Then and Now

I stayed home with Boo today because his stomach still wasn't quite right.  This is his third day home.  I think he will be ready for school on Monday, but we'll keep an eye on him over the weekend.  I didn't mind staying home because it's fun to play on the floor.  We went for three walks in the neighborhood.  We also went to my doctor's appointment and also to return the hospital breast pump rental.

Believe it or not, the hospital pump weighs 14 pounds.  I wasn't able to pick it up when I rented it four days after delivery.  Then, once I was able to, 14 pounds felt so heavy.  Today, it wasn't a problem.  I popped 20.5 lb Boo into the stroller and balanced the 14 lb box on top of the stroller's cup holder tray and wheeled it back into the hospital's Lactation Boutique.  This is my hospital for all things pre and postnatal.

When I drove past the Birthing Inn, I wondered about the cars.  Were they visitors?  Did they belong to families with mothers in labor?  First baby?  Second?  Third?  Those three days I had in the hospital were special for so many reasons.  Having help 24/7 made a huge difference.  Things fell apart as soon as we got home.

It was odd going through the hospital entrance.  Straight ahead and to the right is the Antenatal Testing Center where they do sonograms.  I enjoyed getting the sonograms until the bed rest scare and I remembered that day in a two second flashback.  The weekly sonograms were amazing.  We got to see Boo a lot, but I was terrified that the measurements would come in low and I would be hospitalized.  I remembered all the visits to the high risk OB whose office is upstairs.  I planned the sonograms and OB visits on the same day so we didn't have to make two trips.  It was the only time I was allowed out of the house.

I turned left and walked straight and around the bend to the boutique.  I set the pump on the inspection station.  The lactation consultant looked up my information and remarked that the return was early.  "Yes, I reached my goal of six months."  Then added, "I had low supply issues; he was lip and tongue tied and it was very hard for us."  I spent over 500 hours pumping.  That number doesn't mean anything to anyone but me.  Why did I feel the need to explain the fact that I had pumped for only six months?

Because I had hoped to breastfeed for a year.  Because I had hoped for an idealized breastfeeding relationship with my baby.

She remarked on how cute Boo is and said I did a good job while pointing to his chunky thighs.  I left and felt a combination of relief and sadness.  This chapter is over.   I worked so hard.  I wish it wasn't as hard as it was.  I walked back down the corridor and remembered how long it felt when I was on bed rest.  I had to hold onto the handrail while taking half steps and would be winded by the time I got to the OB's office.  Grant usually dropped me off because you have to park far away from the entrance.  By the time he parked and walked back in, he'd catch up with me because I was only halfway down the corridor.  Muscle atrophy and weight gain from pregnancy are not a good combination.  Now, I was breezing by pushing my healthy baby in his stroller.

I didn't make it out of the front entrance without tears rolling down my cheeks.  It was just too much.  The flood of memories for those difficult times was unexpected.  By now, shouldn't I simply be happy that I have a wonderful, healthy baby?  I know it. I just don't feel it, and I think that this logical-emotional disconnect happens more often than I'll admit to.  It applies to all areas of my life and was there long before Boo was even a thought in my mind.

There is a question on the Edinburgh Scale which is a postpartum depression screening.  The last question asks if you've ever had thoughts about harming yourself (within the last 7 days).  It is an alarming question compared to the other nine.  It befuddles me that anyone would expect a new mom to answer that truthfully.  The first thought is this: I'm unfit to be a mother, they are going to take my baby away.

I felt many times that they would be better off without me because I wasn't ENOUGH of a mother. How could I be with all these conflicting feelings?  I wished I could just disappear from this Earth forever, but I wasn't thinking of the logistics on how to do that.

I will never forget the first suicidal thought I ever had. I was 15 years old and very depressed.  I knew it, but I didn't want to "talk to someone", as my mother put it.  Seemed like all the yuppie kids had their weekly appointments to keep with their shrinks, as if it was the hip, cool thing to do. Look at me!  I have problems!  I was leaning on a pillar on the subway platform and had a vision of simply stepping off it.  So easy.  It kept happening  and was eerie and unwanted.  The pillars are close to the edge, so I moved away from it and sat on a bench in the center of the platform.  What the hell was that all about?  This is the kind of stuff you don't share.  I wasn't going to do it (obviously ), yet at the same time, I wondered if I could trust my body.  I had the thought.  From there, is it possible to shift into autopilot?  A lot of time has passed so, empirically, yes.

I am not going anywhere.

I got it together in time for my appointment with my midwife which was immediately after in an office park across the street.

It was for an annual visit.  That threw me because I feel as if I've seen women's health doctors a hundred times in the last year.  The exam and blood work went quickly, but the midwife spent time with me to see how things were going.  I told her about my PPD.  She asked a lot of questions and was supportive.  She said I was doing everything I'm supposed to be doing to treat it.  A lot of it is self care along with therapy and a good support network.  I wish my family was closer.  I wish I saw them more often.

What's most difficult is that PPD is a scratch on the surface like glass that has been scored.  The structure has been weakened and it affects all aspects of life: work, relationships, self esteem.  It is a lot of effort to pull it together so any stressor is pressure on the weakened glass.  It's possible to break at any moment, and it does happen still.  Some days are harder than others.

Motherhood is double-edged in that immediate family grows and the house gets crowded, but it is so incredibly isolating for a new mother.  I told my midwife that I am having good days but still have bad days and I'm not in the clear just yet.  She assured me it would pass.  I think it is going to take a year.

There's EVIL in there.

I'm home with Stinky Boo-Boo today.  Poor little bugger has a stomach virus that is causing evil to come out of the bad end.  And I mean evil.  As in, about to throw up from the nauseating odor emitted from the bottom half.  He didn't mind at all and was his usual happy self.  How?  I have no idea.

There were so many factors we cycled through.  Maybe it was the fact that he's on formula exclusively now, but I wasn't buying it, especially since he has been eating Enfamil Infant formula since what seems like forever ago.  We were supposed to introduce solids last weekend, but given that his system is all jacked up, we need to wait.

Add this to his yeast infection, eczema flare up and his usual congestion, boogers and hamster head and my goodness…this POOR child!!

He hasn't eaten his usual amount today.  He took a VERY long nap earlier; almost 2.5 hours.  Then, two more poops in the hour he was awake, and now, back asleep on the floor.  He was playing, then laid on his side content with the pacifier with his palm pressed up against a mirror toy.  Next thing you know?  Out.

This is definitely not his usual self.

I called daycare to let them know what was going on.  The director noted that two new babies started this week, so maybe they brought the virus with them too.  Either way, he is contagious and needs to be clear for 24 hours before he can go back to school.   Tomorrow's out.  If he does another stinky poo-poo tomorrow, that probably means Friday is out too.

You know what stinks also?  Vacation day used for a sick day where YOU aren't the sick one!

A Letter to My Breasts

Dear Breasts,

I have mixed feelings at the moment as our relationship is changing once again.  When I was young, I wished you'd grow bigger.  When I got older,  I thanked my lucky stars that you didn't!  And then I got busy and didn't think much of you at all.

You got squished into a sports bra, inverted during yoga,  pummeled by soccer balls, accidentally punched, and always the first place to get sunburned.  And if all that abuse wasn't enough, then comes the baby and pumping!

I don't know why but I thought (and prayed) that I would not get those National Geographic flat dangling pancake boobs.  You know what I'm talking about.  Pregnancy makes you her bitch, though.  She stretches you to rhe limit, heats you up like a furnace,  and makes your bones ache.  To grow a miracle of a person is hard work and it changes all aspects of a woman, physically and mentally.  Intuition and  inexperience tell you it will be different after the baby comes, but not to the extent you realize after cradling your child several months later.

Breasts, you have changed and I don't recognize you anymore.  You along with the rest of my body are foreign and I wonder now if I look like just another middle-aged mother.  I haven't accepted it yet and I feel as if that's betraying my body after all it has been through.  How could I not be thankful and appreciative?   I think the reason is this:  my identity has been somewhat diluted.  The focus for the last 15 months have been on the baby and being a mother.  It's no wonder that I'm not quite sure who I see in the mirror anymore.

But 15 months is a long time, and with  breastfeeding behind me, now is a good time to start.

Breasts, you have worked hard to nurture and comfort my baby.  I am thankful for that. 

My Milestone: An End to Breastfeeding

It's also a big day for me.  A HUGE emotional one.

Six months ago I tried to breastfeed.  It was a huge catastrophic failure that plunged me even further into depression and caused me to question my worth as a woman and a mother.  The months of bed rest  that preceded Ethan's birth day bruised my spirit, but this on top of the crazy hormone soup my brain was swimming in just shattered me.

I kept trying.  Each cycle left all three of us brimming with tears and frustration.  I wanted it to work so badly for all the reasons that anyone could mention.  The bond, the benefits, fulfilling the most basic job as a mother and what nature just does, right?

Looking back, I see a slew of adversity.  It's easy to itemize the factors now, but each contributor was a painful realization.  I had a bad lactation consultant in the hospital who came too late and missed the ties.  She identified the tongue tie, but said the latch was fine.  (It wasn't.)  She completely missed the severe lip tie that caused the top lip to completely roll under when sucking.  It prevented the ability to make a seal around the nipple so it was impossible to eat properly.  Ties also can cause a baby to be fatigued and not eat as much as a result.  It's far more exhausting to eat; just a lot more effort needs to be expended to get the milk out.

During the early period, I kept trying to nurse and eventually gave up.  It was too painful.  Ethan wouldn't tolerate it and had lost too much weight.  Poor baby was starving.  We gave him formula.  We had to.  My supply was meager, and this was the start of my low supply issue.

I tried so hard to build supply.  It did increase and eventually plateaued at between 18 - 20 oz a day.  I think the all time high was 24 oz.  I had to supplement with formula, but breast milk comprised 60 to 75% of Ethan's intake.

I pumped on a strict schedule.  I pumped around the clock.  My life revolved around the pump.  Exclusive pumping is no joke.  Neither is breastfeeding or any combination of the two.  It's a second job, and any mother will tell you that.  Grant helped by doing all the middle of the night feedings.  Let that sink in for a second.  We would get up at the same time for the most part.  Ethan's food schedule coincided with my pumping schedule.  That's how it is supposed to go.

I took supplements.  All of them:  brewer's yeast, fenugreek, blessed thistle, fennel, goat's rue, postnatal vitamins, mother's milk tea, mother love tea.  I ate lactation cookies.  I ate.  I tried to eat enough.  I power pumped.  I learned about compressions and manual expression.

I wanted to give up.  It seemed hopeless.  I was lucky and had lots of support from friends and my sister.  Especially my sister.  She would text me encouragement at all hours and build me back up on days that I felt like I just…couldn't.

We got the lip and tongue tie addressed.  That was hard.  There's maintenance after that for a short while to assist with the healing process.  Nobody wants to hear their baby cry.  Ethan had to learn how to eat properly and build up the proper muscles.

I had a lactation consultant do two in-home consultations.  She was recommended to me by a La Leche League leader.  She was the one who noticed the severe lip tie and provided us with options for pediatric dentists.  We had success with breastfeeding finally.  And I know I say it all the time, but Ethan is such an easy baby.  He doesn't care whether he gets breast milk or formula, breast or bottle.  He rooted and latched, even after 6 weeks of being solely on the bottle.  He transferred 4.5 oz several week after his surgery.  We were finally able to have a breastfeeding relationship.

He usually needed a bottle afterward, and that was fine.  It was comforting for both of us.  There were many early mornings or inconsolable evenings where side laying nursing calmed him immediately to sleep.  I loved that cuddle time.  I was happy to have this success despite never being able to provide a full meal.  This was such a big deal for me.

At some point, I stopped obsessing and accepted the situation for what it was.  I stopped doing daily roll-ups of pump yield.  I still pumped at intervals, but wasn't OCD about exactly WHEN it needed to occur.  I started sleeping a bit longer through the night and savoring a stretch of 4.5 - 5 hours straight.  This is exhausting work.  Pumping is a huge commitment and still was the majority of what I did.  It was impractical to try to pump and breastfeed especially after going back to work.  I was so tired to the point that my bones ached.  I had a short temper.  My brain already wasn't working right with the hormones still imbalanced.  Pregnancy is no joke.

My goal was six months.  I never thought I'd make it, but here it is.  I started weaning two weeks ago.  It was very emotional.  Hormonal.  I cried at home.  I cried at my desk at work.  I cried in the bathroom at work.  I cried in the pump room while pumping.  There were a lot of tears.  I cried at therapy.  I wanted so badly to be medicated.  Why is it so hard?  Does it have to be this hard?  And it wasn't just weaning.  It was everything about the changes to my mind and body related to prenatal and postpartum events leading to an inability to cope with things.  It tested and strained relationships.  I needed more help than I have ever needed in my entire life.  Of course, taking on breastfeeding didn't help any of this, but it was something I felt that I needed to do.

There were so many sacrifices on top of the 500+ hours spent pumping.  This doesn't include the time spent breastfeeding or attempting to.  It was expensive in every way imaginable.  It's still hard to talk about.

I'm pumping only twice a day.  I don't miss pumping.  I am sleeping more than I have in months, and this predates the birth.  Pregnant women have to pee every few hours and this includes the overnight ones where you're supposed to stay in your bed asleep.  I'm starting to feel more like myself.

I thought that I might get myself something to commemorate this milestone, but I don't need or want anything.  You know what I DO have?  A healthy chub-chub of a baby who is in the 90th percentile for height and weight.

Not too shabby.

I'm kind of a big deal around here...

I don't know who started the whole "half birthday" thing, but it's that time for Itchy-Boo and I can't believe it.  He's thriving and measures in at 90th percentile for both height and weight.  Since last time, his milestones include consistently pushing up into cobra, but now also tucking his knees beneath his hips to get his tush in the air.  Then, we noticed his belly was off the ground too.  Ruh-roh.

The crazy thing about six months is this:  the first three were painful in every possible way aside from marveling over the tiny miracle that my baby is.  Parenting is a thankless job until that first smile even if it ISN'T deliberate!  And then, the beauty of sleeping longer stretches than 3 - 4 hours.  Oh happy day!

It's crazy how the last three months really turned the corner.  The developmental strides with interaction, alertness, mobility…just everything really.  We enjoy the baby-ness of the days and I feel like now it is the easiest it's ever going to be.  Isn't that insane?  His food is formula.  No worries about potty training.  We can carry him around in his little carseat pod everywhere and if he is sleeping, we don't need to disturb him.  All of his day trip items fit into one small diaper bag and do not involve electronics.

We are blessed with an easy baby who is good at eating and sleeping.  I am thankful for this and muse on it every day.  I am also thankful for the three hours that have passed where he has been napping.  Boo needs to eat.  I should go wake him up now.

Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'

One day after work, I put Boo down on the play mat.  We pushed the couch back further from the TV and removed the coffee table, so now we have a couple of blankets spread on the floor, the play mat and just, lots more space for...

..ROLLING, apparently.

Yes.  So, I put him down, went to the kitchen to take care of a couple things, then came back and found him on the other side of the living room.  What.  Just.  Happened.

He can roll.  He can push up on his hands.  He can grab things deliberately.  He reaches for things.  He strains and struggles to get things he wants.  We are in so much trouble.  I think I actually stopped breathing for a whole minute when the realization set in.

Now that the baby is (sorta) mobile, all I see are safety hazards.  Cords.  Plugs.  Heavy objects.  Fragile objects.  Things that can fall on baby.  Places for baby to get stuck.  Things for baby to eat and choke on. 

I want to put everything into a garbage bag.

There are power strips out in the open.  The one I'm looking at right now has a laptop charger, cellphone charger and lamp plugged into it.  We need an area to charge electronics and that's it.  None of this all-over-the-house business.  And no, it cannot be the living room either where the baby plays.  We cannot have extension cords running ACROSS the length of the room.  No, no and no.

This problem is caused by the fact that the living area is one large open room, and we do not have usable wall space thanks to renovations that took down walls that made the spaces cozier.

We need to leave some things where they are, but that power strip on a cord may as well be a baby lollypop.

And of course, there's always the option to watch your kid.

While each milestone makes my eyes bulge out a tiny bit more in fear, there's twice the amount of joy that comes from watching Itchy-Boo discover and learn about the world around him.  Everything?  In the mouth.  Roll to things to put them in the mouth.  Babble, coo and blow raspberries nonstop and loudly too, I should add.  Like, what a school aged child might do to taunt another.  We have it on video.  I am not joking.

You know what's awesome?  The fact that we live in a ranch.  No stairs, baby!