Consumer baby report

Christopher is getting to be a real pro at riding around in his sling. We like our Peanut Shell the best right now, but still use our Lucky and our Moby. The Peanut is just easiest to get in and out of, so around the house I like tossing it on, putting him in, and getting some stuff done.

He can ride facing out now, so he can see the world. That's the part he really likes I think. That, and being snuggled up against his mom. I like the snuggly part.

Now that he's gained a good bit of head control, I'm going to order a Baby Hawk. I say that, but I haven't done it because I keep picking out fabric and then changing my mind. Too many choices.

It's been interesting figuring out what we need and what we don't need. I thought we wouldn't need a lightweight stroller because we got a jogging stroller and I planned to wear him out and about. Turns out a lightweight stroller moved over to the need column when we figured out that going to the mall or to restaurants was much easier if we could put him down in the stroller sometimes.

I didn't think we needed a bouncy seat or a swing because again, I had planned on wearing him while doing housework and such. That's a fine plan, but the bouncy seat we have in the bathroom is divine although hideously ugly. It's nice to be able to pee or put on makeup without a baby strapped to you. The swing we have in the dining room allows for Bird to be part of mealtime without having to be in someone's lap, forcing them to eat with one hand.

Something I have but don't use are baby pants. For some reason, I never put pants on Bird. We have some baby leggings that I made from knee socks, and he wears those if it's cold enough outside. His dad hates them, but I think they are adorable. They also make for much easier diaper changes. Mostly though, we just pop on a onesie and some socks for the day. I love his chubby little thighs.

We got the Moses basket, but don't really use it. He likes his cradle that his dad refinished much better. The crib is used for naps, but we are still mostly co-sleeping at night. The rocking chair gets used for book time, but we swaddle and walk to fall asleep.

I didn't think I would use a breast pump because I thought I would just nurse. My Sil talked me into buying one at an incredible deal at Target. I have used the heck out of it. Turns out he likes to eat a lot in the afternoons. Exactly when I'm teaching.

We are using gDiapers mostly. His dad hates those too, so I keep some disposable on hand for when he's on diaper duty, but I love the gDiapers. They are reusable diapers with flushable inserts. I haven't been flushing the inserts because we have been under a serious drought, but even throwing them away, they only last for 3 days in a landfill. Or you can compost the wet ones. I think it is a great compromise for someone who doesn't want to do cloth diapers but doesn't like the thought of disposable diapers hanging around the planet for 500 years.

A friend came to visit two weeks ago and commented that our house was not overrun with baby things. That made me happy. We have ended up with more baby gear than I anticipated, but overall, it is still our family's house, not just the baby's.

And the rice milk ain't bad either

Somewhere along these last couple of weeks, breastfeeding quit being a chore. I stopped crying over it. I stopped watching the clock, dreading the next time I would need to nurse my child. He stopped screaming and thrashing about while nursing. He stopped needing to be nursed several times an hour during parts of the day.

I meant to blog about it. Come here and share with you the success story. To be honest, it feels so natural now that I just forgot about it.

Then, this weekend, that all came crashing down.

Bird was screaming and thrashing again. He had painful gas that I couldn't seem to help him release. He needed to be nursed, but when I nursed him, he chewed and twisted my nipples until I could barely take it anymore. His diapers were full of green mucous poop, and he was generally miserable.

I remembered then, that I needed to write about the success. Having a weekend like that made me so grateful for the peace we had been experiencing and the lack of discomfort in my child.

I tried my best to figure out what I had eaten that had the evil dairy in it. All I could come up with was a handful of potato chips with some cheese flavoring. It didn't seem like enough.

Yesterday afternoon it hit me. Bird's nanny came an extra day last week because of my students' recital Friday night. I hadn't pumped enough milk for the extra time away, so she pulled some out of the freezer like I had instructed her to do weeks ago.

The milk from the freezer was from when I was still eating dairy.

There is no guessing now. I don't have to just wonder if cutting out the dairy was what helped him or something else. I think it is pretty obvious.

Today, Bird is back to what has become his normal bubbly little self. He is nursing without hurting me, and I'm nursing him without hurting him.

For everyone who told me their story
For everyone who told me not to give up
For everyone who told me that I was doing a good job
For everyone who told me it just takes time
For everyone who told me that it would get better

Thank you. You were so right.

Goldilocks needs a t-shirt

On the off chance that a bored fashion designer might read this post, I have a request.

I would like to have some fitted t-shirts that allow for a large chest. I'm stuck wearing t-shirts that still look like maternity shirts, swimming all around my midsection, just so I can fit my boobs in them. I am ready to look put together again. Please.

These t-shirts would be more generous in the bust. The arm holes would be adjusted so that the shirt isn't stretched out of shape in the armpits. The shoulder line would fall a little lower to give the illusion that my shoulders are wider than my breasts (which they aren't).

The cute cap sleeves would be a little bit longer so that they at least reach my bust line. Bare arms next to boobs accentuate them even more.

Most of all, these t-shirts would be longer so that they don't ride up over the top of my pants. My boobs take up so much of a t-shirt that the poor shirt that I need little suspenders at the bottom of the shirt just to keep it from constantly climbing up my belly. I got over showing belly exactly 12 weeks ago today.

I am 35 years old. My postpartum body is alright with me. Really, it is.

I would like, however, some t-shirts that fit.

Maybe they exist already and I just haven't found them? If you know of any, please leave me a link. I'm due to be locked up by the fashion police any day now.

Adding to the staticstics with me

I am such a dork. The days when Christopher doesn't nap, I long for a respite. I want for him to go down so badly, just so I can cook something or type with two hands for a moment.

Now? He's been asleep for almost 2 1/2 hours, and I desperately want him to wake up. I miss him.

An old friend came over for dinner tonight. She and her husband are splitting. They have two little girls - twins who are almost five. It is not easy for her now, putting it mildly.

We met because my ex-husband and I used to play in a band with her soon to be ex. Our then husbands were cut from the same cloth really, except I always thought hers had more drive. Hell, a broken down tractor had more drive than my ex. The four of us used to do things together, but had drifted apart through the many changes in our lives.

Our dinner conversation was interesting. Her soon to be ex-husband has a girlfriend. My friend and I talked some about how she deals with the fact that this woman will be in her girls' lives. Coming at it from a stepmom's perspective, I think she will handle it very well.

No two situations are ever completely alike though, and I don't know this girlfriend. What I do know is that if she is smart, she will never try to fill the role of mother for these girls. Daddy may have a new wife, but the kids don't need a new mother. It doesn't work like that. My friend is confident enough that she isn't threatened, and she wants for her girls to be happy and like this woman no matter how she feels about her. I'm really proud of her.

Looking back on our marriages, we both felt like we were holding everything together on our own. I didn't have children, so it was easier to let go when I finally realized that was an option. For my friend, she wanted her family to stay together, and I understand that. What I saw on her face tonight though, was the same happy-sad relief I remember, when she talked about how much easier it was on her own. I understood that.

She was there for me so many times when I was desperately trying to have a family with my first husband. She was so supportive.

I really hope that I can now return the favor. She deserves to be happy. Facing this new life, she especially deserves to be happy.

And maybe I'll miss her ex from time to time because we used to be friends. But I remember how it felt when all of my friends except one dumped me for my ex. The martyr. The fun one. The one who needed more help. Her ex will be just fine without me as a friend.

I'll be standing by C and reminding her of how strong she is and cheering her onto the happiness that she deserves.

Cloudy and a chance of rain

My daddy called me last night. I have a confession. I have been avoiding talking to him on the phone.

It's not that I don't miss him and don't want to talk to him, I do. But talking to him on the phone doesn't make those feelings go away because it doesn't feel like my daddy I'm talking to.

Last night, I couldn't understand much of what he was saying. He has been to speech therapy, and from what I've been told, it has helped. However, at the end of the day, if he is tired and on the phone, he is still very hard to understand.

He gave me the weather report for where they live. He always tells me about the weather. There is a chance of storms this weekend, and he is worried about them. He always worries about things now.

He and Momma are coming back for a visit and Christopher's baptism in June. He knows they are coming, but not when, so he always tells me that it will be soon. Sometimes he'll stop and ask my momma when exactly it is, but usually he will just say soon.

The confusion is disconcerting on the phone. It makes me uncomfortable some days. Whereas I used to enjoy talking to him for the conversation, now it's different. I'm not saying I don't ever enjoy talking to him. He's still my daddy. I still want to talk to him.

I worry about him though. I worry about whether or not he realizes how he comes across on the phone to me. I worry about whether or not he realizes how confused he sounds or how I can't understand what he is saying. I worry about if it suddenly occurs to him later that he called my youngest niece a boy and used male pronouns all the way through his story.

I worry because I think he would be embarrassed and I don't want him to be.

It's hard to not see him daily. I think that it would be easier to deal with if I saw him more often.

But I don't and I can't.

I sit over here, 12 hours away from him, wishing that I could pick up the phone and talk to him 10 years ago. I miss the advice. I miss the jokes that made sense. I miss the stories that I understood. I miss having a conversation that doesn't have anything to do with the weather.

I miss him. He's still here, and yet I miss him. I hope he doesn't know I feel that way.

Monday Monday

What a very typical Monday.

I put my husband on a plane to fly to the other side of the world and be gone for a week.

When I get home, I get to clean up dog pee from my geriatric pooch.

Right now? I should be working on the symphony scores that needed to be completed some time last week. I should be starting the second one that is simply an empty score right now. I should be being productive.

Instead, I accidentally plugged the headphones into a video jack. Freaked my little Viao right out. The screen looks like it gained 80 pounds. Everything is fat and wide now. And there is no sound.

In case you were wondering, having NO SOUND on your computer doesn't make it a good tool for music composition.

And my computer man, my main IT hot babe, my pc hottie? Is somewhere over the Pacific Ocean right about now. Dammit.

To top it all off, his ex-wife is calling the house leaving screaming voice mails. Someone really should tell her that screaming at people doesn't make them want to return the phone call. Especially from another country. Hey wait, I just did. Excellent.

I'm ready for some warmer weather full of sunshine. Bird and I have some more walking to do. The baby weight is gone. That's not a lot to celebrate though. I would like to put these size 14 jeans away for good. So walk we must. Plus, Bird digs it, and so do I. We like a good long walk.

Tuesday, I have higher hopes for you. An early morning visit from a friend, and later we'll have lunch with Bach. It will certainly be a better day.

So very quiet

Bird has been asleep for two hours now. The little boy hates to nap. Unless, of course, he's just eaten and using my boobie as a pillow. Most days I beg him to nap so that I can get something done. Today? I miss him and wish he would wake up now.

The house is so quiet. It was like this when Guy went back to work last year. It's too quiet.

He walks through the house singing silly songs, talking to the dogs, and calling out random thoughts to me. Having Guy around means continual, comforting noise.

In five minutes, he takes off from Atlanta and will land in Seoul. I'm uncharacteristically uneasy. Anxious. Worried. He will be in the air for 15 hours. There has never been 15 hours that I have not been able to be in touch with him. I feel terribly alone.

There are things to do this week. Packages to mail. Thank you notes, long overdue thank you notes, to write. Friends to visit with. Quilts to sew. Bird to feed and care for. It will pass.

I assure you though. One thing I will get done this week is getting passports for me and Bird. We don't want to be left behind again.

When you're having fun . . .

The pollen is out. I thought we were having an early spring with all this warm weather and sinus nastiness. Then I realized that it's April.

Where has the time gone? For months, it seemed like January would never get here, and now here it is April. And the taxes are due. Crap.

Next week, Guy will be in Korea. All week. Lovely will be at her mother's house. It will just be me and Christopher. And the dogs, of course. Every night this week, I've snuggled onto Guy's shoulder and waged a losing battle to fight back the tears. I don't want him to go.

Not only will I miss him, but I'm terrified of doing this baby thing alone. When it's 11:00 PM and Bird hasn't had a nap longer than 20 minutes all day but is still refusing to go to sleep? It's Guy that can get him snoozing. We have a bathtime routine that we do all three of us together every night. He gets up with the dogs in the morning and feeds them. He takes Bird while I clean up dinner and feed the dogs at night.

We have our thing. I don't know what I'm going to do without our thing.

Like pumping. Christopher somehow knows when I'm pumping and will pitch a royal fit until I stop. It doesn't matter if he just nursed. It doesn't matter if he's asleep. Somehow, it always happens that I can't pump unless someone else is watching him.

I need Guy. Or, you could just say that I really really want Guy around. Korea is not exactly around.

If anyone would like to come hang out with me next week, you are more than welcome. I'm not nearly the basketcase in person that I am when I write. Well, maybe I am. But you're still here, so I can't be that bad.

Little Miss Cheetah Pants

This is Hayleigh.

Today, Hayleigh is having her third heart surgery. Hayleigh is a very strong little girl who battles health issues that would put grown-ups to shame. She is amazing.

If you have a moment today to say a prayer or send a thought out West, please do so.

You could even send a comment her way at her mom's blog, Ladybugs and Lizards.

We are all rooting for you, Hayleighbug!

If you can let go

If the clothes make the man, what do they do for the woman?

I'm not much of a hoarder. My momma is worried about passing certain family things to me because I will clean out every now and then and get rid of things that she might consider too sentimental to lose.

However, when it comes to clothes, I'm a terrible hoarder.

I have skirts and blouses from 10 years ago. Classic pieces that were budget breakers at the time. I have jeans in size 10 to 16. I have dresses that haven't been worn in 8 years. I have high heels that have never ever been worn but were a good sale on a 9 1/2 AAAA, so I bought them to have when I needed them.

I keep these things, stuffing my closet, afraid to get rid of any of it. You never know when I might need it again.

This past week, I purged. Three garbage bags full of clothes were taken to Goodwill. Not only don't I need them, it was just way time to clean out and start fresh.

I don't work in an office anymore. I don't have to give grant presentations. I don't have to be interviewed on TV. I don't have to convince people to part with their money for a good cause. And I am quite sure I will never be back in the White House again, accepting an award from the First Lady (although it was quite cool at the time).

I don't need clothes for any of that, and I don't need to keep the ones I had just because they cost me a lot of money at the time.

My first marriage was all about how I needed to hold onto what I had because I didn't know if I would be able to replace it.

And that is the point. Without carrying on and beating around the literary bush, that is the point.

It was freeing, taking those clothes to Goodwill, knowing that I don't have to hold onto to them. Knowing that sometimes, when you let go of the only thing you think you have, it just makes room for something better.


P.S. I got rid of the size 16 jeans and kept the 10's. I was feeling rather positive that day. We'll see if I regret that decision later!

Two months

Yesterday Christopher turned two months old. In a way it seems like he has been here forever. In another way it seems as though I still have no idea what to do with him.

There are still days that I do nothing that doesn't involve him. Nurse him. Change him. Hold him. Stare at him while he sleeps. The miraculousness of it all has certainly not worn off yet.

Then there are days that I relish in the time the nanny is here. If I'm not teaching while she is here, it becomes a delightful challenge to see just how much I can get done in the moments that she is looking after Bird. Dinner is down to a science, and loading the dishwasher takes all of about 45 seconds now. It's a game.

At his two month checkup yesterday, the PA said he was gaining weight just beautifully. He's growing just fine she said. She also said that she didn't think I needed to be using formula. She thinks I need to cut the dairy out to help his gas, and that way, he will be able to stay at the breast long enough to get full without thrashing about and mutilating my nipples.

I cannot describe to you how much dairy I eat. Cheese and I are best friends, as is the big glass of milk I drink before dinner every night.

However, I chose this PA because she is also a lactation consultant, and I'm choosing to listen to her. Besides, I really should cut out the ice cream and it certainly won't hurt my waistline to cut the cheese and milk.

We went ahead and got his two month vaccinations on schedule. With the traveling we expect to be doing for Guy's job, it is important that Christopher be vaccinated on schedule.

I knew that I would cry when they gave him his shots. I just didn't know I would cry before they gave him his shots.

The needles were so big, and he was so happy before she stuck his little leg with them. He was having a great time kickypantsing on the table, making the paper rattle. His eyes were wide and he was all grins.

Then she stuck him.

He looked stunned. Then she stuck him again. He looked up into my eyes, turned purple, jutted out his bottom lip, and began to scream.

I was already crying by then, so when the nurse was done, Bird and I just held onto each other and cried.

Yesterday and today he has had a low grade fever, tons of gas, and been generally feeling miserable. Somehow he still manages to smile at me some. I can tell he feels badly, but he still is cracking a grin or two every now and then. Tonight, he gave his Papa big full face grins for the first time. You could see a little puddle on the floor where Papa's heart had just melted.

Two months and it's all starting to feel real finally. I don't feel like I'm just getting through minute by minute or hour by hour anymore. This feels like my life. I'm not sure if that makes sense or not. What I mean is that at the beginning, it felt like I was just going through the motions, trying to make it from one moment to the next. Now, though, it feels more a little more comfortable. More normal.

I have a hard time remembering life without Guy and Christopher. I know it happened. I know there was another life before then. Another marriage. Another possible ending. That otherness is what doesn't feel real anymore.

I was made to be Bird's mom and Guy's wife. I think I've known that for longer than two months, but these past two months have certainly solidified it for me.

One of the family

We just got back from Savannah. The whole family got to go down, see the city, and meet some of my relatives. The ones where Christopher's middle name came from.

They are my mom's family. My grandmother's sister is still alive and just turned 90. She and her late husband were like parents to my mother. Her red velvet cake is a legend in our family, as is her strength and grace.

They are what you would call country folks. That doesn't mean that they are backwards or uneducated, it means, quite literally, they live in the country.

My great aunt's land looked very different on this trip. The cow barn that was a stone's throw from the house is gone. As is the chicken coop. There is nowhere for pigs right across the road, and I couldn't see where there was a fishing pond now. There is no more farm.

Her oldest daughter is like a sister to my momma, and so even though we are cousins, I have always called her "Aunt." She takes in family like her momma did for my momma. My cousin J always had a home there when he needed one, and Uncle C was like a father to him.

Extended family in the very literal sense.

Although I've always loved them, I haven't been very close to them. Mainly because of the distance, but I think also because some of my cousins expect me to be snooty like my grandmother was to them. They expect me to look down my nose at them.

Funny thing is, the opposite is true. I look up to them - especially the women - more than any other family I have.

I spent a good deal of the visit it seemed, with my shirt pulled up and a little bird attached. This opened the conversation about nursing with my aunts. It turns out that the doctors told both of them, my great aunt and my Aunt J, that their milk was "too weak" and wasn't enough nourishment for their babies.

My great aunt fed her babies with glass bottles filled with boiled water, Carnation evaporated milk, and Karo syrup. There was commercial formula around for Aunt J's babies.

It made me wonder though, what exactly the doctors meant by "too weak." Was there too much foremilk? Were the babies just not gaining weight fast enough? Did they never seem to get full?

Whatever it was, my aunts determined that it was passed through the family, and I was the same. My milk just isn't strong enough. Aunt J was so relieved when I whipped out 2 ounces of formula on Sunday afternoon when Bird just wasn't going to nurse but was obviously still hungry.

She told him it was about time his momma gave him some real food.

Guy held his breath. He thought I would lose it.

But I didn't. I just smiled. Who am I to say? Maybe she knows something I don't. Well, she certainly knows plenty I don't about a lot of things. It was funny, what she said, and she wasn't judging me, she was just teasing me. They are a family of teasers. Hard teasers.

So there it is. Apparently, it's a Carter thing. Weak milk.

I could care less if there is science behind it. I could care less if it's even true.

I just thought it was cool to be included in the lineage. I liked them considering me to be one of "their women." I was proud to be another generation for whatever reason.

It is, however, too bad that I didn't get the hair gene. My grandmother, my great aunt, and my Aunt J didn't and haven't grayed. My grandmother's hair was a beautiful chestnut brown until the day she died at 97. My aunts' hair is lighter, but none more gray.

They are beautiful women, and I'm proud to be one of them now. And thank God for Enfamil, because the whole Karo syrup thing just sort of freaked me out.

One small step

Today I nursed my child in the waiting room at the car dealership. There were exactly four men, one woman, and one toddler in the room with me. Two of the men had just separately asked me how old Bird was and commented on what a good baby he was. That is because he had been asleep for almost an hour while we waited on the Jeep to be serviced.

Then he woke up. He wasn't supposed to do that. We were supposed to be in and out of there in time for me to get back home, collect my 83 pillows and lay down to nurse him. Unfortunately, there were more things that needed to be done than just the oil change I expected, and we were stuck there almost 2 hours.

Bird needed to eat.

So I fed him. I slouched down in my chair, getting as prone as I could without falling out of it. I put a blanket over my shoulder, which really was more a polite gesture than a shield, since I haven't yet mastered the trick of getting him latched on without both hands and staring down, waiting for the biggest open mouth he makes.

It wasn't the most comfortable thing I've ever done, but it worked alright. He fussed a little bit until I found a good spot for him, but then he did his bit. And when he was done, he came out from under his blanket and smiled at me. I felt like we had really accomplished something.

It seemed silly at the time - for me to be so proud of myself and Christopher for being able to nurse in the waiting room. However, tonight, as I read over the comments on the J&J post (Thank God some people still know where their caps lock button is. I was beginning to think no one knew how to use it anymore in this overly polite blogworld. I LOVE ME SOME CAPS LOCK), it occurred to me that it's not silly at all.

Bird and I have worked our butts off to even still be breastfeeding. Yes, STILL, at 8 weeks. I've been pretty tied to the house due to my insecurities of nursing and more recently, the need to be prone while doing so. I think that has something to do with how pissed I am at the audacity of suggesting a mother could just leave her 8 week old at home for a few days and pump. Or just don't go. JUST STAY HOME where you belong.

Today though, Bird and I joined the ranks of all the moms and babies before us WHO WILL NOT just stay home because they are nursing. We didn't go sit in the john to do it. We didn't move to the corner of the room to do it. We didn't blush. We didn't apologize. We just did it, and honestly? It wasn't that big of a deal. No one really cared.

It was only a big deal for me. It means that I'm one step closer to being able to get out more. I need that. All moms need that.

That, and the freedom to scratch that itchy CAPS LOCK pinky when you can't think of the right words, only some capitalized ones, to use.

Thinking twice about Johnson & Johnson

Late to the game again. I stay about a day or two behind in blogland these days. But if you haven't heard, Johnson & Johnson is holding a little getaway called "Camp Baby" for the influential mommybloggers. People you read probably got invited and will have a lovely time at some sessions on how to braid hair and parallel park their minivans. Whatever.

Aside from the carcinogens that Johnson & Johnson likes to use in their products, I now have another reason to hate them.

Julie, over at Mothergoosemouse, was dis-invited from this little soire once they found out she was planning to bring her baby. To Camp Baby. Go figure.

Oliver was born just a few days before Christopher and is breastfed.

So no Camp Baby for Julie.

I do not understand though, all of the remaining willing participants. Sitting around and writing about how uncool it is that they dis-invited a nursing mom from Camp Baby is one thing. Everyone still showing up and having a lovely time at hair braiding and minivan parking? That shows them nothing. That shows them that they can totally get away with this.

We are so quick to boycott Myspace and Facebook when they censor pictures of breastfeeding mothers. What about now?

Julie is very polite and states that she understands that J&J is hosting and setting the rules, so she will play by them. Well, the same thing can be said of Facebook. It's their website, so play by their rules and don't post breastfeeding pictures.

I really hope that at least a few of Julie's friends and moms who care about breastfeeding reconsider Camp Baby. And while you're at it, be sure to read some of the ingredients of the J&J stuff you might be slathering all over your baby. J&J and their products are all full of crap.

Where we are today & other randomness

Nursing. Today we nursed. All weekend we practiced getting into new positions. We worked on relieving Bird's gas better. We nursed whenever and however long he wanted to do so.

And things are better.

The poor little dude is such a gulper though. He fills up with gas before he's full of milk, so a few good burps and 20 minutes later, he's hungry again. That works on the weekend, but not so much when I have to work during the week.

So we'll do what we can.

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Guy finished his cradle and the mattress finally came in. It's really beautiful. He refinished it to match our bedroom furniture and we bought some bedding that also matches the room. Now if we could only get him to sleep there.

He will sleep there for his first stint of the night, but after he wakes up and nurses, I'm not about to try and put him back down. Besides, I really love spooning with my little man.

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Guy was finally made an official employee today. It only took 13 months, but hey, that's the state for you. He'll be working for the university, and it might just be that I have to root for a team besides Mississippi State from now on. Unless of course the university plays Mississippi State in something, in which case all bets are off. Go Dawgs.

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Getting back into teaching hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be. In fact, having the nanny here is actually getting me back into my sanity. I have 15 minutes here and there to put on some makeup, put in a load of laundry, pull something out of the freezer for dinner, or just to walk to the mailbox without Bird.

The only part I hate is that Christopher is so much more interactive now. He's actually gotten to the point where he's fun. Smiling, laughing, cooing, and playing - he is more like a little person now, and I find myself wanting him to wake up and spend some time with me. It's okay though. We still have the mornings.

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I miss my community though. Nursing in prone positions has been a great change for us, but of course, it cuts down on the internet time considerably. There isn't even any one handed typing when you are nursing laying down. Well, not that I've figured out yet.

I miss leaving comments even though I'm still reading. I miss the ladies on my mom's board. I just miss "talking" to people. But I'm doing what I have to do for the moment. Things will change again. Like Susan said the other day, change is the only constant from now on. So true.

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I wasn't exactly watching the Montel Williams show today, but admittedly, when you don't have cable, daytime TV pickings are slim. So Montel was on, and since that crazy psychic he always has on, wasn't on, I just left Montel jabbering away while Bird and I nursed.

Lo and behold, it was an episode about supermoms, and who was on it but the lovely Liz of Mom 101?

Even though I missed officially meeting her at Blogher, she has long long been in my feed reader, and I was so proud of her today.

I only wish I could have watched more than the first 15 minutes. I'm sure she was great all the way through.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Almost late. Mr. Kickypants wanted to wish you all a Happy St. Patrick's Day in the cute outfit from his Aunt Shelster. Hope you all enjoyed a green beer and a good time.

Music Together

Today Bird and I went to our first Music Together class. I had registered for an infants' class that was to be held in Chapel Hill; not close to the house. However, it was the only infant class I could find. It didn't make.

The woman in charge suggested I try out the mixed age class and just see how it went. So we did.

He loved it.

So far, I've been doubtful as to whether or not Christopher is smiling on reflexes or because of stimuli. Today, it was clear that he was having a good time.

He lasted about 25 minutes of the 30 minute class before I had to put him up on my shoulder and "shush" out some of the other noises. He got a little overstimulated.

But man, he had fun. His eyes were open wide and he kicked along to all of the music. We had a blast.

I'm liking this mom thing more and more already.

Still loving Liam

Remember when I posted this on Props and Pans? No? Well go read it and come right back. I'll wait.

Last week, I was catching up on some Dooce and she had posted this video:


Now you can all enjoy the magic of Liam Finn. You really have to watch this and see him work one guitar, some pedals, and a drum kit all on his own. Ignore the chick with the cowbell. I don't know what she's doing there.

If I were a much younger woman, I would be in love. With Liam. Not cowbell girl.

When laying around isn't lazy

It's 11:00 AM. I'm still sitting in the bed. I have had someone or something attached to my boobs since 9:00. Bird has some gas issues. Possibly reflux. Might explain the thrashing and crying during feeding. The doctor said I just had to be patient and keep holding him to the breast. Let him work out the gas.

It's a new doctor. He's miles better already. Although, it's not like the old doctor made that a challenge of some kind.

My boobs are crying "uncle," and Bird has finally drifted off after an ounce from a bottle.

It's going to come down to time I bet. I just won't have all morning long forever. New doctor says though, that very soon, he should be outgrowing some of that gas and I should notice nursing getting significantly easier.

I like him. He offers hope along with his analysis. I hope he's right.

Bird's got a nanny

I have to start teaching again next week. It's time. I'm more ready now than I was a couple of weeks ago, but there's part of me that's still a little sad.

We hired a nanny for Bird for the afternoons. She is a senior in high school and started with us yesterday. I wanted a week with her when I wasn't teaching to get to know her better and be available to answer questions or what not.

Yesterday? Bird didn't cry at all. Until Nanny handed him back to me right before she left.

I've got to learn how to not take things like that personally.

Today, he did cry with her some. And I felt better. Because he cries with me a lot. I know that I try to get too much done when it's just me and him, but I can't help it. Sometimes, I have to put him down to pump. It's just time to do it, and I don't have a choice. Sometimes, I have to fix myself some lunch, and I have to put him down if I'm at the stove or oven. Sometimes, I have to pee, and I have to put him down to wash my hands. It happens.

Nanny's sole responsibility is Christopher though. He has one person in his life that when she is with him, the only thing she has to do is take care of him.

And I find myself wondering how I missed that the first 6 weeks of his life.

Every thank you note I wrote. Every meal I cooked. Every load of laundry I did. Every shower I took. Every blog I read. Time away from Bird. What was I doing?

I had these 6 weeks with Bird where no one expected anything of me except to take care of him, and I'm so damn restless that I found 100 other things to do. So typical.

The nanny is lucky. She is lucky to just get to focus on him. To watch him so carefully that she feeds him before he cries. She has time to sit and rock him and then let him just sleep in her lap.

I'm jealous of the nanny. I will miss the naps and the playtime and the dancing whenever we felt like it. I'm a little jealous.

However, at the end of the day, Nanny has to go home, and Christopher stays right here with me. Because I am his mom.

Stepping back, I think that makes me the lucky one.

Superbaby

And Superdaddy too.




















The Bird, he flies. . .

Welcome to parenthood

I had my 6 week postpartum check up this week. It went just fine. Green lights all the way around.
I texted Guy before I left the parking lot with a simple "Bow chicka bow wow."

He responded, "That's mean to do while I'm in a meeting."

That evening, we got Bird settled in for a nap and climbed into bed. A couple of kisses and a cuddle later, we realize that 3 hours has passed and our son is waking up. And so were we.

We had fallen asleep. Slept right through the window of nookie.

I hear this is what it is like to be parents.

Dang.

Starting early

Future and current bloggers. On the family blogging bed. With the blogging bear. And the blogging Boppy. My blogging boys. Wow. I need sleep.



















Thank you so much for all of your comments. I actually pulled them up on my Blackjack early this morning when I was nursing Bird, and I read them all over again.

If you don't think your one little comment matters? I'm here to tell you differently. Thank you so much - each and every little word matters very much.

The truth

The truth is, it still hurts.

The truth is, I don't love it yet.

The truth is that I wrote this post to remind myself that there was at least that one time that Bird was able to satiate himself to the point of bliss at my breast. Because it rarely happens.

I pump, trying to store away breastmilk for when I start working again in a week or so. I do this after I nurse him, but inevitably, he will wake up right after I'm done pumping and be hungry again. So I give him what I just pumped in a bottle and in turn, have nothing stored for him.

He and I aren't gelling. Our schedules are off somehow. I feel my biggest letdowns when we are out on a walk, or when he is sound asleep. When he is nursing, he gets fussy. He claws at my breast. He thrashes his head about. He pops on and off uncontrollably until my nipple feels as though it's been run through a cheese grater and I have to give up and go get a bottle.

Fixing those bottles makes me feel like the widow that Elijah visited. Her oil never ran out, remember? That's what my milk feels like. I always have just enough to give him, but no more. No extra for when I start teaching. And that has me stressed, unlike the widow who just took it as an opportunity to trust. Not me.

I wanted to be a mom who loved to breastfeed. And I refuse to quit until I've had a more positive experience, but damn. I need some positive reinforcement here.

I keep hearing different time frames.

"Just give it two weeks."

"At a month, you'll see a turn around."

"After six weeks, the two of you will have the hang of it."

"It took six months for my little one to finally get his latch right."

The thing is, I don't know if any of these will be our timetable. If I just knew that there really would be a time when he wouldn't seem to hate it, and I wouldn't be in constant pain, then it would be easier to tough it out. Not knowing though, is driving me crazy.

Days like yesterday and today have me beat. He cries, and so I cry. I cry because he's not happy. I cry because it hurts like hell. He cries because, well, I don't exactly know why.

Don't tell me anymore that "if you do it right, it doesn't hurt." I know that a bad latch will hurt, and I know how to get a good one. What I don't know is how to help Bird understand that if he rolls his tongue all around in his mouth and clamps down with his gums??? That it hurts me very badly.

This is why I haven't been blogging. Because this is all I think about. And it's got to be a boring read by now. But then again, I write because I need to. I need to get it all out.

One thing I didn't know before Bird was that a lot of moms combo feed. That means that they breastfeed and they use formula. I see this as where we are headed, and I'm trying to reassure myself that it's alright. I know that it is - there are women who have been hugely inspirational to me to keep going, and they are combo feeders.

But the stigma. I won't feel like I can put a little ticker under my signature that says how long I've been breastfeeding. I won't feel like I have a "Booby Baby." I wanted a "Booby Baby" so badly.

So we keep trying. And tonight when he is ravenous and I'm exhausted and the milk blister on my right nipple is bleeding again and my left one is as flat as a pancake still? Well, tonight just may be the night I join the ranks of the combo feeders. Giving my child as much breast milk as I possibly can, and then unashamedly giving him the formula he needs to break out of the 10% of weight.

Little skinny 10th percentile Bird. He's a cute little skinny Bird.

Man. I didn't think it would all be this hard.

And for the record? I'm wearing the same clothes now that I put on 48 hours ago to sleep in. Two nights and two days.

Gross.

Ding dong

My buddy Tara over at Two Lines on a Stick is an Avon lady. Because I like her so, I'm giving a little shout out for you to get your Avon stuff from her. She ships it to you fast, and you in turn are getting good stuff from a SAHM. I love that.

If you don't want to buy make up, you can always buy her really cool cards at her Etsy shop. She can do custom cards or announcements or calligraphy for you. A WAHM really.

Just sayin'.

Here's my loot from the Avon shop. I adore new makeup. I'm such a girl. Which is a huge change from when I was eight. I mean, I was a girl then too, but I was a girl who hated dresses and wanted to be the first female player in Major League Baseball. Which probably wouldn't have required that I wear any of this:













For the record, I wanted to play third base for the Phillies. Just like Mike Schmidt.

Goodbye, old girl. You were a good Volvo

The Volvo is gone. Sold. Taken away. No more.

My Volvo was the first thing I did to step away from my ex-husband. He didn't want me to buy it. I did anyway, telling him that I didn't ask to discuss it with him. He was driving a rental car, a new Maxima, being paid for by insurance, and loved it. He wanted to buy a new Maxima. Not a 12 year old Volvo. I refused to take out another car loan for him.

I got $4000 from the insurance company when some jackass totaled my car while it was parked in front of my house. It was my grandfather's car. My family had given it to me after he died because my ex had wrecked his car and not had it repaired. We needed a second car.

It was a Ford Contour. Not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it was paid for. It was 7 years old, and only had 11,000 miles on it. Granddaddy didn't go very far in it.

When it was totaled, I received far less money than the car was actually worth to me. That's the way it was though, and no amount of fighting with the insurance company could change that.

I had asked the Ex not to park it on the street. He did anyway. Some jackass plowed into it. And just like that, it was gone.

The smell of my granddaddy? Gone. The little pieces of him I would find in the glovebox or between the seats? Gone. My granddaddy's car was gone.

I was beyond livid. The Ex had already wrecked his Golf. For which I held the car loan and title. Now, the Contour was wrecked. In about a month from then, he would also wreck the Jetta, which I had just paid off about 4 months prior to that.

I was not about to get a new Maxima for a man who couldn't afford it and couldn't be trusted not to wreck it.

So I bought an old Volvo. Paid cash. Drove it with pride because it was paid for. I loved that car. It was more than a car. It was a turning point.

Buying that Volvo was the first step in my decision not to put up with the crap anymore.

In December of 2006, Guy bought me a new car. Something that I could fit my gear in and still close all the windows. Something that my keyboard could ride in and still be in its case. Something that we could take Lovely and Papa along in to gigs and still be able to haul my stuff. I accepted it begrudgingly.

It felt like I was giving up this independent streak. This piece of "piss on you, world" that had allowed me to come up for air in a drowning marriage. I was sad to give up driving my Volvo.

So I didn't. Not at first. I would still take her out for errands and such. But the more I drove the new Jeep, the less I needed to drive the Volvo. It was enough to just have it in the driveway.

But this week, I knew it was time. It was time to see her off to a new home. Guy wanted to salvage it, but that made me too sad. So I posted it on Craig's List (I know, I know, will I ever learn?), and asked for someone to come and save it from the salvage yard. I had people lined up around the block.

$350 later? My Volvo has a new home, and I have a new outlook.

Giving up that car to me signifies that I have given myself over completely to this new life. To me, it shows that I am 100% comfortable now being completely connected with Guy. Still an individual, but not completely independent.

It's like I finally understand what my mom told me so many times.

She wouldn't buy a piece of clothing if she thought my dad wouldn't like it. I thought when I was younger that it was because she didn't think for herself. Didn't stand up on her own two very un-feminist feet.

Now I know how wrong I was. She didn't wear something he wouldn't like because she loves him. It made her happy to make him happy. She liked the things that he liked. She trusted his opinions. And she valued what he thought of her. I get that now. I love Guy like that.

So goodbye, Volvo. You were a good car. You were a good move for me, but I don't need you anymore. I'm part of a team now.

And I'm desperately happy about that.

Verbal video

This morning, Bird popped off my breast and looked up at me. His eyes were wide and bright. His mouth puckered up into a little "O" shape and I smiled at him.

He cocked his head, squinted his eyes, and his mouth burst open into a huge smile.

I want to remember those few seconds for the rest of my life.

Shower the people you love with baby stuff

I totally just copied and pasted this post because it's more efficient that me trying to sum it all up. I can't tell you how much I adore Liz. You better believe I'll be showering her, and I hope that you will too. Baby Alice has lots of virtual auntie's out there, I know. Let's give her a huge warm welcome into the world!

Lizarita here. I’ll get right to it:

My good friend Liz and her family are going through some hard times (as we ALL have) and I got to thinking…”What can I do to help???” And then I read her comments and talked to her and came up with a solution: Liz’s Virtual Baby Shower. This baby shower will function in two parts: I’ll be heading up one side of the shower and Julie will take up the other side (see: below).

Since so many of you have graciously offered to pass along your gently used baby items, I was thinking that I could administrate this effort and make sure all the items are delivered safely and soundly to the house of h.

And for those of you that know me, you know that being bossy is what I do best so this is the PERFECT job for me. Ahem.

The Details:
If you have any gently used baby items that you would like to contribute, please send me an email to lizaritablogs AT gmail DOT com and I will tell you where to send your package.

In order to get the word out to as many of the good people on the Interweb as possible, there is a little contest involved. Create a post on your blog about the collection efforts and link to this post. Please let me know via email if you are participating. And feel free to grab a little blog bling while you’re at it! Please be sure to mention this contest in your post so others can join in the fun! A winner will be chosen at random.

The prize? Liz’s baby! (Kidding). I’m not sure what the prize is yet, but I can assure you that it will be FABULOUS!

Please keep in mind that Liz is having a GIRL so even though she would appreciate those navy blue corduroy overalls with the trains and planes on the front, her daughter would look kinda funny in them, so please refrain from sending them.

Thank you in advance for your kindness.

BUT WAIT!!! That’s not all! Some of you are thinking “Liz needs to get some NEW stuff, too!” and we thought the same thing…

And this is the second part of Liz’s Virtual Baby Shower:

Hi all—Julie from the calm before the stork here, and I’m helping to host the Brand New Baby Things side of Liz’s Virtual Baby Shower for those of you that want to hook a sister up with some new things.

After I read her recent post about money, or the lack thereof, I thought my awesome internet friend Liz—who so completely propped me up with her encouragement around the time of my baby boy’s birth not so long ago—could use a little mirth in advance of the birth of her daughter, Alice.

So here’s my extra little somethin’ offer as co-host of this interweb-wide giftie event. Not only will you pick up some sex-ay blog bling, but you’ll be entered to win one of my mugs. If you would like to purchase a little somethin’ somethin’, please check out her Babies R Us or Target registries, and be sure to drop by my place and leave me a comment letting me know that you’re in. I’ll draw a winner at random in early May, so stay tuned!

Baby Alice is due June 13^th and Liz is registered at Babies R Us under first name “Hilarities” and last name “Ensue” (registry# 86825422) and at Target as first name “Liz” and last name “Hilarities Ensue” (registry# 011003997423613).

And don’t forget to to post your blog bling (designed by the Always Fabulous, Carly)!

Totally faking it here

This would not be a picture from today. Because this is not what Bird did today. Except for when I ran two errands.

I can't sleep when the baby sleeps if the baby decides to only sleep in the moving car or in my Moby while I'm walking around Joann's.

I can see it now . . .

I'm the crazy lady in the back of the store, standing propped up against some soft spools of batting, trying to catch some zzzzzz's. Don't mind me, shoppers, and could you keep it down a little? I'm having a nap.


So very very very tired.

My life's work

In a few weeks, I'll have to start working again. Students will start coming back for their lessons. I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to it.

Really, as far as a work scenario goes, I've got it good. Students come to my house for their lessons. I've been teaching in the area long enough that I don't have to take students who don't do their work. I have the luxury of auditioning them and laying down some strict guidelines for remaining in my studio.

I love my kids (and Bach too!!!). Always have. Most of them have been with me for at least 5 years, some up to 10 years. They are not just my piano students, they are important people in my life. That is what drives me to continue. That and a 6'4" Mason & Hamlin sitting in my studio that I'm not finished paying for yet. Or for a few more years.

Today, I got an email from one of them, an adult student, asking if I was going to be ready to start teaching again next week. That will have given me 5 weeks off. I expressly told her before the baby arrived that I was taking at least 6 weeks. As of today, I'm thinking of taking 7 because of all the issues that we've been working through.

The email got under my skin, and I realized that for the first time, there is somebody that I want to put before my students. There is somebody who means more to me than anyone else ever will, and I want for people to realize that.

While I love teaching, and I love my students - Bird will always come first. I can do both; be a mommy and still teach. Plenty of women work longer hours than I do and are still mommies too.
But if I can't give him 6 or 7 work free weeks at the beginning of his life? That would be ridiculous.

Really though? I have my work. My heart's work. He's laying nestled on my left breast, sleeping peacefully on his boppy.

One month

Happy one month birthday, little dude. Thanks for not chomping my nipples off today. I greatly appreciate it. I had in mind to write you a heartfelt letter about the first month of your life, but then I realized that most of it would be about boobs and that didn't seem right.

I can tell you this. You are the most interesting baby I have ever met. I never thought a baby could be good company, but you are. You are fascinating. And when you smiled at me this week? Smiled without farting soon after? I melted. I was singing you the "Little Bird" song from the CD that your Auntie Bubblewench sent to you, and you broke out in the biggest grin for the first time.

And I fell completely in love all over again.

How many times will I do that? Once a day? Once an hour?

You are amazing.

Hey look, I'm crafty! He's wearing some baby legs that I made. With a sewing machine. Yay, me! Are you proud, Momma?

Because I can't believe it myself

At the pediatrician's office today:

Doctor: I don't see any signs of thrush.

Me: Are you sure? Because my breasts hurt so badly. Like I would rather be in labor again than have my breasts hurt this badly.

Doctor: And you're sure you want to continue breastfeeding?

Me: (after initial stun of question wore off) Absolutely I do, and I will.

Doctor: Well, they're your boobs, not mine.


OH MY DEAR GOD. He actually said those exact words to me. Perhaps I am still hormonally sensitive???

Or PERHAPS NOT?

Please. Weigh in. Would you be taken aback if your older than dirt pediatrician actually taunted you about your persistence in breastfeeding? And used the word BOOB? I mean, I use it all the time, but the letters M.D. don't follow my name either.

Let's discuss, shall we?

And you don't have to tell me to get a new pediatrician. It's already in the works.

Annoucement

Of course, if you live anywhere near us, I can highly recommend a fabulous photographer. Just click the announcement to see more of her work.

Confessions

As much as I like the co-sleeping . . .

As easy as it is to just roll over and nurse right where we are . . .

As much as I don't like thinking of Bird sleeping alone even if it's right next to the bed . . .

I miss being held through the night by my husband.

Reminders

Andria said it. It's strange how something so natural can be so difficult. But it is. Breast feeding has been very very hard. I keep reminding myself of all the reasons to continue. How good it is for Bird.

Then, there will be moments like these, after I nurse him. He pops off with milk still dribbling out of his mouth. His little lips smack and he squirms his way in just a little bit even closer to me. One of my favorite faces he makes involves the raising of his little blonde eyebrows followed by a quick nose wrinkle. Most of the time, I even get a smile or two from him.

As he falls asleep, propped up on the breast that just nursed him, I'm reminded of how good it is for me too. Good to be able to give him something no one else can. Good to bond with him.

Good to get to be his momma.

Finding peace. Keeping peace.

It's not so much about finding the peace. Talk to me at any random moment, and I'm perfectly fine about how things are going. Christopher has gained a pound since that day at the doctor's office. He is doing really well, and is a happy baby.

That is all that matters, really.

How I feel varies from hour to hour though. As whatever hormones are left in me have their way, and as the Reglan inhibits whatever dopamine it has to in order to help my milk production, and as the sleep deprivation messes with my emotions - as all these things come into play, it's hard to know how I really feel.

Yesterday, on the phone with Whymommy, I felt good. I was able to discuss where we were with things in a positive manner. Is my baby exclusively breast feeding? No. He has to have 4-6 ounces of formula a day in order to not be hungry. Am I doing everything I can humanly possibly do in order to increase production? Yes. I am nursing and pumping 90% of the time I'm awake. I'm taking my herbs. I'm taking my prescription. I'm drinking plenty of water and eating plenty of good food. I'm getting skin to skin with my baby. All of the advice. I'm taking all of the advice and doing it as much as I can.

Today, on the phone with my momma, I felt crappy. It bothered me that I had missed the crucial piece of information that regular, frequent nursings have to do with keeping my supply up as much as they have to do with feeding the baby. So when that doctor told me to alternate nursing with bottles? Leaving me to nurse only about 4 times a day and supplement the rest? He blew a hole in my supply. I didn't know then. I know now. I don't know how I missed it. I was just doing what he told me to do.

Right this moment, I'm okay again. My baby is full and growing. He is getting mostly breast milk, and who's to say that I might be able to have him exclusively on it again in a couple more weeks? It will be fine. I'm going to do whatever I can to have him be the healthiest baby he can be.

And thank God for the hands free pumping bra. Making this post possible. I wish I had it from the very beginning.

******************

We got the proofs for some beautiful baby shots back this weekend. If you would like the link to see them, shoot me an email and I'll send it to you.

******************

Gratuitous photo of the day


We think she likes him. Seeing as how she gets this huge grin on her face every time she gets to hold him? We think she likes him a lot.

Lovely is doing great with her new little brother. She has taken getting peed on during a diaper change in stride. She is becoming a pro at dressing him. And she is the best at walking him when he needs that constant motion to settle down.

She's an awesome big sister.

********************

Finally, I wish that I had opened comments on the breast feeding post. I forgot that while I couldn't handle anymore advice because I was on overload - I forgot that most of the time, people are just relating. Just understanding where you are and where you've been. Some times, they are right there with you, and some times, they have made it through where you've been and can remind you that nothing lasts forever.

So for those of you who took the time to email or comment on another post, thank you. It does help to know that I'm not alone. I hope that it helps to know you aren't either.

Day late but worth the wait

Happy Valentine's Day from a good looking guy. A Mini Guy, if you will.

We took the picture on Wednesday, just to make sure that we wouldn't miss wishing the Internets a Happy Valentine's Day on time.

That obviously didn't work. I am that behind these days.

But my half price dark chocolate peanut M'n'M's? Well worth the delay.

Hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's Day!!!

Thank you, Aunt Shelley, for our adorable bib!

Valentine for Guy

Dear Guy,

I could just buy a card or something. Tell you these things in person. Some times though, it doesn't seem like enough. Since there will be no big Valentine from me this year, and probably no candy hidden in the carport by your ex-wife, I thought I would just tell you a few things publicly. Things that make you the most wonderful husband in the world and me the luckiest woman.

When the doula took this picture, we did think it was a little crazy. She said we would be glad later. I'm glad now. This picture reminds me of how much you hold me up. How much strength you give me. For four some odd hours, you sat behind me, letting me labor on that birthing ball while leaning back on you. You sat through every contraction with me, rubbing my hair and holding me just tight enough to know that you were right there for me. I think this picture says so much about you, and I'm so glad she took it.




I love this shot for the pure unadulterated joy that is on your face. Holding your son for the first time, showing him off for that picture - you are completely elated, and I was so proud of both of you. Both my boys.










You listen to me. You don't dismiss my ideas as silly or too granola. When I said to you that I thought it was important for you to have skin to skin contact with Little Bird, you took your shirt off and did just that. I love that you provide the scientific balance to the natural approach I so long to have in raising our son. I love that you can gently discuss things with me, and that you accept things like skin to skin as important, maybe even just because I asked you to.





Lest you think I've gone completely sappy on you, I can remind you that I also love you because you are so stinkin' good looking. The two of you snoozing before we left the hospital just melted my heart. I think you are the best looking men in the whole world. Ever.




So these are some of the reasons I love you. It's not a fancy card or swell gift. I know it's not much. I know I've been really hard to deal with the past week. Or two. You have done an amazing job of balancing when to step in and intervene and when to let me work something out on my own. You have rescued me from my hormones. You have stuck by me when I thought we weren't going to be successful at breastfeeding. You have loved me. You have loved me like no one else ever could.

I hope that you feel the same way. I hope that I show you that I love you like no one else ever could.

Happy Valentine's Day, You. Thank you for this life we have.

Love,
Your littlest Shamoopie

What I thought would come naturally. Not so much.

In a rare moment of two handed typing, I find myself wondering exactly what I need to unload here. There is a post about breastfeeding that I have been sporadically working over the past couple of weeks. In general, it details all the outside obstacles that I have encountered while simply trying to feed my child. It lists the number of heath care professionals who have told me to just use formula. Use a pacifier. Switch to bottles.

It was quite a surprise to me.

What was an even bigger surprise is how I've had to try and convince not just everyone around me that breastfeeding is worth the effort, but how I've had to convince my own body that it's worth the effort.

After a week of engorgement, Christopher was hungry. This is why he was screaming. The poor child was hungry. He had not been able to get the milk I was producing. I had pumped to soften them. Run hot water over them. Placed hot packs on them before feeding. I thought he was eating. He was staying at the breast for an hour or more, but wasn't getting what he needed.

Let me tell you - sitting in a doctor's office and being told that you have been starving your child, and that is why he has been crying? He could have just taken a scalpel and cut my heart out.

And once again, I was told that I needed to start him on formula.

We haven't. We did start using the breastmilk I had in the freezer in bottles and alternated nursing and bottles to make sure he was getting enough to eat.

Then, something I never imagined would happen, happened. For some reason, my breasts decided they were no longer needed and went on vacation. I was pumping on Thursday to try and make his next meal, and got nothing. Not even enough to cover the bottom of a bottle. The girls were on strike.

I was ready to punt the pediatrician and the long list of every piece of advice I had received. Even the source of some of my biggest support emailed me to tell me that it was my own fault I had dried up. That she told me not to use bottles. I was beyond rational and spent the next long hours sobbing and panicking over my empty breasts.

I did what I should have done from day one before there even was an issue. I hired a lactation consultant.

Now, as often as possible, but at the very least, every 3 hours from start to start, we are feeding our child. Guy and I both. Baby at the breast until he empties them or pisses himself off trying. Then, the syringe and tubing at the breast with expressed breast milk until he is full.

Before, during, and after feedings, Christopher gets weighed. Guy helps position him and holds the syringe. He thaws and warms the milk. He changes the diapers in between. He holds Christopher after feedings so that I can then pump to encourage my breasts to start making milk again.

But he goes back to work again Monday, and I find myself wondering how I'm going to continue this on my own. I need four more hands. And I need to figure out how I'm supposed to sleep and keep this up.

And tonight, we will run out of expressed breast milk. As much as I know that plenty of babies have been raised on formula, and it isn't Satan's spit as some breast feeding advocates would have you believe? I don't want to feed my child formula. I just don't. I don't want good enough for him. I want the absolute best.

I know there is a lot of wisdom out there, but I'm turning off comments for this. I just can't bear another piece of advice right now. I swear to you that I've heard them all. The herbs, the pumping, the beer, diet, rest, prescriptions and everything else. Even my favorite piece of advice for how to get pregnant is back. Just relax. Oh please.

But I have a plan now and a lactation consultant that I trust.

So I'm just going to keep at it and know that you are silently cheering me on for this round.

Not surprisingly, it is time to go feed my child. If you could say a little prayer that the well isn't dry, I would greatly appreciate it.

In flood the doubts

Weaving in and out of the warm fuzzy posts is a post about a screaming baby. A post about a baby who is uncomfortable, hurt, upset, or angry about something. Something that I can only guess at.

Yesterday, Christopher spent all of his waking moments as screaming moments. By 2:30 AM, I was completely frazzled. I sat, rocking him in my grandmother's rocking chair, with tears streaming down my face and a voice running through my head saying,

"This was a mistake. You aren't cut out to be a mother."

Where does that voice come from? How can I fly from the safety of intuition to the despair of failure in less than 12 hours?

And now? My child is sleeping soundly beside me after a long night and a long day, and I wonder how I could let myself think such things.

Dr. Sears said something to this effect: It isn't your fault that they cry, and sometimes you can't stop them from crying. The best you can do is to not let them cry alone.

And so that's what I did. It didn't seem like nearly enough.

Intuition

I've spent the past week trying to learn how to do this thing called motherhood. Some parts of it come naturally. Others are being learned through trial and error. And still more is being learned through the advice of friends and family.

My parents are gone. Guy has gone back to work. It's just me and Christopher, and of course the pups during the day. It's quiet, and it's giving me the chance to get to know this little bird of mine. We are doing alright.

Sunday, we had a session with a newborn photographer. Lovely was with us too, so it was perfect timing to get some family shots as well. Thing is, Christopher decided that he would just be hungry or awake the whole time. No sleeping baby shots for us. He also let loose with the most poop I have seen come out of him yet - while he was naked. In my arms. I had handfuls of runny yellow brown poop. And I didn't mind. Amazing.


I didn't understand what people were telling me about just "knowing" how to be his momma. Before he was born, it was blind faither that you all knew what you were talking about, and that once he was here, I would suddenly get it. But you were right. Granted, I learn new things every day. I'm still unsure of a lot of things, but you were right. I do know how to be his mom.

I know when he needs to be picked up. I know that the sound of my voice is going to stop him from crying unless something is hurting him. I know that he much prefers the right boob over the left one. I know that he loves to sleep on either my chest or his daddy's chest, bundled up like a little peanut. I know that he hates to be hot.

Last night, I didn't know how to help him though. He was inconsolable for about two hours. We tried to nurse; we rocked; we walked; we bounced; we took off clothes and put them back on. Finally, we called the doctor. The 24 hour nurse talked me through his day and told me it was most likely his tummy and some wicked gas. She gave us some things to try, and within about 30 minutes, he was asleep. I let him sleep on my chest like a little peanut because I didn't want to risk putting him down and waking him up again.

As he lay there, finally consoled and content, I gently rubbed my face across the top of his head. It's so soft. It smells so good.

What I don't know, I can learn. There are family, friends, nurses, doctors, books, and the web to help provide me with information.

What I do know though, can't be taught. I understand that now. All the preparing I tried to do - all the reading and all the questions - they just won't teach you.

You know how to be a mother right when you become a mother. I get that now.

How Little Bird was hatched

I'm reminded more and more that this space, though shared with many, is still first and foremost a personal journal. So as I begin this journey through motherhood, I'll most likely drone on and on. Don't feel badly to skip some posts, come back later, or even just skim. I'm going to just record it all for the record.

For the record, for my record, the very long birth story about about a very long birth.

Thursday morning, January 24, I got out of bed after a really terrible night’s sleep. Guy was already up. We ended up fighting, I was completely irrational, and I felt so badly that I cancelled my lessons for that afternoon. I took two hot baths that day, trying to make myself feel somewhat better. It didn’t occur to me that I was in labor.

That evening, Guy and I were resting on the bed. I was talking to my sister-in-law on the phone. We were discussing whether or not the menstrual type cramps I had been having were coming in regular intervals and could be contractions. As soon as we decided that I should think about timing them, I felt a pop and a little dampness. I told Sil that I thought my water just broke, and as I stood up, there was a gush.

We decided that I had in fact, been having contractions. Even though I had posted on my blog earlier that day that I was not in labor.

I called the doula to let her know, but we told her that we would be fine for awhile. We were hungry, and I had a ton to do because I had lay around all day and wasn’t ready to go to the hospital.

We went to our favorite Mexican restaurant and had some dinner. My contractions were much more distinct now, and as soon as we got home, we started timing them. They started coming about five minutes apart, but only in groups of four or five. Then, they would stop for about 15 minutes. After trying to sleep for a couple of hours, I needed to get up, breathe, and sway through the contractions. When I had almost an hour of regular contractions lasting a minute, I called the doula.

After I hung up the phone with her, I stopped having contractions. It was about 6:30 AM and my water had been broken for 12 hours.

When the doula arrived, she got me up and walking. We walked the dogs, I walked the stairs, I sat on the birthing ball, bouncing and rocking. Still nothing.

Guy said, “Let’s get your bag. We are going to the hospital.” I didn’t argue. Laboring at home had come to an end. A literal stand still. And the birth preferences we had carefully crafted and planned for Little Bird had to be put aside in order to get him here safely.

I was admitted to the hospital after stopping at my OB’s office and discovering that I was still only a fingertip dilated and 50% effaced. It was as if labor had never started the night before. The OB said that this was a worst case scenario with first time moms. I was disappointed that the pitocin domino had fallen, but I accepted it. Around 10:00 AM Friday morning, I was getting my IV and they were starting me on Pitocin by 10:30.

At first, the contractions were most bearable in the bed. I was able to continue talking through them until about 1:00 PM. At that point, the Pitocin had been turned up, and I needed to be up and moving through them. The doula set up the birthing ball by the bed for me and we worked on the ball to help me focus through each contraction.

The contractions that had a natural climb, peak, and decent were manageable. We vocalized and controlled my breathing through them. The Pitocin type contractions that started at the peak and just declined, giving me no ascent through which to focus really threw me for a loop and were much harder to endure.

Around 3:00, the Pitocin had been turned up some more, and something went wrong. My doula said that she counted seven contractions that all never ended before the next began. Yet we knew that it was too early for me to be in transition. I had just been checked, and I was hardly dilated to 2 centimeters.

Unable to focus and unable to tolerate the pain that had built for about 20 minutes, we had the nurse turn the pitocin back down and allow me to recuperate. We hoped that my own body would kick in and continue the labor process. Instead, it stopped once again. My water had been broken for 22 hours at this point.

At 4:00, we started the Pitocin over again. I labored on the birthing ball and standing up. Our nurse was going off duty at 7:00, and I really wanted to have made it to transition by then. She had been completely supportive of our decision to keep the labor and delivery as natural as possible. The monitoring was continuous, but she made it so that I could still move freely, and she didn’t panic when there was a drop in the baby’s heartbeat due to me swaying on the ball and moving the monitor.

Turns out, I wasn’t in transition by 7:00. I was about 3 centimeters dilated. My lovely day nurse was replaced by a nurse who very much wanted for me to go ahead and have a baby already. The night nurse did not like the records that she was left with for me. The monitoring, although continuous, was not completely accurate as it slid around my belly during my swaying and rocking. The night nurse was on a mission to get this baby out as soon as possible because my water had broken over 24 hours ago by then. Upon reflection, I can’t say that I blame her one bit.

The doctor on call for my delivery was the one doctor in the practice that Guy and I didn’t like. He was on call all weekend long, so there was no chance of seeing anyone else. The thing is though, I think he really did his best to let us continue to try for the natural birth that we wanted to have even though he would have rather us just fit into his typical day. He actually did let me
labor with only the pitocin and the intermittent monitoring until I hit that 24 hour mark past where my water broke. We knew that he didn’t agree with all of our decisions and couldn’t appreciate why I just wouldn’t get the epidural, let them turn up the pitocin and move on with things. While he didn’t agree, he did show us respect in our decision. That surprised me, and I appreciated it.

I don’t remember much from about 7:00 forward. My focus had to be 100% getting through the pain. Breathing, relaxing, preparing for the next contraction. Getting back in the bed was the worst. I asked the doctor to do my cervix check while I was on the birthing ball, but he told me he would probably hurt his back which I thought was funny since I seemed to be the one in agonizing pain. So into the bed I went. I had one contraction in the bed, and realized that I couldn’t take another. He did a quick check and reported that I was still about 3 centimeters.

Needless to say, we were becoming increasingly discouraged. What I didn’t realize at the time was that everyone else was becoming increasingly concerned. The doctor turned up the pitocin again and we persevered back on the ball.

For some reason, I had picked 10:00 for my goal time. That if I could make it to 10:00, then I could make it all the way through. When 10:00 came and went, I let myself start coming to grips with how incredibly tired I was. Another cervix check was coming up and I was dreading having to get back in the bed for it.

Once there, the contractions were coming faster, and after two of them, I knew I was done. I couldn’t lay still, sit still, or breathe at all through them. Our doula was doing her best to reach any sliver of me that she could. She later described it as though I was a cat who had been thrown into a pool of water. And I was.

I stared at Guy in between contractions hoping that he would say the word so that I didn’t have to. He did. I heard him ask how long it would take to get me an epidural. Twenty minutes. He told them to do it. It had become not just about pain relief, but about getting me out of the way so that the pitocin could be turned up and allow my body to do what it needed to do. Besides, I was scared of each oncoming contraction and had lost any ability to focus and relax. I knew this wasn’t good for the baby. And I knew that we had to help him get here soon.

By about 11:30 PM, I had my epidural. I had progressed to almost 5 centimeters. And then I slept. I remember telling some strange stories to the doula and the nurse. But mostly, I slept. Before I knew it, they were waking me up, telling me that I needed to be alert enough to push. I heard Guy tell the doula that she could go home if she wanted to, and thankfully, she declined. He didn’t know that she would also coach me through pushing. But she and I both noted that the experience was eerily turning into the strange dream I had the week before.

I remember struggling to wake up and feel like myself. I wanted to be completely present for the birth. I wanted to remember every moment of it. Experience it. That was the most frustrating part of the day. Whether it was the drugs or the exhaustion, I just couldn’t be as present as I wanted to be.

At 1:30 AM (now the 26^th, the day past his due date), I began pushing. My doula was right by my side ready to coach me, when all of the sudden, the nurse broke in with a “pushpushpushpushpushpushpushpushpush.” Looking back, it was by far the funniest moment of the day. All three of us just looked at her as though she had lost her mind. I asked the doula to coach me, the nurse got the hint, and we were all square.

I requested the mirror. If I couldn’t really feel anything, I at least wanted to be able to see it. Aside from the view of my butt, it was incredibly cool. I could see his little head crowning. I could see it all up until the point when the OB joined us again. He came in, told me I was pushing all wrong (because I was inhaling and then exhaling in a measured way throughout the push and he wanted me to hold my breath through the push), and then rolled his eyes and shook his head when I didn’t change my method. I swear if I could have felt my legs I would have kicked him upside his head.

He told me he was going to do a “small episiotomy” and I asked him not to. I had seen how close we were. Christopher was almost there, and I just wanted to finish up and take the chance to tear a little. He put down the scalpel.

I didn’t look at the clock the whole time I was pushing. I just pushed and visualized everything opening up and letting him through. The doula continued to coach me, and Guy watched with a scientific fascination, walking back and forth to shmoop my head and tell me I was doing a good job and then check out what was going on down there.

At 3:56 AM, after 2 ½ hours of pushing, 33 ½ hours of labor, 4 ½ hours after my epidural, and at least 8 years of yearning, Christopher was born. He was a little wiggly purple dude who screamed his way into the world, but as soon as he landed on my chest, he was quiet. He struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, my eyes were the first thing he saw.

The goal was a healthy baby. That’s what we got. I couldn’t be happier.

February Perfect Post

Not too long ago, when I could still type with both hands at once, I came across a relatively new blogger. This is a woman who you read and wish you could just meet her for a drink somewhere. She's one of those bloggers who is able to remain personable right through the dehumanization of a computer screen.

Her post, Icebreaker, is an amazing piece of writing, leaving you breathless by the end.

I would pontificate more on it, but there's a baby that needs changing, and you really should just go read her words anyway.

See all the perfect posts for January here and here.

This is the reason why

I didn't know contentment until I picked up my crying child, only to find that being held was the only thing he needed. As he put his head to my chest and sighed out his last whimper, I melted into the complete fulfillment of life as it should be.

There are a million posts in my head and unfortunately 80 million gallons of milk in my boobs. I'll be back soon I hope. After the girls get under control.