On our knees

This isn't a very good photo--I just snapped it with my iphone this morning during Eli's soccer game.  I  have been thinking about this for a while, though.  This is my third child, Emerald.  She is 17 months old.  For the last five months or so, she has been able to walk.  Instead of walking, however, she "walks" around on her knees like you can see in this photo.

Every child goes through stages.  It usually follows the general path of lie around, then scoot/crawl, then walk.  Emmy added a step.  She shuffles places on her knees.  In this way, she's close to the ground so she never falls, and she can still carry things with her hands, as a child who is walking can do.

Now, obviously it has some handicaps.  She is really, really slow.  Also, her knees probably get tired, not really being intended for that kind of use.  Finally, she wears out her pants (and gets them dirty) and/or skins her knees. That last one bothers me a lot more than her.

There are some obvious parallels to be drawn here.  I think there have been lots of time in my life when  I needed to take a little risk--be willing to fall instead of shuffling around on the ground.  If she would just be willing to fall for a few days, she's discover the world is so much easier in so many ways.  And she could run and play with her brother and sister.

But even more, lately, I've been thinking of her development.  Her pediatrician informed me that there isn't anything they can really do from a physical therapy standpoint because she CAN and DOES walk on her own--when she feels like it.  Usually when she's being specifically praised AND when the ground is flat and clear, like in our living room.  Until she has the desire to do it all the time, we're kind of stuck.

Usually being on your knees is a reference made to prayer.  I even had someone tell me they were sending "knee mail" my way when my mom had surgery a few weeks ago.  I had to think about it a bit, but I realized it was a really clever way to say "I'll pray for you."  In this case though, being on your knees means something else.

I have often had a particular sin that I really liked.  I think most of us have our favorite sin or sins.  It's that one that is really hard for you to kick.  It could be anything--alcohol abuse, smoking, porn, greed, envy, gossip, and so on.  I could go on and on.  You know what yours is.  If you don't, start some self evaluation. ;)

If you're like me, you've made valiant efforts in the past to rid yourself of that sin.  Over the years, I have often succeeded.  Then I've realized that I had something else I didn't even think about I needed to work on, because of course, we are all works in progress.  But when you're trying to rid yourself of a certain special sin, that is near and dear to you, you're a lot like Emmy.  You're shuffling around on your knees.  It's comfortable.  You know it.  It feels right.  And it's easy.

Standing up and keeping your knees clean is scary.  It's hard.  Emmy always wants to hold my hand while she's walking.  I'm happy to help her but to gain true independence, to be free, she needs to walk alone.  I know that.  The big difference in this analogy is that WE DON'T EVER have to walk alone.  We can, and frankly, should, hold our Savior's hand forever, at all times.  He's given us a gift--the Holy Ghost, which we can have with us always, to uplift us, to keep us from falling down, to help us keep our knees clean.  He will gladly hold our hands forever to keep us steady, to keep us walking.

And yet, we fall back down to our knees just like Emmy and shuffle around.  I am so glad for the atonement which will let us clean our pants.  Which will lift us back up over and over as we finally learn to kick our bad habits one at a time.

I look forward to Emmy walking around like a pro, all the time.  I also look forward to the time when I am willing to be humble enough to take my Savior's hand in everything--and spend all my time walking around, or even running, instead of shuffling around here on Earth.  I am so glad my Heavenly Father is patient with me.  It helps me remember to be patient with my little people.

I kind of can't stand Halloween

I know.  I know! It makes me a horrible person, right? But Halloween is always such a disappointment.  I mean, my kids love to play dress up.  And they love candy.  So, what's not to like about Halloween??!!  Well, I had a miserable experience tonight.  I'll tell you about that last.  Here are my top three reasons I don't like Halloween.

1. The general principle of Halloween kind of offends me:  I mean, there's no real religious point of it at all.  So there's no underlying theme.  And let's face it.  Halloween is all about pretending you're someone you aren't and asking (relative) strangers (or complete strangers) for handouts.  It is all REALLY selfish.  The kids' PARENTS are ostensibly buying candy to hand out to other kids, but the kids don't really get involved there and so they basically just have this holiday all about themselves (dressing up) and GREED.  I won't even get into my opinion on adult Halloween parties.  I just have to mention that I think the adult female costumes get more appalling every year.  WEAR CLOTHES! Good grief.  Have some respect for yourself.  You aren't a piece of meat up on the auction block.

2. Trunk or Treat: I don't know if your church does one of these.  Ours does every year.  (You pass out candy from the back of your TRUNK in the parking lot.  It's like an expedited Halloween night that happens early.  Your kids get two passes at filling their bags with candy.)  It's usually accompanied by a party and/or carnival.  It's always a little on the late side for my very young children, but it's usually well done and the kids have a blast.  Why am I such a stick in the mud? 

Here's why! The church is supposed to teach kids, among other things, a basic sense of values.  Decency, ethics.  At the trunk or treat, I had LOTS of kids coming around multiple times.  Some of them even boasted to me it was their second or third time.  I'm thinking, WHERE IS YOUR PARENT who should be telling you this IS NOT OKAY?!  I also had kids, when I said, "Pick any two pieces of candy," who would take a whole handful.  I'd have to grab their hand and say, "NO, I said any TWO pieces."  I was really disappointed.  Thankfully my kids weren't among those, but they are pretty young still.  

3. THE BIG DISAPPOINTMENT: Tonight my husband, like most Halloweens, had to work.  He's an ER physician and he has to work nights and holidays a lot.  So, I took my kids trick-or-treating and because they are young, we were back home by 7 or so.  Knowing I would be out and no one here on duty, I turned on our porch light, left a tremendously large bowl of candy sitting on a stool with a sign that said, "Please take Two."  It had decorations around it.  A tombstone that lit up, lit up plastic pumpkins and a ghost.  

I let the kids eat two pieces of candy and then we headed up to brush teeth and go to bed.  We'd done most of our preparation prior to going out.  (They normally go to bed at 6:30 so I had already done scriptures, stories, etc.)  As we passed the front door at 7:15 the kids said "Wow, mom, look at all that candy in the bowl."  I looked.  It was basically still full.  We live in a small neighborhood (35 houses or so) and they are all on one to two acre lots.  We don't get much Halloween traffic.  I saw a car a few houses down, and pardon me if I say it was very, very run down.  I surmised it was not a car from our neighborhood, but hey, there's nothing wrong with that.  I saw kids getting out, running up to the neighbors and then running back to the car.  

No prob, I thought.  I will go put the kids to bed and leave the sign up and the bowl out so they can get some candy.  I came back down at 7:31.  I looked at my clock to see how long bed time took.  16 minutes.  I noticed something was awry outside.  The stool was knocked over.  I went out to see if a cat knocked it over.  

Unless the cat wanted candy, it wasn't a cat.  All the candy was gone, except a few scattered pieces on the ground.  The stool was knocked over, the decorations were broken and knocked around.  Someone's parents let them take about 8 full BAGS worth of candy in a Halloween cauldron sized bowl and fill their bags with it, and then completely mistreat my decorations.  I'm assuming it was that car and not one of my neighbors.  GOSH I hope so.  I was so disappointed.  

So that sums it up.  Everything I want to believe about human nature is completely deflated every single Halloween.  I think any holiday that brings out that kind of behavior in people is a waste.  I just don't think the sugar buzz joy of my kids is offset by the downsides and the bad lessons it teaches.  

Does that mean I won't let my kids do Halloween anymore?  NO.  I haven't reached that point yet.  But I will absolutely keep telling them 100 times each Halloween, "Did you say thank you?  Please go back and say thank you."  And "No, just take one please.  This is a holiday of giving.  Don't be selfish."  And I will keep making them give half their candy to their dad (knowingly) who has a sweet tooth so they understand sharing.  

But I don't think I'll stop being disappointed by Halloween as a holiday.  I just... kinda of can't stand it! There needs to be a Halloween phrase (like Bah Humbug) for people who don't like it!! 

Love Hate

Dora is my three year old.  She was so excited Eli was going to school and she was desperate to go.  Last year I put her in preschool at her request and had to take her out a month later.  She hated it.  This year, she vowed, would be different.  I had my reservations.  I signed her up but the preschool agreed to waive the supply fee until she stayed for four months.  We all knew she was a flight risk.

Cut to the first day.  It was a breeze.  She floated in, said bye, and played.  The second day was a little dicier, but she ultimately waved bye and I waltzed out.  By week two, the bloom was off the rose.  She was still excited to go.  Got dressed, put on her new hat, generally had lots of excitement and good humor.  She lost her marbles when I went to leave. I mean, they had to PRY her hands off my pants to keep her from ripping the pocket off as I walked away.  That was after attempting to reason with her about my departure for a good 20 minutes.

I have now been through two more experiences that were almost, if not quite, as harrowing.  Before you think I'm the world's worst mother, I should add that at all times other than the exact moment I leave, she is excited and interested in going to school.  She babbles about it.  She looks forward to it.  She dresses for it and helps me pack her lunch.  It's only right as I leave that she loses it.  Tonight I sat her down and we had a "talk."  I finally thought to ask her why she was so sad that I was leaving.  Her response?  "That why I love you so much."  (In Dora talk, this means, Because I love you so much.)

Where in the world am I going with this? I do have an actual point.  If you will bear with me, I will make it soon.  But first I have to cut back five years.  My son, who is five now, was an absolutely miserable baby.  Call it colic.  Call it bad parenting.  Call it being formula fed when he would never latch.  I have no idea, but that kid did not like me one iota more than a blow up doll.  He was just as happy (or as unhappy) with a stranger off the street as he was with me.  I thought it would kill me.  Obviously he's very loving, sweet, and affectionate now, but he is very very very independent.  To a fault.  He wanted to learn the alphabet at three.  How to read and write at four.  And he wants to do it all on his own.  And he does.

I hated that about him when he was a baby and a toddler, too.

I loved him with all my heart and every time I tried to hug him or squeeze him, or hold him, he would cry and push away.

Ironically it is what I love about him the most right now.  He is so helpful and independent.  The kid combs his own hair, he can read the scripture reader (about half the words) on his own now.  At our house, for school, he sets the alarm, gets up, gets dressed, makes his bed, puts his clothes in the dirty clothes (because he wants chores) and then comes and wakes me up.  I don't worry about alarms.  I don't worry about getting up on time.  MY FIVE YEAR OLD does that stuff.  He then scrapes his plate and all his siblings plates after breakfast, rinses them and puts them in the sink.  He combs his own hair and puts on his own shoes, and tucks in his own shirt.  It's pretty ridiculous.

This made me think.  It is making me nuts that in church Dora wants to sit with me in my classes (quiet as a mouse, without moving) instead of going to her class. At school she can't stand to be away from me and it makes things miserable.  But I have to remind myself that with each of my children, as with each of my loved ones, it's what I hate that I also love.  Dora loves me.  She wants to be with me all the time.  I should love that! I finally have a child who wants to spend every single waking (and every single sleeping) minute with me.  Isn't that what I wanted?? And now I see it cuts both ways!

The same is true of other people I love.

For instance, my dad is the best listener I have ever met.  It doesn't matter what you want to talk to him about, he is completely and totally interested.  He laughs at my tiny jokes, sorrows with me when I am sad and is angry when I feel wronged.  He is completely, 100% vested in anything that I have going on in my life. How could anyone not love that!?!  It's only good right?

Except that he also thinks everything is interesting so you might be in for some stories you personally find boring because there is absolutely no topic on earth he does not want to hear about.  It doesn't occur to him (unless you tell him so) that you don't care about the rock strata in the surrounding hills, as one random, non-specific example.

How about my husband?  Am I going beyond the pale when I say that he makes me absolutely bonkers in his incessant and never-ending searching for things online?  He will spend hours reading about and researching various guns (the vast majority of which he wants to buy), and then when you think your head might explode on the topic of guns, he'll switch to RVs/vans.  He will find a gazillion that are just perfect.  And then he will switch to trucks.  And then to something else.  And then back to guns.

But it is precisely that exuberance, that excitement, that joie de vivre that I absolutely love about him.  When I went into labor with my son, for example, my adorable, extremely smart, 6'3" tall husband did this little dance of joy.  When we have an anniversary, a birthday, a holiday coming up, he spends lots of time doing little things for me.  He's made me, in no specific order: a custom jewelry box (which he promised to fill and he has completely filled it...), a wooden chest for my rubber stamps, a pillow case made from scrubs so I could hug him when he's gone at work, a tiny hand carved kangaroo ring holder to put by the sink (because I had a pet wallaby), a custom sewn (by him) and modified care bear (when I was collecting them before Dora's birth for her room) that looks like a doctor, to show me and eventually our daughter he supports her in reaching for the stars.  I could go on and on.  He leaves me notes and sends me texts constantly telling me he loves me.  He plans little surprises, brings me flowers (still after six years for no reason) and folds laundry, does dishes, cooks.  He does all these little things because of his zip, his energy, the very same part of him that has his questing fingers clacking over the keys of the computer looking up guns, RVs, trucks, and imagining our family adventures (okay, not so much with the guns maybe).

I think this may be the case with almost everything.  So, the point?  I did say I had one.  Here it is.  I will say it loud and clear so you don't miss it.

Think of someone you love very much but are frustrated with right now, for whatever reason.

Now, think of what's frustrating you.

Now, here's the hard part.

Think about how that thing you HATE is also the very same thing you LOVE.  And get over it.  Forgive him.  Forgive her.  Realize that the things they hate about us are also the things that they love.  Every single coin in the world has two sides.  You can't have heads without tails.  And vice versa.

And the next time they do that annoying thing you hate, say, throwing their socks on the floor and walking off like they didn't even realize their feet were formerly housed by socks... remember that it's their very carefree attitude (I actually don't have this problem with anyone) that made you love them.  It's the reason why they don't mind that you fill the entire sink with icky foundation when you wash your face.  Or it's why they don't mind if you eat the food they ordered at the restaurant, or whatever.

I bet if you really think about it, you'll see how that thing you just couldn't handle for another minute is really the very part of them that allows them to love you.  That makes you love them too.

And for a final, pontificating point... I'd like to add.  Your heavenly father, and your brother Jesus too, they love you for who you are.  It's a who that has things that they love and probably some things that they don't like very much.  They take the whole package, and they are willing to work with you on the things that they'd really be better off without.  If we're trying to be like them, we'll extend the same courtesy to the people we love too.

Sunglasses

I think I may have to change the title of this blog!  Not only have I been so sick with pregnancy that I kind of just dropped it, I have shifted from being a ranting mom to being a preachy preacher.  Huh.

I guess I learn so much from my kids that I am having trouble feeling like I have no where to share it.  Some of my insights feel really colloquial or folksy, but I want to put them down somewhere or I'll forget them.  So without further adieu, here's the latest...

Every single day for 3 weeks now, I've been taking Eli (my five year old) to school.  He just started kindergarten.  I am too "new mom" with him and I insist he ride in the car to and from school, afraid he will get picked on or pick up bad things on the bus.  Plus it's just more time with me.  My husband works nights so he is always in bed when I do the drop off run, which means 15 month old Emmy and three year old Dora are also in the car with me.  Every single morning the sun shines directly in our faces.

I am old enough to put on sunglasses and put down the visor.  Eli sits in the back so he's okay.  Dora is right in the line of sun and she asks for my extra pair of sunglasses.  Every day I have said, "Okay, sure, but make sure you don't touch the lenses."  I figure if I tell her not to, it will happen somewhat less, but let's get real here.  I know she's gonna touch the lenses, and I have an end game as well.  I will clean them off.  :-) The more cleaning, the more scratches, the sooner I have to toss this pair and get new ones.  So I say it over and over.

After a week and a half, her tiny voice says, "Mom, I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to, but I touched the lenses."  Then when I didn't say anything (distracted) she said, "I can still wear them, Momma?"

I obviously reassured her it was okay and I could fix it, but I reiterated that she should try not to do it.  It made me think.  

Our Heavenly Father is always telling us not to touch the lenses.  It takes many forms.  Every single morning though, it's there, if we are reading our scriptures, the Ensign, etc., like we're supposed to.  If we are paying attention to his counsel, and listening to the Spirit's promptings, we're being reminded.  Don't touch the lenses.  Sometimes that counsel takes the form of, "Be kind to your children." (or "Love One Another.")  Sometimes it's "Serve One Another" or "Repent" or any number of other scripture messages.  I mean, how many times do you read the same exact counsel in the Book of Mormon?  You could probably boil the Book of Mormon in a pot for an hour and end up with just a handful of phrases.  If we'd only follow those, we'd keep that pesky sun out of our eyes and never ruin our sunglasses.

And yet... Our Heavenly Father knows we will touch the lenses.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but sometime we are bound to do it. After all, we are only three.  Our coordination is not so good.  Our focus is not so great.  We forget.  There are any number of reasons why it happens but the result is the same.

He reminds us not to so we will touch them less but when we've touched the lenses, he has a protocol in place to clean them off.  It's called repentance.  And he's not angry.  He's not upset.  He's not even disappointed I think.  He just wants us to avail ourselves of His prepared solution, His perfect, free, wonderful solution.  The glasses won't end up scratched, they won't end up being discarded because unlike this analogy, his solution is eternal.  It's perfect.  And it can be repeated indefinitely.  Until we develop the maturity, the confidence, the dexterity to perfect ourselves in that one area.  And move to another.

I am so grateful for the insight I can receive into the love our Heavenly parents have for us as a result of the love I have for my tiny earthly charges (I mean my kids, in case that's too obtuse).  I am so grateful for a Heavenly Father who loves me, even when I touch the lenses after being repeatedly and consistently reminded.  I pray that one day I can stop but for now, I just keep wiping away whenever I do.  And I know that's okay with Him.

The Winter

I bought some Gerber daisies this January and put them outside my front door in a pot.  That might sound kind of crazy unless you know that I live in Houston, Texas where it's frequently in the 60s and 70s even in January. They did wonderfully and bloomed profusely.  They brought me (and my kids) a lot of joy.

Until I forgot and left them outside during a freezing cold night.  

Then they died.  

The plant turned completely black.  The leaves wilted and the whole plant just crumpled.  

I told my kids we needed to dig up the dead plant and throw it away.  The kids protested.  I didn't have enough energy to go to the store and buy a replacement plant so I just never got around to uprooting and replacing it.  Weeds started to grow in the pot where the daisies had been.

Every time we went outside to water the hibiscus, a hardier plant in freezing weather, the kids insisted I water the dead Gerber daisies.  Rather than fight with them, I just did it.  So, those dead daisies kept getting water.  They kept getting sun.  The bugs were kind of eating the dead leaves.  I knew there was no way they were coming back.  

Until they did.  I'm ashamed to say I didn't even notice it.  Eli pointed it out.  He said, "Mom, next to that weed is a new daisy plant."  

He was right.  

Now I am sure there are all kinds of things for which this could be used as an object lesson.  But the same thought keeps coming back to me.  

I have lots of friends who used to be my sisters (and brothers) in the gospel--that is, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Many of them still are.  Some of them have either fallen away from a belief in that religion slowly and may still believe but simply don't act.  Some of them have made a conscious decision that the Church isn't right for them.  Now, if you are reading this and you're one of these dear friends, please don't think I'm saying you're a dead plant.  I really really really am not.  

If you have made a conscious decision to leave the Church and you are happy then I am really truly happy for you.  I'm certainly not trying to preach.  

But if you got left outside in the winter freeze... if you were unexpectedly torn away... if you lost a loved one and couldn't understand how God could let it happen... if you don't understand how God can love you and let bad things happen... if you feel unloved... if you've been neglected, or offended or are lonely.  Or if you've simply made decisions that result in you feeling like you are separated from God, from where you want to be, from your church family or from the Son (like the Sun), then please...

Know that we often think something is dead when it's just asleep for the Winter.  We want you back, little Gerber Daisy.  I want you back.  And most important of all, God wants you back.  Just make one tiny effort and use the water of the faith of those around you, the sun from the Son and grow.  Just a little bit.  

You can bloom again, and we'll all smile when you do.  

Breast is best?

A friend of mine made a comment on facebook that has me thinking about this a lot.

Breastfeeding.

Why is it such an emotional topic?

Before I ever had a kid (or was even pregnant), I had a cousin tell me, "Don't let anyone tell you that you have to breastfeed.  It's your choice and you do what you want."

I thought she was nuts.  Really.  I mean, I hadn't thought about it, and it seemed a little out of left field.  Besides which, my mom had breastfed me and everyone says it's amazing and natural and wonderful.  So, of course, when it came to it, I'd breastfeed.  I mean, I knew I'd be a good mom.  So, I'd breastfeed, right?

Then I was pregnant (and sick and miserable) for nine months.  And I was Super Fat.  Which has nothing to do with breastfeeding at all, except in that it goes to my mental state around the time Mr. Man decided to show up.   My ten pound son was born in July.

Suddenly my cousin's comment didn't seem so crazy.  My son had no interest in latching.  Right after he was born and I was told to feed, my arms were shaky.  I was exhausted.  I was miserable.  I hadn't eaten or peed on my own in 30 hours.  I felt like crap.  So when the nurse finally pried his mouth open and he closed it on me, imagine my surprise when...

IT FELT LIKE SOMEONE WAS PIERCING MY NIPPLE.  I am not kidding.  Piercing.  I don't like weird crap like that.  I thought putting a second hole in each ear at age 19 was pretty rowdy.

I looked down at that little chubby newborn and I hated him.  I was convinced something was wrong.  Nope, I was told, the latch was correct.  After a dozen people (family and nurses) told me that I just had to deal with the discomfort (DISCOMFORT?  Is having a toe amputated uncomfortable?  I had just pushed a baby out.  It tore the crap out of me and they sewed me up.  Wrong.  And breastfeeding hurt more than any of that. If it's "uncomfortable" I am a monkey's uncle.  And I'm a woman, so unlikely to be an Uncle.)

I digress.  I was told that I just needed to "deal with the discomfort" for a while and then it would get better.  Around four or five weeks.  The second and third weeks are apparently the worst.  So what was the first week, I thought?  Would he be pouring SALT on my amputated nub toe in weeks two and three?

I hated my kid.  I dreaded feeding him.  He wouldn't latch.  He'd cry (which stabbed my heart) and he would scream and he'd latch and then I'd cry.  And I'd scream.  And he'd rip my nipple.  And the whole cycle would resume.

Finally I started pumping.  That hurt like the dickens and I cracked and bled, but at least I didn't hate my baby. I hated the pump.  But he drank 40 ounces a day.  Even pumping every single two hours of the day and night I didn't make enough.

Insert long story about how he got thrush and I got a yeast infection, and oh yeah, something lovely called mastitis.  BLAH!  Finally at around 6 weeks, since I was making roughly 24 ounces a day, or about half of what he ate, I decided to try to get him to latch again.  That worked as well as a Miata offroading. My milk dried up in the process and I was so glad.  So happy to be able to say I tried and just failed.

That's when a new round hit.  The judgment.  It's around 6 weeks, after all, that you get out and about with your new baby.  I started to see friends and people at church, and people around town.  Call me crazy, but they were judging me.  I was feeding my baby formula.  I was a sucky mother.  Some people said things.  Mean, hurtful things.  Some people asked mean, invasive questions.  "OH, do you have inverted nipples?  No milk?  What's wrong with you?"  Other people blamed any issues I had with my son on my choice not to breastfeed.  "Oh, he has horrible colic?  That's because you are giving him formula."  "Oh, problems pooping?  That's because he's on formula."

Well dang.  I didn't know that you were a crappy mom if you didn't breastfeed.

Except I did know.  Deep down, I knew.  If you didn't breastfeed, you just weren't a good mom.  You didn't care enough about your kid.  You chose yourself over your baby.

That is all complete bull.

In case you didn't get that, by the way, THAT IS ALL COMPLETE BULL.

My son, Eli, who was only on breastmilk (and only part of the time) for six weeks, is incredibly smart.  He's healthy, beautiful and SO SO smart.

When my first daughter came, I nursed for two weeks.  I absolutely hated every single bloody, painful, awful minute of it.  My husband, THE DOCTOR (an MD), finally convinced me to stop.  She received formula every day since that first two weeks.

You know what?  She's absolutely freaking gorgeous.  She's three and she's smart, healthy and beautiful.  My kids are every single bit of everything they are supposed to be.  They are precocious, funny and sweet.

With my third, another girl, the pumping wasn't so awful (for the most part) and so I didn't try to breastfeed. I knew I'd hate the baby and have an awful experience so I skipped it.  And I pumped for 5 months.  Until I just didn't want to do it anymore.  Guess what?  She's 9 months and...

I CAN'T TELL A DANG BIT OF DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HER AND HER SIBLINGS.  THEY ARE ALL JUST PERFECT.

Most people would say I should have kept feeding her breastmilk through a year.

MOST PEOPLE ARE FULL OF CRAP.

If I have learned ONE thing since becoming a parent, it's this.  Throw out the rule books.  You do what you can.  You do your absolute best.  If something is making you miserable (as long as it's not, say, feeding your kid) then DON'T DO IT.  If you love to sleep in bed with your kid, DO IT.  If you love to keep them in their CRIB and out of your bed (that's  me), DO IT.  If you need to take a DVD player with you everywhere so you can plug them in while you shop, DO IT.  If you love cloth diapers, GREAT!  If you love disposables? GREAT!!

Being a good parent isn't about doing what's always best for the environment, or what your friends or people tell you is best.  It's doing what is safe and healthy for your kids (which FORMULA IS) and being happy with them.  Love them.  Do it your way.  And tell anyone who criticizes to do what they want with their kids and leave you the heck alone.