>Not much going on here except work, work, work, pump, work, nurse, pump, yell at Evan to do his homework, then repeat. I pretty much hate my new work schedule, even though it is what I asked for. After being off of work for over 5 months, thought I would need to get my chops back, and so I have tried to avoid signing up for several 12-hr. shifts in a row. Plus, with me waking every few hours to nurse a baby or pump, it makes it easier when there are days off in between. But…..I feel like I never have time off because the days don’t come in stretches. That was, they didn’t until this week. I am off until Friday night, with the exception of an 8-hour computer class on Wednesday for the new software the hospital is getting. Holy crap! So what’s new?
Well, in my quest to turn myself into a one-woman dairy farm, I broke down and called our area La Leche League leader. She was wonderful, and we talked about what I could expect at the meetings and more. I gave her a brief synopsis of my breastfeeding woes and she advised me to start taking blessed thistle with my fenugreek. Ok. Done. I missed the month’s meeting by 2 days, but found out they meet in my hospital! So I will be going to try it out for September’s meeting. Yay! Maybe I’ll meet others in the same boat.
Other than that, there is one more development. I’ve gone Bat-Shit Crazy! Yep, you read that correctly. As if I wasn’t already an emotional minefield, I now have something new to add to the mix: I have started having nightmares. Crazy ones, too. And some that aren’t terrible but just seem so….real. Yesterday I swore I woke up to the feeling of one of my progesterone injections. (This is where I admit that they hurt like HELL!) In my dream, Evan was the one giving me the shot instead of my RN, and I just kept thrashing, saying, “But I’ve already had my baby!” And when I awakened, I was crying. So yeah, I’m going to seek out somene to talk to. I’m starting with our hospital’s EAP in the hopes that just a few sessions will be adequate, and in the event that it isn’t, they can then refer me. I definitely want someone experienced in this sort of thing.
Other than this stuff, my days and nights blur together to where they are almost unrecognizable. I blame night shift. And my pump. I blame that too. It is the bane of my existence these days, especially since Iave realized that Ido not have the luxury of slacking off on this. My milk supply is too fragile. Very little increases it, but if I so much as skip one pumping or nursing session, it decreases. Unfair. But I have come to realize, with the help of Zach’s weight gain and level on contentment, that each ounce of breastmilk I give him is a sort of gift. So for now, in light of all of the work it has taken, I am choosing to focus on the fact that I have been breastfeeding him for almost 4 months. One third of my goal of one year! Go Me!
On that note, I am going to pump! Ha!
>I don’t know who wrote this, but as I was sitting awake last night, thinking of how quickly my babies are growing, I vaguely recalled it, and searched and searched until I found it.
You were six months old and full of fun,
With a blink of my eye, you were suddenly one.
There were so many things we were going to do,
But I turned my head and you turned two.
At two you were very dependent on me,
But independence took over when you turned three.
Your third birthday, another year I tried to ignore,
But when I lit the candles, there weren’t three but four.
Four was the year that you really strived,
Why look at you now, you’re already five.
Now you are ready for books and for rules.
This is the year that you go to school.
The big day came, you were anxious to go.
We walked to the bus going oh so slow.
As you climbed aboard and waved good-bye,
I felt a lump in my throat and tears stung my eyes.
Time goes so fast.
It’s hard to believe,
That just yesterday you were home with me.
And tomorrow when the bus brings you home and you jump to the ground,
You’ll be wearing your cap and graduation gown.
So I’m holding to these moments as hard as I can,
Because the next time I look, I’ll be seeing a man.
>Zach only poops every other day, which turns out to be perfectly normal for him. Its color and consistency vary based on the amount of formula and breastmilk he gets the day before the Big Poop. And I mean BIG POOP. As in he needs an entire wardrobe change and sometimes even a bath afterwards. With my work schedule lately, these Big Poops usually happen to John. Tonight I just happened to be home, which means it was my turn to deal with it by default.
Nothing could have prepared me for it. Nothing.
First I opened the crotch snaps of his little jumper. Then the onesie. Of course I could tell from the outside that some had leaked on his side. And I was initially happy. Here lately I have been so fed up with the milk supply battle that I have switched from my regimen of pumping every 2 hours to just nursing Zach. I don’t think I am ever going to have a full supply again, so instead I can relax and focus on the bonding with my baby boy that comes with physically nursing him. Of course this means I have very little idea of exactly how much breastmilk he is actually getting with a feeding. But the little bit of leakage I detected was yellow and seedy, telling me he is getting a significant amount. Oh Happy Day!
But then I actually got the clothing pulled up far enough. And I unfastened the front of his diaper. And the look on my face must have been comical because Zach got all giggly and smiley on me. How in the blue hell does a child poop forward????? I mean exactly that. There was absolutely nothing on his bottom. Instead, it was all up his front. And no, he was not laying on his belly when the Big Poop occurred, thus allowing gravity to do the job. He was semi-reclined on his back in his bouncy seat. And there was so much of it that I went through 3/4 of a wipes container to clean it up.
Somehow I managed to get the soiled clothes and onesie over his head without getting it all over his hair. Don’t ask me how. I was actually contemplating cutting his clothes off with my trauma shears that I use in codes at work, but he was wearing an expensive outfit, so I resisted the urge. But that is when I did the unthinkable…
Here he is, still all giggly and smiley and kicking his legs with reckless abandon, and I made the mistake only novice mothers make: I left the diaper too close to his kicking legs. So it is no mystery how it ended up all over his be-socked foot, which then contacted his other leg. And before I know it, his entire front side is….well, you get the picture.
Of course by this point, all I can do is take him straight to the bathtub after wiping it all up with wipes. But then I made another novice-mommy mistake. I carried him at arms length, facing toward me, through the house to the bathroom. Weapon cocked and loaded. And I needed a shower afterwards, too, for my sweet little angel hosed me down good with his pee. Of course this provoked more funny looks and strange noises from me, which delighted Zach even further. More giggling and smiling. More leg-kicking. And this time, I even got some little squeals to go along, which made me laugh. Of course I never dreamed there would be a day that I would laugh while being soaked with pee. Evan never did this to me. (He did throw up in my mouth once, and then there was the time he ate his own poop, but that is a story that is just too traumatic to discuss ever again!)
So there it is. We have found Zach’s special gift: his shit defies the laws of physics.
>Before I even start to say what is that I want to say, let me start by saying this: I know I should not feel this way. I know I am just about the luckiest new mom on the planet. After a horrible pregnancy, I delivered a premature baby who was the size of a full-term baby. And other than a few mild bumps in the road, he had no physiologic impact of his prematurity. For this I am very thankful.
I do not know what in the hell is wrong with me lately. My baby is 3 months old and I feel horrible emotionally. I burst into tears at the slightest provocation. And I literally feel jealousy toward other pregnant women, which I know is awful. So I have been doing some soul-searching lately to determine the root of my problem, since I am not generally a mean-spirited person.
I feel as if I was robbed. And despite the fact that noone wants me to have another child, my doctors included, I find myself wistfully looking forward to the day when I can have another baby. Because some part of me wants another chance to get things right. And I cannot tolerate the idea that it is all over for me. 2 days ago, I was organizing Zach’s clothes in preparation for the coming season change. And I came across a very small amount of things he has recently outgrown. As I folded them and placed them in the storage bin to be packed away, I wanted to scream. Instead, I cried, provoking John to ask me what was wrong. I tried and tried to voice to him how I was feeling, but all he could think was that we have this sweet, perfect baby boy and how could I possibly be sad? H couldn’t get that Zach’s outgrowing his tiny newborn things (really not even newborn things, but preemie sizes designed for babies up to 7 pounds) is just more evidence that it is all really over before I am ready for it to be.
So yes, that is the perfect statement–that I was robbed. I will never have the pregnancy and childbirth experience a woman should have. And I cannot blame the medical establishment or politics of obstetrics. This is all because of my own body. Hell, I haven’t even had the breastfeeding relationship I hoped for. Instead, I have to work for every ounce of breastmilk Zach consumes, and virtually nothing increases my supply while the tiniest little thing will make it drop even further. So yeah, I want to do it all again because I want another chance. Of course I know how illogical this really is. Another chance just means another opportunity for one of my pregnancies. They already told me it will happen with every child I have.
This all makes me wonder if I am suffering from postpartum depression. I don’t feel hopeless, can feel joy and enjoy my baby, so I think not. I think it is more just a delayed case of the baby blues. When I start to think that I should maybe find someone to talk with about it, I just feel silly. Regarding the breastfeeding, I keep wanting to seek out a group to join, but I am afraid there will be noone there who can relate to my experiences and it will just leave me feeling more bitter, which is the last thing I want.
Of course the few of you readers who followed my pregnancy blog or read it after the fact are probably disgusted with me right about now. I was so ready back then for it all to be over because I was so miserable. Now that it’s all is behind me, I’m complaining. Maybe I just never will be satisfied.
Here we are, on the eve of your first day of third grade and I cannot sleep. In fact, I cannot quit crying. I wish someone would have told me how quickly time would pass. How looking back, each stage and challenge we have faced would be but a fleeting moment in time.
Raising you has been, so far, the greatest challenge I have faced. You are so bright that you outsmart me on a daily basis. But now, as I reflect on the nine years we have had together, I want it all back. I wish I could bring back the myriad of moments we have shared and relive them together, taking even more time to treasure each and every bit. You don’t remember it all, but I do. Perhaps the greatest gift I can give you is the memories of your childhood, so that you can see through my eyes just how amazing and miraculous you truly are.
I remember the troubles we had having you. You saw what we went through to give you a baby brother. It was the same with you. The night a young doctor walked into my hospital room and told your daddy and I that I was having a miscarriage and all they could do was help me be comfortable as your life slipped away from us–that very night is etched into my mind as if it just occurred moments ago. The tears we cried! Already so in love with you that our hearts were breaking. A love so palpable that even the young doctor could feel it and agreed to give me drugs that weren’t even indicated that early in pregnancy. But they worked, and I knew then and there that something great was occurring, that your life would somehow and in some way end up being a gift to the world. And we held on because you were so wanted. Through all of the tests and drugs and hospitalizations.
And then you were here with us. You entered the world with the lustiest scream I have ever heard, almost 2 months premature, and yet so ready for the world that you didn’t even need to be suctioned. And you were so beautiful. Everyone who had the privilege of gazing upon you saw your beauty. And the miraculous part is that this beauty I am speaking of never faded.
You don’t remember colic, but I do. The nights you screamed from some unknown discomfort while Daddy was at work and it was just the two of us. I wished then that it would end. Now, looking back, I realize that those nights gave us some of our most sacred moments. I would clutch you close to my heart and sing songs of love to you to quiet your hurt as best I could while I got to know you in a way nobody else ever will. My baby boy. My angel.
You were just nine months old when you began to walk. In fact, you walked before you talked. I cried when you took your first step because I made it harder for you. My shouts of excitement startled you so much that you lost your balance and plopped down on your diapered bottom. The look of shock on your face! I wish I would have known then that you would start taking baby steps further and further away from me.
And when you first talked! We had been so worried. You were almost two and weren’t talking. I worried and worried and took you to specialists because I was fearful that something was wrong. Why weren’t you talking? Of course now I know this was just more evidence of how special you are because I had to make you talk. You were too smart and could do for yourself and just had no need. You never did have a real first word like “mommy” or “daddy”. Instead, one day out of the blue, you toddled up to me and tugged on my pants and said, “I want a cookie.” Just like that. Plain as can be. Not a first word, but rather a first sentence.
Time passed at lightening speed and before I knew it, it was time to send you to school. You were a full year younger than your classmates, and when we took you for pre-kindergarten testing, you looked so small next to the bigger kids. But you were also much smarter than any of them. Your teacher adored you. The sweet innocent little man you were! At recess, all of the little girls would want to play house. And you, so small that the clothes you were wearing came from Baby Gap, would always have to be the baby. And they would push you around in a stroller meant for dolls. But you let them and never complained because that is your nature. And you became even more loved because of it. Anywhere we would go, we would come by people who knew you. “Hi Evan!”, they would exclaim, while Daddy and I looked at each other with confusion. Who were these people and how did they know you?
I remember the day we found out you were different from other kids. Mommy cried a lot of tears that day and you wanted to know why because you were so concerned. “Gifted”, they said. “Freakishly high intellect”. I knew then that life would be a little more difficult for you because you just think differently from the rest of us. And the struggles with school started. Do we keep you with your age group or put you where you belong academically? And I began to have fears that I would fail you in some way. That the decisions I would make for you would end up being less than the best. And then I had to learn the hard lesson that I will not always be able to fix everything for you and my heart broke.
I am not the perfect parent. I make mistakes. But I do know that I have done a good job. I know this because I know you. I remember one day we were at the playground and there was a mentally retarded teenager playing on the swings amidst children your age. And those children were making fun of the boy because he had the body of a grown-up but still wanted to play like a young child. You could see the pain and confusion on his face. I felt fear as you started to approach the boy. I didn’t want you to add to his hurt. As I made a motion to go a intervene, your dad held out his arm to stop me and told me to watch and see what happened. I did, and my heart swelled with pride as you took that boy by the hand and led him to the sand pit and proceeded to build in the sand with him for over an hour, despite your peers’ taunting. And I saw, then and there, the kindness in your heart and knew that I must have been doing something right in the years I have been blessed to have you.
So here we are, and I am sad. Third grade. And your ninth birthday in just a matter of days. It is all going too quickly for me. I know we will build new memories together for me to add to my collection. It’s just that those steps you take, Evan! They just keep carrying you closer to the day you will leave me. And I worry that the world will not be ready to see the beauty and wonderment that is you in the same way I have. But at the same time, I cannot wait to see your life unfold, to witness the amazing things I know are in store for you.
I know the past year or so has been difficult for you. First you had to adapt to the idea of a new baby in the house after almost nine years. Then came the medical issues as my body tried to fail Zachary like it tried to fail you. And before we knew it, Zach was here and you had to adapt to having to share us. But you are so tough and strong and resilient that you handled it better than most adults could. I know, with all of the time we have had to devote to Zach, that you question your new place in the family. I am telling you now that it is still, and will always be the same. My baby boy. My angel. The love of my life. One of my greatest miracles. My life. My breath. my heart. My one and only Evan.
>So yesterday, Zach had his first photo shoot to capture him at the ripe ol’ age of 3 months. Of course, I am his mom, so it could not have possibly been organized. Actually, I completely forgot to call and make the appointment. So when I called to see if there were any openings, and they asked if I could be there by noon, my reply was “SUREEEEEEEE! No prob!”
Of course the shots in the first outfit for each boy went amazingly well. Zach was content and happy, and gave us some great laughs thanks to the photog who was channeling Chewbacca. But after I changed his clothes for the first time in the session, he decided he had had enough. Armed with no tricks other than a bottle of breastmilk, we were out of options as he screamed and wailed. Until I got the bright idea of letting him drink from the bottle in between shots. So it went suck-suck-suck, yank it away, and flash, then repeat. So some of the shots reveal our trick as his mouth is still in bottle formation
Regardless, we did manage to get some great shots to freeze both boys in time for me. The star of the day, of course, was Evan. That kid is so photogenic that it makes me borderline-sick.
Then came the part I hate. Choosing. They take all of these adorable shots of your babies, and unless money is no object, you have to pick. Gah! And I always end up spending way more than planned because I can’t narrow it down. So yesterday, I ended up leaving with 5 huge wall prints, 8 8×10’s, more 5×7’s than I know what to do with, and literally hundreds of wallets all in about 8 different poses. Of course to order less must mean I don’t really love my kids, right? Ha!
So here they are. Pictures of Zach so sweet that we personally cannot look at them without smiling. And pictures of Evan that show how much he has grown in a way that breaks my heart. Saved in that moment, just as they are. In case I blinked.