Irrational Fears

These are just a few things I have become irrationally afraid of since giving birth to my daughter:

-Breastfeeding somewhere public and forgetting to tuck everything back in and close up my shirt

-Losing my grip on the stroller and watching it pick up speed down a steep hill and I can't catch up to it

-My baby having a huge diaper blow out and I forgot to pack extra clothes, or worse, no diapers!

-Packing  up the car and leaving the car seat (with baby in it) in the driveway, along with my coffee. (the coffee part I've done before)

-My baby somehow figuring out how to unbuckle herself from her car seat. She just figured out how to get her thumb in her mouth, but somehow I'm still terrified that I will look in my rear view mirror and see her climbing out and reaching for the door handle.

-Her first words are something stupid like "selfie" or "#wheresmybinky"

-She's going to grow up with a poor sense of distance and space because she thinks her Auntie Sophia and Auntie Kelsey live in Daddy's iPad. We Skype with them often because they live waaaay too far away! (Hint, hint. Move to NY!! I'm trying to work the guilt trip angle here! Is it working yet?)

-She will start teething on one of the dog's toys. Ok, this one is not that irrational because it might actually happen. Some of the dog's toys closely resemble baby teething toys! If there weren't massive teeth marks in some of them, would you be able to tell which ones are for the dog and which ones are for the baby?

 

(answers below)

Some more fears:

-I'll hear strange voices from her baby monitor at night, like in those Paranormal Activity movies

-I'll see my baby being slowly dragged across her crib by an invisible force through the baby monitor, also like those Paranormal Activity movies (I really have to stop watching those movies)

-She'll have my husband's alien toes. Seriously. His second toe is like an inch longer than the rest (I exaggerate a bit). He knows how I feel about them.

-She'll inherit my awful memory. My husband gets so annoyed when we scroll through Netflix and I pick a movie and he has to break the news to me that we already watched it... just last weekend. Then after trying to convince him that no, we haven't seen it, and that he must be mistaking me for a previous girlfriend that he watched it with. I think I would remember watching Sharknado, duh. We play the movie and 10 minutes in, I admit, "Oh, yeah. This looks familiar. I think we've seen it already."

-She won't have good manners

-She'll hate Math (it's my favorite subject to do AND teach!)

-She'll also hate Reading. Is there anything worse than a teacher who can't even teach her own child to love reading? Don't try to defend me on this one, I would judge myself!

-We'll be at a nice restaurant, or a wedding ceremony, or the library, or an elevator and baby girl will let out one of her adorably loud farts and everyone will think it's me (another one that is not really irrational. It's only a matter of time before this happens for real)

-She will fart like that forever

This is just an abridged version of the list of things that keep me up at night sometimes. Call me crazy, call me irrational, call me neurotic, or whatever. Maybe my brain subconsciously focuses on these ridiculous scenarios to avoid the real heavy stuff I'll have to worry about in the future like puberty, dating, driving, and college... Oh my god, my head hurts already! Someone get me a Valium,  STAT!


(Dog Toys: 1, 4, 9, 10; Baby Toys: 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8)

Bye Bye Bassinet

Last night was the first night the peanut slept in her crib and not in the bassinet at my side! I am happy to report that we all made it through the night! There were some tears and very little sleep, but other than that, I did just fine! Well, if you ask my husband, "just fine" might not be the phrase he would use to describe it. He did a great job coaching me through. I was like a 5 year old trying to come up with every excuse not to have to go to sleep in my own room. I would have been perfectly fine pulling out the sleeping bag and camping out next to her crib.

Me: "What if she needs me?"
Hubby: "She will cry and you'll hear her in the monitor."
Me: "But what if she needs me and just makes her little squeaky sounds?"
Hubby: "You will hear her in the monitor."
Me: "What if she wakes up and is scared because she doesn't know where she is?"
Hubby: "She takes naps in here, she is familiar with her room."
Me: "What if it's too dark?"
Hubby: "I'll go get the night light."

I nursed her in the rocking chair while Hubby read a bedtime story to her. Of course he chose the book On The Night You Were Born. He hadn't even finished the first page before the tears started rolling down my face. Looking down at her, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic about the night she was born. It was only 11 weeks ago, but it felt like just yesterday, and yet I can't even remember her being that tiny in my arms (if that makes any sense at all). I look at her and see how much bigger she is already! Her little legs dangle off my arm now and those tootsies can reach the arm of the chair. She is getting stronger too! She likes to kick those little chicken legs onto the arm of the rocking chair as if she is propelling herself off the wall of a swimming pool, which, if you can imagine, feels wonderful while breastfeeding. (In case you can't read sarcasm, it does NOT feel wonderful at all. But it's still kind of cute that she does it). And she is more independent. Well, as much as an infant can be. She grabs her toys, she can get her thumb in her mouth with about a 70% success rate, she latches on to breastfeed all by herself, she even grabs at my shirt when she's hungry and will hold onto my boob with both hands like a bottle (Sorry if that is TMI!), she sleeps through the night, and now she is sleeping in her crib like a big girl! I can't even take it!

After about 45 minutes of rocking her in my arms, I finally found the courage to lay her in her crib and walk out of her room, tears still streaming down my face, Hubby's hand on my shoulder escorting me out, telling me everything will be ok. I must have stared at the monitor for over an hour before finally falling asleep myself. My poor husband had to get up early for work the next morning and I kept him up late, making him take turns with me going in to check on her.

Me: "I can't hear her."
Hubby: "Thats because she's sleeping."
Me: "go check on her, please."
Hubby: "ok."
Me: "Put your hand on her chest and make sure she's still breathing."
Hubby: "ok."

This went on for about 30 minutes.

Me: "What if the sound isn't working on the monitor?"
Hubby: "The sound is fine. Get some sleep."
Me: "Go in there and whisper something so I can see if I can hear you."
Hubby: "ok..."

The sound check worked and I was running out of excuses to try to get my husband to give in any say "Let's just let her sleep in here for a few more months." But I knew I had to get through this. All of my mommy friends said they had their babies sleeping in their cribs by 2 months and here we are going on 3! But I just miss her so much when she's sleeping. I had to keep reminding myself that I'll see her in the morning when she starts to wiggle her little butt around and makes little grunting noises as she stretches and tries to wake up, letting out a little toot with every stretch. And when she opens her eyes for the first time, she gives me a big, gummy smile and squeezes my neck when I pick her up. That is something I look forward to every day.

 I don't want to be a helicopter mom with the umbilical cord still attached when we help her move in to her college dorm room for the first time. Oh my god... College. I need to end this post now because I can feel the tears welling up again.

Back Seat Driver

This weekend we took our first long car trip with the peanut to visit my sister and brother-in-law for his birthday. We were so excited for our daughter to see her Aunt and Uncle again and her cousins too.  They were having a BBQ and some friends who have not met our daughter yet were going to be there, so of course we were excited to show her off. They live about 3 hours away, so we knew we had the daunting task of getting there before we could enjoy all the family fun and excitement.

My husband and I always said we would not let having a baby become an excuse to stop doing the things that we love like hiking, camping, and weekend road trips. No better time to start than now, right? Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a planner and I hate being late, even when "late" means I missed my own set arrival time. Ask my husband about the look he gets when we're in the car, right on schedule, half way there, and he tells me he has to pee! Oh, no you don't! You are going to hold onto that large, iced hazelnut coffee, black with sugar that you just HAD to have on our 3 hour drive until we reach our destination! No different with a baby, I thought. I would simply include pee stops in my travel plans because, unfortunately, I can't ask a 10 week old to hold it in for just a few more hours (I thought about it, though!). As loving and sweet as my baby is, I somehow don't think she would comply.

So, Friday night we made the packing list and checked it twice, and once more for good measure and we were good to go!  That part was easier than I thought.  All we needed for the baby were diapers, wipes, pack n' play, some toys for the car (although she's not really into toys yet), and extra clothes in case she spontaneously combusts out of her diaper a few times.  I am her only food source right now, so as long as my husband didn't leave me stranded at a rest stop after hearing the wrong lyrics to every song on the radio for hours on end, we didn't have to worry about packing bottles or snacks for her. Our departure time was set at 8am. Before departure, I planned a nursing session so we had a happy, full baby on board.

First stop: drop the dog off at my in-law's, where we also scheduled a diaper change. So far, so good! Baby girl relieved her bladder right on schedule (Momma's girl!) and we were back on the road. Our ETA is 12:00, plenty of time to spend the whole day with family and friends (and right on time for my sister to have lunch ready!).

Here comes the first rest stop on the highway, 7 miles away.

"Should we stop?" my husband asks hesitantly, afraid I might think he was trying to sabotage my schedule.

"She is sound asleep right now, let's see how far we can go. The next one isn't too far ahead," I replied.

Sign: "Rest Stop 5 miles"
Baby: still sleeping...

Sign: "Rest Stop 1 mile"
Baby: "waaaaaah!"

Perfect! 

We stop, change a diaper, feed the baby, hubby uses the rest room, we buckle in the peanut, passifier in mouth, and we are on our way again. Baby girl falls asleep again! Piece of cake! In fact, she slept the rest of the ride until we literally turned onto my sister's street and we make it there by 12:15. This child was definitely made from my DNA!

We had a great weekend at my sister's, but now it was time to leave.  We made plans to visit my Aunt and Uncle on the way home to break up the trip. We got there, no problem. We had a lovely visit. Baby girl was thrilled to be smothered with lots of hugs and kisses. We had a nice lunch, dessert and even a glass of wine! Perfect way to end the weekend. But, oh wait... Our weekend wasn't over yet. We still had to get home.

I got this.  We should be home by 9:00.

6:00 pm- diaper change, jammies on, in the car seat and away we go!
6:05- stop for gas, baby needs a diaper change. Seriously? Already?
6:08- pull away from gas pump and hit the roa... "Waaaaaah!" Hold up, baby is hungry. Of course she is!
6:09- hang out at the gas station while I nurse in the back seat and change another wet diaper.
6:30- hit the road. For real this time.
6:30 - 6:45: entertain baby in the back seat with silly faces funny voices.
6:45- baby falls asleep. [sigh of relief]

Oh my god, I just realized she hasn't pooped all day! Surely we are going to have a blow out in the car. Shit! (No pun intended).

7:15- our little back seat driver wakes up and decides she wants out of her wet diaper NOW!  But the next rest stop is about 10 minutes away and our daughter has now turned into a hurricane siren. We are getting off schedule! This is definitely my husband's child.
7:30- stop at rest area, change wet diaper and feed baby. Still no poop. Uh oh!
8:00- back on the road.  A little over an hour still to go.
9:30- we finally make it home and baby is fast asleep. Yes! We did it! And not one of us is covered in baby poop! 

So, what should have been a 2 1/2 hour drive from my Uncle's house turned into 3 1/2 hours. But we made it home safe and sound. We were all unpacked and ready for bed by 10:30. Baby girl, exhausted from all the new faces she encountered throughout the weekend, and from waking up in new places every time she took a nap, went down fairly quickly.

11:00pm- everyone is sleeping.
4:30am- [loud, wet baby fart coming from the bassinet at my left]
And there it is!

Flight of the Mama Bee

Yesterday was a super productive day! I got so much done! That's right, things were DONE! I mean complete, finished, brought to an end. I do a lot during the day, but that usually means that I start a lot of things; the laundry gets washed, but not dried or folded, the dishwasher gets filled, but never emptied, and I take a shower, but rarely get dressed. But on this particular day, despite the fact that baby girl woke up 3 times during the night, things got done!

It started out with a morning cup of coffee. An entire cup! Still warm! I felt like I hit the jackpot already, but that was just the beginning! I was sure the little one was going to be a crank pot all day after waking up so many times during the night, but I was determined to get out of the house anyway. It was warm and sunny out and, maybe it was that jolt of  caffein I consumed all at once instead of small sips throughout the day, I was feeling ambitious. So I put the peanut in her car seat and headed to the grocery store, Just to pick up a prescription and a few greeting cards, not full on grocery shopping (I'm not that brave yet). Peanut fell asleep.

Hmmm, let's try to make one more stop, I thought. So we went to the mall to pick out an anniversary gift for the hubs.

Still sleeping.

On the way home, we pass a local nursery.  "Our back deck could use some color'" I whispered to my sleeping child. So we stopped again and picked up some petunias and potting soil and headed home.

When we got home, I had just enough time to unpack the car and get in the house before the little one finally woke up screaming. Perfect timing! I was happy with what I had just accomplished, but it didn't end there! After a diaper change and feeding, the little nugget fell asleep again! So I put her down in her crib, grabbed the baby monitor and the music started up in my head. My theme song for her nap times: The Flight of the Bumble Bee. It's the music I hear in my head when my baby takes a nap in her crib that lasts longer than 10 minutes and I quickly scan the house trying to prioritize the chores I can finish before she wakes up. Then I run around, checking things off the list in my head, without stopping, until I hear the buzzer (AKA screaming) that tells me my time is up. If you don't know the song, I pasted a link below. While you listen, take a look at the things I was able to complete!

-eat lunch
-go to shed and take out gardening tools
-put flowers in the planters on the deck railings
-pot some flowers on the front porch
-bring plants that were indoors for the winter out on the deck
-water all the plants
-empty the dishwasher
-clean kitchen counters
-pee
-unpack AND put away shipment of diapers and wipes (gotta love Amazon Mom!)
-break down boxes from shipment for recycling
-straighten up the living room

Phew! I couldn't believe it! I was so proud of myself and of my baby girl who has never slept that long in her crib before! I will mark this day as a success in my book and try not to hold myself to that standard in the morning because every day is completely different. Nothing is predictable. Tomorrow I might be lucky just to get the chance to brush my teeth.

Music Is Good For The Soul... But Not That Shit!

Hush little baby, don't say a word
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don't sing
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring don't shine
Mama's gonna buy you a...

Wait.  Hold on. I know this...

And if that diamond ring don't shine
Mama's gonna buy you a... porcupine?

No, that's not it.

And if that diamond ring don't shine
Mama's gonna buy you a... subway line?

Nope.

And if that diamond ring don't shine
Mama's gonna buy you a... bottle of wine?

Now, that's just down right irresponsible.
Fuck! How does this stupid song go??

Screw it.

What you want?  Baby I got it!
What you need?  You know I got it!
All I'm askin' is for a little respect when you come home...

Yeah, that's better!

That's me on any given day during "cranky hour," usually between the hours of 6 and 8 pm, when all my baby wants to do is eat and cry.  No, make that eat and scream her tiny little head off.  I try to console her with a sweet, soothing lullaby, but that never works.  Plus, I don't know the words.  Plus, some of them scare the shit out of me!  The image of my sweet baby, all snug in her cradle, suddenly crashing down to the ground because, for some god forsaken reason, I decided to place it way the fuck up high in a tree, is horrifying!  And don't get me started on that Hush Little Baby nonsense!  Every single one of those gifts is wildly inappropriate for an infant (I had to look up the lyrics.  It was driving me crazy!).

A mockingbird? Everyone knows birds suck as pets.  Unless you can train them to do cool things like tell jokes or deliver messages across country.  Trust me.  I had one and it couldn't do either of those things.  Bor-ing!

A diamond ring?  I only have one of those and it took me 27 years to get it!  So, no, I'm not going to get one for my 9 week old.

A cart and bull?  What the fuck? I don't even know what to say to that one.

This song was clearly written by an over exhausted mother of a colicky baby, at her wit's end trying to come up with some way to shut her baby up, that she succumbs to bribery.  Only she bribes him with things she knows will probably hurt him, just to teach him a lesson.  That lesson being:  Don't fuck with mom and go to bed when she tells you!  The only appropriate gift in the whole song is a dog named Rover, but the idiot parent who is singing wants to return the poor thing because it doesn't bark!  If you ask me, that's the greatest gift ever!  First of all, dogs are awesome.  Second of all, aren't you trying to put your child to sleep?  Why the fuck do you want a barking dog to come charging in?

I am pledging, right now, in front of all of you readers, to never be the mom that only plays lullabies, nursery rhymes or Kidz Bop music for her kids, especially in the car.  Hell no!  My kids are going to grow up listening to real music.*  Sometimes the only thing that makes my baby girl happy is dancing around the house to Aretha Franklin, The Beatles, Fitz and the Tantrums, or Alabama Shakes (just a few of our current favorites).  It really is a win-win situation.  Baby keeps calm, and mommy keeps her sanity!  And when Mommy's not home, she listens to weird shit, like Daft Punk, with Daddy.  Whatever works!

*Disney soundtracks also count as real music.
(What?  So mommy likes to pretend to be a princess every once in a while.  What's wrong with that?)

Please Don't Make Me Do Math

Hi! My name is Andrea. I am married and have 1 baby girl and 1 dog. I teach 4th grade, and I am 1,615 weeks old.

Sounds stupid, right?

You are correct. It does sound stupid. Because it is stupid. Why do some mothers insist on using weeks when asked how old their child is? I mean, it's ok if your child is 3 months old or younger, but beyond that is just stupid.

"She's 28 weeks old."
 No she's not. She's 7 months.

"He's 78 weeks old."
No he's not. He's a year and a half. I'll even accept 18 months (but don't get carried away with months either!).

I actually met someone at Target who did this to me. I didn't get her name, but I'll call her Crazy because that's what she is. Here's how that encounter went:

Crazy: "What a sweet baby! How old is she?"
Me: "Thank you! She's 9 weeks. How old is this little guy?" referring to the adorable little boy in her shopping cart, joyfully tossing out items when mommy wasn't looking.
Crazy: "Oh, he's 31 months."
Me: "duhhhhhhh... Well, he's adorable."

I teach 4th grade math, so I know how to count by 4's. But when I'm caught off guard in the middle of a casual conversation, it's gonna take me a minute to convert weeks to months or years and I'm gonna look like an idiotic mouth-breather as I blankly stare at you while I do the calculation. Or perhaps that's exactly why you do it. You like to watch people sweat when you give them a pop quiz they never saw coming.

Hmmm... That's pretty funny and I'm sure equally amusing... I might have to try this after all.

But if you don't want to be an ass hole when someone asks how old your little nugget is, here are a few basic rules to consider:

1. Weeks are ok up to 3 months
2. Months are ok up to 2 years
3. You may use weeks or months in your own head for as long as you want to make sure your little one remains your "baby" forever (I know I will!). But keep in mind that if you do this out loud, people will think you are psycho mom. No, like the actual mom from the movie Psycho. And they will be afraid that your child will grow up just as crazy, murder you, and keep your rotting corpse locked up in the attic.  And who wants that kind of reputation?

Bottom line, if I ask you how old your child is, I just want to make small talk about your adorable peanut. Or I want to secretly evaluate the behavior and social development of your little screamin' demon.  (What!? I can't help it! It's the behavior analyst in me!)  So please don't make me do math! (said the Teacher)

Shapes

I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I couldn't wait to be pregnant. I had visions of myself with a baby bump and it was all very flattering. I was going to be such a cute pregnant lady! I excercize pretty regularly and I like to run, so naturally I would continue that throughout my pregnancy. I was going to look so cute in my maternity workout clothes. People at the gym would say "Wow! Look at her on the eliptical, 7 months pregnant! That's amazing!" And I would only gain mass in my belly. And because of that, when the baby is born, I was going to spring back into shape without even trying. Yeah, I was going to be THAT girl.

Boy, was I wrong!

But I wasn't being totally unrealistic with those dreams, my doctors led to believe they would be true. "You're petit. For your current weight and height, you can expect to gain about 20- 25 lbs throughout your pregnancy." Great! Most of that will be the weight of the baby, placenta, and amniotic fluid, so I will walk out of the hospital after giving birth looking like I had never been pregnant to begin with! Like Kate Middleton or Beyoncé! Maybe there would even be speculation that I never actually carried the baby myself, but had a surrogate and only pretended to be pregnant! Yeah, just like Beyoncé.

Well, that fantasy was short-lived because by the time I had my 3 month check up, I had already approached a 20 lb gain. "Well, 25-30 lbs would be ok," they said... And then at five months I was approaching 30 lbs and they said "Well, 30-35 lbs is still ok for your size."  And by 7 months they started saying "Hmmm, let's keep an eye on that weight gain, shall we?" Well, at that point I was going in for weekly check ups, so you can imagine my delight to hear that every single week.

What the hell happened?? 

Here's what happened. I continued to jog and went to the gym for a while in the beginning. But then nausea and heartburn set in. Big time. So workouts started to slow down. Then, mid way through the pregnancy, I started getting real bad pain in my pelvis and all forms of excercize came to a halt  completely (as recommended by my doctors who were also telling me to watch my weight gain at the same time). 

So the number on the scale kept creeping up. And it wasn't because I was eating pickles and ice cream all the time. I was actually eating less than I normally do because everything made me nauseous! In fact, my only craving throughout most of the pregnancy was for apples, much to the disappointment of my husband (he was hoping to get a free ride on the train to Crave Town)! How was I gaining so much weight? Honestly, at the time I didn't care. At that point, I was on cloud nine. Our baby was healthy and growing and I was about to finally be a mommy!

When the baby finally arrived, I was shocked to find out that instead of shrinking back to size, my body actually got bigger the first 48 hours postpartum! Oh yeah. I had so much swelling going on, I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror the first time I went into the bathroom! After 23 hours of labor and  3 1/2 hours of pushing, I looked like a hippopotamus! No joke.

Luckily, it's true when they say breastfeeding helps the weight come off faster. The first 25 lbs came off without really trying. I have about 20 more pounds to go, but I'm back at the gym and started to run again so I'm on my way!

I have to laugh at the whole ordeal because really, the only important thing is that we had a beautiful, healthy baby girl. I survived labor and delivery (thank you, epidural), and I love being a mommy. 

Not that it has anything to do with pregnancy, but this all reminds me of a Dane Cook bit about a creepy guy at work, who he describes not as being fat, but just shapes. That's how I felt after giving birth. I wasn't fat. I was shapes.

Here's the clip to start your day with a good chuckle. Laughter burns calories! You're welcome.

Milk. It Does A Body Good.

Remember that slogan before Got Milk? Well, it turns out that cow's milk isn't the only milk that can do your body good. Apparently, breastmilk has some pretty amazing benefits.  I'm not talking about the nutritional value and how it helps baby's immune system, although that's pretty amazing in itself. I'm talking about using breast milk as a home remedy for all kinds of ailments!

I wasn't aware of the hidden power of breastmilk until my baby was just about a week old. She woke up in the middle of the night for a feeding and I noticed her eye was kind of goopy. I didn't think much of it at first. I just thought it was a sign that she was beginning to produce tears. Well a few hours later she woke up again, and this time it was worse. She could barely open her right eye. It was almost crusted shut. My immediate thought was pink eye, but how could she have gotten that? She's never even left the house! We got her in to see the pediatrician that morning. He said it probably wasn't pink eye, but rather her tear duct was clogged and that should work itself out by the time she turns one. What?! My poor baby was going to have to deal with this for what could be an entire year? I cried the whole way home. I know it wasn't going to kill her or even be harmful to her health, but I've had pink eye before and know how nasty and uncomfortable it can be. I did not want my tiny, helpless newborn to wake up like that every day for the entire first year of her life!

So, I did exactly what I advised you all not to do. I took to the internet. Most of what I read was that it was pretty common and not likely to go on for a  whole year. I read that gently massaging the corner of her eye a few times a day can help unclog it. Then I came across a remedy that seemed so ridiculous I thought it was a joke. One mother posted to a blog that she squirted breast milk into her baby's eye and it cured it almost instantly! What the fuck? I thought to myself, now that's one wackado hippie mom. Who on Earth would do that?

Well, as I continued my online search, I came to find out that a lot of moms do that! I called my sister to tell her about my poor baby and without me even bringing it up she said, "This is going to sound insane, but have you tried breast milk in her eye?" Ok, I must be in a Twilight Zone episode. This has to be a joke! But she said she tried it, by accident really, and it worked. She was almost embarrassed to tell her pediatrician, but to her surprise, her pediatrician replied "Oh yeah, that stuff will fix a broken bone!"  My sister is my most trusted parenting resource, so I decided to give it a try. I expressed a few drops of milk into a medicine cup (because squirting my child in the eye was just too barbaric to me) and carefully let it drop into the corner of the affected eye. Then, with a clean finger, I gently massaged her tear duct to work it in. Well, wouldn't you know, it cleared up almost immediately. Each time she woke up after that it got better and better, so I continued with this remedy a few times a day for a couple of days and we haven't had a problem since!

This got me thinking, what else is breast milk good for? You'd be shocked to see what I've found. I'm not sure I believe it all, and I question how some of these remedies were discovered, but it's pretty cool to think about how truly amazing a mother's body really is.

Here are just a few things that breast milk apparently cures:

Diaper rash
Baby acne and eczema
Cradle cap
Ear infections (yup, right in the ear)
Itchiness due to chickenpox or poison ivy
Cuts and scrapes
Insect bites and bee stings
Clogged tear ducts (I can vouch for this one)
Congestion (yup, right up the nose)
Cancer
Burns
Warts

...Wait. What? Cancer??? Check it out:

Study: Breast Milk Kills Cancer Cells

There are also cosmetic uses too:

Makeup removal
Puffy eyes
Chapped lips
Contact lens solution
Deodorant (hmmm, not so sure I'd replace my Secret just yet)

Pretty crazy, huh? Now, I'm not condoning or recommending any of these remedies, as I have only tried one. I, myself, am not so sure I'd give some of these a go. So please don't go hosing your children down with breast milk and telling people that I told you it was ok.
It's not ok.