De baby 26 feb 2018 Daphne de Groot

Hoe deze moeder haar peuter borstvoeding geeft doe je haar niet na

Laat ik de eerste zijn om te zeggen dat yoga NIET mijn ding is. Zie ik zo’n prachtige slanke chick zichzelf in duizend bochten wringen (op een prachtige, gracieuze manier natuurlijk) dan kan ik enkel jaloers toekijken en me afvragen of ik mijn eigen tenen eigenlijk wel kan aanraken. Moet je je voorstellen dat je dit ook nog combineert met borstvoeding. Veeg me op. 

Carlee Benear flikt het ‘m. Na een postnatale depressie kwam ze erachter dat ze tot rust kwam door yoga. Iets waar je natuurlijk niet veel tijd voor hebt, als je drie kinderen om je heen hebt lopen/kruipen. In het kader van ‘twee vliegen in een klap’ (denken wij dan tenminste) besloot ze dat ze het nuttige met het aangename kon combineren. Zodoende begon ze haar peuter borstvoeding te geven tijdens haar yoga-oefeningen. De foto’s deelt ze op haar instagrampagina.

Welcome to the end of being alone inside your mind Tethered to another and you’re worried all the time You always knew the melody but you never heard it rhyme She’s fair and she is quiet Lord, she doesn’t look like me She made me love the morning she’s a holiday at sea The New York streets are as busy as they always used to be But I am the mother of Maramaylee. The first things that she took from me were selfishness and sleep She broke a thousand heirlooms I was never meant to keep She filled my life with color, cancelled plans and trashed my car But none of that is ever who we are. Outside of my windows are the mountains and the snow I hold you while you’re sleeping and I wish that I could go All my rowdy friends are out accomplishing their dreams But I am the mother of Maramaylee They’ve still got their morning paper and their coffee and their time They still enjoy their evenings with the skeptics and their wine Oh but all the wonders I have seen I will see a second time From inside of the ages through your eyes You were not an accident where no one thought it through The world has stood against us, made us mean to fight for you And when we chose your name we knew that you’d fight the power, too. You’re nothing short of magical and beautiful to me I would never hit the big time without you So they can keep their treasure and their ties to the machine Cause I am the mother of Maramaylee. They can keep their treasure and their ties to the machine Cause I am the mother of Maramaylee. THE MOTHER, BY BRANDI CARLILE (EDITED WITH ,MARAMAYLEE, INSTEAD OF, EVANGELINE) Leggings by @lovekikikins Nursing bra by @bravadodesigns Dreads by @KATINKA_DREADS Leggings by @cutebootylounge

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Veel commentaar

Het internet zou het internet niet zijn als er niet heel veel mensen het nodig zouden vinden om hier hun mening over te spuien. Sommige mensen noemen het ongepast, zelfs pornografisch. Ook de leeftijd van het kind wordt bekritiseerd. ‘Als je kind op kan staan en naar je toe kan lopen dan is hij te oud om borstvoeding te krijgen, omg wat gebeurt hier’, is een van de harde reacties onder een van haar posts.

SHE is often the broken-winged one, who does everything all wrong until people realize she's been doing it… pretty right all along. She's the poor girl who never dressed right, who had torn hose, and they were all baggy around her ankles. She's the Raggedy Ann of the sophisticated world, who pulls it out at the last minute, flies by the seat of her pants, cackling all the way home. She is the late bloomer, the late start, the autumn bush, the winter holly. She is Baubo, all the classical Greek goddesses. She is the old girl who still blushes, and laughs, and dances. She's the truth teller, maybe that people hate to hear, but they learn to listen to. She is not dumb and in some ways is not shrewd. She works on passion, and the doll in her pocket, and the intuition that leads her into and through all the world. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves

A post shared by Carlee Benear (@carleebyoga) on

What if you were raised by the mice people? But what if you're, say, a swan. Swans and mice hate each other's food for the most part. They each think the other smells funny. They are not interested in spending time together, and if they did, one would be constantly harassing the other. But what if you, being a swan, had to pretend you were a mouse? What if you had to pretend to be gray and furry and tiny? What you had no long snaky tail to carry in the air on tail-carrying day? What if wherever you went you tried to walk like a mouse, but you waddled instead? What if you tried to talk like a mouse, but insteade out came a honk every time? Wouldn't you be the most miserable creature in the world? The answer is an inequivocal yes. So why, if this is all so and too true, do women keep trying to bend and fold themselves into shapes that are not theirs? I must say, from years of clinical observation of this problem, that most of the time it is not because of deep-seated masochism or a malignant dedication to self-destruction or anything of that nature. More often it is because the woman simply doesn't know any better. She is unmothered. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves Leggings by @cutebootylounge Cork mat by @ilovegurus Nursing bra by @sweatandmilk

A post shared by Carlee Benear (@carleebyoga) on

Gelukkig zien ook veel mensen dit voor wat het is: een moeder die om haar eigen welzijn denkt, en dit combineert met het welzijn van haar kinderen. Wij zeggen, go Carlee. Wij doen het je niet na!

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Hoe deze moeder haar peuter borstvoeding geeft doe je haar niet na
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