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?

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.

The Importance of World Breastfeeding Week In My Piece of the World

August 1-7 marks World Breastfeeding Week. The annual campaign, organized by the World Alliance for Breastfeeding Action, is the one week where over 170 countries worldwide pay attention to our breasts and their power to help our children.

It's no secret that I'm a huge advocate of breastfeeding as one of the most important things a woman can do to give her baby the best start in life and give herself some unparalleled health benefits. And the Black Maternal Health Project proudly supports breastfeeding and is deeply committed to understanding how we can increase breastfeeding rates among black women.

So while the campaign, now in its 19th year, speaks to the entire world, I'm speaking directly to my part of the world. The African American women who historically have had the lowest rates of breastfeeding for the recommended time periods or don't breastfeed at all.

For over 30 years, African American women have had the lowest breastfeeding rates, and though the numbers have greatly increased in recent years, black moms still have the lowest breastfeeding rates of all 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.

Some of these forces have been brewing for decades. A long time ago, black women were notorious for nursing. In fact, slave owners used and purchased black women as wet nurses for their own children, often forcing these mothers to stop nursing their own infants to care for others. "On the one hand, wet nursing claimed the benefits of breastfeeding for the offspring of white masters while denying or limiting those health advantages to slave infants. On the other hand, wet nursing required slave mothers to transfer to white offspring the nurturing and affection they should have been able to allocate to their own children," writes historian Wilma A. Dunaway, in the book The African American Family in Slavery and Emancipation, published by Cambridge University Press. And since breastfeeding reduces fertility, slave owners forced black women to stop breastfeeding early so that they could continue breeding, often to health detriment of their infants, Dunaway writes.

But there's more to our story than a stunted and complex breastfeeding experience at the hands of slave owners hundreds of years ago, though many may argue that some vestiges of slavery still exist in the mindset of the black community. Aggressive marketing by the formula companies in the 1930s and 40s made formula feeding the choice of the elite, "the substance for sophisticates" --white or black. And who doesn't want to be like the rich and famous. That marketing continues to this day, down to the formula company-sponsored bag of goodies you probably received on the way out of the hospital. Then there's something I call the National Geographic factor--that is, most of the images we see of black women breastfeeding are semi-naked women in Africa whose lives seem so far away from the African American lifestyle and experience.

To help remedy the global situation BAWA takes aim at hospitals and other maternity care providers. This year the campaign focuses on "Just 10 Steps--the Baby Friendly Way" showcasing the 10 steps hospitals need to do to encourage breastfeeding. Those ten points include:

• Have a written breastfeeding policy that is routinely communicated to all health care staff.




• Help mothers initiate breastfeeding within a half-hour of birth.




• Show mothers how to breastfeed, and how to maintain lactation even if they should be separated from their infants.




• Give newborn infants no food or drink other than breastmilk unless medically indicated.




• Practice rooming-in -- allow mothers and infants to remain together -- 24 hours a day.




• Encourage breastfeeding on demand.




• Give no artificial teats or pacifiers (also called dummies or soothers) to breastfeeding infants. (read all 10 points at www.worldbreastfeedingweek.org)

In our community, we need to talk and encourage each other more. And speak out. We still long for an African American role model in breastfeeding, like a Michelle Obama. In the meantime, if you are already on the breastfeeding bandwagon, tell others. Check out the "I Breastfeed Because . . . " campaign sponsored by Ameda, a leading breast pump maker. Mothers who are currently breastfeeding and or have in the past can log onto www.ibreastfeedbecause.com to upload 20-second videos that share the reasons why they chose to breastfeed.

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!

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!

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.