Despite the fact that my child was born at a hefty 10lbs+, he is still an infant and prone to endure infantile things. Like growth spurts. What most folks don't know is that growth spurts bring with them an enormous need for additional food. When that food is produced by Mom, there are long days and nights with no sleep.
J is in his second round of Cluster Feedings. (Dun, Dun, DUN!) The first time around nearly killed my nipples (We will discuss this at length in a future post. All you ever want to know about nipple care will be addressed! Yay!) Now that we are suffering this parental nightmare again, I am pretty sure that my child with the man-sized hands and feet is going to start walking soon. College anyone?
Are you questioning my melodrama? Often, I will begin feeding with one boob. Then, after 15 to 20 minutes (I let him "milk" it) I will switch to the other. My starving child will hungrily suck down everything. And then, demand to return to the first boob to root around for more. This goes on for HOURS. Sometimes, he will fall asleep momentarily. Sometimes, I will, too. Not long enough, however, to get rested.
While I dislike the idea of supplementing with formula (GASP!) I am completely willing to do it - if only to get a little bit of sleep. Constant feedings annihilate my ability to pump excess. In essence, there is NO excess. (We blew through the breast milk bottles that I had accumulated in just the first day of this terror.) Therefore, the only way for the Hub to assist with a feed is to mix up a lovely batch of formula. We don't replace breast milk with formula all day long. Once or twice is all I need to get just a little shut eye.
Oddly, even with the above argument sounding logical and true, the scenario is the perfect storm for what I call the Guilt Formula. . . (I know. I'm SO pun-ny!) so I have to take it a bit further.
I have to give my baby a bottle of formula every now and then so that I can remain somewhat physically (and mentally) stable. With just a little bit of rest, I can pump an extra bottle of breast milk for reserve and hopefully eliminate the formula need altogether. With just a little bit of rest, I am able to breast feed for hours on end without passing out and crushing my child. (Yeah. That's a little extreme, but seriously, worst case scenario, people!) So, really, in order to get through this growth spurt, I think a couple bottles of the Devil are A - Okay. (Not really, but it is a plan. . . and with so little sleep, it's the best one I have!)
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
REAL TALK.
If you have been coming around for any length of time, you probably already know that I tend not to pull my punches. I appreciate straight talk - so it is what I dish out. Thanks for sticking it out. Really.
My child is now four weeks old and I can tell you that every minute with him has not been easy. From dealing with cluster feedings to changing what feels like 8,000 dirty diapers, I dare any new mother to say that it has been an pure pleasure. Go ahead. I'll wait while you lie to the rest of us.
I would like to present the following "shit mothers never talk about" in honor of all of the liars out there.
* I wasn't in love with my child from the moment he was born. I mean. . I loved him, but I wasn't enamored with him. You can blame the C-Section for the lack of endorphins - or other chemical release that trigger post-natal euphoria. We can even discuss the loss of my first child shortly after her birth. Whatever you think, I'm telling you I wasn't completely head over heels from the first moment of my child's life. And, I didn't feel guilty about it. And, from what I'm told, there are others - who haven't suffered a loss and who didn't have a C-Section. After three weeks, however, I found that all-consuming love. And, it is good.
* Often, a woman will try to tell me that I need to have another child so that this one "doesn't grow up alone." We will get into my retorts later, but for now, I want to say that often, these women justify their argument by saying that I will "forget all of the hardship and late night feedings and all of that." I'm pretty sure I won't forget living in bed for 11 weeks. I'm also pretty sure that my nipples will never forget the first days when my body stopped producing milk. Yes. I know that motherhood can be a tantamount experience, but I'm pretty sure that I won't be forgetting what I went through. Any idiot would be remiss to discard this pregnancy experience and hop into another. Argument = invalid.
* What is the worst thing that I have heard from mothers? "My body just loves being pregnant. I never felt better than when I was pregnant. . " Really? Perhaps they just "forgot." Or, they are lying. Does anyone really have the perfect pregnancy? You're telling me you didn't have morning sickness, hurty tits, tender gums, exhaustion, sore pelvis, stretch marks, wonky back, swollen feet, swollen hands, carpal tunnel, odd body hair, hair that fell out, brittle nails, yeast infections, bladder infections, gestational diabetes, anemia. . . really? Nothing? Okay. I'll take it. So, you had the perfect pregnancy. How about you learn some compassion and stop underhandedly bragging? If pregnancy is so great for you, want to carry mine?
* When I was still pregnant, I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to love this child as much as I loved my first. I talked with a friend of mine who has two living children and she responded that she had the same fear when she was pregnant with #2. She even spoke with her friends about the fear and they all responded negatively - "No, that never even crossed my mind. . . " or "Never!" Let's be honest here, people. It is normal to fear being able to love another person with the same gusto as the original. This goes for everyone - not just parents of a lost child. It is okay to have this fear! I was crying on the operating table before they cut into me and asking my husband if we would be able to love our son as much as we loved our daughter. Talk about a room-killer!
I suppose what I am trying to say with all of these things is that as a woman, I want to be supportive of my fellow mothers to be. We will never be perfect mothers. Just like we will never be perfect people. There is no right answer. It is okay to feel imperfect. It is okay to question ourselves. We should be okay to talk about these things. . . to have REAL TALK!
My child is now four weeks old and I can tell you that every minute with him has not been easy. From dealing with cluster feedings to changing what feels like 8,000 dirty diapers, I dare any new mother to say that it has been an pure pleasure. Go ahead. I'll wait while you lie to the rest of us.
I would like to present the following "shit mothers never talk about" in honor of all of the liars out there.
* I wasn't in love with my child from the moment he was born. I mean. . I loved him, but I wasn't enamored with him. You can blame the C-Section for the lack of endorphins - or other chemical release that trigger post-natal euphoria. We can even discuss the loss of my first child shortly after her birth. Whatever you think, I'm telling you I wasn't completely head over heels from the first moment of my child's life. And, I didn't feel guilty about it. And, from what I'm told, there are others - who haven't suffered a loss and who didn't have a C-Section. After three weeks, however, I found that all-consuming love. And, it is good.
* Often, a woman will try to tell me that I need to have another child so that this one "doesn't grow up alone." We will get into my retorts later, but for now, I want to say that often, these women justify their argument by saying that I will "forget all of the hardship and late night feedings and all of that." I'm pretty sure I won't forget living in bed for 11 weeks. I'm also pretty sure that my nipples will never forget the first days when my body stopped producing milk. Yes. I know that motherhood can be a tantamount experience, but I'm pretty sure that I won't be forgetting what I went through. Any idiot would be remiss to discard this pregnancy experience and hop into another. Argument = invalid.
* What is the worst thing that I have heard from mothers? "My body just loves being pregnant. I never felt better than when I was pregnant. . " Really? Perhaps they just "forgot." Or, they are lying. Does anyone really have the perfect pregnancy? You're telling me you didn't have morning sickness, hurty tits, tender gums, exhaustion, sore pelvis, stretch marks, wonky back, swollen feet, swollen hands, carpal tunnel, odd body hair, hair that fell out, brittle nails, yeast infections, bladder infections, gestational diabetes, anemia. . . really? Nothing? Okay. I'll take it. So, you had the perfect pregnancy. How about you learn some compassion and stop underhandedly bragging? If pregnancy is so great for you, want to carry mine?
* When I was still pregnant, I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to love this child as much as I loved my first. I talked with a friend of mine who has two living children and she responded that she had the same fear when she was pregnant with #2. She even spoke with her friends about the fear and they all responded negatively - "No, that never even crossed my mind. . . " or "Never!" Let's be honest here, people. It is normal to fear being able to love another person with the same gusto as the original. This goes for everyone - not just parents of a lost child. It is okay to have this fear! I was crying on the operating table before they cut into me and asking my husband if we would be able to love our son as much as we loved our daughter. Talk about a room-killer!
I suppose what I am trying to say with all of these things is that as a woman, I want to be supportive of my fellow mothers to be. We will never be perfect mothers. Just like we will never be perfect people. There is no right answer. It is okay to feel imperfect. It is okay to question ourselves. We should be okay to talk about these things. . . to have REAL TALK!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
GETTING INTO THE FLOW OF THINGS.
Let's talk about something gross (because the rest of this blog has been "gross-free", right?)
Lochia. Because you didn't really miss your period. You just saved it up all year for now. And Mother Nature is pissed. So pissed, in fact, that mesh panties and ginormous pads of mattress proportions are necessary.
My child is four weeks old. This means that I have been bleeding for. . . (yup, you guessed it) . . four weeks. And, it ain't all sunshine and roses.
In the beginning, there were chicken livers. Yeah. Think about that. Chicken livers of my own body's making. And they were escaping. ESCAPING.
There were times when I changed my hospital pad (Think 14" x 20" - or some other enormous measurement) 10 times a day just to keep clean. Because, let me tell you, that little squirt bottle does wonders for cleansing - but, only while it's squirting.
About a week in, I downgraded to an ultra thin overnight pad with wings. I'm getting as specific as I can without naming brands. The Hub was sent on a mission one night to procure some of these and in an effort to NOT have to return to the store for them, bought two jumbo packs and managed to amuse the cashier and the bagger girl. That's funnier to me than the Chicken Livers running for their lives through my vagina. (Throwback!)
In the beginning, the bright redness is daunting. Then, it tones down to darker red. . . to rust. . . to brown. Eventually, it's just darker discharge. Then, it ceases to exist. Eventually.
With my first pregnancy, I had a full six weeks of this shit. With any luck, this time is about over. But, as your OB may likely tell you, it may stop and then start again. Nice. Reliable body.
Lochia. Because you didn't really miss your period. You just saved it up all year for now. And Mother Nature is pissed. So pissed, in fact, that mesh panties and ginormous pads of mattress proportions are necessary.
My child is four weeks old. This means that I have been bleeding for. . . (yup, you guessed it) . . four weeks. And, it ain't all sunshine and roses.
In the beginning, there were chicken livers. Yeah. Think about that. Chicken livers of my own body's making. And they were escaping. ESCAPING.
There were times when I changed my hospital pad (Think 14" x 20" - or some other enormous measurement) 10 times a day just to keep clean. Because, let me tell you, that little squirt bottle does wonders for cleansing - but, only while it's squirting.
About a week in, I downgraded to an ultra thin overnight pad with wings. I'm getting as specific as I can without naming brands. The Hub was sent on a mission one night to procure some of these and in an effort to NOT have to return to the store for them, bought two jumbo packs and managed to amuse the cashier and the bagger girl. That's funnier to me than the Chicken Livers running for their lives through my vagina. (Throwback!)
In the beginning, the bright redness is daunting. Then, it tones down to darker red. . . to rust. . . to brown. Eventually, it's just darker discharge. Then, it ceases to exist. Eventually.
With my first pregnancy, I had a full six weeks of this shit. With any luck, this time is about over. But, as your OB may likely tell you, it may stop and then start again. Nice. Reliable body.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
RANDOM MEMORIES.
I sat up in bed when I remembered this little gem from the OR:
Me (still behind the curtain): Is something burning?
Doctors: - - -
Me: Oh. It's me, isn't it?
Doctors: - - -
Me: You are cauterizing something, right?
Yeah. That isn't a good smell. My own burning flesh. I can't wait to bring this up in my follow-up appointment on Monday.
Me (still behind the curtain): Is something burning?
Doctors: - - -
Me: Oh. It's me, isn't it?
Doctors: - - -
Me: You are cauterizing something, right?
Yeah. That isn't a good smell. My own burning flesh. I can't wait to bring this up in my follow-up appointment on Monday.
CATASTROPHE ON THE FRONT END.
Someone forgot to tell me that when you have been on Pitocin for 30 hours, you will swell. I'm not just talking about having to remove your wedding band (though, for me, this occurred early on in the pregnancy.) I'm talking about looking like I was wearing a fat suit that I couldn't take off for six days. Like "can't I just slit my skin open to relieve some of this pressure?" Or, "I think I saw this episode of The Half Ton Woman on TV!"
My feet, legs and hips were swollen to proportions twice their normal size! I won't even get into the puffy space below my bellybutton. . .
The worst part of this, however, wasn't the humongous feeling or even the pain associated with the skin tightening. . . it was the fact that my milk wasn't coming in. The goods that existed prior to labor and shortly after were all dried up! My child was going to starve, people!
So, while we waited, we supplemented with formula. I think I just heard 1,000,000 Leche League Moms groan and gasp! Seriously, I had NO milk. Nobody warned us of this - they just kept telling me that it was fine and that my child wasn't starving. Really? How many days without sustenance can a newborn go? Five? Six? Right.
It was actually the pediatrician that gave the best advice. We saw him the Saturday after birth (on Monday.) He told me that the pump wasn't going to be able to reap milk like the baby, so not to rely on what the pump was able to get. Instead, continue to let the baby attempt to feed at the breast and then supplement with formula after. He was sure that with the recession of swelling, my milk would indeed come in. And, he was right.
By the next Monday (1 week out, for those of you playing along at home), I was able to feed more from the breast and supplement less. The day after that, I was able to eliminate the formula completely. I am proud to say that we have been a Mom's Diner household ever since. I'm even pumping excess so that the Hub can bond during feeding.
So. . to those of you who found this post because your milk has yet to come in - do not get discouraged. The drugs will wear off for you as well and your body will return to responding in kind. Don't listen to the hype about nipple confusion, formula being the Devil, or anything anyone else has to say. Your kid will eat at Mom's when s/he can and until then, you will do the best that you can with what you have. .
In the words of one of my favorite shower gifts (Thanks, Aunt Tatie!): "My Mom Doesn't Want Your Advice"
My feet, legs and hips were swollen to proportions twice their normal size! I won't even get into the puffy space below my bellybutton. . .
The worst part of this, however, wasn't the humongous feeling or even the pain associated with the skin tightening. . . it was the fact that my milk wasn't coming in. The goods that existed prior to labor and shortly after were all dried up! My child was going to starve, people!
So, while we waited, we supplemented with formula. I think I just heard 1,000,000 Leche League Moms groan and gasp! Seriously, I had NO milk. Nobody warned us of this - they just kept telling me that it was fine and that my child wasn't starving. Really? How many days without sustenance can a newborn go? Five? Six? Right.
It was actually the pediatrician that gave the best advice. We saw him the Saturday after birth (on Monday.) He told me that the pump wasn't going to be able to reap milk like the baby, so not to rely on what the pump was able to get. Instead, continue to let the baby attempt to feed at the breast and then supplement with formula after. He was sure that with the recession of swelling, my milk would indeed come in. And, he was right.
By the next Monday (1 week out, for those of you playing along at home), I was able to feed more from the breast and supplement less. The day after that, I was able to eliminate the formula completely. I am proud to say that we have been a Mom's Diner household ever since. I'm even pumping excess so that the Hub can bond during feeding.
So. . to those of you who found this post because your milk has yet to come in - do not get discouraged. The drugs will wear off for you as well and your body will return to responding in kind. Don't listen to the hype about nipple confusion, formula being the Devil, or anything anyone else has to say. Your kid will eat at Mom's when s/he can and until then, you will do the best that you can with what you have. .
In the words of one of my favorite shower gifts (Thanks, Aunt Tatie!): "My Mom Doesn't Want Your Advice"
Friday, November 29, 2013
THE BIRTH STORY.
At our final OB appointment, on November 11th, it became apparent that everyone, including our OB, was increasingly concerned with the size of our baby. My belly had increased from "cute" to "holyshit,motherfucker!" and I was suffering from a separated pubic bone (read: PAIN.) So, it was decided that I would be induced on Sunday November 17th.
At 4am that Sunday, I rose and collected my belongings. The Hub and I made our way to the hospital and checked-in. It took a while, but I was eventually hooked up to monitors and plugged into a giant IV of Pitocin. For those of you unawares, this is the hellish liquid that induces labor. It is a hormone that your body makes (Oxytocin) for such an occasion. Typically, they will increase your "units" by one every hour - up to 20 until you deliver (We'll get to this. . .)
Through the afternoon, I managed to dilate from my steady 4cm to 5cm. In the early evening, I made it another half a centimeter before my pubic pain got so bad that I asked for the epidural. Let me explain something, people. My birth plan (which means nothing in the face of adversity) was to go natural. I was going to have a quick delivery with no issue. Really. My pain tolerance is enormous and I can breathe through stress with the best of them. So, believe me when I tell you that asking for the epidural was a last resort. I was sitting on a birthing ball, trying to coax my junk open just a little further, leaking fluid ALL OVER THE FLOOR. . . and I felt like my pubic bone was cracked down the middle and ripping outwards. Pleasant picture.
Over night, the epidural became my nightmare. I had searing pins and needles combined in a complete inability to move my legs on my own. The Hub rang for the nurse an I writhed around trying to feel anything but pain in my legs and feet. The anesthesiologist came quickly and temporarily turned off the epidural pump. It was theorized that a pre-bedtime bolus bump of medicine caused my reaction - so we would have to be extra careful in the future (we'll get to this, and it ain't gonna be pretty.)
The next day, Monday November 18th, I was still just at 6cm. A call to my OB yielded quick, but horrific results (more story to come). Since I was already at 20 units of Pitocin per hour, I was bumped up to 30. Seriously. We jumped to 30. But, at noon, I was completely dilated, contracting, and ready to birth!
Before I knew it, I had been pushing for two and a half hours! The time flies when you are focused. I credit the nurse, my Hub, and our persistence for the quiet room and calm surroundings. The Hub was able to lean in an see the hair on our baby's head! The nurse, however, was able to lean in and see that there was no way our broad little man was going to come out the old fashioned way.
Our OB arrived and very frankly informed me that the baby wasn't physically able to move past my pelvis. Despite our desire to have a natural vaginal birth, we would need to go to the OR for a C Section.
Here is where the fun comes back from the evenings epidural crazy. . .
The anesthesiologists did not want to put my body back into the awful state of the night before, so they proceeded as slowly as they could with the medicine. I was rolled into the OR and a tent was constructed in front of me to block the shock inducing sights that no woman should ever see while she is experiencing it.
There was some pretty intense tugging feeling and then I heard my baby cry. The Hub hopped up and the nurse brought the baby for tests and measures. 21.5" long and 10lbs5oz. I gave birth to two babies' worth of baby. A true man child.
Of course, nothing can be easy. . . about the time the pain came rushing back, I spoke out loud to my OB through the curtain, "whatever you are doing right now. . . FUCKING hurts." He responded, "where is it hurting, Suzi?" I calmly directed him to my lower right abdomen. . and then it seemed like everyone in the OR started moving VERY quickly. I guess I got it right. They were working on sewing me back together when the anesthesia wore off. My anesthesiologist appeared over my left shoulder and pumped something cool into my epidural. Crisis averted.
The baby scored a perfect 10 on his APGAR - partially due to the fact that he wasn't just pink and wriggly at birth but RED. Bright screaming red. And healthy. Mama was proud. And then, he latched on like a pro. We will discuss more about breast feeding in later posts. .
It has been 11 days and we are home. And adjusting. Clearly, my blogging has been affected (it has taken me four hours to type this.) But, I will carve out more time in the future.
At 4am that Sunday, I rose and collected my belongings. The Hub and I made our way to the hospital and checked-in. It took a while, but I was eventually hooked up to monitors and plugged into a giant IV of Pitocin. For those of you unawares, this is the hellish liquid that induces labor. It is a hormone that your body makes (Oxytocin) for such an occasion. Typically, they will increase your "units" by one every hour - up to 20 until you deliver (We'll get to this. . .)
Through the afternoon, I managed to dilate from my steady 4cm to 5cm. In the early evening, I made it another half a centimeter before my pubic pain got so bad that I asked for the epidural. Let me explain something, people. My birth plan (which means nothing in the face of adversity) was to go natural. I was going to have a quick delivery with no issue. Really. My pain tolerance is enormous and I can breathe through stress with the best of them. So, believe me when I tell you that asking for the epidural was a last resort. I was sitting on a birthing ball, trying to coax my junk open just a little further, leaking fluid ALL OVER THE FLOOR. . . and I felt like my pubic bone was cracked down the middle and ripping outwards. Pleasant picture.
Over night, the epidural became my nightmare. I had searing pins and needles combined in a complete inability to move my legs on my own. The Hub rang for the nurse an I writhed around trying to feel anything but pain in my legs and feet. The anesthesiologist came quickly and temporarily turned off the epidural pump. It was theorized that a pre-bedtime bolus bump of medicine caused my reaction - so we would have to be extra careful in the future (we'll get to this, and it ain't gonna be pretty.)
The next day, Monday November 18th, I was still just at 6cm. A call to my OB yielded quick, but horrific results (more story to come). Since I was already at 20 units of Pitocin per hour, I was bumped up to 30. Seriously. We jumped to 30. But, at noon, I was completely dilated, contracting, and ready to birth!
Before I knew it, I had been pushing for two and a half hours! The time flies when you are focused. I credit the nurse, my Hub, and our persistence for the quiet room and calm surroundings. The Hub was able to lean in an see the hair on our baby's head! The nurse, however, was able to lean in and see that there was no way our broad little man was going to come out the old fashioned way.
Our OB arrived and very frankly informed me that the baby wasn't physically able to move past my pelvis. Despite our desire to have a natural vaginal birth, we would need to go to the OR for a C Section.
Here is where the fun comes back from the evenings epidural crazy. . .
The anesthesiologists did not want to put my body back into the awful state of the night before, so they proceeded as slowly as they could with the medicine. I was rolled into the OR and a tent was constructed in front of me to block the shock inducing sights that no woman should ever see while she is experiencing it.
There was some pretty intense tugging feeling and then I heard my baby cry. The Hub hopped up and the nurse brought the baby for tests and measures. 21.5" long and 10lbs5oz. I gave birth to two babies' worth of baby. A true man child.
Of course, nothing can be easy. . . about the time the pain came rushing back, I spoke out loud to my OB through the curtain, "whatever you are doing right now. . . FUCKING hurts." He responded, "where is it hurting, Suzi?" I calmly directed him to my lower right abdomen. . and then it seemed like everyone in the OR started moving VERY quickly. I guess I got it right. They were working on sewing me back together when the anesthesia wore off. My anesthesiologist appeared over my left shoulder and pumped something cool into my epidural. Crisis averted.
The baby scored a perfect 10 on his APGAR - partially due to the fact that he wasn't just pink and wriggly at birth but RED. Bright screaming red. And healthy. Mama was proud. And then, he latched on like a pro. We will discuss more about breast feeding in later posts. .
It has been 11 days and we are home. And adjusting. Clearly, my blogging has been affected (it has taken me four hours to type this.) But, I will carve out more time in the future.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
QUICK UPDATE.
I am enormous and over 38 weeks. My pelvis hurts me. I am still dilated nearly half way, but my cervix is very high. We are playing a nasty waiting game where no one wins.
It is frustrating that we spent the better part of the year working to keep him in and now he refuses to come out.
At some point, when it is not so fresh, I will write about the anxiety and mixed emotions that come with a pregnancy after a loss and a pending arrival. . .
For now, keep us in your thoughts. He can't stay in there forever!
It is frustrating that we spent the better part of the year working to keep him in and now he refuses to come out.
At some point, when it is not so fresh, I will write about the anxiety and mixed emotions that come with a pregnancy after a loss and a pending arrival. . .
For now, keep us in your thoughts. He can't stay in there forever!
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