Potty-Training.
Still no pooping in the toilet. James has pooped just about everywhere but the toilet. My daycare provider has been working with him, I have been working with him, but the kid will dance around and hold it until the urge must, obviously, go away. He has pooped in his pants while crouching down for something, and in the bath, both situations catching him by surprise. So that's how, I think, we'll have to trick him into it. Both times, I wasn't "around" (just in the other room) to catch it in time. UGH! But like I said, we're working on it.
In all, peeing has been great. James still celebrates like it's his first time, but the kid is easily excitable. He pees standing up in front of his small toilet, sitting down on his small toilet, standing on a step stool in front of the big toilet, or sitting backward on the big toilet. He takes great pleasure in aiming his pee everywhere he can in the bowl, oftentimes making swirls or zig zags. It's pretty funny to watch.
But no poop. Since he holds it, we put him in a diaper for naps, although we didn't start off doing that. After getting sick and having a series of accidents during nap, I put the diaper back on. He often wakes up dry, and sometimes even wakes up having pooped (how does someone poop in their sleep??), but I feel better that it's there, just in case.
Breastfeeding
I cannot believe that I have made it this long breastfeeding. But it's been a fight. More often than not, I feel like I'm not producing enough milk. And then, all of a sudden, Catherine seems like she's satisfied. The anxiety that I have gone through in regard to breastfeeding is enough to last a life time, but I am so glad that I am still going. It's been so worth it.
When Catherine was about 5 months old, we introduced solids, and that put us on an awesome schedule... at home. At daycare, it was a different story. After sitting down with my daycare provider, we finally figured out she was giving Catherine waaaay too much breast milk, which didn't coincide with the schedule we were smoothly sailing through here at home. For about two months, her schedule has been:
6:30 a.m. Nurse
8:30 a.m. Solids
9:00 a.m. Nap
11:00 a.m. Nurse
12:30 p.m. Solids
1:00 p.m. Nap
3:00 p.m. Nurse
5:00 p.m. Solids
6:00 p.m. Nurse/Bedtime
9:30 p.m. Dream feed
And then she sleeps for 12 hours (unless she's screaming, then NO ONE sleeps. Except James... that kid can sleep through anything).
So Christy and I figured out that instead of giving Catherine solids at 8:30 a.m., because Christy transports and has her in a car, where she easily falls asleep, Christy gives Catherine breast milk at 10:00, when Catherine wakes from her first morning nap. Then Christy gives her solids for lunch, about noon, and then more breast milk at 1:00. So Catherine's schedule was flip-flopped, which meant I was unable to pump what Christy was giving her. Thankfully, we were able to sit down and figure it out, which took all the stress and anxiety about not being able to produce enough, away. And since then, it's been glorious. I am so thankful for a daycare provider who strives to understand rather than boss me around and tell me what to do as a parent!
So, there you have it. I nurse 4 times a day, giving Catherine about 28 ounces, plus 3 ounces of food each feeding, which is about 12 ounces per day. And from here, we just up the ounces of food. Since I've made it this long, a lot of people are asking how long I think I'll go. I keep saying a year, because after that, it gets weird. But now that I know her birthday is less than 5 months away, I wonder if I will really make it a year. And when I say a year, I mean, quit at 11 months and then use my freezer stash until that runs out, then start her on whole milk. But I wonder if I will actually go up to a year, and then quit? I'm not sure. I try not to think about it, because truly, my most favorite part of any day is when I creep into her room at 9:30 p.m., gently rouse my little princess, and have her dream feed.I know a lot of people nurse for as long as possible because they want to avoid the dreaded return of their period... which brings me to The Return of Mother Nature.
The Return of Mother Nature
As I write this, we are waiting for the first snow of the New Year. But that's not what I'm talking about.
Oh, no. As I was recuperating from my night celebrating the eve of 2015, a night full of Lilo and Stitch (I hate those movies!) and a constipated 7.5 month old, I felt like I had partied circa 1999 New Year's Eve where I didn't even make it until midnight. Why yes, that New Year's Eve I was in bed before my parents.
Nope. I was in shock. Because my period returned. WHAT?
Christmas was not necessarily a nightmare, but I felt like I was in a high-stress situation at all times. Catherine was not having the pack-n-play, or really, anything about Christmas, and whenever she cries for long periods of time, my anxiety flies through the roof. It sucks. So I always felt like I was on edge.
During the day on New Years Eve, I tried nursing Catherine, but my milk would not let down. It was so frustrating and took a good 5 minutes for my milk to finally release. I remember getting so frustrated, right along with Catherine. And then, I was terrified, because I thought I was losing my supply. Again. For the billionth time this month. But no, apparently, that is what can happen with the onset of your period. Which came the next day.
Happy 2015 to me!
I forgot what it was like to have my period, and I especially was not anticipating it's "triumphant" return so soon. Neither was my husband, judging by the disappointed look on his face. But in the back of my mind, I knew it was bound to happen. I just didn't know it was going to be 7.5 months post-partum.
But the biggest thing I underestimated about it's return, was the horrible way I felt. Not to mention, I have always been able to stave off the cramps and bloating with Midol, or some other miracle drug. Nope, not this time. The pain was horrible. It's subsiding, here on Day 3, but it's still there. And beyond that, my boobs hurt the most. Not my uterus, which felt like a basketball with spikes on it, sitting in my gut, and every time I would move it would dig in a little more. Nope. My boobs, which felt like they were pulsing with pain. I swear, I could look down at myself and literally see them move with every heart beat. They hurt. so. bad. What the hell was that all about? Then, when my milk came in when it was time to feed Catherine? Holy hell. Call an ambulance. I remember having to breath through the cramps that happened when I first started breast feeding in the hospital, at one point having to hand off Catherine to concentrate on breathing through them while the nurse said, "Yeah, the cramps are way worse with the second kid." Nope, these were way worse. Not to mention, on top of all that, I just felt like shit. Tired, lethargic, and desperately wanting to find a way to occupy my children with some electronic so I could catch a few hours of sleep (haha, yeah right, like that would EVER happen).
Advil does't recommend taking more than 6 pills in a 24 hour period. But Advil isn't a breastfeeding woman, 7.5 months post-partum. I absolutely took 12 pills in a 24 hour period, and that still didn't help. What's even more awesome is that, being the good wife I am, I told Eric I would take the kids yesterday so he could watch his bowl games. What a mistake. Sometimes, I wish I could call in sick to parenting. Oh well, we're on the mend. Hopefully. Only now, I know this bitch will be back in less than a month, and I'm not looking forward to it. At all. I wonder if they make anything stronger than Advil? Maybe Vodka?
So there you have it. My life, in a nutshell. It did not contain any stories of debauchery. No shenanigans of any type. And that's exactly the way I want it.
God bless this life. Poop, boobs, and periods included.
Showing posts with label Breastfeeding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Breastfeeding. Show all posts
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Our Little Family: An Update
Breastfeeding: Four months in, and we're still going strong. I'm not a cow, like some women tend to be when they breastfeed this long, but I'm able to consistently produce enough. My lactation consultant told me that Catherine should not need any more than 4 ounces per feeding while at daycare, so that's what Christy was giving her, twice a day. Finally, Christy mentioned that maybe we should up it to 5 ounces, which stressed me out. I was only producing 10 ounces, which would mean there would be nothing left over for me to freeze at the end of the week, or for Christy to use in case Catherine had a sudden growth spurt. But we upped it to 10 ounces, and I've been keeping up. I am part of a breastfeeding support group on Facebook, and several times, mothers will post something about "low milk supply" because they're not producing more than what their baby eats. Well, duh (and I can say that now that I finally understand breastfeeding, thanks to many support groups, lactation consultants, phone calls to the hospital, and reading a shit-ton of books on it. Oh, and let's not forget, googling the shit out of it). Your body is only going to produce what your baby eats. The other day at Catherine's four-month appointment (where she weighed a whopping 12 pounds, 3 ounces... 4.5 pounds less than James at four months!) the doctor showed some concern regarding her weight, but not much considering she is still gaining steadily. Luckily, her appointment was during the time she typically nurses, so I was able to breastfeed and weigh her. She ate 6 ounces. Multiply that by 5, and she's eating anywhere from 25-30 ounces a day. That's more than the lactation consultant recommends, but she's a hungry girl, I guess! Luckily, I'm able to produce that much, and I'm fortunate to have a job that allows me to pump 3 times a day in order to provide for my child. I am also excited that I am no longer in the panicky stage of breastfeeding. I am in the smooth-sailing stage, where now all I need to do is nurse Catherine when she needs/wants it. From here on out, my milk supply will begin to taper off, and then diminish as we start adding more and more solids to her diet. Crazy to think that this is the peak season, so to speak. But I'm thankful it's going well, and I am so grateful to all the people who have helped along the way. Oh yeah, and for Google too. Thank God.
Battle of the Bulge: The Battle of the Bulge has been won, but the Battle of the Body Image is on-going. To the point where we got our family photos back, and I cried to Eric because I felt like I looked terrible. My hips were too wide, I have love-handles, my thighs touch together. Oh, and let's not forget, I just had a baby, so even though I'm below pre-preggo weight, I'm still "misshapen." And who knows if I'll ever get back to the body I had before. So just today, I was looking at the pictures, and I tried to look at them from my husband's point of view, a guy who tells me nearly every day how beautiful I am to him. I used to hate it when he would say things like that to me. But after trying to be a better wife, I have realized I am very lucky to have a husband who still thinks that about me, two kids and 10 years later. I'm not the 19-year-old he fell for anymore, in more ways than one. He loves me for who I am; big hips, loud demeanor and quick mood swings! So maybe I need to start looking at how I see myself. Instead of seeing love handles that stick out in a weird way, maybe I need to start looking at the fact that I haven't been this weight, or looked this good, in over three years. I love my long hair, which is weird because I've always wanted to keep it short for easy maintenance. No, long hair is easy maintenance! I think my eyes are really pretty. For not working out and just having a baby, my stomach is surprisingly flat. I have good looking legs. And all in all, for the most part, I feel good about myself. It's just hard not to see photos and zero in on those things that aren't "perfect," especially for a perfectionist like me!
The Daily Poop Scoop (and Sleep Update): Catherine had some poop issues earlier in life, and it seems as though they are still plaguing her. On Monday night, she became fussy about 6:30 and by 7:00 was scream-crying to the point where my anxiety was going to cause me to crawl out of my skin. I finally gave her a bath and while she settled and sat, soothed from the warm water, I realized she hadn't had a bowel movement all day. When I really thought about it, she hadn't had a bowel movement all weekend. That was three and a half days without poop. No wonder she was fussy. So I did what any good mom would do - wet a wash cloth and tried to stimulate her rectum. Never thought there would be a day where I could add that to my resume of amazing things I've done in this lifetime. But there you had it, and that's all it took. She started pooping... and straining to poop, then pooping again. I took paper towel after paper towel to catch it when it would come out so it wouldn't get in the water and make it nasty. It was a dirty job, but Eric was getting James, who had been puking all weekend and into Monday, ready for bed, so I was on my own. Following the poop-scapade, I put Catherine to my breast to nurse and she fell instantly asleep. My milk didn't even let down (which led to some crazy-full boobs the next morning!) And she slept all night. So that's where the sleep issues come in. Once she sleeps, this girl sleeps. But it takes her so much to get to sleep. It's the most grating, anxiety-inducing two hours of my life. So last night, I just let go of my anxiety (who knew it would be so easy?) and decided that I was going to let her cry it out. After 20 minutes of screaming, it was apparent she was NOT going to sleep. So I nursed her, which she did NOT want. Then I tried baby massage. I have never massaged a baby in my life, nor have I ever taken any special massage class. I just rubbed her little legs and funny enough, when I got to her hips/butt cheeks, that's when she calmed down. Again, not something I thought I would be able to add to my resume in this lifetime, but there you have it. Professional Butt Massager. Once she calmed down enough, I put her in her bassinet (she's still small enough that we just use her bassinet). And boom. Immediate scream-crying started all over again. Luckily my nerves were that tired that I was able to walk away and let her cry it out for the 15 minutes it took her to eventually fall asleep. She did end up waking up last night, for the first time in ages, but she soothed herself back to sleep. Tonight, I put her to bed at 5:30, an hour and a half before she normally falls asleep. She talked to herself for about 15 minutes and then I heard nothing on the monitor. When i checked on her, she was fast asleep, and stayed that way. When I woke her up to change her diaper and dream feed her, she was asleep by the time my milk let down (but thankfully because of intelligent design, she continues to suck and thus still gets full. Beautiful!). I put her in her bassinet and she's been sleeping ever since. Hopefully, this sleep pattern continues!
Speech Regression: A few weeks back, I blogged about James' speech regression. The progress he has made has been amazing. He talks so frequently now! He needs to work on his diction a bit for better understanding by strangers, but to us, he talks much clearer than he ever has. Tonight, I asked him if he had to pee, and he said, "Uh-uh. No pee, mama, no pee." So adorable! I'm so thankful we're heading in the right direction. It's awesome to hear all the new words he knows! And somewhere in between that post and this one, he learned his alphabet (upper and lower case) and his numbers up until 10. What? One day we were watching Super Why (God bless PBS) and boom - he pointed out and said all the letters that popped up on the screen. Holy crap! It is awesome as he is so proud. He is starting to spell short words, like "B-O-B, Bob!" for Bob the Builder, and things like that, which is much faster than I would have anticipated. So even though he doesn't totally communicate how we'd like him to, the kid can spell for God's sake. We've got to take what we can get.
Illnesses: Dear God, help us. Last week, I was sick with a cold and fever. I've also been blessed with viral-induced asthma, which doesn't allow me to properly cough anything up, so bacteria just sits in my lungs and manifests into something worse. Normally, every year, I end up with walking pneumonia or something. But this time, at Catherine's four month appointment, I mentioned it and the doctor gave me a steroid inhaler to use every morning and night, and another one for "attacks." I can tell a difference already, which is amazing. I wish I would have figured this out aBeingbout 5 years ago!! Hopefully this year, I don't get sick! However, once I got over my fever, James got the flu. The nasty diarrhea/vomiting flu. It was horrible! Following that, today Christy called us to come get him because he had a fever! Seriously? It's not even October yet, so I'm dreading the winter. Hopefully, this is the worst of it? Yeah right....
Being a Better Wife: My mother is an incredibly critical person, I an inherited that trait ten-fold. I am a perfectionist and I expect people who I surround myself with to be perfect as well. Only, I expect them to be perfect the way I want them to be perfect. So instead of being critical, I've tried really hard to look at the positive things. Instead of the fact that Eric has the garage so full of shit that I can't even walk through to find anything, I am trying to concentrate on the fact that the reason it's full of shit is because of all the work he's doing on other people's houses, which brings in money that allows us to live the way we live. Things like that. I told him tonight that I feel like I'm in a much better mood most of the time now that I'm not wasting energy hating the things he does. I have to admit, he does a lot, he works hard, and he's a great dad. So... we'll see how long this Positive Polly charade keeps up. I'm trying really hard, which is good.
So there you have it. There are so many things I've been wanting to blog about, I thought I'd just put them all in one post rather than several other posts. Who posts 5 things in one day, any way? Seriously? And, let's face it, very few people, if any, read this blog. It's really for me to chronicle this life as I live, and love, it.
Let's hope for a good night's sleep... :)
Battle of the Bulge: The Battle of the Bulge has been won, but the Battle of the Body Image is on-going. To the point where we got our family photos back, and I cried to Eric because I felt like I looked terrible. My hips were too wide, I have love-handles, my thighs touch together. Oh, and let's not forget, I just had a baby, so even though I'm below pre-preggo weight, I'm still "misshapen." And who knows if I'll ever get back to the body I had before. So just today, I was looking at the pictures, and I tried to look at them from my husband's point of view, a guy who tells me nearly every day how beautiful I am to him. I used to hate it when he would say things like that to me. But after trying to be a better wife, I have realized I am very lucky to have a husband who still thinks that about me, two kids and 10 years later. I'm not the 19-year-old he fell for anymore, in more ways than one. He loves me for who I am; big hips, loud demeanor and quick mood swings! So maybe I need to start looking at how I see myself. Instead of seeing love handles that stick out in a weird way, maybe I need to start looking at the fact that I haven't been this weight, or looked this good, in over three years. I love my long hair, which is weird because I've always wanted to keep it short for easy maintenance. No, long hair is easy maintenance! I think my eyes are really pretty. For not working out and just having a baby, my stomach is surprisingly flat. I have good looking legs. And all in all, for the most part, I feel good about myself. It's just hard not to see photos and zero in on those things that aren't "perfect," especially for a perfectionist like me!
The Daily Poop Scoop (and Sleep Update): Catherine had some poop issues earlier in life, and it seems as though they are still plaguing her. On Monday night, she became fussy about 6:30 and by 7:00 was scream-crying to the point where my anxiety was going to cause me to crawl out of my skin. I finally gave her a bath and while she settled and sat, soothed from the warm water, I realized she hadn't had a bowel movement all day. When I really thought about it, she hadn't had a bowel movement all weekend. That was three and a half days without poop. No wonder she was fussy. So I did what any good mom would do - wet a wash cloth and tried to stimulate her rectum. Never thought there would be a day where I could add that to my resume of amazing things I've done in this lifetime. But there you had it, and that's all it took. She started pooping... and straining to poop, then pooping again. I took paper towel after paper towel to catch it when it would come out so it wouldn't get in the water and make it nasty. It was a dirty job, but Eric was getting James, who had been puking all weekend and into Monday, ready for bed, so I was on my own. Following the poop-scapade, I put Catherine to my breast to nurse and she fell instantly asleep. My milk didn't even let down (which led to some crazy-full boobs the next morning!) And she slept all night. So that's where the sleep issues come in. Once she sleeps, this girl sleeps. But it takes her so much to get to sleep. It's the most grating, anxiety-inducing two hours of my life. So last night, I just let go of my anxiety (who knew it would be so easy?) and decided that I was going to let her cry it out. After 20 minutes of screaming, it was apparent she was NOT going to sleep. So I nursed her, which she did NOT want. Then I tried baby massage. I have never massaged a baby in my life, nor have I ever taken any special massage class. I just rubbed her little legs and funny enough, when I got to her hips/butt cheeks, that's when she calmed down. Again, not something I thought I would be able to add to my resume in this lifetime, but there you have it. Professional Butt Massager. Once she calmed down enough, I put her in her bassinet (she's still small enough that we just use her bassinet). And boom. Immediate scream-crying started all over again. Luckily my nerves were that tired that I was able to walk away and let her cry it out for the 15 minutes it took her to eventually fall asleep. She did end up waking up last night, for the first time in ages, but she soothed herself back to sleep. Tonight, I put her to bed at 5:30, an hour and a half before she normally falls asleep. She talked to herself for about 15 minutes and then I heard nothing on the monitor. When i checked on her, she was fast asleep, and stayed that way. When I woke her up to change her diaper and dream feed her, she was asleep by the time my milk let down (but thankfully because of intelligent design, she continues to suck and thus still gets full. Beautiful!). I put her in her bassinet and she's been sleeping ever since. Hopefully, this sleep pattern continues!
Speech Regression: A few weeks back, I blogged about James' speech regression. The progress he has made has been amazing. He talks so frequently now! He needs to work on his diction a bit for better understanding by strangers, but to us, he talks much clearer than he ever has. Tonight, I asked him if he had to pee, and he said, "Uh-uh. No pee, mama, no pee." So adorable! I'm so thankful we're heading in the right direction. It's awesome to hear all the new words he knows! And somewhere in between that post and this one, he learned his alphabet (upper and lower case) and his numbers up until 10. What? One day we were watching Super Why (God bless PBS) and boom - he pointed out and said all the letters that popped up on the screen. Holy crap! It is awesome as he is so proud. He is starting to spell short words, like "B-O-B, Bob!" for Bob the Builder, and things like that, which is much faster than I would have anticipated. So even though he doesn't totally communicate how we'd like him to, the kid can spell for God's sake. We've got to take what we can get.
Illnesses: Dear God, help us. Last week, I was sick with a cold and fever. I've also been blessed with viral-induced asthma, which doesn't allow me to properly cough anything up, so bacteria just sits in my lungs and manifests into something worse. Normally, every year, I end up with walking pneumonia or something. But this time, at Catherine's four month appointment, I mentioned it and the doctor gave me a steroid inhaler to use every morning and night, and another one for "attacks." I can tell a difference already, which is amazing. I wish I would have figured this out aBeingbout 5 years ago!! Hopefully this year, I don't get sick! However, once I got over my fever, James got the flu. The nasty diarrhea/vomiting flu. It was horrible! Following that, today Christy called us to come get him because he had a fever! Seriously? It's not even October yet, so I'm dreading the winter. Hopefully, this is the worst of it? Yeah right....
Being a Better Wife: My mother is an incredibly critical person, I an inherited that trait ten-fold. I am a perfectionist and I expect people who I surround myself with to be perfect as well. Only, I expect them to be perfect the way I want them to be perfect. So instead of being critical, I've tried really hard to look at the positive things. Instead of the fact that Eric has the garage so full of shit that I can't even walk through to find anything, I am trying to concentrate on the fact that the reason it's full of shit is because of all the work he's doing on other people's houses, which brings in money that allows us to live the way we live. Things like that. I told him tonight that I feel like I'm in a much better mood most of the time now that I'm not wasting energy hating the things he does. I have to admit, he does a lot, he works hard, and he's a great dad. So... we'll see how long this Positive Polly charade keeps up. I'm trying really hard, which is good.
So there you have it. There are so many things I've been wanting to blog about, I thought I'd just put them all in one post rather than several other posts. Who posts 5 things in one day, any way? Seriously? And, let's face it, very few people, if any, read this blog. It's really for me to chronicle this life as I live, and love, it.
Let's hope for a good night's sleep... :)
Saturday, July 12, 2014
With or Without
A lot of people have no idea that my husband is a recovering alcoholic. I had no idea, either, until we moved in together after two years that he was, at that time, an alcoholic. I always thought he really liked to have a good time and I couldn't ever really tell how drunk he was. I would rarely spend the night at his place so I would usually leave to go sleep in my own bed before the "witching hour" or when the alcohol would really start to take hold.
5 months before we got married, the truth was inevitably staring me in the face. To save a long story for another day, we decided to still get married, but even walking down the aisle to say my vows I had no idea if this marriage would work.
Now eight years of marriage, and sobriety, later, I can say that my husband has not had one slip. When offered a beer at a party, he will simply explain that he's 'not very good at drinking' and I have never seen one person scoff or reject that answer. When at a bar, which is less and less as we get older, he will tell me when he needs to leave because as he says, "If you in the barber chair long enough, you are bound to get a hair cut."
I have always been so proud of him, but have never truly known what its like to give something like that up. I am Methodist and never had to give anything up for lent. So when the doctor told me that I had to give up dairy and soy, and then on my own accord, I didn't really imagine how difficult it would be to do.
It is harder than shit. I have noticed in the few days that I have been on this special diet that soy is in everything. If I want to eat anything, I have to check the label first. It means watching my husband put Velveeta on his burger... And then watch him enjoy eating it. It is hell.
And yet, I am doing it because I know I have to do it for my daughter. It's harder than I imagined. I am thankful I only have to do it for the time that I am breastfeeding. I don't have to do it any longer than that. I can't imagine having to do it for the rest of my life!
But here we are. And I will keep going, just like my husband, because I have to. It's empowering, but also one of the hardest things I have ever done. At least I still have my peanut butter captain crunch...
5 months before we got married, the truth was inevitably staring me in the face. To save a long story for another day, we decided to still get married, but even walking down the aisle to say my vows I had no idea if this marriage would work.
Now eight years of marriage, and sobriety, later, I can say that my husband has not had one slip. When offered a beer at a party, he will simply explain that he's 'not very good at drinking' and I have never seen one person scoff or reject that answer. When at a bar, which is less and less as we get older, he will tell me when he needs to leave because as he says, "If you in the barber chair long enough, you are bound to get a hair cut."
I have always been so proud of him, but have never truly known what its like to give something like that up. I am Methodist and never had to give anything up for lent. So when the doctor told me that I had to give up dairy and soy, and then on my own accord, I didn't really imagine how difficult it would be to do.
It is harder than shit. I have noticed in the few days that I have been on this special diet that soy is in everything. If I want to eat anything, I have to check the label first. It means watching my husband put Velveeta on his burger... And then watch him enjoy eating it. It is hell.
And yet, I am doing it because I know I have to do it for my daughter. It's harder than I imagined. I am thankful I only have to do it for the time that I am breastfeeding. I don't have to do it any longer than that. I can't imagine having to do it for the rest of my life!
But here we are. And I will keep going, just like my husband, because I have to. It's empowering, but also one of the hardest things I have ever done. At least I still have my peanut butter captain crunch...
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
The Battle of the Bulge: Week 7 (The No Dairy/Soy/Egg Edition)
I just had an allergen-free Caramel Apple granola bar and it actually wasn't that bad. For $5.59 for 5 bars, it better not be that bad.
I have officially become a label-reader. It's almost worst than becoming a formula-user. Luckily, I have a dear friend who was also a label-reader for several years thanks to a daughter that was premature and allergic to everything. So we just spent and hour and a half in Hy-Vee with our daughters so she could show me the ropes. If I would have had to start this journey on my own, it would have began with tears.
Yesterday we had a weight check for Catherine. She is a hefty 9 pounds, 11 ounces...at the doctors office. At the Gastroenterologist she was only 9 pounds 4 ounces. Either way, it's improvement which is what we wanted to see. So the pediatrician asked, sine Catherine has also been having regular bowel movements, we still needed to see the gastroenterologist. I said I didn't think so but also just wanted to make sure that everything is OK. The pediatrician agreed and off we went to the GI doc.
Last Tuesday, I decide I wanted to see exactly how much food Catherine was eating everyday. So I fed her formula all day and just pumped. I pumped more than she ate, and she only ate about 16 ounces. I pumped more than that, so I was concerned. The I internet says that she should be eating 24-30 ounces at this age. The doctor agreed but she was gaining weight so she didn't worry too much. Later that day at my breastfeeding support group, the lactation consultant said that 24-30 ounces is a lot! 16 ounces, for the size she is, is just fine and case-in-point, she ate 3 ounces while we were there.
So fast forward to our GI appoinent, where the doctor tells me that he isn't getting enough calories based on her birth weight. But she also left the hospital almost a full pound below her birth weight. So to gain 2 pounds in less than 2 months isn't great, but not terrible. In trying to tell him that, it seemed as though he acknowledged it, but didn't want to factor it in. Instead, he wanted to see better weight gain and when approaching that subject, asked me how I felt about breastfeeding.
Ohhhh no. We are not going there. I proceeded to tell him that I have worked too hard and would like to continue breastfeeding. If I need to add something to the breatmilk, I would gladly pump, bit I have invested too many tears to NOT breastfeed anymore.
So he told me to nurse only 10 minutes total and supplement the rest with formula. But because of the freaky out-the-nose reflux, he deduced she is allergic to the formula I have been giving her. So I get to use the neat $50/can-that-fits-in-my-hand formula. Awesome!
Then he tells me that I need to cut dairy and soy from my diet. Because if she's reacting this poorly to the formula, she is most likely allergic to dairy I eat as well.
Awesome!
When I got home, I thought a lot about what the doctor had said, and really about our journey to this point thus far. My pediatrician says she snow getting enough. The GI doc says she IA getting enough to eat, she is just not getting the calories she needs. The lactation consultant says she is getting enough to eat.
Since last Wednesday, her diapers say she has been getting enough to eat...in fact, sometimes twice a day. But something resonated with the food allergy. So like anyone curious about anything, I googled the shit out of it.
And it wasn't until I read an article by a mom with the same problem. The same problem with her second she had with her first. Then it hit me -
James is allergic to eggs.
So I called my good friend Heather, who had to go on a total elimination diet when her daugter was a preemie. So she knows it all. We went to lunch at Wendy's, since thy have a great dairy/soy free menu and then she took me to Hy-Vee. We scoured the aisles of the "health market" and she gave me the best fake dairy, soy and egg products she had discovered in her two years of living this diet. God bless her.
So tonight for dinner, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on special white bread with Frito's. Yep, all of that is dairy, spy and egg free. So is my Peanut Bitter Captain Crunch, hallelujah.
So long post made longer, it will be interesting to see where the Battle of the Bulge goes from here.
Hopefully down, especially considering I am still at 167! 'Til next week!
I have officially become a label-reader. It's almost worst than becoming a formula-user. Luckily, I have a dear friend who was also a label-reader for several years thanks to a daughter that was premature and allergic to everything. So we just spent and hour and a half in Hy-Vee with our daughters so she could show me the ropes. If I would have had to start this journey on my own, it would have began with tears.
Yesterday we had a weight check for Catherine. She is a hefty 9 pounds, 11 ounces...at the doctors office. At the Gastroenterologist she was only 9 pounds 4 ounces. Either way, it's improvement which is what we wanted to see. So the pediatrician asked, sine Catherine has also been having regular bowel movements, we still needed to see the gastroenterologist. I said I didn't think so but also just wanted to make sure that everything is OK. The pediatrician agreed and off we went to the GI doc.
Last Tuesday, I decide I wanted to see exactly how much food Catherine was eating everyday. So I fed her formula all day and just pumped. I pumped more than she ate, and she only ate about 16 ounces. I pumped more than that, so I was concerned. The I internet says that she should be eating 24-30 ounces at this age. The doctor agreed but she was gaining weight so she didn't worry too much. Later that day at my breastfeeding support group, the lactation consultant said that 24-30 ounces is a lot! 16 ounces, for the size she is, is just fine and case-in-point, she ate 3 ounces while we were there.
So fast forward to our GI appoinent, where the doctor tells me that he isn't getting enough calories based on her birth weight. But she also left the hospital almost a full pound below her birth weight. So to gain 2 pounds in less than 2 months isn't great, but not terrible. In trying to tell him that, it seemed as though he acknowledged it, but didn't want to factor it in. Instead, he wanted to see better weight gain and when approaching that subject, asked me how I felt about breastfeeding.
Ohhhh no. We are not going there. I proceeded to tell him that I have worked too hard and would like to continue breastfeeding. If I need to add something to the breatmilk, I would gladly pump, bit I have invested too many tears to NOT breastfeed anymore.
So he told me to nurse only 10 minutes total and supplement the rest with formula. But because of the freaky out-the-nose reflux, he deduced she is allergic to the formula I have been giving her. So I get to use the neat $50/can-that-fits-in-my-hand formula. Awesome!
Then he tells me that I need to cut dairy and soy from my diet. Because if she's reacting this poorly to the formula, she is most likely allergic to dairy I eat as well.
Awesome!
When I got home, I thought a lot about what the doctor had said, and really about our journey to this point thus far. My pediatrician says she snow getting enough. The GI doc says she IA getting enough to eat, she is just not getting the calories she needs. The lactation consultant says she is getting enough to eat.
Since last Wednesday, her diapers say she has been getting enough to eat...in fact, sometimes twice a day. But something resonated with the food allergy. So like anyone curious about anything, I googled the shit out of it.
And it wasn't until I read an article by a mom with the same problem. The same problem with her second she had with her first. Then it hit me -
James is allergic to eggs.
So I called my good friend Heather, who had to go on a total elimination diet when her daugter was a preemie. So she knows it all. We went to lunch at Wendy's, since thy have a great dairy/soy free menu and then she took me to Hy-Vee. We scoured the aisles of the "health market" and she gave me the best fake dairy, soy and egg products she had discovered in her two years of living this diet. God bless her.
So tonight for dinner, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on special white bread with Frito's. Yep, all of that is dairy, spy and egg free. So is my Peanut Bitter Captain Crunch, hallelujah.
So long post made longer, it will be interesting to see where the Battle of the Bulge goes from here.
Hopefully down, especially considering I am still at 167! 'Til next week!
Friday, June 27, 2014
Breastfeeding, Round Two: Devastation
And devastated does not even begin to desribe the past 48 hours.
I'll start back at the beginning. After talking with Eric about it, I realized Catherined had only pooped twice in her life. She's 5 weeks old. That's not a lot! I know breastfed babies sometimes don't poop very often, but three weeks since her last real bowl movement is a long time. So on Monday, I called the pediatrician, just to ask what I could do to get her to poop. The pediatrician, obviously concerned, asked that Catherine come in. So in we went.
Any parent knows the first thing they do at any check up for your child is weigh them. I was shocked at Catherine's weight, which was only 8 pounds, 11 ounces. Only up 5 ounces since birth? And down almost 10 ounces since her 2-week Well Child visit? I was shocked and immediately concerned.
Although Catherine checked out ok, she was sent back for x-rays to make sure her bowels were connected. I was assured that yes, everything down there is put together as it should be, but she was very backed up. The doctor prescribed a karo syrup and water concoction and to come back in Thursday as she was concerned about the weight loss.
When I got home, we gave her the karo syrup and water and almost immediately, she started straining and pushing and turning red. TMI, but a few minutes later, she had the biggest poop I have seen come out of a human being that small. Afterward, all she wanted to do was nurse, so I let her. That's where the clusterfeeding frustration began.
A couple days ago, I was ready to throw in the towel on breastfeeding, thanks to clusterfeeding. I looked up breastfeeding support groups at the hospital, and it so turns out that there was one the following day, Wednesday.
I wrangled my pride and packed Catherine up. I fed her for an hour before I went, and when I got there, she was still hungry. The lactation consultant was concerned and asked that we weigh her before she feeds and then after.
So we undressed her and weighed her. Again, Catherine had lost weight. 7 ounces, since she was weighed on Monday. Immediately, I started to cry. I was devastated. Not only that, but when she weighed less than an ounce more after she fed for an hour, I was devastated again. It was everything I could do to not crumble on the floor and cry. The lactation consultant tried to make me feel better by reminding me that she did feed before we went to the hospital. However, I'm not stupid. The poor thing was hungry when we got to the hospital and after feeding her for an hour at the hospital, she was rooting around, looking for more. Not to mention that she was obviously losing weight, especially so much in two days, even if the scales were different.
The lactation consultant gave me some tips on positioning, our latch, and encouraged me to pump between feedings and supplement. She also suggested I come back next Wednesday to see where we were at. I left the hospital, loaded Catherine into the car, and from behind the steering wheel, I cried for a good five minutes.
I cried almost all the way home. I cried when telling Eric about it. I cried while feeding her upstairs.
Because when the lactation consultant looked at me after weighing Catherine and said, "She got less than an ounce. We'd like to see more than that" all I heard was:
"You're not good enough."
Even moreso, beyond the fact that I am not able to provide for my child, I heard, "She's starving."
That is a heavy burden to bear.
I'm supposed to be the sole provider. The one person who can give Catherine everything she needs. That's what I like about being a mom. It's an incredibly important job to be the only person to be able to give your kids everything they need. To me, the fact that Catherine is not getting enough of my breastmilk, it's a huge devastation.
Fastforward to her appointment yesterday, Catherine had lost more weight. The pediatrician is obviously concerned, as am I.
Combine the fact that she's also not pooping, and hasn't pooped since Monday, we are all concerned. Either the constipation and diet are two separate issues, or they are related with some gastrointestinal issue.
Monday, we are headed back to the pediatrician and if, with formula supplementation after nursing isn't adding some significant weight, we are headed to a gastroenterologist for tests.
It's been an incredibly difficult 48 hours. I cried walking through Target today, knowing that for 3 or more weeks, Catherine has been starving. No wonder she's sleeping through the night - she's lethargic! I'm beyond devastated.
I'm sad. I'm mad. I'm annoyed that I let my pride and ignorance get in the way that I didn't think clusterfeeding meant some other hidden danger. I am incredibly worried that this is only the beginning of something much more dangerous. I am stressed with the fact that I have to nurse, then supplement with formula if she's still hungry, and then pump after that. I thought I was done with pumping.
This morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of obligation. This is my child, and I'm going to do what's best for her. Not what I want to have happen, but what we need to have happen in order for her to thrive.
So I nursed her and while burping her between breasts, she spit up. After nursing her on the second breast, the burped twice, the second louder than the first, and then promptly spit up all over my shoulder, shirt and herself.
And then she kept spitting up. And then she started choking. It was an incredibly scary moment as a parent. To see your mostly docile daughter thrashing around with wide eyes, knowing that she cannot breathe. From where she was lying on my thighs, I promptly sat her upright and started pounding on her back.
She was able to swallow the mucus that ended up in her throat, causing her to choke. And then I cried.
This is so hard, so frustrating, and more than tiring. After choking, she was disinterested in the formula, and once she calmed down, I gave her a bath to clean her up.
My renewed sense of obligation was stronger after that, but my devastation that everything is not the way I thought it was, was even greater than yesterday.
But as Eric reminded me, it could be worse. It could be more dangerous. We could be in more trouble. She could be hospitalized, she could be underdeveloped, we could have had a preemie. It could be worse.
I am anxious for Monday, and a little scared. But hopefully, this weekend will bring up my spirits and things will be better.
Hopefully...
I'll start back at the beginning. After talking with Eric about it, I realized Catherined had only pooped twice in her life. She's 5 weeks old. That's not a lot! I know breastfed babies sometimes don't poop very often, but three weeks since her last real bowl movement is a long time. So on Monday, I called the pediatrician, just to ask what I could do to get her to poop. The pediatrician, obviously concerned, asked that Catherine come in. So in we went.
Any parent knows the first thing they do at any check up for your child is weigh them. I was shocked at Catherine's weight, which was only 8 pounds, 11 ounces. Only up 5 ounces since birth? And down almost 10 ounces since her 2-week Well Child visit? I was shocked and immediately concerned.
Although Catherine checked out ok, she was sent back for x-rays to make sure her bowels were connected. I was assured that yes, everything down there is put together as it should be, but she was very backed up. The doctor prescribed a karo syrup and water concoction and to come back in Thursday as she was concerned about the weight loss.
When I got home, we gave her the karo syrup and water and almost immediately, she started straining and pushing and turning red. TMI, but a few minutes later, she had the biggest poop I have seen come out of a human being that small. Afterward, all she wanted to do was nurse, so I let her. That's where the clusterfeeding frustration began.
A couple days ago, I was ready to throw in the towel on breastfeeding, thanks to clusterfeeding. I looked up breastfeeding support groups at the hospital, and it so turns out that there was one the following day, Wednesday.
I wrangled my pride and packed Catherine up. I fed her for an hour before I went, and when I got there, she was still hungry. The lactation consultant was concerned and asked that we weigh her before she feeds and then after.
So we undressed her and weighed her. Again, Catherine had lost weight. 7 ounces, since she was weighed on Monday. Immediately, I started to cry. I was devastated. Not only that, but when she weighed less than an ounce more after she fed for an hour, I was devastated again. It was everything I could do to not crumble on the floor and cry. The lactation consultant tried to make me feel better by reminding me that she did feed before we went to the hospital. However, I'm not stupid. The poor thing was hungry when we got to the hospital and after feeding her for an hour at the hospital, she was rooting around, looking for more. Not to mention that she was obviously losing weight, especially so much in two days, even if the scales were different.
The lactation consultant gave me some tips on positioning, our latch, and encouraged me to pump between feedings and supplement. She also suggested I come back next Wednesday to see where we were at. I left the hospital, loaded Catherine into the car, and from behind the steering wheel, I cried for a good five minutes.
I cried almost all the way home. I cried when telling Eric about it. I cried while feeding her upstairs.
Because when the lactation consultant looked at me after weighing Catherine and said, "She got less than an ounce. We'd like to see more than that" all I heard was:
"You're not good enough."
Even moreso, beyond the fact that I am not able to provide for my child, I heard, "She's starving."
That is a heavy burden to bear.
I'm supposed to be the sole provider. The one person who can give Catherine everything she needs. That's what I like about being a mom. It's an incredibly important job to be the only person to be able to give your kids everything they need. To me, the fact that Catherine is not getting enough of my breastmilk, it's a huge devastation.
Fastforward to her appointment yesterday, Catherine had lost more weight. The pediatrician is obviously concerned, as am I.
Combine the fact that she's also not pooping, and hasn't pooped since Monday, we are all concerned. Either the constipation and diet are two separate issues, or they are related with some gastrointestinal issue.
Monday, we are headed back to the pediatrician and if, with formula supplementation after nursing isn't adding some significant weight, we are headed to a gastroenterologist for tests.
It's been an incredibly difficult 48 hours. I cried walking through Target today, knowing that for 3 or more weeks, Catherine has been starving. No wonder she's sleeping through the night - she's lethargic! I'm beyond devastated.
I'm sad. I'm mad. I'm annoyed that I let my pride and ignorance get in the way that I didn't think clusterfeeding meant some other hidden danger. I am incredibly worried that this is only the beginning of something much more dangerous. I am stressed with the fact that I have to nurse, then supplement with formula if she's still hungry, and then pump after that. I thought I was done with pumping.
This morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of obligation. This is my child, and I'm going to do what's best for her. Not what I want to have happen, but what we need to have happen in order for her to thrive.
So I nursed her and while burping her between breasts, she spit up. After nursing her on the second breast, the burped twice, the second louder than the first, and then promptly spit up all over my shoulder, shirt and herself.
And then she kept spitting up. And then she started choking. It was an incredibly scary moment as a parent. To see your mostly docile daughter thrashing around with wide eyes, knowing that she cannot breathe. From where she was lying on my thighs, I promptly sat her upright and started pounding on her back.
She was able to swallow the mucus that ended up in her throat, causing her to choke. And then I cried.
This is so hard, so frustrating, and more than tiring. After choking, she was disinterested in the formula, and once she calmed down, I gave her a bath to clean her up.
My renewed sense of obligation was stronger after that, but my devastation that everything is not the way I thought it was, was even greater than yesterday.
But as Eric reminded me, it could be worse. It could be more dangerous. We could be in more trouble. She could be hospitalized, she could be underdeveloped, we could have had a preemie. It could be worse.
I am anxious for Monday, and a little scared. But hopefully, this weekend will bring up my spirits and things will be better.
Hopefully...
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Breastfeeeding, Round Two: Cluster Feeding, Cluster F@#k
There are so many ways that I could start this post. But I will keep it PG...-13.
No one told me when I decided to breastfeed about a little thing called cluster feeding. So when Catherine started feeding every half hour over the course of several hours, I had to look it up to discover what it was.
I didn't have to look it up to discover it is hell. So glad that I am able to experience that here on earth.
While in the hospital, I wanted an app that would help me determine when Catherine has eaten, slept and been changed to better determine why she was fussy. I am able to look back on that app to see that the first time she ever slept through the night, a whopping eight hours straight, she was a week and a half old. I am also able to use that same app to see that the night before that whopping eight hours of sleep, she fed for four hours with a couple of 15 minute breaks. And the night after those glorious eight hours, she slept ten hours, after eating only an hour.
The cycle just got worse from there. One day I cluster fed from 3:30 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. wth an hour break. And 2 ounces of formula thrown in there.
But she can't possibly be that hungry. Yet she is.
Since the first couple of nights, she has slept anywhere from 8-12 hours every night. Trying to wake her to feed is impossible. I simply have to wait for her cues.
So here is our schedule:
Anywhere between 6-8 a.m. she wakes to feed. She will feed anywhere from 15 minutes to almost 45. Sometimes only on one breast, sometimes on both.
She will go back to sleep until almost 2:00 p.m. I have successfully gotten her to feed at 11:00ish twice in her life. Waking her is like trying to wake the dead.
So I let her sleep and to be quite frank, I get a lot of shit done. Today, I went to Target, Wal-Mart, Menards, Radio Shack, Signarama and was able to clean, organize James' clothes and do some laundry.
Usually between 1:00-2:00 p.m. she gets up to feed. She will, again, eat anywhere from 15 minutes to almost an hour.
About 4:00 p.m. is when Hell begins. Sometimes I can get her to eat for only a half hour and she's good for another hour - enough for me to get James from daycare, come home and spend time with him, give him a "special treat" (freezie pop - because I usually want one too!) and figure out what we're having for dinner.
Eric usually grills (we have a 3/4 cow and a half pig... we have a lot of meat in our deep freeze!) and I will try to join before she starts eating again or between feeds, which is only usually about 10 minutes, if even that.
Mealtime is stressful. I'm either not there, trying to console a rocking baby, or trying to breastfeed. I have stopped trying to breasfeed while eating as it just doesn't work and my food ends up getting cold. Honestly, my food ends up cold most of the time. It would be easier if I just ate cold dishes from here on out.
Then I'm stuck upstairs in our bedroom. So far, I have seen all the episodes of Pretty Little Liars, Mad Men and am halfway through Toddlers and Tiaras. Oh, and let's not forget Orange is the New Black (so good!). Obviously, we don't have a cable box in our bedroom, only a SmarTV, and I am thinking about getting a damn cable box.
Why am I upstairs, stuck in my bedroom, watching the wind blow through our treetops while dreaming, wishing, hoping that I will be able to go and enjoy the outdoors at least once that evening? Because you try breastfeeding an infant with a toddler running around, screaming, throwing balls, jumping on you, or really, just wanting to be with you. I need to be out of sight of James, so that I'm out of his mind. Otherwise, the event is incredibly stressful. So I hide out in our bedroom, reading things on the internet on my phone/tablet, or watching some pointless episode. Needless to say, I've read everything I can about clusterfeeding.
Not one person has mentioned that it can last for-e-ver. No one told me when I decided to venture this breastfeeding direction that I was going to be sitting on my ass for a good 4-6 every day, staring at my phone or at the TV and wishing I was somewhere else. NO ONE told me it was going to be this hard.
Today, I spent the majority of the afternoon in tears. Because I got the bright idea last night to try and keep her awake while she breastfeeds. I ended up with an overtired baby who all of a sudden wanted to start clusterfeeding at 1:00 p.m. Yep, that's when we started today. I was able to take a half hour break to tell Eric to order some damn pizza for dinner and get James from daycare.
Today, I cried while I stared at her in her crib. I cried while I hooked up James' noise machine because maybe she really isn't hungry. I cried while I switched laundry from the washing machine to the dryer while she cried upstairs in her crib because I seriously could not take it anymore. I thought I was going to lose my damn mind.
At one point, I tried to tell her she wasn't hungry. She was just fussy. Yes, I tried to talk my one-month-old out of clusterfeeding. Seriously...
And then, there are those stupid formula bottles the hospital sends you home with. Here, try our complimentary Enfamil. They just stare at your from your cupboard saying, "Uuuuuuuseeee meeeee...." It's like crack. I am surprised that I'm not sitting on my bed, arms wrapped around knees that are drawn to my chest, rocking back and forth, trying to talk myself out of using.
God forbid I turn into a formula user.
So now, here I am, sitting in my living room with sweet Catherine sleeping upstairs. She usually sleeps about 9 hours from when she feeds last. So if I let her sleep, she will most likely be up at 4:30 a.m. to feed. But if I wake her up to feed at say, 10:00, will I be starting a mini-cluster feed? I'm terrified. But if I let her sleep, what if she still sleeps until 8:00 a.m.? That's 12 hours without food and even I know that a one-month-old shouldn't go that long without eating. It can't be healthy.
I'm getting frustrated and tired. I'm sick of not being able to play with my little boy when he gets home from daycare. I'm sick of being up in our bedroom feeding Catherine.
I told a friend of mine today - it's a double-edged sword. Would I rather she not clusterfeed and therefore, most likely not sleep through the night? Or do I enjoy my eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?? Ugh...
I am thrilled I am breastfeeding, but no one told me it was going to be this hard. But if it is this hard now, that means it's bound to get easier, right?
I sure hope so.
No one told me when I decided to breastfeed about a little thing called cluster feeding. So when Catherine started feeding every half hour over the course of several hours, I had to look it up to discover what it was.
I didn't have to look it up to discover it is hell. So glad that I am able to experience that here on earth.
While in the hospital, I wanted an app that would help me determine when Catherine has eaten, slept and been changed to better determine why she was fussy. I am able to look back on that app to see that the first time she ever slept through the night, a whopping eight hours straight, she was a week and a half old. I am also able to use that same app to see that the night before that whopping eight hours of sleep, she fed for four hours with a couple of 15 minute breaks. And the night after those glorious eight hours, she slept ten hours, after eating only an hour.
The cycle just got worse from there. One day I cluster fed from 3:30 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. wth an hour break. And 2 ounces of formula thrown in there.
But she can't possibly be that hungry. Yet she is.
Since the first couple of nights, she has slept anywhere from 8-12 hours every night. Trying to wake her to feed is impossible. I simply have to wait for her cues.
So here is our schedule:
Anywhere between 6-8 a.m. she wakes to feed. She will feed anywhere from 15 minutes to almost 45. Sometimes only on one breast, sometimes on both.
She will go back to sleep until almost 2:00 p.m. I have successfully gotten her to feed at 11:00ish twice in her life. Waking her is like trying to wake the dead.
So I let her sleep and to be quite frank, I get a lot of shit done. Today, I went to Target, Wal-Mart, Menards, Radio Shack, Signarama and was able to clean, organize James' clothes and do some laundry.
Usually between 1:00-2:00 p.m. she gets up to feed. She will, again, eat anywhere from 15 minutes to almost an hour.
About 4:00 p.m. is when Hell begins. Sometimes I can get her to eat for only a half hour and she's good for another hour - enough for me to get James from daycare, come home and spend time with him, give him a "special treat" (freezie pop - because I usually want one too!) and figure out what we're having for dinner.
Eric usually grills (we have a 3/4 cow and a half pig... we have a lot of meat in our deep freeze!) and I will try to join before she starts eating again or between feeds, which is only usually about 10 minutes, if even that.
Mealtime is stressful. I'm either not there, trying to console a rocking baby, or trying to breastfeed. I have stopped trying to breasfeed while eating as it just doesn't work and my food ends up getting cold. Honestly, my food ends up cold most of the time. It would be easier if I just ate cold dishes from here on out.
Then I'm stuck upstairs in our bedroom. So far, I have seen all the episodes of Pretty Little Liars, Mad Men and am halfway through Toddlers and Tiaras. Oh, and let's not forget Orange is the New Black (so good!). Obviously, we don't have a cable box in our bedroom, only a SmarTV, and I am thinking about getting a damn cable box.
Why am I upstairs, stuck in my bedroom, watching the wind blow through our treetops while dreaming, wishing, hoping that I will be able to go and enjoy the outdoors at least once that evening? Because you try breastfeeding an infant with a toddler running around, screaming, throwing balls, jumping on you, or really, just wanting to be with you. I need to be out of sight of James, so that I'm out of his mind. Otherwise, the event is incredibly stressful. So I hide out in our bedroom, reading things on the internet on my phone/tablet, or watching some pointless episode. Needless to say, I've read everything I can about clusterfeeding.
Not one person has mentioned that it can last for-e-ver. No one told me when I decided to venture this breastfeeding direction that I was going to be sitting on my ass for a good 4-6 every day, staring at my phone or at the TV and wishing I was somewhere else. NO ONE told me it was going to be this hard.
Today, I spent the majority of the afternoon in tears. Because I got the bright idea last night to try and keep her awake while she breastfeeds. I ended up with an overtired baby who all of a sudden wanted to start clusterfeeding at 1:00 p.m. Yep, that's when we started today. I was able to take a half hour break to tell Eric to order some damn pizza for dinner and get James from daycare.
Today, I cried while I stared at her in her crib. I cried while I hooked up James' noise machine because maybe she really isn't hungry. I cried while I switched laundry from the washing machine to the dryer while she cried upstairs in her crib because I seriously could not take it anymore. I thought I was going to lose my damn mind.
At one point, I tried to tell her she wasn't hungry. She was just fussy. Yes, I tried to talk my one-month-old out of clusterfeeding. Seriously...
And then, there are those stupid formula bottles the hospital sends you home with. Here, try our complimentary Enfamil. They just stare at your from your cupboard saying, "Uuuuuuuseeee meeeee...." It's like crack. I am surprised that I'm not sitting on my bed, arms wrapped around knees that are drawn to my chest, rocking back and forth, trying to talk myself out of using.
God forbid I turn into a formula user.
So now, here I am, sitting in my living room with sweet Catherine sleeping upstairs. She usually sleeps about 9 hours from when she feeds last. So if I let her sleep, she will most likely be up at 4:30 a.m. to feed. But if I wake her up to feed at say, 10:00, will I be starting a mini-cluster feed? I'm terrified. But if I let her sleep, what if she still sleeps until 8:00 a.m.? That's 12 hours without food and even I know that a one-month-old shouldn't go that long without eating. It can't be healthy.
I'm getting frustrated and tired. I'm sick of not being able to play with my little boy when he gets home from daycare. I'm sick of being up in our bedroom feeding Catherine.
I told a friend of mine today - it's a double-edged sword. Would I rather she not clusterfeed and therefore, most likely not sleep through the night? Or do I enjoy my eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?? Ugh...
I am thrilled I am breastfeeding, but no one told me it was going to be this hard. But if it is this hard now, that means it's bound to get easier, right?
I sure hope so.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Breastfeeding, Round Two: Part Boo
Eric came home last night wanting to do something nice for his family. Considering he is usually very tired when he gets home from work, I was surprised. Although I had woke from a nap a half hour earlier not really feeling the greatest, I was not about to deter this man who actually had some motivation to take his family out to eat after a long day in 100 degree heat indices.
So we went out to eat. It was the perfect storm.
Thanks to 100 degree heat indices, coupled with the fact that it had also rained the night before, so the ground was nice and soggy, James had not been outside to play. At all. So our little bundle of energy wasn't able to burn off any steam. He was not about to sit still for 20 minutes while we waited for our food.
Beyond that, while we were waiting for our food, Catherine got fussy. Because I wasn't feeling well, I had completely forgotten a pacifier. Yes, for those of you that know me, I said pacifier. I am completely against them and after about 2 months, James didn't take his any more. I'm hoping that's the way it is with Catherine. But going on, I had to leave to go back to our house to grab a pacifier as Catherine was not about to calm down without a boob, or a pacifier, and I wasn't about to whip it out in public.
When we came back 5 minutes later, James was drinking out of a kiddie cup and everything was off the table. I mean, everything - even our centerpiece. Apparently, our little bundle of energy wanted to not only remove everything from the table, but wanted to do so by throwing it. Eric looked like he was going to lose it.
Luckily, our food came in the knick of time and James was distracted for about 2 minutes. Then he went back to throwing things on the floor, or begging for things. All in all, (and I don't say this often) our son was a terror. Finally, I, starting to feel even worse, took James out to the car and sat while Eric finished eating and paid the bill.
When we got home, Catherine was not having it with the pacifier anymore, so I took her upstairs to nurse. Considering I had worn my Columbia fleece inside the restaurant and was still having chills in this 100 degree heat, I decided, on a whim, to take my temperature.
101.5! What???
Then I put it together. I had woken from my nap with what I thought was a plugged duct. When I exclusively pumped with James, I would get those every so often. Luckily, we have a three-pronged back massager that I would massage the plug with while pumping and every time, the plug would dissapate. So I tried that, but there was no lump to massage. My boob was just incredibly tender.
I went to Urgent Care, where they told me I had mastitis. *Cue the horror music*
Luckily, I caught it really early, so it wasn't too terrible, but I now know what people mean by how terrible it could be. Just those few hours, with fever in this heat, a horrible headache, and an achy boob was enough to put me over the edge. I was run-down, tired, irritably and just did not feel like myself. Not to mention, I have two children. Ugh.
So here I am on anti-biotics. The kind that you have to take religiously - can't eat two hours before I take them or one hour after. So I have to carefully plan my day in order to take four daily. Ugh.
However, I'm feeling better. I'm lucky to be able to say that with James, I never dealt with mastitis and even more lucky to say that with Catherine being a month old tomorrow, this is the first time I've got it and in all, it really wasn't that bad. Hopefully, I don't get it again!
Thank God for Urgent Care, antibiotics and babies that nap so you can nap. Away with you, breast infection! :)
So we went out to eat. It was the perfect storm.
Thanks to 100 degree heat indices, coupled with the fact that it had also rained the night before, so the ground was nice and soggy, James had not been outside to play. At all. So our little bundle of energy wasn't able to burn off any steam. He was not about to sit still for 20 minutes while we waited for our food.
Beyond that, while we were waiting for our food, Catherine got fussy. Because I wasn't feeling well, I had completely forgotten a pacifier. Yes, for those of you that know me, I said pacifier. I am completely against them and after about 2 months, James didn't take his any more. I'm hoping that's the way it is with Catherine. But going on, I had to leave to go back to our house to grab a pacifier as Catherine was not about to calm down without a boob, or a pacifier, and I wasn't about to whip it out in public.
When we came back 5 minutes later, James was drinking out of a kiddie cup and everything was off the table. I mean, everything - even our centerpiece. Apparently, our little bundle of energy wanted to not only remove everything from the table, but wanted to do so by throwing it. Eric looked like he was going to lose it.
Luckily, our food came in the knick of time and James was distracted for about 2 minutes. Then he went back to throwing things on the floor, or begging for things. All in all, (and I don't say this often) our son was a terror. Finally, I, starting to feel even worse, took James out to the car and sat while Eric finished eating and paid the bill.
When we got home, Catherine was not having it with the pacifier anymore, so I took her upstairs to nurse. Considering I had worn my Columbia fleece inside the restaurant and was still having chills in this 100 degree heat, I decided, on a whim, to take my temperature.
101.5! What???
Then I put it together. I had woken from my nap with what I thought was a plugged duct. When I exclusively pumped with James, I would get those every so often. Luckily, we have a three-pronged back massager that I would massage the plug with while pumping and every time, the plug would dissapate. So I tried that, but there was no lump to massage. My boob was just incredibly tender.
I went to Urgent Care, where they told me I had mastitis. *Cue the horror music*
Luckily, I caught it really early, so it wasn't too terrible, but I now know what people mean by how terrible it could be. Just those few hours, with fever in this heat, a horrible headache, and an achy boob was enough to put me over the edge. I was run-down, tired, irritably and just did not feel like myself. Not to mention, I have two children. Ugh.
So here I am on anti-biotics. The kind that you have to take religiously - can't eat two hours before I take them or one hour after. So I have to carefully plan my day in order to take four daily. Ugh.
However, I'm feeling better. I'm lucky to be able to say that with James, I never dealt with mastitis and even more lucky to say that with Catherine being a month old tomorrow, this is the first time I've got it and in all, it really wasn't that bad. Hopefully, I don't get it again!
Thank God for Urgent Care, antibiotics and babies that nap so you can nap. Away with you, breast infection! :)
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Breastfeeding, Round Two: Part Moo
I have a pretty bad habit of getting into my head and not really being able to get out. The phrase, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" might have been coined for me. Only it really has to do with my mind. If I have too much time on my hands, my mind starts to wander and then I start to wonder and it never really ends up well.
Knock on wood, but Eric and I can now say we have pretty easy babies. James was mostly happy, ate well, slept well and now here we are with Catherine. Catherine is an even better baby than James was, which is incredible. Only cries when she's hungry and fusses when she is falling asleep. She is already sleeping through the night (after a fussy couple of hours trying to fall asleep, but if she's sleeping through the night... I'll take it!) and the first night she did so, I woke up in a panic with my boobs about to explode.
Thus began my wandering thoughts. On any given day, she sleeps, looks around for awhile and eats. While she eats, I watch netflix or cruise the internet. When she sleeps, I run errands. I have a lot of time on my hands, but then again, I don't. So when she slept through the night for the first night, going seven hours without food, I panicked.
Thank you, Internet, and breastfeeding, for allowing me the time and energy to read allllll about babies and breastfeeding and the color of their poop and what it means when they spit up.
Is she getting enough food? Does she have enough wet diapers?
Or, in the anxiety-laden other way of putting it, am I providing enough for her?
Catherine had her two week check up when she was two weeks, and two days old. The first night she slept through the night, she was one week, four days old. The second time she slept through the night, she was one week, five days old. The third time, one week, six days old... and so on and so forth. And every night, she was sleeping longer, and looonger, and looooooonger until the night before her doctor's appointment, she slept 9 1/2 hours straight. Which means I did too.
As well as my boobs.
Holy God, I cannot wait to nurse her when I wake up in the mornings!
But I digress.
So by the time we were able to go in for our check up, I was in a state of pure anxiety. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, she's not gaining weight.
I about shit when they put her on the scale. When she was born, she was 8 pounds, 6.2 ounces and 20 inches long. Leaving the hospital, she was 7 pounds, 14 ounces. The following day, at our two-day appointment, which was actually only a day after we were discharged, she was 7 pounds 7 ounces.
The pediatrician said she shouldn't lose any more weight.
Combine that statement with the fact that my mind had had a chance to wander for approximately a week and a half, and I was about to go out and buy a baby scale so I could weigh her.
So back to the scale, which, when placed on it, read 7 pounds 7 ounces. Again. For a split second. And then she rolled over and the scale tipped to 9 pounds, 4 ounces. Holy shit.
My butterball had gained almost 2 pounds in a week and a half. I about hugged the nurse.
I exclaimed that I had been panicking about Catherine gaining weight, and the nurse simply laughed, smiled and said she obviously was doing great. I told her about how Catherine was sleeping through the night, later and later, and the doctor laughed, and told me to continue to let her sleep through the night.
Music to my ears!
Little did I know, the hour that I nurse Catherine at a time, has actually been incredibly beneificial for her. She never seems satisfied and will eat for a good half hour/45 minutes. Sometimes even an hour. Add that to the time it takes me to "suit up" (or "suit down," whichever you prefer) and the time it takes me to burp her, it's usually a good hour of my time. Apparently, some babies only nurse for five minutes at a time (that would be amazing!).
It is more than a relief to know that I am obviously providing enough for Catherine. I am more than elated to know that I am able to 100% breastfeed without having to supplement (sidenote: we have supplemented about 3 ounces of formula, because she also likes to clusterfeed at night, which doesn't do any wonders for my nipples. Sometimes, mama just needs a break!!!). I am more than thrilled to know that I don't have to take any medicine, or panic because I only pumped 2 ounces in one sitting or really have any anxiety. Obviously, I am producing enough milk and then some.
So onward, Breastfeeding. Moo.
Knock on wood, but Eric and I can now say we have pretty easy babies. James was mostly happy, ate well, slept well and now here we are with Catherine. Catherine is an even better baby than James was, which is incredible. Only cries when she's hungry and fusses when she is falling asleep. She is already sleeping through the night (after a fussy couple of hours trying to fall asleep, but if she's sleeping through the night... I'll take it!) and the first night she did so, I woke up in a panic with my boobs about to explode.
Thus began my wandering thoughts. On any given day, she sleeps, looks around for awhile and eats. While she eats, I watch netflix or cruise the internet. When she sleeps, I run errands. I have a lot of time on my hands, but then again, I don't. So when she slept through the night for the first night, going seven hours without food, I panicked.
Thank you, Internet, and breastfeeding, for allowing me the time and energy to read allllll about babies and breastfeeding and the color of their poop and what it means when they spit up.
Is she getting enough food? Does she have enough wet diapers?
Or, in the anxiety-laden other way of putting it, am I providing enough for her?
Catherine had her two week check up when she was two weeks, and two days old. The first night she slept through the night, she was one week, four days old. The second time she slept through the night, she was one week, five days old. The third time, one week, six days old... and so on and so forth. And every night, she was sleeping longer, and looonger, and looooooonger until the night before her doctor's appointment, she slept 9 1/2 hours straight. Which means I did too.
As well as my boobs.
Holy God, I cannot wait to nurse her when I wake up in the mornings!
But I digress.
So by the time we were able to go in for our check up, I was in a state of pure anxiety. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, she's not gaining weight.
I about shit when they put her on the scale. When she was born, she was 8 pounds, 6.2 ounces and 20 inches long. Leaving the hospital, she was 7 pounds, 14 ounces. The following day, at our two-day appointment, which was actually only a day after we were discharged, she was 7 pounds 7 ounces.
The pediatrician said she shouldn't lose any more weight.
Combine that statement with the fact that my mind had had a chance to wander for approximately a week and a half, and I was about to go out and buy a baby scale so I could weigh her.
So back to the scale, which, when placed on it, read 7 pounds 7 ounces. Again. For a split second. And then she rolled over and the scale tipped to 9 pounds, 4 ounces. Holy shit.
My butterball had gained almost 2 pounds in a week and a half. I about hugged the nurse.
I exclaimed that I had been panicking about Catherine gaining weight, and the nurse simply laughed, smiled and said she obviously was doing great. I told her about how Catherine was sleeping through the night, later and later, and the doctor laughed, and told me to continue to let her sleep through the night.
Music to my ears!
Little did I know, the hour that I nurse Catherine at a time, has actually been incredibly beneificial for her. She never seems satisfied and will eat for a good half hour/45 minutes. Sometimes even an hour. Add that to the time it takes me to "suit up" (or "suit down," whichever you prefer) and the time it takes me to burp her, it's usually a good hour of my time. Apparently, some babies only nurse for five minutes at a time (that would be amazing!).
It is more than a relief to know that I am obviously providing enough for Catherine. I am more than elated to know that I am able to 100% breastfeed without having to supplement (sidenote: we have supplemented about 3 ounces of formula, because she also likes to clusterfeed at night, which doesn't do any wonders for my nipples. Sometimes, mama just needs a break!!!). I am more than thrilled to know that I don't have to take any medicine, or panic because I only pumped 2 ounces in one sitting or really have any anxiety. Obviously, I am producing enough milk and then some.
So onward, Breastfeeding. Moo.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Breastfeeding, Round Two
I now understand why people breastfeed their children well into the toddler years.
Well, actually, I don't. I think that as soon as your kid knows what a boob is, it's time to cut the cord. Maybe even before that. But all that aside, I realize how beautiful breastfeedig really is.
It's incredible that my milk will let down before Catherine even wakes up. But as soon as it begins to let down, she's awake and ready to nurse. That, to me, is incredible.
With James, I had an incredibly difficult time in the hospital getting him to latch. Flat nipples, a tired mom, pushy nurses and a lactation consultant who also happened to be my backyard neighbor (weird) made the whole situation really awkward and frustrating.
I remember the first night I could not get James to latch. And the pushy night nurse just kept forcing him on my boob. She would grab a handful and shove his head on there and then tell me he had a horrible latch So she would take him off, grab my boob again and shove him on there again. She made me try different types of holds to get him to latch properly. Needless to say, it was a horrible 8 hour experience.
Finally, she tells me to take some of the instant formula and put some on my nipple to get him to really start sucking, and hopefully that would make a good latch.
I wish I would have never done that.
As such, that became the catalyst for my journey into exclusively pumping. Long story short, I thought, "Oh, I'll just supplement with formula this time around" while never really solving the problem in the first place.
So with my pushy night nurse gone the next day, and a much nicer nurse who seemed more helpful, I nursed James.
Without any knowledge, I had no idea if he was latching correctly or not. His top lip was up, his bottom lip was out, he didn't seem to be "chewing" on my nipple, so that's a good latch, right?
Wrong. He wasn't on far enough, which resulted in a huge blister. Which resulted in me not even being able to nurse on that side for the duration of my hospital stay.
So with only one boob in commission, I again supplemented with formula. I mean, the formula was right there, all ready to go in it's nicely packaged pre-made bottles.
My lactation nurse came in once, at the end of my stay, took a look at my nipples, and told me James was latching wrong. She didn't tell me that I have flat nipples and that I need to draw them out before I start nursing. She never asked to see him try to nurse. She simply told me to try and pump, put some in a bottle, and then feed it to James. Just to give my poor nipples a break. She suggested lanolin lotion and to "keep trying" to nurse.
She never showed me how.
She did, however, mention that it was officially her last weekend working as a lactation consultant and if I needed anything, to holler over the fence. Yeah, right.
So, needless to say, when I got home, I immediately got frustrated in trying to nurse James, and simply pumped, like I had the last day in the hospital.
James took to the bottle right away, and from then on, I never once brought him back to my breast. It was bittersweet and a relief at the same time. I badly wanted to breastfeed him, but at the same time, my nipples hurt so badly I knew that I was saving them by pumping.
So I began exclusively pumping. But not enough. I began to lose my milk supply something fierce and had to start using formula. At James' 2 week appointment, my doctor and pediatrician suggested Fenugreek. Although it helped, I still wasn't pumping enough. At James' 1 month appointment, my doctor gave me a prescription for some random medicine that supposedly helps your milk supply. It did, but by that time, James was used to the formula. So I exclusively pumped to supplement with breast milk and have some put in storage for when he started into daycare.
I can remember looking at our tiny bathroom vanity sink with a giant bowl filled with soapy water at 3:00 a.m. one morning and thinking, "This sucks." It did. Every time I pumped, I had to clean the pump parts, put my milk in a storage bag, mark it with time and date, put it in our fridge downstairs. While I pumped, I would prop James up in the boppy pillow and feed him from a bottle. A bottle that had to be heated up before I gave it to him. And then after I heated it up, I would have to quickly assemble my pump "parts," attach them to my overly full boobs, and begin pumping. I would have to carefully manuever him from his bassinet next to the bed onto the boppy pillow while the pump got going and rouse him to be fed. It was a horrible cycle, and to reiterate, it sucked.
It was time consuming. It took twice as long as breastfeeding would have. And yet, I continued to do it because, damnit, I was his mom and I was supposed to provide for him.
And I did it that way for almost 5 1/2 long months. I remember once coming back from pumping in the bathroom and my boss said, "That's all you got after pumping that long?" Talk about feeilng defeated. But I was determined to provide for my child.
It was a long road and when I finally decided to hang up the tubes (those of you with breast pumps know what I'm talking about), it was a relief. My life no longer revolved around pumping. From then on, it was formula.
Fast forward to the second positive pregnancy test I've ever had.
I was determined to breast feed with Catherine if it was the last thing I did. So when I checked into the hospital and was first getting my pitocin and IV drip, I told the nurse I wanted to see a lactation consultant as soon as possible and reiterated what a terrible breastfeeding experience I had had with my son. It was very important to me that people listen to me this time.
I brought with me to the hospital my "Womanly Art of Breastfeeding" book so I could reference it as I needed. I was prepared with hours and hours of blog and article reading regarding breastfeeding. I was bound and determined to make it work. There wasn't any other choice in the matter.
The nurses whisked her away after she was born and after an hour of checking vitals, making sure she was breathing (she was a breath holder, which led to the nurses giving her oxygen to make sure her reflexes kicked in), asked if I wanted to try breastfeeding.
YES.
So I brought her to my breast and the nurse helped me get her to latch. It wasn't painful, it was a positive experience and I was elated that it was working out. I couldn't believe it was this easy! The nurse even commented that she seemed to figure it out right away, but then again, most girls do.
From there, it got more difficult, but she continued to nurse. I nursed twice the day she was born, and into that evening, my nipples began to get raw and hurt, but I continued to nurse.
Then the second night in the hospital came. I was having trouble getting her to latch, which, after the hours of reading blogs and articles, knew that would be a distinct possibility. So I continued to be patient and tried to get her to latch. An older, night nurse was on duty and came into my room. It was like deja vu. After commenting I had been trying to get her to latch for the past half hour, the night nurse took my boob, squeezed it and shoved Catherine's head onto it.
I thought I was going to lose my shit. But I tried really hard to stay calm. Catherine was clearly getting agitated as she hadn't latched yet and was very hungry, the night nurse was being pushy (what's with old ladies on the night shift being so damn pushy?) and I was about ready to, once again, lose my shit.
And like deja vu, the night nurse said, "Maybe if we put a bit of formula on the breast, she will take to it more." I tried to keep an open mind, and decided that maybe she was right. It did make sense and even though it didn't quite work with James, maybe it would with Catherine. So we tried, unsuccessfully, and in being unsuccessful, the night nurse said, "Maybe we should try a nipple shield."
I lost my shit in the nicest way possible.
"No. I do not want to try a nipple shield. I had a very negative experience with a nipple shield with my son, and I do not want to go that route. What I would like to do is simply keep trying."
The night nurse backed off, and after going through my mental checklist as to why Catherine might not seem interested, but was very clearly upset (hot? cold? hungry? under stimulated? over stimulated? dirty diaper?) I changed her diaper (dirty it was!) and immediately got her calmed down enough to nurse.
I was thrilled that breastfeeding was going so well. Even so, I ordered a new breast pump (covered 100% by insurance!) to prepare to pump when I go back to work in August.
I was thriled that it was much more easy to breastfeed. No more pump supplies and cleaning them and hooking myself up every 2-3 hours.
I was thrilled that I was going to be able to provide for my child.
So we came home. The first night home was a bit of a challenge, but I was not prepared for what the next 24 hours would bring.
My milk came in slowly on Thursday night/Friday morning. I started noticing that it was no longer the glue-like colostrum, but it was more runny. Although I had prepared myself for so many things in regard to breastfeeding, I was not prepared for the engorgement.
I briefly remember the engorgment from my post-partum with James, but I did not remember it being that bad. So I did the one thing I swore to myself I was no going to do. I pumped and gave what I had to Catherine in a bottle. She did horribly with it, which made me feel even more like a failure. I was a wreck.
By the time I was ready to take Catherine to her 2-day doctor's appointment, my breasts hurt so bad I was on the verge of tears. And combine that verge of tears with my hormone levels, I was bawling on my way into the doctor's office.
It was, in fact, so bad at the doctor's office, that I'm pretty sure the middle-aged man next to me was terrified and moved a seat over.
The nurses at the clinic are so sweet, and one in particular simply whisked me back into the exam room without weighing or measuring Catherine. She sat and rubbed my back as I cried and cried and cried. My boobs hurt so bad, my nipples were so chapped, it was so overwhelming to try and do so many things with two children.
The doctor came in and just talked with me. We talked about how hard it was. We talked about how people can tell you about how hard it is, but until you experience it, you really have no idea.
She looked at my nipples, and suggested a nipple shield (that dreaded word again!). I expressed how negative an experience that was with James, and she said if Catherine has no problems latching now, the nipple shield will only help the experience, rather than hinder it.
So I immediately went to the store, still teary-eyed, and bought a nipple shield.
It has been my saving grace.
Another thing my doctor suggested was that I do whatever I needed possible to make myself comfortable in providing for Catherine. So if that means that to save my aching nipples, I pump, then pump. So be it. I'm still, over everything else, exclusively breastfeeding. But it's ok to take a break, give myself some time to recover and make sure that I'm not only providing for Catherine, but I'm also taking care of me.
Somewhere in all of those articles and blogs I had read, it never said anything about taking care of yourself.
So yes, when Catherine immediately latches, it feels like someone is slamming my nipples in a drawer. It feels like someone has taken them and is about to twist them off. It feels like they will never be the same again.
Yes, the uterine cramps that accompanied breastfeeding the first time are 10x worse the second time around and I continue to have them, even 5 days in (though not as bad as the beginning).
And yes, I am using a nipple shield, which doesn't allow her to "latch" correctly.
But I don't care. I'm happy, Catherine is happy, and we're blissfully sailing into the breastfeeding world. I cannot tell you how happy I am that it's working. That we're doing it.
Sure, there are things that crop up that worry me - like how long should she nurse for? And when she "empties" one breast and I move her to the other breast, she never seems interested and I then only end up feeding off one breast (which is ok, says one article, as long as your body adjusts and provides enough milk, which I believe it is). And what's this thrush stuff? How do you get it? Should I be worried?
But in all this, my pump sits silent at the bottom of my nightstand. There if I need it.
I'm thankful that I don't.
So I began exclusively pumping. But not enough. I began to lose my milk supply something fierce and had to start using formula. At James' 2 week appointment, my doctor and pediatrician suggested Fenugreek. Although it helped, I still wasn't pumping enough. At James' 1 month appointment, my doctor gave me a prescription for some random medicine that supposedly helps your milk supply. It did, but by that time, James was used to the formula. So I exclusively pumped to supplement with breast milk and have some put in storage for when he started into daycare.
I can remember looking at our tiny bathroom vanity sink with a giant bowl filled with soapy water at 3:00 a.m. one morning and thinking, "This sucks." It did. Every time I pumped, I had to clean the pump parts, put my milk in a storage bag, mark it with time and date, put it in our fridge downstairs. While I pumped, I would prop James up in the boppy pillow and feed him from a bottle. A bottle that had to be heated up before I gave it to him. And then after I heated it up, I would have to quickly assemble my pump "parts," attach them to my overly full boobs, and begin pumping. I would have to carefully manuever him from his bassinet next to the bed onto the boppy pillow while the pump got going and rouse him to be fed. It was a horrible cycle, and to reiterate, it sucked.
It was time consuming. It took twice as long as breastfeeding would have. And yet, I continued to do it because, damnit, I was his mom and I was supposed to provide for him.
And I did it that way for almost 5 1/2 long months. I remember once coming back from pumping in the bathroom and my boss said, "That's all you got after pumping that long?" Talk about feeilng defeated. But I was determined to provide for my child.
It was a long road and when I finally decided to hang up the tubes (those of you with breast pumps know what I'm talking about), it was a relief. My life no longer revolved around pumping. From then on, it was formula.
Fast forward to the second positive pregnancy test I've ever had.
I was determined to breast feed with Catherine if it was the last thing I did. So when I checked into the hospital and was first getting my pitocin and IV drip, I told the nurse I wanted to see a lactation consultant as soon as possible and reiterated what a terrible breastfeeding experience I had had with my son. It was very important to me that people listen to me this time.
I brought with me to the hospital my "Womanly Art of Breastfeeding" book so I could reference it as I needed. I was prepared with hours and hours of blog and article reading regarding breastfeeding. I was bound and determined to make it work. There wasn't any other choice in the matter.
The nurses whisked her away after she was born and after an hour of checking vitals, making sure she was breathing (she was a breath holder, which led to the nurses giving her oxygen to make sure her reflexes kicked in), asked if I wanted to try breastfeeding.
YES.
So I brought her to my breast and the nurse helped me get her to latch. It wasn't painful, it was a positive experience and I was elated that it was working out. I couldn't believe it was this easy! The nurse even commented that she seemed to figure it out right away, but then again, most girls do.
From there, it got more difficult, but she continued to nurse. I nursed twice the day she was born, and into that evening, my nipples began to get raw and hurt, but I continued to nurse.
Then the second night in the hospital came. I was having trouble getting her to latch, which, after the hours of reading blogs and articles, knew that would be a distinct possibility. So I continued to be patient and tried to get her to latch. An older, night nurse was on duty and came into my room. It was like deja vu. After commenting I had been trying to get her to latch for the past half hour, the night nurse took my boob, squeezed it and shoved Catherine's head onto it.
I thought I was going to lose my shit. But I tried really hard to stay calm. Catherine was clearly getting agitated as she hadn't latched yet and was very hungry, the night nurse was being pushy (what's with old ladies on the night shift being so damn pushy?) and I was about ready to, once again, lose my shit.
And like deja vu, the night nurse said, "Maybe if we put a bit of formula on the breast, she will take to it more." I tried to keep an open mind, and decided that maybe she was right. It did make sense and even though it didn't quite work with James, maybe it would with Catherine. So we tried, unsuccessfully, and in being unsuccessful, the night nurse said, "Maybe we should try a nipple shield."
I lost my shit in the nicest way possible.
"No. I do not want to try a nipple shield. I had a very negative experience with a nipple shield with my son, and I do not want to go that route. What I would like to do is simply keep trying."
The night nurse backed off, and after going through my mental checklist as to why Catherine might not seem interested, but was very clearly upset (hot? cold? hungry? under stimulated? over stimulated? dirty diaper?) I changed her diaper (dirty it was!) and immediately got her calmed down enough to nurse.
I was thrilled that breastfeeding was going so well. Even so, I ordered a new breast pump (covered 100% by insurance!) to prepare to pump when I go back to work in August.
I was thriled that it was much more easy to breastfeed. No more pump supplies and cleaning them and hooking myself up every 2-3 hours.
I was thrilled that I was going to be able to provide for my child.
So we came home. The first night home was a bit of a challenge, but I was not prepared for what the next 24 hours would bring.
My milk came in slowly on Thursday night/Friday morning. I started noticing that it was no longer the glue-like colostrum, but it was more runny. Although I had prepared myself for so many things in regard to breastfeeding, I was not prepared for the engorgement.
I briefly remember the engorgment from my post-partum with James, but I did not remember it being that bad. So I did the one thing I swore to myself I was no going to do. I pumped and gave what I had to Catherine in a bottle. She did horribly with it, which made me feel even more like a failure. I was a wreck.
By the time I was ready to take Catherine to her 2-day doctor's appointment, my breasts hurt so bad I was on the verge of tears. And combine that verge of tears with my hormone levels, I was bawling on my way into the doctor's office.
It was, in fact, so bad at the doctor's office, that I'm pretty sure the middle-aged man next to me was terrified and moved a seat over.
The nurses at the clinic are so sweet, and one in particular simply whisked me back into the exam room without weighing or measuring Catherine. She sat and rubbed my back as I cried and cried and cried. My boobs hurt so bad, my nipples were so chapped, it was so overwhelming to try and do so many things with two children.
The doctor came in and just talked with me. We talked about how hard it was. We talked about how people can tell you about how hard it is, but until you experience it, you really have no idea.
She looked at my nipples, and suggested a nipple shield (that dreaded word again!). I expressed how negative an experience that was with James, and she said if Catherine has no problems latching now, the nipple shield will only help the experience, rather than hinder it.
So I immediately went to the store, still teary-eyed, and bought a nipple shield.
It has been my saving grace.
Another thing my doctor suggested was that I do whatever I needed possible to make myself comfortable in providing for Catherine. So if that means that to save my aching nipples, I pump, then pump. So be it. I'm still, over everything else, exclusively breastfeeding. But it's ok to take a break, give myself some time to recover and make sure that I'm not only providing for Catherine, but I'm also taking care of me.
Somewhere in all of those articles and blogs I had read, it never said anything about taking care of yourself.
So yes, when Catherine immediately latches, it feels like someone is slamming my nipples in a drawer. It feels like someone has taken them and is about to twist them off. It feels like they will never be the same again.
Yes, the uterine cramps that accompanied breastfeeding the first time are 10x worse the second time around and I continue to have them, even 5 days in (though not as bad as the beginning).
And yes, I am using a nipple shield, which doesn't allow her to "latch" correctly.
But I don't care. I'm happy, Catherine is happy, and we're blissfully sailing into the breastfeeding world. I cannot tell you how happy I am that it's working. That we're doing it.
Sure, there are things that crop up that worry me - like how long should she nurse for? And when she "empties" one breast and I move her to the other breast, she never seems interested and I then only end up feeding off one breast (which is ok, says one article, as long as your body adjusts and provides enough milk, which I believe it is). And what's this thrush stuff? How do you get it? Should I be worried?
But in all this, my pump sits silent at the bottom of my nightstand. There if I need it.
I'm thankful that I don't.
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