Drops in the bucket

A couple of years ago, I hopped into the Facebook controversy over breastfeeding with this post and this followup. I haven't been so involved in the continuing controversy in the last eighteen months. I weaned the boys, got busy with our growing family, had a little PPD inspired nervous breakdown, and healed marvelously and beautifully. And so it goes.

Last night, I got an email from a researcher named Caroline Jack at Cornell University. She is working on a research project that "looks at how social media affect the ways we make sense of contentious social and political issues, and how the policies set by social networking sites may influence the conversations that individuals and communities can have about those issues" (to quote directly from her email, because I certainly can't paraphrase this concisely). As part of this research, she's interviewing people who were involved in the Facebook controversy over breastfeeding. She asked me for an interview, and I excitedly said yes. (We're finalizing a date in August).


And then I started reminiscing. It was so exciting to be involved in the Facebook breastfeeding debate. It felt important. Relevant. It might have been a small drop in the bucket of all that needs to change in our society, but damn...it was something. It felt hopeful. I believed. 


I believed that if we all kept trying, we could make a difference. I believed that we could educate our communities, convert our neighbors, and gain some true publicity to get the word out there. And through all of this, I believed that the world would be a little bit better.


So it's two years later. I haven't posted any breastfeeding pictures of Anwen and I, and I'm not up on the current state of Facebook with breastfeeding. The reality is, breastfeeding, in many ways, is simply one of many aspects of life that we can look at to see how women are being treated/perceived/censored (controlled) -- by society as a whole.  We live in a world that is not equal. It's not equal if you're a woman, if you're gay, if you're part of a racial minority...I could go on and on. I fear that we're often lured into believing that things are better. That we're not still living under the heavy thumb of patriarchy. Wake up. The truth is ugly.


But back to breasts and Facebook for a moment. In the spirit of the second of my above mentioned posts, I did a quick search on Facebook...I typed the word "boobs" into the search bar. I immediately was presented with four different apps, all creatively named "boobs" with a combined 39,000 monthly users. The first app listed included the description, "send a pair of boobs to your friends! Some are hot, some are NOT!" So then I searched four more terms for breasts. Here are the images that immediately popped up:

                     

As recently as February, Facebook had this to say about pictures of "nude" breasts: 

When it comes to uploaded photos on Facebook, the vast majority of breastfeeding photos comply with our Statement of Rights and Responsibilities, which closely mirrors the policy that governs broadcast television, and which places limitations on nudity due to the presence of minors on our site. On some occasions, breastfeeding photos contain nudity – for example an exposed breast that is not being used for feeding – and therefore violate our terms. When such photos are reported to us and are found to violate our policies, the person who posted the photo is contacted, and the photos are removed. Our policies strive to fit the needs of a diverse community while respecting everyone¹s interest in sharing content that is important to them, including experiences related to breastfeeding.

There are tens of thousands of fans of these pages. Pages that are heralded by pictures of hyper-sexualized and often disfigured breasts. Apparently, this content is considered within the realm of appropriateness for "minors on (Facebook's) site." I mean, it took me, a thirty one year old mother of three, less than five minutes to pull up these images. Certainly a tech savvy thirteen year old is equally capable, no?

I'm not pointing this out to be the boob police. I'm not posting these images for anyone's entertainment. I'm not making a judgement on what is or is not appropriate content for thirteen year olds. I'm trying to bring attention to the fact that breastfeeding is the tip of the iceberg.  In at least half of these pictures, the women shown have no face. No head. They are pieces of meat. In the vast majority of images, the bodies have been cut off. In most cases, the breasts have been altered, either on the screen or in the flesh, or both.

It's not about Facebook and breastfeeding. It's not solely about gender equality. It's about our world.

When I first posted on this two years ago, I posted all of the images I could find. There were four of them. Two years later, and in the same brief search, I found twenty-two. Twenty two images of somebody's daughter. Somebody's sister. Somebody's friend. I posted twenty two pictures of human beings, their bodies morphed and de-personalized, degraded.

In spite of all of this effort by tens of thousands, here we remain. Here we have progressed. 

My heart breaks. I brought children into this world. This world, where the KKK goes to court over their right to adopt a section of the highway. (Excuse me while I stop to vomit. Writing "KKK" and "their right" in the same sentence makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.) But children. My children. Your children. This is the future we offer them. Where the fucking KKK goes to court over a highway, and yet women have not been granted the legal protection to nourish their babies in the most accessible, simple and natural way they can. Where Chick Fil A throws homophobia around like a banner of patriotism for the first amendment, and yet thousands of people are dying at the hands of their own governments. Where a man walks into a movie theater and senselessly opens fire on innocent people, and yet money still wins out in the debate over gun control.

This is our world. This is what we have created. Our willingness to go along with it is our vote for things to stay the same. My heart breaks. I want more. I want better. I want to believe.

I want my children to grow up with hope.

I want my daughter to never know there was a time where she could have been an object. Where she could become a commodity for her breasts. I want my sons to never know a time where having a penis meant an automatic ownership. I want them all to know a world where we are born equal. Where good wins and where evil isn't worth it. Where they will have the opportunity to prove their excellence because of what they become, not what they are born with.

I want to believe.

And I'm terrified. I'm terrified that we're exhausted. I'm terrified that we're blind. I'm terrified that we're all too willing to turn our heads and look the other way. I'm terrified that we think this is good enough. Or that we think this is as good as it gets. I'm terrified...at the idea that we all think somebody else is going to fix it.

That "somebody else" ...? The one who's going to fix it?

Put the computer, the tablet, the phone...put it down. Go look in the mirror. 

It's you. 

It's me. 

It's all of us. And if we don't?

This is our world. 

Bonding.

I lied after the boys were born. I remember my mother asking me one day in the NICU, whether I felt the circumstances of their birth were impacting my bond with them. "Of course not." I believed myself. I loved them, and that meant everything. I had my babies. We were all, ultimately, going to be okay.

It is entirely possible to be blind to things sitting right in front of your face. My first impressions of Rhys: I would have known he was my baby in a lineup of a million others. And I felt like he didn't need me. My 5lb, 2oz preemie just seemed so strong. So independent. I kept this thought to myself. And refused to consider what it might mean. My first impression of Quin? Hardly exists. I don't remember the first time I saw him. Or held him. I remember laying alone in recovery, and the NICU doctor coming to explain to me that Quin was experiencing respiratory distress syndrome. In a haze of postpartum hormones and god only knows what drugs from the delivery, I couldn't register the seriousness of the conversation. I wavered between feeling giggly and overly, confidently relaxed. It will be okay. It will alllllll be okay.

I know that I held them for the first time the next day. I don't remember it. I don't know who I held first or what I said or who was there. I don't know how long I was with them. I desperately wanted to try breastfeeding and somehow convinced the nurses to let me try. What I remember from that is trying to hide from all present the fact that I kept passing out, or falling asleep. Slipping away.

My intentions were so good. My desires were so grand. The next year, two years, perhaps, revolved around one thing and one thing only. Survival in the best way we knew how. There was no time to think. To reflect. To mourn.

It wasn't what it was supposed to be. It became its own, as life does. We went with it. We survived.

But somewhere, hidden below the surface, I fell further and further into the rabbit hole. Things don't just fall away. I never had a chance to grieve the lost first moments of motherhood. We were okay. I had no right to be anything but grateful.

I wish I had seen Quin's face. I wish I could write out the emotions of the first time I cradled them in my arms. I wish I could describe to you the lioness inside of me who awakened to fight til the death for my vulnerable newborns. I don't have any of that to share with you. I don't have any of that to savor for myself.

And that is why I broke.

But this is our journey. It is not what I'd dreamed about. Our beginning has fractures. Holes. Heartbreak. And grief. Oh the grief. But it is our shared history. I don't know why. But it is ours. My boys and I. We are strong. Resilient. Enduring in our love. Forgiving. Letting go. Our roots begin with the understanding that we don't get to choose how it will be. Only how we grow from it.

It's a good thing I'm not famous with swarms of zealous paparazzi around me. (But also, it's a little bit too bad that I'm not, because I really think Jennifer Aniston and I would get along swimmingly and might look really cute having our picture taken together poolside in a very luxurious location sipping extremely sophisticated beverages.)

Because if I were famous, these events would have been widely publicized.

Scenario 1. Zumba.
I went to Zumba class.  By myself.  Apparently, I am no longer a 19 year old cheerleader who can shake my sugar 'til the sun goes down.  Apparently, in fact, I am 30, and eleven weeks postpartum, and I do not know how to Zumba.  I tried following the woman in front of me.  If you've ever been to an organized exercise class, you KNOW this woman.  The over-zealous, takes it all too serious, where does she buy spandex in that color? one.  She looked like she was strapped onto the back of a cracked out bumble-bee trying to whip it into submission while simultaneously gyrating her hips with reckless and wild abandon.

So I settle for quick glimpses of the instructor through the sea of hip-shaking, booty-wagging, breast-shimmying women, and end up following about six beats behind everyone else, turning right when they're turning left, shaking when they're shimmying, honking when they're tonking, and gyrating when they're...oh whoops...cooling down.  I was far too confused to work up any form of sweat, but at one point I accidentally started lactating and that was exciting.  Everyone else's shirt was damp in all those exercise-appropriate areas, but I seemed to be the only one with large wet nipple stains.

And although most days I'm seven to fourteen percent disappointed that I'm not crazy famous with swarms of paparazzi, this was one day where I thanked my lucky heavens that no cameras were in pursuit.  TMZ would have squashed my entire career in thirty four recorded seconds of rhythm-less, lactational gyrations.  Then I would have to stage a divorce from Kyle and go on the Millionaire Matchmaker in a last-ditch attempt to resurrect my celebrity and make a quirky yet alluringly sexy appearance as the Millionaire-ess and Patti and I would have it set up ahead of time that Kyle would be one of the potential suitors, and we'd re-marry in a very publicized and lavish affair with Rhys and Quin and Anwen in our wedding and suddenly I'd be America's darling once again.

But it seems like a lot of work to go through for one lousy Zumba class.

***

Scenario 2: Where I pump gas in my bathing suit.
Most people would have made some serious mental notations about no longer being a nineteen year old cheerleader after the Zumba incident.  Ironically, the last time I was in a bathing suit at a gas station, I WAS a nineteen year old cheerleader, trying to raise money for my team by parading around half naked like a prostitute washing cars at the local Citgo station.

So how, and why, was it that I, at eleven weeks postpartum, found myself in my bathing suit pumping gas?  On a very busy road in a very busy town, mind you?  With three children in my car?

Let's just say that this was far less intentional than my college days, and came about through the perfect storm of a gas light, a screaming newborn in the back seat, and a day at the beach that left us all exhausted and sandy.  And my pants conveniently tucked into our massive beach bag which was tucked under our massive stroller in the back of my Forester.  When I realized that accessing my pants would require me to get out of the car and dig through all our gear in my swim-ready state, I decided it would be easier and less embarrassing to just pump in my ruffle-butt tankini.

You're welcome, City of Portsmouth.  Your teen pregnancy rate just went down by 28 percent.

***

But in closing, let me make one thing clear.  I WILL learn how to Zumba.  I will gyrate my way to EXTREME SEXINESS, and then?  Once I've accomplished that?  I will head straight for the nearest gas station and pump gas in my string bikini while slowly shaking my long golden locks of hair like one of the poor role models in a beer commercial.  And then teenagers everywhere will think that pregnancy is a good idea because LOOK AT HER!  it most definitely does not ruin your body forever.

A postpartum montage of sexiness.

You're out in public, a few weeks after having your third baby in less than three years.  Feeling slightly exhausted, slightly frumpy, and just a teensy, weensy bit hormonal.  But you notice several passers-by checking out your robustly perky breasts, and for just a moment you mentally shout out "HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAH!  YOU'VE STILL GOT IT, YOU SEXY BITCH!"

A moment later, you feel a sticky warmth against your belly.  You look down, only to be overtaken by the horrendous realization that while your cleavage might be swell, those passers-by were more likely checking out the massive and rapidly growing milk stains running down the front of your shirt and pooling attractively in your postpartum pooch.

***

Grocery store.  You've brought along your 16 year old mother's helper, because for the love of god, you learned your lesson the last time you tried to navigate the grocery store as the solo adult responsible for ensuring that nobody was left in the cereal aisle and now you're fairly certain that the store management is considering banning you for life.  So now you've brought reinforcements, and the travelling shit-show circus you run with has made it into the produce aisle.  You have two overflowing carts and the kale keeps falling on the floor and suddenly you've got company in the form of a creepishly swanky thirty-something.  He circles, and then circles again, and just as you're about to let loose on him a small tirade to the likes of FOR GOODNESS SAKE HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO WAVE MY WEDDING BAND IN YOUR FACE YOU CREEPY PRICK...you're saved by the realization that the wagon he's circling belongs not to you, but to the sitter.  And then he's asking her out in an eerily "To Catch a Predator" sort of way, and you casually fluff your sensibly short mom-hair and shoot him a look that he TOTALLY will know means, "I FIT THIS ASS INTO SIZE FOUR JEANS THIS MORNING AFTER KNOCKING OUT A BABY SEVEN WEEKS AGO, YOU SICK PEDOPHILE."

***

So you decide that an upcoming wedding will be your chance to get your swagger back.  You order a flirty little number online and buy some killer heels.  You buy spanx.  Gulp.  Cringe.  Spanx.

You try it all on.  You smile.  Hoooooooo yeah.

You slink down the hall to the kitchen to show your husband.  You spin around and ask, totally casually, "do you think this outfit will be okay for the wedding?"

You await and envision his response.  "WOW."  "You're stunning."  "HEY SEXY MAMA!"  "HOOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAH!"

He cocks his head to the side.  "Yeah.  That should work."  He turns back around to the sink.  

He will spend the next six weeks wondering why the OB suddenly "called" to advise that things are not healing well from the birth and will probably take at least another month or two.

***

You develop a new mantra, to cover all your bases:

I will embrace my maternal womanhood!  Hoooooo yeah!

I will age gracefully and no matter how tempting, I will not bleach my hair, tuck my tummy, or resort to pink lip gloss!  Hooooooooo yeah!

I will have my ass inappropriately pinched by a stranger at least once more in my life, even if I have to pay somebody to do it!  Hooooooooo yeah!

I will not say "Hoooooooooooooooo yeah!" out loud even though I use it in my writing to emphasize points, because it makes me sound like I'm seventy!  Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo yeah!

I've got Lex Appeal!

A few months back, I was interviewed for a clever new podcast called Lex Appeal, which delves into the raw, human, sexier side of the law.  In the wake of the Facebook buzz generated from these posts, the guys who do the show appealed to my vanity and asked me to do an interview.  As a blogger, I was very excited to be asked to be a part of the show.  On my blog, I'm in control.  I get to go on and on and on and on about whatever I find oh-so-interesting.  But being asked by somebody else to talk about the same stuff?  Means that at least one other human being finds me mildly worthwhile.  And cheers to that.

So without further lamenting about how fantastic I must be, I invite you to listen to the now-available final product.  Enjoy!

Somewhere in a dark corner, Facebook is eating the tiniest morsel of crow. At least for the moment.

Remember the misogyny fan page on Facebook that I recently wrote about?

It's gone.

Just like that.  The only way I know it is gone is because I've been checking in regularly.  Facebook doesn't seem to communicate with the account holders who report offensive content, which seems to be a poor choice in customer service to me, but I suppose that's their right.

Either way, the page is gone, even though I'm not exactly sure how or why Facebook finally chose to remove it.  I think it's reasonable to believe that enough of us reported the page and pushed Facebook to act, so I'm going to count this as a small victory.

The disappointing thing is that originally, I was counting this as a big victory.  After I wrote about  the hypocritical Facebook policies regarding images of women's bodies and showed images of the highly sexualized and objectified pictures of women's breasts that Facebook allows next to my banned breastfeeding picture, most of the objectifying images and applications suddenly disappeared from Facebook.  Since that post had a lot of exposure, I was hoping and believing that the hundreds of people who reported those images had helped to get them removed.  So before writing this post, I decided to check back in and see how Facebook is doing on equally applying their policies regarding images of breasts.  We know they're still removing images of women breastfeeding, so I had foolishly hoped that they're at least also applying their ignorant policies to the content that objectifies women and is actually offensive.  No such luck.  A quick search for "tits" and "boobs" on Facebook brought up many of the images from my original post that had initially been removed.   Even more disheartening were the many new fan pages and applications that go even further to objectify women's bodies.

Maybe I'm just paranoid.  Maybe I'm starting to reek of Facebook conspiracy theory.  But any way I look at it, I cannot find any reasonable explanation for why Facebook would remove misogynistic content when they're getting a lot of negative publicity over it, and then quietly re-instate that content when the buzz dies down.  From every angle, all I see is Facebook contributing to a social structure that allows for violence toward and hatred of women.

Will the misogyny page come back in a few weeks?  I don't know if it even matters.  The real misogyny page is the one that opens when you visit www.facebook.com.

Bananas.

The babies are on a strike.  Actually, one baby is on a strike, the other crosses the picket line daily.

Babies, I have found, are fond of exercising their right to strike, especially when unionized as in the case of any and all sets of multiples.  In the past fifteen months, we've had nap strikes, poop strikes, nighttime-sleep strikes, walking strikes, and independent-play strikes.

As a member of executive management on this parental team, I've become a master at negotiating peaceful resolutions, which might come in handy right about now, since our latest strike is a biggie: food strike.

While Quin eats every last bite of food that crosses his path, Rhys has become quite exacting in his food standards.  Slowly, he has whittled his formerly diverse diet down to one favored food - banana.  All other foods are meticulously cast over the edge of his highchair tray and onto the floor, where at the conclusion of every meal, Quin and Bella hover, sharing delectable discarded morsels.

It's been a steady and slippery slope.  First he (Rhys) cut out egg - one of his favorite foods, second only to the wondrous banana.  Then it was toast.  Then oatmeal.  And so on.  If I am crafty and incredibly casual, sometimes I will have a short-lived bout of success at breaking his strict "bananas only" rule.  He'll nibble my toast, or have a bite of melon.  Before I even get my hopes up, he is puckering his face and dramatically wiping his tongue off with his pudgy hand.  I find myself wondering if humans can live on a diet comprised almost solely of bananas.    I find myself feeling more thankful than ever that he is still nursing.  I find myself wondering how many bananas it will take to push us back into poop-strike territory.

And here's the big deal: I'm not worried.  

Strike negotiations haven't commenced.  He wins.  

Don't get me wrong - I have certainly noticed  this new trend.  I've talked about it with other parents.  And here I am writing about it. 

But I haven't run to the internet, or one of the several options in my vast baby book library, to get advice.  I know it is a phase.  I get it.  I know it will pass.

If I didn't know any better, I might even say I'm relaxed.

Break out the red pens and fill in my report card, please.  The comments section will now read: "is a relaxed and confident mother." 

***

Okay.  So maybe we happen to have our fifteen month well-baby visit this Thursday.  So what if the banana-issue is at the top of my painfully long list of questions for the pediatrician.   I want my damn gold star.  

Divided we fail babies.

It's been a busy week in breastfeeding news.  On Monday, the journal Pediatrics published a study about breastfeeding, showing that over 900 American babies die each year and 13 billion dollars are spent due to low breastfeeding rates.  Almost immediately, the internet seemed to explode with reactions.  Gina from the Feminist Breeder took the information and wrote what I believe is one of the best analyses of breastfeeding in Western society that I have ever read.  Articles popped up left and right discussing how to deal with the "guilt" that accompanies sharing information about breastfeeding.  Matador Life published a well-written and comprehensive article detailing the ongoing Facebook vs. breastfeeding saga (featuring yours truly...).  I read and I read, and then I read some more.

And now something is gnawing at me.

We have all of this information, all of these analyses, all of this movement.  But I wonder how we will really move forward, how we will really succeed at changing things, when we have a sensitive, fragile, and bitter divide threatening to let us all continue to spin our wheels without ever actually going anywhere.

Here is the issue:  Some mothers breastfeed.  Some mothers do not.  You knew that, I know.  But hear me out.

The CDC reports that 75% of mothers leave the hospital having initiated breastfeeding.  Six months later, that number drops down to 13.6% who are still exclusively breastfeeding.

Although I have a lot of thoughts about what happens to those 61.4% of women, it's not something I want to discuss right here and right now.  It's been discussed - a lot in fact (okay fine.  Quick summary: society bullies them out of continuing.) - and my concern this time lies elsewhere.

My concern is how we all learn to work together.  How we heal the wounds of the mothers who desperately wanted to succeed at breastfeeding but did not.  How we swallow our pride, set our noble principles down for a moment, and respond with empathy to the human experiences of one another.  How we admit that perhaps we all need to do better together.

Here's what's so tricky about all of it.  Although society as a collective whole is to blame for not providing mothers with the support, information, and education they need to succeed in breastfeeding, change happens in individual increments.  Essentially, we are asking mothers to look society in the eye, punch it in the gut, and overcome all of the social barriers that stand in their way - with no more tools to succeed than they originally started with.  It's a chicken and egg dilemma of epic proportions - with human lives and billions of dollars at stake.  Society will not change until individuals change, yet demanding individual change within an unsupportive society is hardly simple.  Hardly fair.

But it is where we are.

The study published in Pediatrics based its numbers on how things would be if we brought that 13.6% up to 90% of mothers still exclusively breastfeeding at six months.

76.4% of mothers is massive change.

We're not going to get there by fighting.

We're not going to get there by blaming one another.

We're not going to get there by standing on soapboxes, getting defensive, or indulging old wounds.

As with any battle, patriarchy has always benefited from the in-fighting of the oppressed.  When mothers fight mothers, it is babies who lose.

I'm not suggesting we hedge.  I'm not suggesting we tiptoe.  I'm suggesting we suck it up, get over ourselves, and work together.

There are nine hundred and eleven babies who are counting on us to succeed.

Okay Mark Zuckerberg, let's get personal.

Nine hundred and eleven, Mark Zuckerberg.

Nine hundred and eleven babies die each year in America because they weren't breast fed.

If we go back and start counting at, oh, say 2007, when tens of thousands of women asked you to stop calling breastfeeding obscene, that nine hundred and eleven translates into over twenty five hundred babies.  Dead.

Twenty five hundred dead little babies, Mark Zuckerberg.

Because the mothers of twenty five hundred little babies were not given the tools, the support, or the education they needed to choose and succeed at breastfeeding.

Because when those mothers were little girls growing up, social media outlets like Facebook were busy teaching them that breasts are for sex, and that using them to nurture a child is offensive.

Because our society has allowed the greed of corporate America to sway public opinion into believing that scientifically created formula is superior to the nutritionally perfect milk produced by a mother's body.

I've said it once and I'll say it again.  Facebook is powerful.  You have over 400 million users around the world.  You can make a difference.  You've been asked to help.  You've been asked to change.  Again, and again and again, you have been asked.

Your response is patronizing.

You've ignored us.

You've ignored the calls to change Facebook's policies.  You've ignored the media reviews.  You've ignored your social responsibility to simply do! the! right! thing!  Mark Zuckerberg, you haven't just ignored.  You've failed.

You've failed mothers.

You've failed babies.

By refusing to become a part of the solution, you have remained a part of the problem.

The problem that leads to the deaths of nine hundred and eleven babies in America each year.

It's not all your fault, Mark Zuckerberg.  But it is a little bit your fault.  I would surely imagine that among the 400 million users out there, there has been at least one mother on the fence about whether or not to breastfeed her baby.  At least one mother wondering if she will feel embarrassed to use her breasts in this way.  At least one mother wondering who will support her.  At least one mother wondering if she will get in trouble for feeding her baby in public.  At least one mother who has never known anyone who has breastfed.  At least one mother who does not know how to breastfeed.  At least one mother wondering if others will feel offended by her choice.  At least one mother who gave up.

At least one mother whose baby died.

Mark Zuckerberg, you could have helped her.

Keep on keeping on...

Facebook is waiting for us all to go away.

Supporters of breastfeeding have been fighting against Facebook's hypocritical and discriminatory policies towards breastfeeding for over three years now, and yet Facebook has pretty much been eerily silent on the whole matter.

I find that infuriating. I find it patronizing. I find it unacceptable.

There is too much at stake to move on and accept the idea that the world's largest social networking site declares breastfeeding to be obscene. We cannot slowly dissipate and forget it ever happened. We CAN make a difference. We need to make a difference, because if we don't, it will be our sons and daughters and their sons and daughters and theirs and theirs and theirs who will fight this fight after we are long gone. I don't want that for my children. I don't want that for any children.

I'm not going to go away. I hope you won't either. Facebook can hide, Facebook can ignore this issue, but Facebook cannot out-will the strength or stubbornness of thousands of passionate mothers (And fathers! And babies!) who demand to be treated with respect.

I find it easy to get swept up in the excitement of activism when the energy is high and things are moving fast. It becomes more challenging as time goes by, people move on, and we start to lose focus. It is in these moments of losing focus and moving on that Facebook wins. It is in these moments that patriarchy - a system that is failing humanity - wins.

Forget breastfeeding for a minute. Let's talk simply and plainly and honestly about humanity. People. Human beings. Mothers, fathers, babies. Children. Let's talk about a world where we're not afraid to love and nurture, and where we prioritize the well-being of individuals and communities rather than corporations and greed.

Our passion and conviction over what is RIGHT is stronger than Facebook's passion and conviction over what is wrong.

It's time to continue taking action.

A few action steps to show Facebook that this - and we - are not going away:

1. Use social media to our benefit. Retweet, Digg, and Share on Facebook. (This post, earlier posts, posts from other blogs, news articles, your own words...send the message loud and clear!)

2. Continue to share breastfeeding pictures on Facebook.

3. Write to Facebook. Tell them they're wrong. If you can't find their contact information (good luck...and please share if you do!), make your letter to Facebook public and share it openly with the world.

4. Ask Ellen (and other public figures) to join in the effort to normalize breastfeeding in our culture.

This has gone on long enough! It is 2010! Don't let Facebook get away with telling mothers that breastfeeding is obscene. Do not give up.

Ownership.

Let's talk "sexy" for a minute. Not to each other. I don't know you that well. Let's talk about sexy.

We Americans are rather puritanical. Not YOU. Of course not YOU. But the collective us. We live in a society that functions much like a confused fourteen year old. One minute we're stuffing our best friend's mother's romance novels under our mattress, all the good parts carefully highlighted in neon green, and the next we're sitting in "sex ed" learning that sex is for marriage, and that while some people will break the rules and become lustful much earlier, those will be the folks who end up crying alone in the bathroom stall, pregnant at 15 with a raging case of VD and no place left in heaven for their soiled soul.

It's no wonder that breasts confuse us.

I wrote a post when I was pregnant sharing my joy over the fact that at the tender age of 27, I had finally sprouted some hormone induced breasts. An angry reader recently pointed this out to me, accusing me of being a hypocrite and suggesting that all of "this" (lactivism) has nothing to do with my core beliefs and everything to do with my wanting to "show off" my new curves.

I'm concerned. If I thought this was one isolated view point, I would leave well enough alone. But the confusion over the purpose of women's bodies, the FIGHT over the purpose of women's bodies, needs to stop.

So since this is my blog, and since I am the sole and rightful owner of MY BODY, I'm going to talk about it.

I am a human being. A woman. Sexual. I am a wife. A mother. Strong. Passionate.

I don't want to settle for simply feeling comfortable in my own skin, I want to (and most often do) feel ecstatic in it. I'm not perfect. I'm working to accept the stretch marks left from having babies, but they're new, and I need time. But I know who I am. Physically, emotionally and mentally. I like this person. I love her.

I am amazed by my body's accomplishments of the last several years. My body worked hard to heal and overcome endometriosis and infertility. My womb nourished and grew two beautiful babies. My breasts produce milk to feed those babies. They provide solace to those babies when they are sad. They provide comfort when my babies are sick or hurt. They provide safety when my babies are scared.

My identity, my purpose, extends beyond my role as mother. As much as I cherish, love, and adore that role, I also cherish, love, and adore the other facets of my life. My body accompanies me on every adventure. My breasts do not cease to exist when my babies aren't around. The value and functionality of my breasts does not begin and end with the ability to lactate. The fact that right now, my breasts serve a primary purpose of nourishing babies does not negate or detract from the fact that they are also (GASP!!!) sexual.

For me, that is the beauty of humanity. We are all multi-faceted. Life is not black and white. There are hundreds of thousands of beautiful shades of grey. How sad to go through life trying to force every minute detail into the correctly shaped container. Motherhood, womanhood, individuality, love, lust, sexuality, these elements of who I am rarely, if ever, enjoy a show stopping solo. They are intermingled, intertwined, and deliciously co-dependent.

Empowered women, unite. Our bodies belong to us only. We do not need to look externally for the definition of how and who we should be. Dance if you want to dance. Be sexual, be maternal, be beautiful, be all of those things, be none of those things, or be something else entirely. Wear a push up bra, wear a nursing bra, wear no bra. Celebrate your body, your mind, your spirit, and your soul.

We're human beings. It's messy. Beautiful. Complicated. We can embrace it or not.

I hope that I'll always be brave enough to embrace it.

It goes so far beyond Facebook...

Standing up and demanding that breastfeeding be normalized in our society goes far beyond the issue of whether some people are uncomfortable with the sight of a mother nourishing her child in the best way possible. If this video doesn't give you chills, doesn't outrage you, and doesn't make you question the corporate corruption that too often drives our society, I'm not sure what will.

We need to demand change.

And as a breastfeeding mother who fiercely and adamantly believes that breast is best - I think it is incredibly important, essential even, to point out that this is NOT an attack on mothers who choose not to breastfeed or are not able to. This is an attack on the societal pressures that contribute to an environment where the benefits of breastfeeding are incredibly marginalized and where mothers who choose to breastfeed are often stigmatized, judged, and harassed. Despite the fact that the WHO recommends exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months of life, 2003 CDC data shows that in the US, only 14.2% of mothers were following that recommendation. And did you know that in 2006, the United States had the second worst infant mortality rate in the entire developed world?

Where are our priorities?

A society that surrounds young girls with Barbie and her ridiculous body measurements, where approximately one in four females experiences sexual violence, where breastfeeding mothers are asked to leave public places , and where a major formula company can net profits of over 9 billion dollars a year, I really wonder HOW we expect mothers to choose breastfeeding and stick to it. US hospitals are notorious for giving babies bottles even when asked not to by mothers attempting to establish breastfeeding. I've posted about my own experiences struggling to teach my preemies to breastfeed and the hurdles I ran into with lack of hospital support, and I assure you that I am not alone - not by a long shot - in that experience.

Facebook, I'm afraid, is only the tip of the iceberg. It is simply symbolic of the environment we sit in.

But.

We have to start somewhere. We have to start everywhere.

I don't know about you, but I don't want to be defined by the society I described above. To the core of my being, I believe that we are better than this.

You can learn more. You can help.

• This earlier post lists things we can all do to help...here are some additions to that list, many of them courtesy of your comments...thank you!
• Baby Milk Action - helping to protect babies from unsafe breast milk substitutes and protecting breastfeeding
• Help get Ellen on board - it may sound silly, but we NEED mainstream media support and exposure
• Offer to become a Roots of Empathy family, or become an instructor. Roots of Empathy brings attachment parenting, including breastfeeding, into the classroom.
• Offer to visit your a local classroom or daycare as a pregnant woman, and then do follow up visits with the baby.
• Support the Nursing is Normal initiative: http://www.kathyobrien.org/NINgallery.htm and on Facebook.

This list is a small sampling of how you can help - if you have an idea or know of a resource, please share and I will post.

Censor-Book

Yesterday, FOX news out of Washington aired this piece detailing the hard work of thousands of mothers across the country and around the globe. It is amazing and exciting to see that people are starting to pay attention, and to help spread the word that breastfeeding is healthy, normal, and nothing to hide.

Imagine my surprise when I went to share the link with a group on Facebook and got this message:

And what exactly is it, Facebook, that you found to be abusive about this piece? The part where breastfeeding mothers speak up against your misogynistic and sexist policies? Or is it just women taking a stand that bothers you?

You can censor us Facebook, you can delete our photos and delete our accounts. We'll still be the ones who are right.

Let's get Ellen to help!

So Facebook doesn't like breastfeeding.

Let's use Facebook against itself.

I've started a Facebook group titled, Hey Ellen, we could use your help...please do a show on breastfeeding!.

I invite you to join and to invite your friends. Attention from the mainstream media will help accomplish exactly what we need: to bring breastfeeding out from the corners, under the blankets, and in bathroom stalls and back into the light.

Fixing things.

How does one change the world? Or at least the parts of the world that need fixing?

Society has continued, generation after generation, because women breastfed their babies. Maybe not every woman. Maybe not every generation. But if you take the formula and bottles out of the equation, society would still exist. Take the breasts and breast milk out of the equation, and we would have never arrived at a point where we decided to see if science could out-do the human body.

And here we are. It's 2010. Breastfeeding is still met with controversy. Stigma. Enough is enough. Enough. Let's fix this. Throughout history, women have overcome amazing obstacles - bigger obstacles than this. We can overcome this obstacle. Once and for all, let's work together and put this issue to rest. Let's create a world where women feed their babies in peace, and where the act of breastfeeding is viewed as the loving, natural, necessary, and important act that it is.

Change doesn't happen overnight. It happens when a group of people refuse to give up. Dedicate themselves to taking the small and large steps necessary to make things right as many times as it takes. Organize themselves. Persist.

Here are some of my ideas. I want to hear yours. If you send them to me as comments or email, I will continue to post on this topic and include them. If you've already sent me one that I haven't included here, I apologize. I'm going to comb back through comments and pick up any I've missed.

1. Next time you see a woman breastfeeding in public, say thank you. Say good job.

2. Visit http://squishybummum.blogspot.com/2010/03/bugger-having-dreami-have-plan.html. She offers a good plan for helping to "normalize" breastfeeding - she needs our support, our participation, and our help.

3. If you're a breastfeeding mother, get out there and do it in public. Our society needs to see that breastfeeding is normal and healthy.

4. Learn about the breastfeeding legislation in your state. http://www.ncsl.org/default.aspx?tabid=14389. If your state protects your right to breastfeed in public, print out the legislation and carry it in your diaper bag. Show it to anyone who questions you or asks you to go somewhere more private. If your state doesn't protect your right to feed your baby in public, contact your elected officials and ask them to help.

5. Write a letter to the editor in support of breastfeeding.

6. If you're a blogger, blog about the importance of breastfeeding, or your experiences with it.

7. Post pictures of breastfeeding on Facebook. Make it your profile picture. Emma from Montreal offers support and a challenge to all of us at http://www.facebook.com/topic.php?uid=2517126532&topic=18640.

8. Join pro-breastfeeding groups on Facebook, including Hey Facebook, breastfeeding is not obscene! and If breastfeeding offends you, put a blanket over YOUR head!

9. Talk to your children about breastfeeding. What it is and why it is important.

10. If you're a business owner, make sure that your business is breastfeeding friendly. Display the international breastfeeding symbol. http://www.breastfeedingsymbol.org/

11. Visit http://thenursingcircle.com/ and share your breastfeeding story.

12. Push for media attention. Write to the media you feel are influential and important. Ask them to help in these efforts.

13. Wear pro-breastfeeding clothing. Have your baby wear it. Get a bumper sticker. Visit http://www.breastfeedingsymbol.org/ or make your own.

14. Become familiar with the World Health Organization's recommendations on breastfeeding. http://www.who.int/topics/breastfeeding/en/. Share these recommendations with friends and family.

15. Learn about the Baby Friendly Hospital Initiative. If you are pregnant, try to find a Baby Friendly hospital in your area. Let local hospitals know that you want them to adopt the BFHI standards. http://www.babyfriendlyusa.org/eng/01.html

16. Let hospital staff know that you don't want your newborn to be given a bottle, and explain why. Visit http://web.me.com/jodieisner/Site/Hat.html for hats that remind hospital staff that bottles are not welcome for your baby.

17. If you have a surplus in your milk supply, donate it to a baby in need. http://www.breastmilkproject.org/ http://www.hmbana.org/.

18. Learn about the benefits of breast milk. Tell your friends. Tell your family.

19. Ask new moms if they have support with breastfeeding. If they don't, offer to be that support.

20. Speak up when you hear or see breastfeeding mothers being treated with disrespect.

What are your ideas? How are you going to make a difference?

Stand and Speak

When Rhys and Quin were born, they were admitted to the NICU for several weeks. They had feeding tubes and were kept in hard plastic isolettes for warmth. It wasn't what I'd envisioned for my babies' first days in the world.

We were allowed to visit as much as we wanted, but were warned about touching them too much for fear of over-stimulation. I remember the trepidation and heartbreak I'd feel every time I'd reach my hand through the little porthole into the warmth of the isolette and feel their soft downy skin and delicate tufts of hair. I longed to pick them up and hold them close. Sometimes the nurses would come in and see me standing there with my hand on one of my babies and give me a chiding look. "They need to rest." I had to ask permission to change their diapers. They were almost 24 hours old by the time I got "permission" to try breastfeeding.

It wasn't what I'd envisioned for my first days as a mother. I kept waiting for their real mother to sweep in - a more competent and therefore deserving woman who I imagined would wear peach lipstick and smell faintly of mint gum. The days came and went, but she never appeared. I trudged on. Back and forth to the hospital every day, a hunched and spent shell of my former self. At night I'd set the alarm to go off every two hours so that I could wake up and pump. I'd sit in the dark of our bedroom and cry alongside the whoosh and whir of the Medela, covered in postpartum sweat and sticky from milk. Each morning I'd deposit my night's work with the nurses in the NICU, and I'd ask them to count my supply. I'd anxiously await the results, frantically calculating in my head whether I'd supplied enough milk to get both babies through the day without the nurses supplementing with formula. Formula. Nobody ever asked my permission.

When I finally accepted that the lady with the peach lipstick wouldn't be waltzing in to save us, I realized I would have to muster up my strength and figure out how to be the mother my babies needed. The NICU staff was starting to talk about removing the feeding tubes and starting the babies on bottles. Breastfeeding wasn't going spectacularly, but we were making progress. I knew I didn't want my tiny new babies to have bottles. I did my research. Talked to the lactation consultant. Talked to family and friends. Armed with a page of researched rationale, I walked in to the babies' hospital room one morning and requested to speak with the provider on duty. When the young PA arrived, I took a breath and started my rehearsed speech.

"I want to talk about how we can avoid putting the babies on bottles. I want to exclusively - "

She turned briskly to face me and cut me off. "Not gonna happen." She then opened the porthole on the isolette and reached her hand in to stroke Quin's back. She didn't have to ask anyone's permission. I watched her touch his tiny arms and legs the way I longed to. She smoothed the fuzz on his head. I tried to swallow and couldn't. Four year's worth of wanting and waiting lodged in my throat and refused to leave.

Later that day, the lactation consultant tried to console me. "Just do what they say and get these babies home. Then you can do whatever you want. Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war."

An hour later, I was sitting in a rocking chair, feeding one of my babies a bottle while every last frail thread of motherly confidence quietly withered and fell away.

***

It seems that Facebook has removed some of the hyper-sexual pictures of breasts that I included in Monday's post. But there are more. And there will be more. So while removing all of the sexualized images of women might make the playing field more even, that's really not what I'm aiming for. What I'm aiming for is for Facebook and for society as a whole to start viewing breastfeeding with respect instead of disdain, and with support rather than stigma.

In the past three days, over 25,000 people have visited these posts. Many have shared their support. I am overwhelmed and energized. Let's not stop here.

Facebook has offered no direct response. We need to show them that we're not going away. This matters. We matter. Our babies matter.

The woman with peach lipstick never came to save me. She doesn't exist. For Rhys and Quin, I'm what they've got. I lost a battle but I will not lose the war. These are my babies. I'm going to make the world right for them. I believe I can.

***

What next? Where do we go from here?

We need to keep standing up. We need to keep SPEAKING up. If you agree, share these posts. Post them on message boards, post them on Facebook, send them to your local news. Or write your own and share them here. Or on Facebook. Or wherever you feel most comfortable. Share your own mothering story. How did you fight the battle to become the mother your baby(ies) needed?

Write to Ellen. Write to Oprah. Write to NPR or Good Morning America or whoever you think has influence.

Stand. Speak. Don't stop.

If it were men who could breast feed, I'm not sure we'd even be having a conversation.

And that's really the issue here.

Because if men could breast feed, I think we'd have special massage chairs in every public establishment in the US for men to get comfortable while they sustain the next generation and laud breast milk as the global super-food.

I'm a feminist. I'm shocked by how many people are scared of that term. It scares me that so many people are scared of that term.

Things aren't equal, my friends. Sure, we've come a long way from the days of burning women at the stake. Right? But even if that is true, we haven't arrived at some mecca of gender equality. Far from it.

Women in the US are still earning on average about 20% less than their male counterparts. And there are organizations that are outraged by this - great organizations like the National Organization for Women who have been fighting the good fight for a long time. But what about the collective masses. Where are we? Have we forgotten that we can change things?

One of every four women in the United States experiences domestic violence in her lifetime. One. Out. Of. FOUR. Do you have a daughter? A mother? A sister? A friend? Look around you.

I'm not simply angry at Facebook. I'm angry that Facebook has the opportunity, as a powerful social utility, to contribute to gender equality and a better world. But Facebook is acting like a bunch of juvenile frat brothers and doing what has been done throughout the ages - continuing the marginalization of women and women's contributions to society by dosing out patriarchy in teensy, palatable doses.

I was nauseous watching this year's Superbowl ads. The Dodge Charger, amping men up to believe that they are repressed by women - Dockers chanting at men to start wearing the pants again...and I say come on already, America! In a world where patriarchy still reigns supreme - where we go to war and send our children to war, where there is rape and battery and child abuse around every other street corner, isn't enough finally enough?

Whether it's the big-deal issues like the wage gap or the "smaller" issues like Facebook removing pictures of breastfeeding mothers, we need to start standing up. We need to start speaking up. It is these issues, large and small, that work together to create a world where we are so programmed to find gender inequality palatable that we don't say anything.

And that would be scary, if we said something. If we all stood up and said something. Because change is scary. People don't like change. And if we stood up, one by one, stood together, and said "ENOUGH!" things might actually start to move in that scary, changing direction.

Stand up. Please. Stand up.

Defense.

Most US states have laws protecting a breastfeeding mother's right to feed her child in public. And last time I checked, the entire nation was protected by a tiny little concept we call freedom of speech.

Apparently Facebook is above these ideals. Apparently Facebook is really quite invested in making sure that the images we see of women are sexualized rather than celebratory.

I'm told that Facebook has blocked the link to my post "Offense." (Update at 8:00pm EST...am told that people are now able to link to it again.) It was reported as violating the terms of use for Facebook. Funny. Because I reported every truly offensive picture included in that post and when I checked one minute ago, they are all still up on Facebook.

But I get it. Facebook is a private entity and they make their own rules. That doesn't mean their rules are right.

Not only is Facebook treating women in a misogynistic manner, apparently they're quite terrified of free speech as well.

Facebook, you're wrong. And the 6,700 + people who have visited my blog today seem to agree with me.

I'm not stopping here.

(And if you want to link to this post, please feel free. You can do so by copying the blog URL of http://eclecticeffervescence.blogspot.com/, this post URL of http://eclecticeffervescence.blogspot.com/2010/03/defense.html or my original letter to Facebook at http://eclecticeffervescence.blogspot.com/2010/02/open-letter-to-facebook.html.

Linking to my post from yesterday, http://eclecticeffervescence.blogspot.com/2010/03/offense.html, may or may not be allowed on Facebook.)

Offense.

Facebook hasn't written back.

And Ellen hasn't called and said "yes! I will do a show on breastfeeding and fill my audience with lactating mamas who I will shower with lanolin cream and fancy nursing bras. Yes!" Oprah hasn't called either. And Tyra hasn't. And NPR hasn't. And my local news station hasn't.

And you know what? I think they're missing out on an opportunity. Because this image is still on Facebook, as the profile pic for the Big Boobs application, which has 55,842 monthly users:

And this image is still on Facebook, as the profile pic for the "Tits" application with 12, 260 monthly users:

And this image is still on Facebook, the profile pic for the "T i t s" fan page, with 1,863 fans:

And this image is still on Facebook, the profile pic for the group "Titties" with 580 members:

And I'd like to say I'm surprised. Because Facebook has a policy against sexually offensive material. And given the context of each of these pictures, I'd call them pretty damn sexually offensive. So I reported them. Each and every one. And included my letter to Facebook as my comment for each one. No response. No removal of the pictures.

But you know what picture Facebook did remove?

This one. Originally posted on the "Hey Facebook, breastfeeding is NOT obscene" group, with 258,448 members.

Here, where, after three years of infertility and a traumatic and pre-term birth, I finally tandem nursed my babies successfully for the first time. Facebook told me this picture was offensive. And warned me that they will delete my account if I continue to break the rules.

Hey Facebook?

Fuck you.

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?