trump and Harvey Weinstein.  Oh.  So let's just think about the "am I terrible" question.  I am considering changing from one healthy way of nourishing my child to a different one because our needs as a family have changed.  Both means of feeding a baby are equally likely to produce a happy, healthy, wonderful human being.  Theoretically breast is best.  But it stops being best if I contemplate suicide and cry through feeds and my baby starts screaming and refusing to do it.  What exactly are we accomplishing here?  So yeah.  I'm not a terrible person.  Terrible people are rapists and creeps.  Terrible people threaten war for no reason and deny health care and withhold life saving help out of spite.

I talked to my lactation consultant on the phone, an angel of a human being if ever there was one.  When I asked how I was hurting my baby if I stopped breast feeding she said "let's reframe that.  Let's celebrate that you were able to give your baby ninety days of breast milk, overcoming some really big obstacles."  Yes.  Let's celebrate that!

Fred is three months old.  That means I have now put in a full year of my life of making horrible physical sacrifices so he can be healthy and exist.  I was willing to keep doing this until next July.  But I don't have to, and every minute that passes is making that sound better and better and better.  I am planning to pump/nurse a few times a day still but not fight Captain Shrieky.  Maybe now I can feel more like a person -- go to a movie! Out to dinner! Take a freaking break!  It sounds pretty nice.

Side note to the soon to be born baby who has been promised a backup stash of Palmkey's Best: Count on it still.  It's in the freezer just waiting for you.  Fred won't miss it and you're not to feel fretted about it.