Magazine Column — Published July 15, 2010

Even though I can’t begin to sneak a snack anymore, I still thought I could keep some things from my nearly 3-year-old son.

I suppose that’s why I didn’t quite get it when he suddenly insisted that my husband hug and kiss me before he left for work.

Or why every hug bestowed upon him required another one for my husband.

It was a giant two-by-four that wiffed right over my head.

See, my husband and I had been going through a “rough patch.” (Don’t lie, even the best marriages have them.) We love each other deeply and weren’t really worried about the tension in our house. We knew we’d get through it.

We hadn’t noticed, but our lack of communication also resulted in a lack of physical affection between us. It scared our son. Of course, he didn’t know what he was afraid of. He knows nothing of divorce. But he just didn’t feel safe anymore.

It’s easy to think of marriage as a two-person relationship. But the truth is, when you have children, you invite them in. They become part of your marriage — the good, the bad and the ugly.

The U.S. Administration for Children and Families agrees. In fact, its research shows that children raised in healthy — with the emphasis on the word healthy — marriages are physically healthier and do better in school, and they are less likely to commit suicide, abuse drugs or get pregnant as a teenager. These children even tend to have better relationships with their parents and, much later, their own spouses.

This research should be a wake-up call. To all of us. Married or not. (More than 30 percent of kids are growing up in a household without married parents.) And to even those in “healthy” relationships.

Beyond teaching the ABCs and minding their pleases and thank-yous, we are modeling how to be in a relationship. A parent’s relationships are the only ones children see up close. They will never be intimately involved in another romantic relationship until they begin to have their own.

If you treat your wife like she’s an idiot, don’t be surprised if your son treats his girlfriend the same way.

Yell at your boyfriend? Your daughter will yell at hers.

Disappear when there is conflict? Your kids will learn to run.

Perhaps contrary to popular wisdom, all of this information and our recent experience will actually mean increased transparency for my family.

We realize that Stepford-like relationships, with all their wine and romance, don’t really exist. No one is happy with their significant other all of the time. Why would we begin to teach that? So our children will be saddened when the rush of romance fades and normalcy, with its highs and lows, sets in?

Instead, we’re going to stop foolishly believing that our kids don’t pick up on our sarcastic comments, harsh tones or late-night arguments. Instead, we’ll try to model healthy conflict resolution. And when we fail, we’ll explain. Even a 2-year-old can understand that sometimes we don’t talk nicely to each other, but we always try hard to do better next time.

Our hope is that our kids will learn how to manage conflict, how to apologize and how — really — to be married.

What are you teaching your children?

Magazine Column — Published June 15, 2010

Didn’t you know? I’m a superhero.

Sure, I only have one superhuman power. But it’s a stellar one.

I use it every day — only to do good, I assure you.

I make milk.

Not a superhuman power, you say, but something private that shouldn’t be shared?

Crazy talk. And here’s why:

I don’t like to brag, but my milk is pretty darn incredible.

For one thing, it sustained two human beings for six months each. No other foods required.

And while doing that, it protected them against cancer, diabetes, heart disease and obesity — all of our nation’s top killers. It also enhanced their brain development. In fact, a recent study of more than 14,000 children found that breast-fed kids have higher IQs and better performance scores in school.

My milk protects me, too. Not drinking it, silly, Making it. By allowing my body to engage its superhuman power, I’ve protected myself against breast cancer and ovarian cancer. Breast cancer alone kills more than 40,000 women annually and it runs in my family. So maybe, just maybe, I’ll escape a diagnosis.

Speaking of cancer, new research has even found that a protein found only in breast milk actually kills cancer cells. The protein causes cancer cells — every type of cell tested — to commit suicide.

See? My superpower might eventually lead to the cure for cancer. Can’t get much more superhuman than that.

And if that weren’t enough, my superpower put my kids to sleep. It was the only thing that stopped the colicky screaming of my infant daughter. When my son was a baby, it comforted him through his bout with the stomach flu. It was the only food item that I didn’t clean up off the floor.

And … (What there’s more? Crazy, I know.) … my superpower has provided me with some of my sweetest and proudest parenting moments.

My daughter, who is now 1 year old, moves nonstop. But, for my milk, she snuggles close. She rests her little head on my breast, stares up into my eyes and I tell her about the things I hope for her and about what type of woman she could become. In those moments, I’m nourishing more than just her body.

I wasn’t just “handed” this superpower, by the way. I fought for it, like most of us with this particular power do. I endured blisters and bleeding where there should never be blood. I battled the pump, and won. I practiced and practiced and practiced — until I was able to breast-feed while holding my baby in one arm and typing/gesturing/reading stories/loading the dishwasher with the other.

With all that my superpower has to offer, it’s shocking that sometimes I’m shunned.

Once, in my car at a drive-in, I was asked to move my vehicle. Another time, someone told me that nursing a child older than 1 year of age was disgusting.

It’s not just me, either. It happens to almost every person with my particular superpower. We are asked to leave restaurants. We’re called names. We’re told to stop talking about it, because just mentioning that we breast-fed hurts other women’s feelings. We’re sent to the bathroom to feed our babies.

If someone was pedaling bottled cures to cancer or a canned beverage that reduced the risk of diabetes by about 40 percent, do you think they’d be asked to sit on a filthy restroom floor while doing it?

Bottled. Ah.

You’ve found it — my superpower’s only weakness.

Seems the packaging of my superpower has American culture all atwitter. In a society where sex sells, a baby attached to a nipple threatens to undermine not only our culture, but also a multi-million industry.

My daughter, refused to accept her superhuman drink from any place but the source. Makes sense when you think about it — I like my produce fresh too. Would you want to drink something that had been frozen for months, then thawed and reheated?

And to tell the truth, it suited me just fine. My electric pump isn’t nearly as cuddly as my daughter. And it’s a terrible conversationalist.

Plus, why in the world should such a tremendous superpower be hidden? Horses don’t duck behind trees to feed their young. Monkeys sure as hell aren’t shy.

If you’re really scared of a nipple, aren’t you forgetting that the cream for your Starbucks Frapuccino came from a cow’s teat?

Now, I don’t just whip off my shirt. When my babies were newborns and breastfeeding was a challenge, I always used a nursing cover in public. Later, when we were pros, I could order dinner at a restaurant while nursing without a cover — the wait staff never knows a thing.

I’m discrete about my power. But I refuse to hide it away because it makes some people uncomfortable.

For all of you nursing mothers out there, keep your head up.

And in times of doubt, imagine your “fashionable” (really?) nursing cover is a cape and hum yourself a little theme song.

You are a superhero. To your children, to your families and to everyone who would like to see a healthier, happier society — including me.