Gratitude: Yes, We Are Still Breastfeeding

(WOMENSNEWS)

Let's start by putting the pertinent details right out there on the table: I'm Black. I'm the mother of a nearly 2-year old daughter. And yes, we are still breastfeeding.

To me, there's nothing particularly radical about what I've just told you about myself. Motherhood and nursing are mine by choice; my skin color and curly hair are factors over which I had no more control than any other person born into this world. But sadly enough, the convergence of these three aspects of my identity – my blackness, my role as a mother, and my decision to nurse, especially into the toddler years – makes me a rather unconventional bird, indeed.

If you've paid any attention to the data on rates of breastfeeding among Black women, you'll understand what I mean. While women overall are now initiating breastfeeding at a rate of 75 percent, Black women trail the pack, initiating breastfeeding in just 54 percent of births. Look beyond the initiation phase (i.e. those first hours and days after birth when most of us would try anything), and the news gets even worse for Black babies. Though the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends "exclusive breastfeeding to age 6 months and continued breastfeeding for at least the first year of life," by the time our children reach 12 months of age, only 11.7 percent of them are still being breastfed, as compared to 24 percent of Hispanic babies and 21 percent of white babies.

(And at two years? I couldn't even find data for that. But if my personal experience is any evidence, let's just say we're a teeny, tiny drop in a bucket that's far too small overall.)

Statistics like those drive me beyond mad – both because I'm saddened to think about how many Black babies are missing out on the kind of nutrition baby docs have acknowledged is ideal, and because I'm sick to death of seeing poll after poll highlighting just how far behind the Black community lags, in a host of important categories (don't even get me started on the achievement gap).

But I have to be honest: frustrating and scary as those numbers are, they aren't what got me breastfeeding in the first place, or what have kept me at it for so long. The factors driving those truths are far more personal, as I'm sure they are for every mother out there, whether they choose to breastfeed or not.

My family's history with breastfeeding has already been beautifully documented in a Women's eNews video by Malena Amusa, so I won't go into deep detail about why I, like a minority of other Black women, did in fact chose to breastfeed.

The short version is that I knew many women who did breastfeed, had done my research on the topic, and decided that it made sense to me to at least give it a try and see how things went.

Luckily for me, things went beautifully: my newborn daughter turned out to know much more about breastfeeding than I did; she latched on right after her birth, and never looked back. I'd like to stress again here that I consider this pure luck – there's nothing I did or didn't do to wind up with a baby who breastfed well, right from the beginning, and I'm very clear about the fact that things could have gone just the opposite way.

I'm isolating this luck factor because I think it has everything to do with why, nearly two years later, my daughter and I are still enjoying a healthy, happy nursing relationship. Nursing was never, ever a source of stress for us. If it had been, I think it's quite likely that we would have weaned far earlier than now.

The other piece of luck that went into this particular equation was the fact that I was able to decide, not long after my daughter was born, that I no longer wanted to work full time outside of my home. Making that decision wasn't easy, but my particular profession gives me the latitude to work more or less from anywhere.

From a nursing perspective, this was an absolutely key choice. I was never a big fan of pumping, and I am almost 100 percent certain that if I had had to pump at work on a daily basis, I would have struggled to breastfeed even for a year. The luxury (and it is nothing short of that in this country, sadly enough) of being able to work from home has meant that I can largely nurse on demand. It has made nursing easy, and, again, mostly stress free. It's become a natural and soothing (for both of us) part of our daily routine, and therefore a practice it's been easy to continue as my daughter has grown from infant to toddler.

My point in sharing all of this is not, I promise, to ask you to bask with me in the rosy haze of self-satisfaction that can become the norm among some breastfeeding advocates.

I share my story with you precisely because the circumstances that have made my breastfeeding experience possible are so exceptional and rare. Some of our success, as I've said, had to do with the luck of the baby draw, and the fact that I didn't struggle with milk production. But our ability to succeed long term also had everything to do with the early and continuing support I received from my community (the women around me who were also breastfeeding, my doctors, my partner, my mother and on), and with the good fortune of being able to make choices about my work life that, coincidentally, made breastfeeding easier. Those are luxuries that few women in America have – and among Black women, the number is once again smaller still.

In a better version of America, all women would have the opportunity to make choices for themselves and their families that feel right to them -- as my choices have felt right to me. If we lived in a nation that truly valued the health and well being of women and children – where extended and paid parental leave was the norm; where all hospitals promoted breastfeeding, and provided women with the support they need to continue breastfeeding once they are on their own – then breastfeeding for a year and beyond might not have to depend so much on the existence of "exceptional" and "rare" circumstances that made it possible in my own case.

That, to me, is something to aim for.

How long will I continue to breastfeed my daughter? I've got no more definitive answer to that now than I did back when breastfeeding was a concept, not a practice. All I can say is that I believe, wholeheartedly, that my daughter and I will come to an understanding about when it's time to stop, when it feels right and good for both of us. At the moment, that time is not here – and that's perfectly fine with me. But when that day comes, that will be just fine, too. Fortunately, we get to figure it out as we go along. Every mother and baby should be so lucky.

Elizabeth G. Hines, a New York-based writer, is co-author of the award-winning bestseller Black Titan: A.G. Gaston and the Making of a Black American Millionaire

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.

Am I Doing Good Enough As a Single Mom?

Sometimes, I really think I have this single mom thing under control. Not perfect. But nicely managed. I feel confident that my children are adjusting and that our routines matter. But the other week a troubling thing happened.

While eating a very lovely dinner of roast chicken (stuffed with rosemary,sage and thyme) and macaroni and cheese, my children and I found a wishbone. They decided to make a wish.

Of all the things that could be running through a child's mind to wish for, my 6-year old son whispered this, "I wish my parents would get back together."

I was somewhat shocked and a little sad.

My husband left July 2006 and since then I've worked tirelessly to keep a stable home environment for them. I left my demanding and lucrative career to work for myself and be more present for them. I am there at nearly every drop off and pick up, every school performance and book fair, we have family dinners every night, fun weekend activities and I have worked every day to maintain a good co-parenting relationship with the "wasband" for the good of the children. I tell them that we are still a family, just a different kind of family and I make sure they include their Dad in their nightly prayers. But I've also tried to make it abundantly clear to them that their father and I are happier apart and this is how things will be.

So, where have I gone wrong? Should I take it personally that my children are still holding on to a dream that will never (and I do mean never) happen? Or is this what children do for years and years after divorce? Will they ever get it and be okay?

My parents have been married 51 years and I feel blessed that I don't know what my children are experiencing. But that also leaves me clueless as to what is "normal" for this situation and what is not. You can only read but so many books.

As mothers, we want to make our children are emotionally well-rounded, stable and sure in their sense of self. As black mothers, we know the latter is most important because the world will try to tell them who they are. It is our job to make sure they know the truth. And much of that, in my opinion, begins at home, with a strong family. Regardless of what your "family" looks like.

I thought, well hoped, that my efforts would make my children feel normal. Complete. That they would accept their new reality and be ok with it. I thought that they were happy and settled in their new life but as it turns out, they are still yearning for their old one. And I'm concerned.

Am I doing something wrong? Or are they exactly where they are meant to be?

Battling the Bulge from Birth

This is the time of year when everyone is thinking about eating lots of good food with family. Then in a few weeks, we will all make new and not-to-be kept resolutions about losing the weight gained by eating those same meals and many others throughout the past year.

But to really battle the bulge, not just for ourselves but for our children, we have to start early, avoid empty promises and face the facts.

Now, for the most part we black women love our curves and really have no use for the latest crash diets. The way we walk, talk, and dress says "I am bold and beautiful, love it or leave it!" But at as fabulous as we think we are, obesity is still a prominent issue in the black community.

I have heard every excuse from "My family is big- boned" to "queen- sized" and my favorite "That just means there's more of me to love!" And, while these statements and mantras seem to scream I am confident and love my body, we need to address why statistics show that six out of every ten African American women are overweight and four out of every ten is morbidly obese. There is a huge difference between having a little belly or being a little hippy and packing on 30 to 100 extra pounds or more. 50 percent of African-American women are obese compared to only 40 percent of Mexican-American women and only 30 percent of White women.

While we already know that the high rates of obesity in our community is linked to the prevalence of diseases such as heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, stroke, arthritis and cancer. We don't see too many people addressing prevention strategies for all of these diseases that start at birth. If we really want to curb the obesity epidemic in our community we have to start well before childhood. We can start as soon as the baby is born.

Breast-feeding helps us lose the weight we gained during pregnancy and has many other health benefits for us too.

Breastfeeding is proven to reduce your baby's chance of being obese. The breastfeeding-obesity link is now recognized by key government agencies and professional groups, Including the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the American Academy of Pediatrics. Experts at the CDC in Atlanta estimate that 15 percent to 20 percent of obesity could be prevented through breastfeeding. Here are some of the reasons why:

• Breastfed infants may be better at self-regulating their intake. Mothers cannot see how much milk their child is drinking, so they must rely on their infant's behavior, not an empty bottle, to signal when their infant is full. Thus, breastfed babies might be better able to eat only as much as they need.
  
  
• Breastfed infants are more likely than formula-fed infants to try and accept new foods. Acceptance of new foods is important because a healthy diet should include a wide variety of foods, especially fruits and vegetables. Because breast milk contains flavors from foods eaten by mothers, breastfed infants are exposed to a variety of tastes early in life. In contrast, artificial baby milk (formula) always tastes the same.
  
  
• Breastfeeding has different effects than formula feeding on infant's metabolism and hormones such as insulin, which tells the body to store fat. Formula-fed infants tend to be fatter than breastfed infants at 12 months of age.
  
  
• For us to make a real impact on obesity in our community, we have to start at birth. It's really that simple. Resolving to breastfeed more and support any breastfeeding mother you know, is a real resolution for change.

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.

The I.R.S Says No Tax Break For Breastfeeding Moms. Acne Sufferers Get OK.

This week, the good folks over at the Internal Revenue Service ruled that while people will be able to write off pimple creams and denture adhesives when the new tax sheltered health accounts kick in this January, women will not be able to write off the expense of breast pumps and other breastfeeding supplies.

A breast pump and various accessories can run about $500 to $1,000 for most mothers a year. Such costs, including nursing bras and other nursing friendly wear and gear are one of the many barriers for getting more women, and especially black women, to breastfeed longer.

The reason breastfeeding supplies didn't make the cut, is that the Internal Revenue Service has ruled that breast-feeding does not have enough health benefits to qualify as a form of medical care. Only as good nutrition, not as preventative care.

Seriously? I mean, aren't we past that conversation yet. And I'm sorry when did the IRS become a medical clearance board?

While breast-feeding supplies weren't allowed under the old regulations either, one major goal of the health care overhaul was to control medical costs by encouraging preventive procedures like immunizations and screenings, and what could be more preventative in infant health than breastfeeding?

Despite a growing body of research indicating that the antibodies passed from mother to child in breast milk could reduce disease among infants--including one recent study that found it could prevent the premature death of 900 babies a year--the I.R.S. has denied a request from the American Academy of Pediatrics to reclassify breast-feeding costs as a medical care expense, The New York Times reported.

I.R.S. officials say they consider breast milk a food that can promote good health, the same way that eating citrus fruit can prevent scurvy. But because the I.R.S. code considers nutrition a necessity rather than a medical condition, the agency's analysts view the cost of breast pumps, bottles and pads as no more deserving of a tax break than an orange juicer, the article continued.

I'm not even sure what to say about that.

Despite all the progress made in getting the medical field, Congress and even the First Lady to acknowledge the benefits of breastfeeding, it looks like the IRS did not get the memo. Or catch the video.

Meanwhile, a study released this year by Harvard Medical School concluded that if 90 percent of mothers followed the standard medical advice of feeding infants only breast milk for their first six months, the United States could save $13 billion a year in health care costs and prevent the premature deaths of 900 infants each year from respiratory illness and other infections.

But to continue breastfeeding beyond maternity leave requires a pump. And good breast pumps aren't cheap. Nobody is asking for a handout here, just a well deserved tax break. Like the one given to zit creams.

As with any tax code, there will always be ways to work loopholes. Some consultants say mothers may ask their pediatricians for a note that says breastfeeding is medically necessary. But to have working moms jump through even more hoops for something that should be so easy seems insane. And given that, allegedly, the whole idea of health care reform, is to make things better, the insanity of it all is just a little too much to bear.

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.

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!

Black Motherhood: Celebrating Our History, Redefining Our Experience

February is all about reflecting on black history. As a mother, our black history is a tale of troubling beginnings followed by triumphant gains. Of course, I'll never forget the moment Michelle Obama became First Lady of the United States. She 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.

But getting to Michelle Obama has been a long and sometimes troubling journey. The black motherhood experience in this country had a painful start with lingering effects that still hover overhead today. First, let's go back. As enslaved black mothers we were viewed as breeders not humans and we had no control over our experience in motherhood or our children. As slaves, our children were ripped from our bosoms and sold as we stood helpless in despair.

"Labor of Love, Labor of Sorrow: Black Women, Work and the Family from Slavery to Present" by Jacqueline Jones http://www.amazon.com/Labor-Love-Sorrow-Slavery-Present/dp/0465037569 details how pregnant slaves were forced to lie face down in a specially dug impression in the ground when they were whipped. Perhaps in the demented mind of the slave owner, he was simultaneously protecting his economic investment in the fetus while still punishing the mother.

Our experience as black mothers was always laced with pain.

But we always wanted more for our children. And even as freed-men and -women, it was also clear that we saw the role of mother as tantamount to preserving our families, our communities and to the progression of the black race. Contrary to popular belief, we have a history of being thoughtful and resourceful about our duty and power as mothers.

Witness this excerpt from a speech by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, a 19th century African American abolitionist, teacher, women's rights advocate, writer and poet. She spoke these words on November 15, 1892 in a speech called Enlightened Motherhood, an address to the Brooklyn Literary Society.

"The work of the mothers of our race is grandly constructive. It is for us to build above the wreck and ruin of the past more stately temples of thought and action. Some races have been overthrown, dashed in pieces, and destroyed; but today the world is needing, fainting, for something better than the results of arrogance, aggressiveness, and indomitable power. We need mothers who are capable of being character builders, patient, loving, strong, and true, whose homes will be uplifting power in the race. This is one of the greatest needs of the hour."

In 1902, the book Twentieth Century Negro Literature, included an essay on the responsibilities of educated black women on the black race written by Sarah Dudley Petty, a writer, teacher and preacher's wife. What were her thoughts on black motherhood?

"A faithful, virtuous and intelligent motherhood will elevate any people . . . True patriotism, obedience and respect for law, both divine and civil, the love and yearning for the pure, the sublime and the good, all emanate from mother's personality . . . I would urge then, as the first prerequisite for our work, a pure, pious and devoted motherhood."

Years later, our quest to define motherhood moved to the television screen. When I was growing up in the late 1970s and 1980s we looked to successful working women like Claire Huxtable on the Cosby Show and Vivian Banks on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air for a glimpse into what black motherhood looked like. Every Thursday night on television, Claire Huxtable, Esq, showed a generation of future lawyers, doctors and accountants that upwardly mobile black women could indeed have it all. We could raise five kids without a nanny, take care of a house, maintain a high-powered career, be adored by our husband and still look glamorous and sexy. Whether having it all is truly possible for any woman (white, black or green) is still debatable, but this was new territory for black women. For decades, this was something that only seemed possible for white women.

This black history month, I'm asking all black mothers to remember our history as women who 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. Even the critically acclaimed movie, "Precious" has raised eyebrows for perpetuating ideas of black women as abusive mothers.

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.

Today more and more black women are stay 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).

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.

As we celebrate our history as black Americans, take a moment to reflect and celebrate your history as a black mother. Take a moment to celebrate you!

How is pregnancy and motherhood different for African American women?

If I had a dollar for every person who asked me, "How is pregnancy and motherhood different for African American women?" I'd be a very, very rich woman. Yes, the formula for pregnancy is the same for all women. Forty weeks=one baby. But the journey can be so much different. Our experience is different. Our stresses and anxieties are so different. And therein lies the rub.

For example, when I was pregnant with my first child, I prayed to God that I would have a girl. This wasn't a dress up, little princess, mini-me type of daughter fantasy, I was just literally afraid of raising a black boy. As a new parent, we already doubt our parenting skills anyway, but I certainly didn't know how I could ever raise a black man in a world that is statistically stacked against him. I was stressed and afraid.

Consider these facts:

• The number one cause of death for Black males between the ages of 15-25 is a (violent death) murder.


• One in four Black men will enter prison at least once, compared to only one in 23 white males having the same experience.


• According to the United States Department of Justice, Black males currently constitute 12 percent of the national population but 44 percent of the prison population.

I thought about how, someday, I would have to sit with my son and teach him his legal rights and what to do and not to do when approached by the police. Stress. I remembered how my own brother was often stopped for no good reason. Many times I was with him when it happened.

I remember our family's unspoken sigh of relief when my brother reached his eighteenth birthday and then his twenty-fifth birthday and was still alive, never incarcerated and college educated. He had beaten the odds. These are powerful milestones for our black men. I don't think white mothers have the same worries over their boys. And so you can understand, why I prayed to God for a little girl.

I got my girl.

But my son, Michael Jaden, came four years later.

Lately, I've been remembering how my mother would beg my brother, who was an ace student at Hofstra University, not to dress in street fashions like baggy jeans or baseball caps because she feared that he could be easily mistaken for a "thug" by policemen who shoot first and ask questions later. Even then, as a big sister, I felt my mother's pain. Today, as a mother, I know my mother's pain and her fear and her worry. It is a stress that is never ending yet powerful.

In September my son started kindergarten. And I was a nervous wreck for all the reasons every mother gets worried about the first day of school. But I was particularly anxious for a few reasons only Black mothers will understand. Reasons why my experience now as a black mother is still highly stressful. Studies show, black male achievement begins to decline as early as the fourth grade and by high school, black males are more likely to drop out. Fourth grade! We need to start asking why.

What's more, everybody, even the best teachers, has their own biases. They come from our upbringing, the influence of the media and many times we aren't even aware of them. But what if those biases affect how the teachers and principals view my son, my young black male.

Will they give Michael 3000% percent if they are subliminally thinking he will likely be dead by 18 or that his future is really in sports or hip hop and not in academic excellence? Will they see my beautiful brown boy for the person he really is?

Recently I had an unsettling experience: My son has been reading since he was 4 years old. He was the only reader in his Pre-K class and everyday throughout the school year his teacher would tell all the parents hanging around for pick up how he reads stories to the other children, helps them tie their shoes (because they don't how), and spells like a champ. He is also the only African American in the class. At the end of the school year, a bunch of moms and dads from the class got together, and their whole conversation about my son was about how fast he runs, how he wins all the races at parties, and how he has a very muscular tone for a 5-year old. These things are true. But not one person talked about how smart he is. Even though that was the messaging they received about my son nearly every day. Not one parent.

And so I'm afraid. And when I send him off to school every day, my work as a Black mother begins. My stress as a black mother intensifies. My job, raising a black male, is to make sure any teacher, principal, or school administrator sees my son for his brilliance and not the statistic or stereotype this world often perpetuates. My parenting needs to be on-point so that my son knows that he is destined for excellence, that he is not a statistic or stereotype and that he is loved unconditionally even in a world that fears him.

This is my new prayer. And I have a strong yet sad feeling that it's a prayer being echoed by millions of Black mothers all over the world. This is just a sampling of our stresses. I hope more of you are beginning to understand.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself: Kimberly Seals Allers

Welcome to the SisterSpace. Relax, get comfortable and prepare yourself for a groundbreaking conversation about our health and our lives as black women and mothers.

My name is Kimberly Seals Allers and I'm the editorial director of the Black Maternal Health project at Women's eNews. BMH is dedicated to providing unprecedented news coverage of the issues behind the high infant mortality rate among African American babies in this country and embracing all mothers in the journey of motherhood. The truth is black women are at a greater risk of losing their baby before its first birthday regardless of her education level or socioeconomic background. That's a problem.

The solution is complex.

But it starts with a keen awareness of the problem by all black women and a commitment to take better care of ourselves in general so that we enter motherhood in a healthier state.

I know this may sound simple, but it involves a complete shift in our mindsets. After all, we black women are notorious for being eternal Super Women--we put on our red cape and boots and go out to save our respective worlds. We are so good at nurturing others but fall short at taking care of ourselves.

The legacy of black women in this world is so rooted in hardship that it has become a defining element of the black female experience. Our foremothers are repeatedly portrayed as strong and emotionless creatures who took care of white women, their white children, as well as their own family. When enslaved children and adults were split up and moved to other plantations, it was the slave women who took care of the extended families who remained. In fact, as long as history has documented our existence, we have been taking care of other people. Sometimes we had no other choice, as refusing to do so could mean severe punishment or death.

Today, it's a different story. And taking care of others while neglecting our own health, is just one area of our lives that creates stress that can have serious health implications.

Even in the strongest of women, prolonged stress can lead to chronic upper respiratory infections, hypertension, heart disease and obesity. During pregnancy, stress has been clinically proven to adversely affect birth outcomes. Many experts now conclude that stress causes the release of hormones that weaken the uterus, leading to premature delivery or infant mortality. The hormone changes can occur over a lifetime, not just in pregnancy. They can build up from fear of violence, worries about paying bills, job insecurity, or standing for long periods of work. One study found that pregnancy complications were more frequent among black women who said they were dealing with racial discrimination at work or in housing situations.

That's why it is so important for us to start this new conversation. Here at SisterSpace, we'll be talking frankly about what our experience is really like and how we can manage the many stressors that may be affecting our babies' health. We'll probe into old research and ask why there isn't much new research on why our birth outcomes and maternal health statistics severely lag our white counterparts. Most importantly, we will still crafting solutions, our solutions, for saving our babies and saving ourselves.

Please join me.

Kimberly Seals Allers is also the author of The Mocha Manual to a Fabulous Pregnancy,(Amistad/HarperCollins) the first-of-its kind pregnancy guidebook for black women, and editor in chief of www.mochamanual.com, a daily online magazine and lifestyle destination for Black moms. An award winning journalist, Kimberly is a former writer at Fortune and a former senior editor at Essence. She lives in Long Island with her two children.

A National Day of Dialogue on Domestic Violence and Teen Dating Abuse

Last week, I was invited to Liz Claiborne's "It's Time to Talk Day" --a national day of dialogue on domestic violence and teen dating abuse, where leading voices come together for a day of radio and blogging about an issue that doesn’t get enough talk time. (Learn more at www.loveisnotabuse.org)

 

I couldn't help but feel a bit emotionally spent dealing with such a heavy and important issue. But there is another area of domestic violence that rarely gets discussed—domestic violence during pregnancy.  

 

It is estimated that one in five women will be abused during pregnancy. What’s worse, homicide during pregnancy now surpasses the previous leading causes of death (automobile accidents and falls), for pregnant women.

 

It is more important than ever that we know the signs of domestic violence and start talking about these issues in our community. 

 

Enter activist and philanthropist Malaak Compton Rock. The wife of my favorite comedian, Chris Rock, takes service very seriously (check out her many projects at http://www.angelrockproject.com/) .

 

But last week Malaak and I had a candid conversation about domestic violence in the Black community. And I think all black women and black men need to listen: 

 

Kimberly: How is domestic violence different for us?

Malaak: "The silence is killing us. I think the white community has done a good job showing that domestic violence is not a poor woman's problem. They have changed the face of domestic violence to show that educated, career women suffer as well. We haven't. "

 

Kimberly: I think that if you are "successful" and you have that positive black family image going on, there’s even more pressure to keep up that appearance and not break up another black family.

 

Malaak: “You're right. There's a lot of fear of breaking up the family, and we need more affluent women to come out of the closet. There is a fear that I'm alone. We have to take the stigma out of the issue and add more faces and voices to that pain. I think it needs to start in Black magazines and even websites like yours.”

 

Kimberly: What can our men do?

,

Malaak: "I will tell you this, my husband is very aware of how he treats me because he knows our two daughters are learning how to be treated by a man by his dealings with me. It all starts in the home. Fathers need to be involved with their daughters, teaching them what they deserve and should expect in any future relationship."

 

Kimberly: That's powerful.

Malaak: "I know this, women who are strong, confident and secure in who they are were raised by fathers who instilled that into them."

 

Even though our community has disproportionately high levels of single female-headed households, we can’t get around how important our black men are to saving our communities, our babies and ourselves.

Single and Pregnant: Telling My Story

 I've committed my life to talking about Black women having a "fabulous" and powerful pregnancy, but to be honest, there was nothing fabulous about how my pregnancy journey began.

It was the summer right before I was to begin the Knight Bagehot Fellowship and do my Master's at Columbia University and I went to London to spend the summer with my girlfriends and my new British boyfriend. Well, let's just say I came home with more than just a hankering for tea and biscuits.

We were both shocked and it was a heavy burden for a relatively new relationship. When I told my parents, my father cried. Even though I was 29, on my own and with a very successful career, it was a big family disappointment for where others saw my life going. When you are put on a pedestal, any fall is always a harder fall.

Then I got the phone call. Weeks after coming to New York for my first prenatal visit, my baby-daddy (who, just to keep you confused, I later married and am now divorcing) called to say that he couldn't deal with an unplanned pregnancy, he was confused, yadda yadda yadda . . . he's out of there. The next time I would see him, my daughter was 11 months old.

At this point in my life, I redefined loneliness. I had lost my deepest friendships, was disfellowshipped from my religious community, I had been abandoned by my child's father, my mother (because of her religious beliefs) was not able to support me, and I was in one of the most challenging fellowship programs there is. I cried every day for weeks. No seriously, every day.

And because I suffer from "Strong Black Woman" syndrome and like many of you, wear the reputation of the entire black race on my back, I refused to tell any of the truly wonderful people in my fellowship program that I had become another black statistic: Unwed mother. Absent father. Instead, I launched a black male PR campaign full of stories of his involvement, excitement, and "sorry, you just missed him" visits. Geesh!! How exhausting! (Btw, when I finally came clean with them several months later, they were the most supportive bunch ever!)

My sister said that as a "student" I could probably income qualify for WIC to help with the high prices of healthy food in New York City. And I will never, ever forget the day I walked to 125th Street and into that Harlem office and got WIC. (That is another blog!)

But I knew this baby only had me. And I was scared as hell. I knew I had pretty much no one to count on to help me through this pregnancy but myself. And so I began to research everything. In my researching to save my sanity and help my baby, I stumbled upon the sobering statistics about black women and our high rates of low birth weight and pre term pregnancies that inspired me to write my first book, The Mocha Manual to a Fabulous Pregnancy years later.

With the help of some great new friends, a few old ones, my sister and a lot of prayer, I survived the darkest period of my life and still had a "fabulous" pregnancy. Having a "fabulous" pregnancy is all about your mind set and nothing about your circumstance. I finished my coursework early, delivered Kayla on schedule and walked down the aisle with her in my arms to receive my Master's Degree a few weeks later. I was able to have a successful freelance career, buy a new car, get a great apartment and stay home with my little one. And I never asked for a dime (or pence) from her father. She is still my Triumph Baby.

Do you have a triumph baby? Did you overcome your circumstances to still have a "fabulous" pregnancy? I'd love to hear your story.

Michael and Mama's Milk: A Lesson in Breastfeeding

Recently, a conversation around our dinner table began a little something like this:

Michael, my 5-year old: Mommy, did I used to drink milk from your breasts?

Me: Yes, you did

Son: Why?

Me: Well, it makes you healthier and smarter. Mama's milk is why you're so smart.

Son: Is that why I'm the only one in my class who can read?

Me: Yes

Son: And why I can ride a two wheeler and why I can tie my shoes by myself?

Me: Yes and yes.

By now I hope you get a sense of how my brainwashing works. Yes, I know my comments may not be completely scientifically proven facts. But he's my child to brainwash. Go get your own kid to tell your truths!

As far as I'm concerned, we have a multi generational effort on our hands when it comes to breastfeeding support in the black community and I'm starting early.

I'm hoping that this young black male who will hopefully have his own wife and children one day will remember my enthusiasm and even my exaggerated benefits of breastfeeding and someday wholeheartedly support his wife if she chooses to breastfeed.

For now, I talk to my son and daughter about how much I enjoyed the breastfeeding experience (which is the gospel truth!) even after I was still trying to wean my daughter at 14 months and then my son cut teeth at 4 months. Ouch!

Sometimes when my children don't eat properly I threaten to put them back on the breast so I can make sure they get their proper nutrition. LOL! I tell my nine year I will have to come to her lunchroom, whip it out and feed her. You should see the look on their faces. It is so funny!

But the low breastfeeding rates in the Black community are no joke. For over 30 years, African American women have had the lowest breastfeeding rates. The numbers have greatly increased in recent years, black moms still trail all other ethnicities. And when it comes to the gold standard of infant nutrition--six months of exclusive breastfeeding, among African Americans the rate is only 20% compared to 40% among whites. And as much as I respect a mothers' right to choose what feeding method works best for her lifestyle, I think there are some strong cultural forces at play that often cloud the issue. I also think that with so many dire statistics on the infant mortality rates among African American babies, we have a deeper responsibility to give our babies every possible advantage for a healthier start in life.

That's why I'm so honored to be an advisory board member of the Bravado Breastfeeding Information Council, which is dedicated to getting a full and diverse sampling of breastfeeding views for their research of the emerging trends, obstacles and challenges faced by nursing women at home, in the office, and other aspects of her life.

I'm asking all women of color to please take this brief survey  to add our perspectives to the research on breastfeeding attitudes and behaviors. You will be entered to win one of five $100 Target or Sephora Gift Cards. Whoo hooo!!

As you know my life's work involves making sure women of color are included in any and all research on the motherhood experience. Well, here is an important opportunity. Please share your voice.