Demanding More For The Future Black History Makers And The Mothers Who Birth Them

As Black History Month comes to a close I've been reflecting on the history of black women as mothers. Thinking about our legacy as the women who tirelessly carried our families and communities. Mothers who didn't listen when the world said we were thoughtless breeders and our children were mere commodities to be bought or sold. In more recent history, black mothers have been publicly shamed as crack mothers, welfare queens and the face of "baby mama drama." Black single motherhood is blamed for all sorts of social ills from crime to drugs to "wilding" teens. And black mothers are often represented in popular culture as neck-rolling domineering household managers who run circles around our men.

Let's face it. The historical misperception of who we are has not been very flattering.

But I'm asking you to stay true to what you know: These stereotypes are very far from the truth. In truth, black women today have redefined black history and created a new conversation about our roles as mothers. For example, when I watched the Brady Bunch and Happy Days and reruns of Leave It To Beaver, the subtle messaging was that being a stay at home mom and catering to your child's every need was a white woman's pleasure. Black women have always worked--as slaves, as cleaners, as teachers, as doctors, as lawyers. Even our TV mamas (Claire Huxtable included) always worked outside the home.

Today more and more black women are stay at home or work at home moms (myself included), we have robust national organizations like Mocha Moms http://mochamoms.org/ to support women who are making motherhood their career (even if just for a few years or so).

We have a First Lady who epitomizes everything modern black motherhood is about, career success, loving partnership and commitment to being the mom-in-chief of your own family command center.

This shift in our motherhood experience may seem subtle, but in the framework of our history, it is groundbreaking. And thrilling. It not only speaks to how far we have come as a people, but how far we have come as black mothers, who went from having no control over our children to taking control of our children, our lives, and our families' financial future. We now have varied and different motherhood experiences yet we still know we are doing important work that goes well beyond our home.

Yet, there is much work to do. We still need to increase our breastfeeding rates, to give our babies the healthiest start in life and improve our own health as mothers. We need to demand answers to why our maternal death rate is double and is some urban cities seven-times that of our white peers, and start questioning the quality of care we receive.

As we celebrate our history as black Americans, we must protect the next generation of black history-makers currently growing in wombs across the nation. And we must demand better care for the mothers who bring them into the world.

Formula Fed? Not For My Baby: One Mom's Story

According to my Random House dictionary, definition No. 6 for the word "formula" is a mixture of milk and other ingredients for feeding a baby. I can deal with the milk; it's the other ingredients that concern me. The word "formula" immediately makes me think of mad scientists hovering over test tubes in a laboratory. It also makes me think of experimenting and trial and error. Why "formulate" something to feed your baby when God has equipped most women's bodies to produce milk after they give birth. Breast milk has exactly the right amount of fat, sugar, water, and protein that a baby needs.

I once heard that humans are the only mammals that intentionally feed their young something other than their own milk. That, among many other factors, helped me decide not to give my baby formula. When breastfeeding is an option, I think Black mothers owe it to themselves and their babies to breastfeed for as long as possible. Other than women with illnesses that prevent them from breastfeeding, new moms should at least make an attempt to give their babies the considerable health advantages that breast milk has been proven to provide.

Extended breastfeeding has been credited with protecting babies from various illnesses. It is said to increase a child's intelligence and it may also help to prevent obesity. Breastfeeding may offer protection from SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). Some research has even linked the failure to breastfeed to intestinal issues experienced later in life. Breastfeeding exclusively for the first six months seems to offer babies significant health protection.

Moms benefit just as much from extended breastfeeding as their babies do. Breastfeeding moms are often free of a menstrual cycle for a longer period of time after giving birth. Breast, uterine, ovarian, and endometrial cancer risks are lower in women that practice extended breastfeeding. Diabetes is a disease that is prominent in the Black community. According to some studies, breastfeeding may lower insulin needs in diabetic women (http://breastfeeding.about.com/od/problemssolutions/a/diabetes.htm). Weight loss is another incentive for extended breastfeeding. In my case, about three months into breastfeeding I weighed less than I weighed prior to my pregnancy.

Along with the health benefits, extended breastfeeding provides an opportunity to bond with your baby in a way that no one else can. I can't put into words the joy I felt cradling my baby knowing that I was created by God to be able to nourish her. Mothers and babies are physically connected for 40 weeks during the baby's development. For breastfeeding mothers and babies extended nursing is a continued physical, emotional, and spiritual link.


Tangela Walker-Craft is the creator of Go Pillow! a patented, multipurpose childcare item that allows moms hands-free breastfeeding with comfort and president of Simply Necessary Inc. After nursing her own daughter for two years, Walker-Craft, realized that there was not a product on the market that allowed mothers to have nursing privacy and cradling comfort when others were present. Existing nursing pillows were too bulky and cumbersome for travel and cover-ups on the market required too much manipulation. The GoPillow! satisfies the needs of both breast feeding and bottle feeding mothers and caregivers. Learn more at http://www.simplynecessary.com/

New study: 400,000 infants born to depressed mothers. What can we do?

Pregnancy is supposed to be a happy time. Those glossy pregnancy magazines would make you think every pregnant woman is running through green meadows with unmitigated joy.

But we all know the real deal. Broken relationships, economic hardships, thwarted life plans or just bad timing can create so much anxiety during pregnancy and can crowd out any joy you may want to feel. We'd like to think this sadder side of pregnancy is the exception to most experiences, but a new study says otherwise.

A recent report by American Academy of Pediatrics says every year, more than 400,000 infants are born to mothers who are depressed, which makes perinatal depression the most under-diagnosed obstetric complication in America.

That's big news.

With so many babies being born to depressed mothers, what does that mean for the level of early bonding and care that they receive? When you're depressed you are probably less likely to breastfeed, especially when it can be very physically and emotionally demanding in the early days and months. And what about the moms? How healthy are their eating habits, also linked to their likelihood to breastfeed, if they are depressed?

The point is, sad moms are even sadder news for babies.

What can be done? For one, there needs to be a broader dialogue about depression during pregnancy and post partum. It would be great if we didn't only portray one pregnancy experience as the "right" pregnancy experience, doing so keeps moms in the closet about their real feelings and prevents them from getting the help they need.

In our community, we need to do more talking. Black people are socialized not to air dirty laundry, so to speak, so we are often reluctant to share our problems, particularly with strangers. But talk to your doctor, a friend or trusted relative. If this is difficult, call an anonymous hotline, if you must. Just don't try to face depression alone.

If you're depressed, take off the strong black woman superhero outfit and pack it away. If your belief system says, I'm strong and I should be able to handle all situations, when the occasion inevitably arises that you can't do these things, you think of yourself as a failure. Those feelings can only lead to deeper depression.

Can you lighten your load? Cut down on your chores, errands for others, and other stressful activities. Try to do more things that will help you relax and regroup.

And there's nothing wrong with a little couch time with a culturally competent therapist--one who understands the complexities of a black woman's life.

Our babies have enough challenges in this world, let's do our part to make sure our children are born to moms who are as happy and mentally healthy as possible.

Talking Midwives in Midtown: an Aha! Moment

Yesterday, I met an old friend for breakfast. We met at Norma's in Le Parker Meridien hotel. As we noshed on a delicious breakfast, pondered who has actually ordered the $1,000 caviar breakfast item, we had a ground shaking conversation about the role of midwives in changing the landscape for maternal health.

My fellow diner was my good friend Shirley McAlpine, a beautifully statuesque British woman. She became my friend when I lived in London and is now doing some amazing work in the U.K and U.S. about prenatal education and natural childbirth through her popular Birthwise DVD http://birthwisedvd.com/us/ and consulting work. The tagline for Birthwise is "Your Creation. Your Choice." I love that.

Shirley had just returned from the Midwives Alliance of North American conference in the Nashville, Tenn., area and she was buzzing. Her energy was infectious. And while we are both involved with maternal health issues across the board, as two black women we are also particularly concerned about the issues in our community. So the questions began to roll. Could midwives be key to helping reduce the high pre-term birth and low birth-weight baby rate that continue to plague black women of all socioeconomic levels? Could midwives help reverse the high exceptionally C-section rates among black women and reduce the shamefully rising maternal mortality rates among black women?

Shirley and I are convinced, yes. And birth center models like The Birth Place, http://thebirthplace.org an unique midwifery and women's health center in Winter Garden, Florida run by Jenni Joseph, show impressive results in reducing pre –term births.

But, why? The answer, as it unfolded before us, was in the education that midwives provide. Expecting moms who work with midwives are more informed about the birth process than women who work with doctors only. We all know that most doctors prefer that you know less, and trust them more, so that they can do what works best for them and not deal with any pesky little questions about your own life that you may have.

After all knowledge is power.

So when a woman who has had a midwife is told she needs to be induced. She knows she can ask why, if the baby's heart rate is fine and other measures she's been educated on are still ok.

When a woman whose water has broken is told that she must be induced, a woman with a midwife may have been taught that actually unless other indicators show otherwise a baby can be fine for up to 24 hours after the water breaks. It is Hollywood that has told us otherwise, and turned the water breaking into the mad dash to the hospital event that makes for great cinema but woefully misinformed moms to be.

And when a woman has a true (not Hollywood or doctor-friendly) understanding of how long the labor process can be, she won't stand for being told that a C section is necessary because it's been five hours and she hasn't dilated. She will also have been educated on the real signs of labor, so she won't go the hospital too soon where labor can be stunted by laying in a bed and you are more likely to be given unnecessary medical interventions.

These are key pieces to the puzzle. As we know, the answer is not in the prenatal care. Women are getting that. But that hasn't improved matters. The key is in the education--an education that often does not happen in its full measure at a traditional doctor's office. And that midwives can provide.

And that nuanced understanding of how black women end up on the operating table more and remain six times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complication is worth more the $1,000 caviar.

Breastfeeding On My Time

By Tangela Walker-Craft
WeNews guest blogger

I decided to breastfeed my daughter until she was 2 years old. I was the first person in my family to practice what is called extended breastfeeding since the introduction of baby formula.

I thought this was a personal decision, between me and my husband and my child, but boy was I wrong.

I taught her a few baby signs by the time she was about 9 months old, so she knew how to tell me when she wanted to be nursed. During the first year she was exclusively breastfed. By the second year she had a diet consisting of breast milk and toddler appropriate foods. During her second year, she breastfed less than the year before.

Unfortunately, unwanted and unwelcomed advice on when I should wean her came from everywhere. People that have never breastfed a day in their lives will offer their advice about when's the best time to wean YOUR baby. Even people that have never had a child will somehow know when you've breastfed long enough. Unbelievable!

If you resist their unsolicited advice, people may even switch from asking when you plan to wean to trying to scare you into weaning.

You'll likely hear, "If you don't wean her soon, you won't be able to do it." You may even get the, "She's going to start biting you when she gets teeth," threat. It's funny how most people accept that a baby will start to walk when he or she is ready, and talk when he or she is ready, but they think that there is a magic age when all babies should stop being breastfed.

Once threats don't manage to scare you into submission, the attempts to shame you into weaning may begin. You'll get the loaded, "You STILL breastfeeding that child? How old is she?"

Family members and people that feel that they can will make snide remarks about how your
child might be driving, married, or doing something else that's totally ridiculous before you wean him or her.

Things were particularly challenging because breastfeeding, especially extended breastfeeding, is not necessarily encouraged in Black families.

Like many breastfed babies, my daughter lacked the "baby bloat" that frequently occurs in formula fed babies. My well-meaning grandmother asked me dozens of times if I was sure my baby was getting enough to eat. She'd ask me, "Are you sure you're making enough milk?"

She and other members of my family refused to believe that my baby could survive on just breast milk. I was constantly guarding against my family's threats to give my daughter "real food". formula.

After breastfeeding six children of her own out of necessity, my 85-year-old grandmother seemed to view my decision to voluntarily breast feed as something out-dated or odd.

I think that moms that do not practice extended breastfeeding sometimes secretly resent moms that do. There is a competitive spirit that makes women want other women to make the same child care decisions that they've made. Women that do not, or did not practice extended breastfeeding, may feel that moms that do are judging them for their choice.

Contrary to the warnings, weaning for me was easy. Taking natural cues from my daughter during that second year, I breast fed less and less during the day time. Breastfeeding became more of a bonding and comfort activity for us at night. When I sensed that she was ready, I began telling her that mommy wouldn't have any more milk soon. My breast naturally responded by producing less milk because of the less frequent feedings.

My daughter's nursing slowed down to a few minutes only at bed time.

Over a three day period I cut the feedings down to quick bouts, which culminated in the end of what was one of the best experiences of my life. I am glad I never succumbed to the pressure to wean before we were ready, but it bothers me that such pressure exists.

Why are we so uncomfortable with extended breastfeeding?

Tanglela Walker-Craft is the creator of Go Pillow! a patented, multipurpose childcare item that allows moms hands-free breastfeeding with comfort and president of Simply Necessary Inc. After nursing her own daughter for two years, Walker-Craft, realized that there was not a product on the market that allowed mothers to have nursing privacy and cradling comfort when others were present. Existing nursing pillows were too bulky and cumbersome for travel and cover-ups on the market required too much manipulation. The GoPillow! satisfies the needs of both breast feeding and bottle feeding mothers and caregivers.


Learn more at:
http://www.simplynecessary.com/

For Our Sons Police Stops Are Part of Growing Up

Guest Blog by Dionne Grayman

My son was small for his age, having a birthday late in the year and always looked younger than he was. We all do. It's the family "curse".

When he began high school at the age of 13, I insisted upon driving him. He insisted upon taking public transportation. Living in New York City, part of the rites of passage for most of our children includes independent travel through the hundreds of miles of subway tunnels, elevated train tracks and bus routes. Daunting to tourists and suburbanites in for a show but not to the savvy city kid raised on pre-paid MetroCards and sightings of rabbit-sized rats. I won the battle the first day; he, the second. Sort of. I made him ride the bus, which was about a 90 minute ride; the train would have saved him half an hour. I gave him money to call me when he got there and he was supposed to call me when he was leaving. This was before cell phones became the mandatory kid-accessory. That would come on his third day of school, September 11, 2001.

I wanted him to ride the bus because I figured he would be safer on the bus, more protected. He had made the football team and became friends with other kids on the team who lived in our neighborhood and rode the train. Friends with names like Big Lou and Tall Mike. For a month he begged to be allowed to take the train, assured me that he would be fine, introduced me to his "bodyguards" and I relented.

And it happened, shortly after.

But we had had the conversations. I gave him pop quizzes when he came out of the shower, at dinner, in between his second and third helpings, because you never approach a hungry male asking anything-and after I had hosed him awake. And he went to private school, had his whole life. Wore a uniform which was known to every transit employee between here and there. He was articulate, bilingual, could speak "adult" as well as he spoke "teenager". He was clean cut, no earrings, no tattoos, no saggy pants, no gaudy chains. In the fall and spring, he wore the hoodie of the moment, in the winter a black Northface and black Timberlands with his oxford and khakis, just like every other young man at the all-boy school he attended-Pinero, Caluccio, Feist, Harden, Schwartz. It would be hard to tell them apart if they were all on the school steps with their faces turned away from the street parents used for pickup.

And it happened anyway.

One day, he was stopped by the police on his way home. Asked to present identification, asked where he was headed. That was the first time. The second time, he was asked for identification and frisked. Then the third time, the fourth, and the fifth. And he was patted down, had his backpack gone through, returned to him, sometimes gently, most times not.

My brother-in-law is a New York City police officer, a detective within a homicide division. New York's Finest, they're called. He gave him a courtesy card issued to officers to give to their relatives in the event they have an interaction with a fellow cop. I have used the card and received a warning instead of an expensive fine. My son has had the card thrown into his face and onto the ground. His "dealings" with the police did not end with his graduation from high school-with honors. Did not end despite his admission into nine of the ten colleges he applied to. It has not ended with his being a college senior with 3.5 GPA in a dual major. My son is no angel; he can be surly, argumentative and obstinate. He has experimented with alcohol and marijuana. He listens to rap music, I have heard him curse and I'm pretty sure he's no longer a virgin. Your typical all-American boy. Except it's only typical for African American young men and other men of color to be subjected to this kind of police treatment.

In addition to the coming-of-age conversations parents have with their children, black parents have to add the "What to Do WHEN You Are Stopped By the Police" talk to the list of ones they have with their sons. We have to, for their safety and our sanity. Because in our collective memory, there's the horrifically mutilated body of Emmet Till. There's Amadou Diallo and Sean Bell. My son's name is Sean. And every single time he's stopped, I feel I have failed him and I have failed in the God given responsibility of protecting my child.

The saddest part of all of this is he'd begun to become "immune" to being stopped. He, like too many other men of color in this city, had become desensitized to being treated criminally. They take it as par for the course; they shrug it off and most will laughingly share their war stories. But listen closely and you can hear anger comingled with humiliation and a weary, reluctant acceptance.

Not exactly the stuff that dreams are made of.

Dionne Grayman is the founder of Mothers Empowered, a coalition of mothers who are in search of their best selves and committed to the business of making this world a better place for our children. At Mothers Empowered the mission is ME! A former high school English teacher, Dionne has taught the full spectrum of New York City's children ranging from incarcerated juveniles on Riker's Island to gifted students at one of the city's most prestigious high schools. She has also served on the executive board of the Community Education Council in District 13 in Brooklyn and is the co-vice president of the PS/MS 282 PTA Executive Board. Grayman holds a bachelor's degree in English and journalism, a graduate degree in special education, and has completed CCC's Community Leadership Course. Learn more about Mothers Empowered at www.mothersempowered.org

Sharing My Story: Post-Partum Depression

A few weeks ago, I went to visit a girlfriend who has been showing some signs of post partum depression. I trekked all the ways to Queens, with dinner, two able hands for baby-holding and diaper changing and my trademark sense of humor, ready to be a supportive friend.

Turns out, I have a lot to learn. Because what she really needed from me was the truth.

My truth.

And my truth (that I somehow nearly forgot) was that I struggled with my own frightening bout with post partum depression. One that led me to get professional help.

Today I am talking candidly about my own bout with post partum depression in the hopes of starting an open conversation among black women and more personally, to help my girlfriend. To show, there's no shame in my game. If one more of us openly talks about post partum depression, I'm hoping that more of us will keep talking and helping each other. And so I start with the mama in the mirror. Here goes:

I'm pretty sure I had some sort of post partum after both of my children. But with my daughter, it was actually a little scary. Very scary. At first, I didn't really think it was post partum because I wasn't having dramatic crying spells or feeling sad or hopeless. In fact, as you may know of my personal story, if the circumstances of my pregnancy didn't tip me over into clinical depression, then I figured I was straight. During the daytime, I was happy and proud. I had a lovely 3 bedroom, 2 bath apartment, my freelance career was doing well, I was proudly breastfeeding and staying at home with my newborn.

But at night I was gripped with fear. Like seriously, irrational fear. I remember vividly thinking someone was in my bathroom waiting to kill me. I remember hearing noises all night. At first, I thought, well, I'm in a new place. It's a big apartment and I'm all alone with a helpless baby, of course you are afraid.

But then my fears got out of control.

I started having keep-me-up-at-night fears of a fire. Once I packed a "fire" backpack for me and the baby and left it underneath the window I designated as our escape route. At the height of it, my brother or father had to come over every night and sleep at the apartment with me. I couldn't sleep on my own. The fear took over my nights and my sleep. My dreams were violent. Someone was always hurting me or my baby. My daydreams and night dreams were vivid. I saw it all playing out. It seemed so real. I was afraid to sleep. And remember frequently staying up all night to avoid the violent dreams.

Something was wrong. I kept thinking it would pass. But it didn't.

I was too ashamed to tell my friends. I thought I was going crazy.

And the strangest thing about my fear was that, true to who I am, I always had an action plan. I was never just a victim. When fears of fire consumed me, I packed a backpack with essentials and carefully plotted the best escape route. When I thought someone was breaking into my house, I crafted the most ingenius, homemade, home security devices. Some of which, now make me laugh. One of which is in my current home today.

One night, at my lowest point, I was so afraid and yet so sure that someone was going to break in that nigh and hurt us, I slept with a spray bottle full of bleach in my hands. That was my self defense plan.

I've never told anyone that.

The next day, I knew I needed to talk to somebody. And I did. My doctor gave me a referral.

In just a few sessions with a therapist, things really turned around for me. By talking to a stranger, I felt surprisingly free to be open, vulnerable and honest. Short version: One day, something clicked for me and I felt better. In the end, I did what I needed to do to get in the right mind to take care of my baby. And I'm hoping that any woman who reads this and is battling with any sort of anxiety or depression post baby or at any time in her life will do the same.

And that's my story. Do you have one? There's a girlfriend out there who needs to know.

The Problem with Alicia Keys. And Too Many Black Women Like Her.

I just love Alicia Keys. On any given Saturday, you'll find my children and me closing out our usual Saturday morning dance party with a stirring rendition of "If I Ain't Got You," where we substitute each other's names in the chorus. My kid-friendly traveling CD features Alicia's live-out-your-dreams anthem "Unbreakable." And when I'm feeling unstoppable, Alicia's lyrics from Superwoman: "Still ,when I'm a mess, I still put on a vest, with an S on my chest. Oh yes, I'm a superwoman," really speak to me. Oh, and please don't get me all riled up about Empire State of Mind.

But I've got a growing problem or real concern about Alicia Keys and many black women like her when it comes to our pregnancies. A few weeks ago, I held my breath as I watched Alicia Keys climbing her preggers self on top of a piano at the BET Awards, albeit during an incredible tribute to Prince. But still. And then last weekend, she fell off her 4-inch heels and landed on her backside while performing at the Essence Music Festival in New Orleans.

I'm concerned because for over five years now, I've been on a personal mission to help black women have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies. That's what the Women's eNews Black Maternal Health Project is all about. When my first book, The Mocha Manual to a Fabulous Pregnancy (Amistad/HarperCollins) came out, it was the first of its kind, a hip and funny book to really talk to a new audience of savvy black women about the lifestyle issues and unique stressors that are affecting our pregnancy and birth outcomes.

Studies show that even successful, college educated black women are still twice as likely to have a low birth weight baby, twice as likely to have a pre-term baby and nearly three times more likely to die during childbirth than their white peers. Nobody knows the exact root cause of these disparities, and why education and class don't protect black women from poor birth outcomes as it does for white women.

But one of the biggest self destructive behaviors among black women is what I call the Strong Black Woman Syndrome. The exact same problem Alicia sings about in her Superwoman song. We notoriously carry our communities, we carry our families and we carry our pain, but we put an S on our chest and project a "strong" image regardless of how broken we are inside. In our culture we are raised to view "weakness" as a character flaw. We must be strong. Period.

Having that conditioning is helpful in so many scenarios. But it can be damaging during pregnancy. In my many years talking to black women about pregnancy and championing the black female's pregnancy and parenting experience at www.MochaManual.com, I am still struck by the number of black women who don't see pregnancy as any deviation from their normal state of being. They expect to be able to continue to work just as hard, to continue to carry others, and to not take special care of themselves. We work and work and work because that's what we do. And even while taking on the most phenomenal journey known to womankind, we act like indestructible machines that can just keep going and going, and not as fragile humans charged with shepherding a new life into the world.

Alicia, we love you! But as one hard working black woman to another, I'm personally begging you to ease up on work and the piano climbing and allow yourself to be still.

Still.

Respect the journey of pregnancy. We know you are a superwoman. But your baby needs you to be super careful, super mindful and super stress free. We've got plenty of your great music to hold us over. I just want you to focus on the most important production of your life.

Beyond the Baby Blues: Post Partum Depression and Black Women

My girlfriend had a beautiful baby boy two weeks ago. Now she's having tearful meltdowns nearly every day.

I've tried to assure her that part of what she is experiencing is very normal. The hormonal freefall after birth can be so powerful. And the overwhelming nature of life with a newborn can break down even the strongest woman--even if it's your third child, as in my friend's case, or perhaps precisely because it is your third child! In fact, about 1 and 8 women experience some sort of postpartum depression within the first few months after childbirth.

But my Spidey senses are all in overdrive because I know black women have a special relationship with postpartum depression. For starters, we don't talk about it. In fact, depression in general, is a taboo topic in our community.

Yet, depression among black women is more common than most realize. Formal statistics on depression in African American women are either uncertain or non-existent because the research is scarce. But studies have indicated that we experience postpartum at a higher rate than white women.

After all, African-American women live with more depressing stressors. We are black and female and living in a society that frequently devalues our children and our culture and undermines the significant roles we play in our communities. And because we are so used to suiting up in our Strong Black Woman gear, we take it personally or as if we have somehow failed miserably when we just can't handle it or keep it together post baby. And we have rarely allowed ourselves to be damsels in distress, vulnerable or able to ask for help. But I'm here to tell you ladies that depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain, not a character defect or a moral failing.

With so many nuances as to how we process and respond to postpartum depression, I canvassed the Internet to find out exactly what researchers do actually know about black women and postpartum depression. It may not be groundbreaking stuff, but it is certainly eye-opening and worth sharing. So here goes:

1. Our postpartum depression may be a result of lack of social support and more child-related duties among other issues.



2. It is also associated with more physical issues (back pain, tiredness, headaches) in comparison to Caucasian women, according to one study.



3. Black women culturally view it as a sign of weakness and often have feelings of guilt that they can not live up to certain cultural ideas like the "Strong Black Woman."



4. We often treat it through the use of self-talk or by confiding in family and/or friends.



5. Is sometimes a secret, as African-American women may sometimes fear the cultural stigma attached to depression, as well as the negative consequences of confiding in the medical community. These negative consequences include past atrocities in the health care system, such as those illustrated by the film Miss Evers' Boys.



6. It is sometimes recognized in the African-American culture as not having faith in God, being possessed by demons or a form of punishment for wrongdoings.



7. In general, black women handle postpartum depression better in comparison to their white counterparts.

The problem may be nuanced and complex, but the solutions seem simple: more support.

In a study on race and postpartum emotions by the University of Iowa, the researchers found that "strong social support can serve as a buffer against postpartum depression, and that poor social support is a major predictor of postpartum depression.Past studies have also shown that Latina mothers tend to have more social support, while African-American women tend to have weaker support networks," the study said. The researchers speculate that these ethnic differences in social support might account for racial differences and the higher rate of depressed moods among black women during the postpartum period.

If you know a new mom, offer your support, beyond the, "hey girl, how are you?" phone call. I'm brushing up on my new baby skills, packing the hand sanitizer, my trademark good humor and some yummy take-out and heading to my girlfriend's house this week. Keep you posted!

-- Kimberly Seals Allers is on vacation this week. --

Intensely aware of what health care advocates gently refer to as "health disparities," members of state coalitions meeting over the weekend confessed that they were struggling to find a best strategy to promote breastfeeding among African-American mothers.

Studies to date indicate that African American mothers are least likely to breastfeed--even though they are more at risk for breast cancer, obesity and high blood pressure. In addition, they are more likely to give birth early and breast milk can literally save the lives of preemies in a way formula does not.

As more than 300 breastfeeding activists--physicians, nurses, lactation consultants, and health activists-- gathered in Arlington, Va. to expand the support for breastfeeding in hospitals, families, law and workplaces, the toughest question was how can we be more successful with African American mothers and mothers-to-be?

http://www.usbreastfeeding.org/

Part of my work at the conference was to discuss at a breakfast table how Women's eNews is changing the media narrative about African maternal and infant health. I talked about Women's eNews'Black Maternal Health project and the value of shifting breastfeeding news focused on babies to the lives of the mothers, particularly black mothers.

http://www.womensenews.org/story/090922/black-maternal-health-legacy-and-future

Black moms are three-to six times more likely to die during pregnancy and during the post-partum weeks and thus they are the face of our country's most acute maternal health problems. If the United States can mend poor health outcomes among black women and their infants, certainly the entire health care system will benefit.

But confronting the reality of black maternal health and breastfeeding at the conference is not so easy.

"Nooo," said Lorine Bizzell, a regional nutritionist with the United States Department of Agriculture, in Atlanta. That was her response when I asked for her input on the fact that that college-educated black women breastfeed less than low-income moms, teen moms, and moms with only 12 years of schooling.

http://www.womensenews.org/story/black-maternal-health/090922/breastfeeding-not-you-sisters-listen

"That's hard to believe. Young black career women that I know are all nursing their children under a variety of challenging circumstances."

Laura Sinai is a North Carolina-based pediatrician. She works in a private practice outside Charlotte and a third of her clients are black. Talking to black mothers about breastfeeding has been difficult. "They just say, 'You don't know my life. I will not breastfeed.'"

Melissa Bartick, a physician with the Massachusetts Breastfeeding Coalition, spearheads efforts for hospitals in the state to become Baby Friendly, an award given for prioritizing breastfeeding in maternity wards and backed by the World Health Organization.

After I asked Bartick how she's targeting black mothers, she took a deep breath and said: "Yes, there are disparities. They do exist."

"Where do I find black women who want to be lactation consultants?" said Anna Uttar, the regional director of the International Board of Lactation Consultant Examiners in Falls Church, Virginia. "They are not coming out to get trained."

As the conference was coming to an end, I was starting to worry that the question of how to increase breastfeeding among black mothers was left hanging, like a great news story unpublished.

Right as I gathered my bags and headed out the conference hall, Napiera Loveless approached me.

She is co-founder of MamaTotoMatema, a Cincinnati agency urging breastfeeding among African-American families. We got to talking and laughing and sharing how we wished the conference had a dance party.

http://www.mamatotomatema.com/

Loveless told me about how she reports to black women and activates their interest. Immediately I realized she should have been a keynote speaker; she was a guru of connecting ideas to messages, to challenges.

When talking to low-income black women, Loveless appeals to fashion. Many young black women like the bling, she said. The shiny things. The nice clothes. "I tell some mothers, 'You know how you like your Dereon jeans and Gucci? Well breast milk is the name-brand jeans. Formula is the rip-off!'"

When talking to upper-income black women, Loveless said that family support systems may be lacking. Many families look to a high-earning black woman for financial and emotional support, so a lot is riding on her shoulders.

"I want to find out who their support system is," she said. "It might be her best friend or her co-worker. Can your co-worker help you on the job? Watch your work while you get a chance to pump?"

She said her strategy is gaining effect in Ohio.

As I left the Third National Conference of State/Territory/Tribal Breastfeeding Coalitions, my heart was warmed by Loveless, and the many leaders talking about black maternal health. My mind was racing.

There is always a way to get through.

Malena Amusa is a reporter living in New York City.

Kudos to New Moms. Taking Care of Baby Is Not Like Riding a Bike.

A few weeks ago I happily agreed to watch my girlfriend's one year old son for about two days so she could take a work trip.

"I got this", I thought. Auntie Kim is on it! After all, it was only four years ago that I had a one year old. I figured getting back into the baby mode would be like riding a bike. It was more like getting hit by a bus!

Apparently four years is more than enough time to fall off your mommy game. It's amazing how quickly we can forget the work, the juggling (literally), the organization, the patience, the lack of sleep and all the "stuff" that baby's actually require. Because every phase of childhood brings its own stresses, I had nearly forgotten about this phase.

I didn't even mention that my girlfriend still breastfeeds him (Whoo Hoo!), so putting him to bed was going to require some serious creativity and a lot of patience. I haven't rocked and walked and sang that much in years!

Truth be told, on one of the days, I had a little help. My girlfriend from London was in town--and though childless, she is a highly capable Auntie to even my own kids. As two highly educated, savvy women we set out to run errands and take care of some business with my two kids and the baby in tow.

This was my moment to shine. I felt like I was back in the zone. I dutifully packed the diaper bag, refilling his water cup, adding snacks and checking for diapers and wipes. Meanwhile, my girlfriend got my children out the door and into the car. Everybody was belted, buckled and ready to go.

We pulled out the driveway proudly, slapping high fives at our teamwork!

We were halfway to our destination before I realized I left the superbly packed diaper bag in the house!

So there we were out for a long day with a one year old, with no diapers, no snacks, no nothing! Oy!

Watching (and laughing at) my own mommy blunders reminded me how tough parenting can be in the early years. Now I remember why we rejoice at the end of our diaper days, the end of our dependence on wipes, butt creams, changing pads and more baby gear than one human being can manage. I am very happy to be past those years.

On the other hand, there's a specialness of those early years that can never be duplicated. I miss the amazing bond and comfort I enjoyed while breastfeeding--I could totally understand why that little man did not want to go to sleep without it.

But when he did finally doze off, and I watched him sleeping peacefully, I was reminded of the calm that only a baby can bring over you. The joy of motherhood. I saw my own son, little Michael, just four years ago, when I used to stare in wonderment as he slept. I saw this baby as a future strong black man, and myself as part of his "village" that will help mold and shape him. (His mom is certainly part of the village that raises my children).

I saw everything that is beautiful about motherhood.

Hope.

Promise.

And endless possibilities.