An open letter to Facebook

Dear Facebook,

Last year, you were hard at work as the world's largest social networking site. You have created a space for people to communicate, waste time playing mindless games, raise money for important causes, become the recipient of endless marketing scams, connect with long lost friends and loved ones, and send one another virtual gifts such as flowers, drinks, even sets of voluptuous female breasts.

While you were entertaining the virtual masses, I (along with millions of other women around the world!) was busy creating and nourishing human life. Not just one life, but two. That's right, Facebook. I grew two tiny people inside my womb, birthed them, almost died in the process, and then set my own needs aside to carry out the grave responsibility of sustaining those lives by creating nutritionally perfect food within my body and feeding it to them using my (GASP!) breasts. That's right, Facebook. I had twins and breastfed. In fact, I'm still breastfeeding. Isn't that amazing? I think it is. The World Health Organization (WHO) agrees with me. This is what the WHO has to say about breastfeeding:

Over the past decades, evidence for the health advantages of breastfeeding and recommendations for practice have continued to increase. WHO can now say with full confidence that breastfeeding reduces child mortality and has health benefits that extend into adulthood. On a population basis, exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months of life is the recommended way of feeding infants, followed by continued breastfeeding with appropriate complementary foods for up to two years or beyond.

To enable mothers to establish and sustain exclusive breastfeeding for six months, WHO and UNICEF recommend:

• Initiation of breastfeeding within the first hour of life;
• Exclusive breastfeeding - that is, the infant only receives breast milk without any additional food or drink, not even water;
• Breastfeeding on demand - that is, as often as the child wants, day and night;
• No use of bottles, teats or pacifiers.

Breast milk is the natural first food for babies, it provides all the energy and nutrients that the infant needs for the first months of life, and it continues to provide up to half or more of a child’s nutritional needs during the second half of the first year, and up to one-third during the second year of life.

Breast milk promotes sensory and cognitive development, and protects the infant against infectious and chronic diseases. Exclusive breastfeeding reduces infant mortality due to common childhood illnesses such as diarrhoea or pneumonia, and helps for a quicker recovery during illness.

Breastfeeding contributes to the health and well-being of mothers, it helps to space children, reduces the risk of ovarian cancer and breast cancer, increases family and national resources, is a secure way of feeding and is safe for the environment.

While breastfeeding is a natural act, it is also a learned behaviour. An extensive body of research has demonstrated that mothers and other caregivers require active support for establishing and sustaining appropriate breastfeeding practices.

Did you know that, Facebook?

And here's what I have to say about breastfeeding:

Breastfeeding mothers are responsible for the continuation of humanity. It is because of women who breastfeed that YOU, yes YOU, are alive today. Even if your mother did not breastfeed. Even if her mother did not breastfeed. And even if hers didn't. At some point in history, millions of women made the beautiful and giving decision to breastfeed so that humankind could continue. Women who breastfeed are heroes.

Did you know that, Facebook?

Did you know that breastfeeding is really hard? That it can be quite painful to have a small being suck on your flesh for hours each day? That overcoming the social stigma in patriarchal countries like the United States is a brave and admirable act? For some silly reason, millions of women have been taught that our biggest value comes from our sexuality. Isn't that weird? Considering that women have the ability to create, birth, and sustain life, it seems awfully skewed that we would be systematically taught to believe that we are worthless unless we are beautiful and highly sexualized. But you see, Facebook, that's exactly what patriarchy does. It marginalizes the contributions of women. How shameful. How ignorant. How embarrassing.

Remember how humanity continues because of women?

Why am I sending this to you, Facebook?

Last week, I posted a picture of myself breastfeeding my newborn twins using my Facebook account. I posted this picture to a pro-breastfeeding fan page, to help encourage other mothers. My picture was one of thousands uploaded to the page. What a beautiful site. All of these experienced breastfeeding women, supporting each other. Helping to say, "breastfeeding is normal!" "Breastfeeding is beautiful!" It really is an amazing page.

But you took that picture down. You took hundreds of pictures down. You told me my picture is offensive. Inappropriate for children.

You know what I find offensive? The "Big Boobs" application that lets users send each other cartoon drawings of over-sexualized breasts. And the many "boobs" fan pages created by ignorant minded people who devalue women and their beautiful and amazing abilities. And the YoVille advertisement that assures me that I can look fantastic in my virtual bikini this year even if my real bikini looks terrible. And the many females showing ample cleavage in thousands of pictures where they're too drunk to know better. Facebook, I could go on and on.

Facebook, you're powerful. You have over 400 million users around the globe. Is this how you choose to hold this power? Are you afraid to take a stand against the oppression of women? Do you really devalue women this much? Do strong women make you feel threatened?

Or are you better than that? Braver?

I spent this last year putting forth every effort of my being to make this world a better place. I contributed two beautiful children. My first and last priority in life is helping them become amazing and happy people in every way I know how.

And so, Facebook, I wonder. I really wonder. What did you do last year?

12 Month Checkup

5:30am

Half-assed effort to convince self that we enjoy waking up this early.

6:30am

Two diapers, successfully changed.

7:30am

Feed the babies breakfast. Feeling of smug confidence, knowing that today we will get to the babies' doctor's appointment not only on time, but a full fifteen minutes early like they ask. Babies eat Kiwi for the first time and love it. Plan to leave at 9:30.

9:27am

Both babies have fallen asleep following massive play session. Revise plan. We will leave at 10 and drive five over.

10:07am

Shit. Literally and figuratively. Two more diapers changed. Screw the "fifteen minutes early" suggestion.

10:16am

Driving.

11:06am

Pull into the parking lot for 11am appointment. Load Rhys into front carrier. Find a large chunk of Kiwi skin resting on Quin's shoulder, complete with tiny teeth marks and lots of saliva bubbles. Confused computation of time elapsed since breakfast. Certainty that all Kiwi skin was placed in the trash. Shrug it off. Hoist Quin onto hip. Sling massive diaper bag around neck. Run into the building.

11:13am

Waiting room. Babies want no part of quiet lap sitting. Give in. Two babies on the floor. Bolt in different directions. Water cooler. Cups. Lots of water. Carpet. Outlet. Visions of children's services intervening. Redirect. End tables. Magazines. Fire extinguisher. Visions of children's services intervening. Our name is called. Tiny prayer of thanks to a god I'm uncertain about.

11:17am

Neat and orderly exam room. Waiting for the doctor.

11:19am

Chaos. Bright red biohazard disposal can. Curious minds. Drumming on the can. Pushing the can. Pulling on the plastic liner. Attempts to open the lid. Visions of children's services intervening. Redirect. Privacy curtain. Peekaboo. Pull on the curtain. Tangle up in the curtain. Shrieks of delight. Bumped head. Crying. Soothing. Look! Puzzles and books! Little interest.

11:21am

Nurse arrives. Time for weights and lengths. Strong, foul odor. Poop. One more diaper, successfully changed. Wistful thoughts of potty training. Back to reality.

11:26

Doctor walks in. Lots of questions. Questions neatly written on paper. Babies want to eat paper. Redirect. Ask about everything. Everything. Doctor is patient. Babies are examined. Babies are healthy. Strong, foul odor. Poop. Naked Rhys. Distracted momma. Must get diaper. Splashing sound. Puddle. Splashing Quin. Laughing Rhys. Drenched wooden puzzle. Pee on Quin's face. Naked Rhys standing in the middle of it all. Pee covered feet. Relaxed doctor. "Urine is sterile." Puzzle in the sink. Wipe up the floor. Diaper is finally put in place. Back to questions. Chaos continues. Babies discover exam table. Stirrups. Can. Not. Resist. Babies discover secret corner behind exam table. Hidden electrical wires. Tiny space too small for big people. Momma squeezes in for baby removal. Second baby squeezes by. Doctor lends a hand. The list of questions is finally exhausted. Hot room. Time for shots. Tired momma. Waiting for the nurse. More biohazard can. More stirrups. More curtain. More corner of danger. Nurse returns. Shot out of stock. Sorry. Relieved momma. Oh wait. The family practice wing will have some. Waiting. Hot room. Sweaty momma. Tired momma. Biohazard can. Stirrups. Curtain. Corner. Books and puzzles are, apparently, boring. Nurse returns. Quin's up first. Prick. Hysterics. Rhys joins in to show his sympathy. Full lap. Not enough arms to fulfill necessary hugging and soothing. Rhys' turn. Prick. Hysterics haven't yet stopped from before. Intensify. Hot momma. Tired momma. Need. More. Arms. Band aids. Nurse says good bye. We are alone in the room. Hysterical. Hot. Overwhelmed. Must soothe. Must re-pack the diaper bag. Must put on coats. Babies on hips. Diaper bag around the neck. Massive. Heavy. Sippy cup falls out. Fuck. Just fuck. Bend down. Don't drop the babies. Sippy cup retrieved. Diaper bag spills onto floor. FUCK. Swearing. Sweating. Swearing. Quietly. Try again. Upright. Babies on hips. Diaper bag re-assembled. Out the door. Down the hall. Babies slipping. Stop. Hoist babies back up. Automatic door opening button is not working. Must need to be hit harder. Using elbow for this purpose. Hit. Hit. Hit. This will leave a bruise. FUCK IT. Open door with foot. Blow by checkout. Screw checkout. We're outside. Cool air. Almost to the car. Almost to the car. Where are the keys. ARGGGGHHH. Rhys is in. Diaper bag. So heavy. Pull off the neck. Sippy cup tumbles out. Rolls away. Retrieve it. Want to throw it. Babies are watching. Put it back in the bag. Quin deposited. Everyone is buckled up.

1:48pm

Turn the key in the ignition. Look at the clock on the dash. Holy mother of all mothers. Face flushes. Quick computation of time elapsed since arrival. Embarrassment. Wondering what note is going in the chart. "High needs." "Schedule PLENTY of time." Oh well.

1:49pm

Driving. Music. Sleeping babies.

We're all in one piece.

Flavor.

It's been a beautiful, crazy, amazing, and stressful year. My driver's license, which I renewed this fall after a particularly eventful and sleepless night, looks oddly out of sequence with the last one, taken the day after I returned from our honeymoon - tan, rested, and glowing. The stress and exhaustion has taken a toll on more than just my driver's license picture. I've been introduced to entirely new worlds of how-crazy-I-can-become on next to no sleep and lord knows how many hours of nursing and bouncing babies.

Things are getting easier now. The exhaustion and craziness are fading away. But every now and again, I'm confronted with a reminder of how things were. It's in these moments that I realize Kyle really deserves a medal, or at least some good therapy.

On Saturday:

Kyle walks into the dining room where I'm feeding the babies some lunch.

"I have something to tell you."

I look up at him. What could this be? I offer a tentative, you-can-totally-tell-me-anything-and-I-won't-get-angry "okay."

"It's not a big deal. But I don't want you to be upset." He punctuates this with a nervous laugh.

"Well what?" My mind races.

Long pause.

"I don't want you to buy me plain potato chips any more. I want flavor. Always at least some sort of flavor."

"Oh." I start to breathe again. "Okay."

Flavor. How reasonable. But it makes me wonder.

Just how scary was I?