12 Jul
I was excited to read about this series on A Cup of Jo regarding balancing work & baby. Especially since balancing…I am not.
I hope to come back and write more about this topic and my experience this far, just as soon as I catch my balance.
7 Jul
When I’m around my father, he wants to be sure he never catches a glimpse of me nursing Elena. So he’ll ask (with his head turned the other way), “You breastin’?” You have to know my dad to know how ridiculous this is. I admit, sometimes I find myself thinking about breastfeeding as breastin’
A few weeks back I reported that I hated breastfeeding. I am here to update you on the situation by stating that I no longer hate it. Everything I read was true: it got better. I’m still not totally comfortable in public. Elena can get fussy and just want to be at the breast, this isn’t exactly conducive to an afternoon with the entire family. I’m either walking away and going in an another room until she decides to fall asleep…only to go right back once she stirs again. Or, I am doing my best to conceal the goods with some scarf/sling contraption. I am hoping at some point, we get on a schedule of sorts, so I am not nursing so often. But I am not too sure I want the whole “I need my mommy and only my mommy to soothe me” thing to stop. I kind of love it.
I am still spraying the poor little lady…but not nearly as often. My supply seems to be balancing out.
I have had more than a few moments when she’s nursing and I just want to melt into a giant puddle. The whole thing is amazingly sweet. The days of crying out of frustration and absolutely hating it seem far behind us.
I am incredibly glad that I stuck it out and never gave up…even if I did lose hope several times. I know that formula fed babies are healthy, happy and intelligent (I am one), but I cannot imagine it any other way. Getting up in the middle of the night to make a bottle? Not for me. I can barely get myself set up to pump once or twice a week.
Well this was just a quick update before bed and during my awful-terrible-I-am-not-a-good-person-swedish fish snack time. I have more to say on the matter. I write that often, don’t I?
1 Jul
I’m not talking about eyes…
The term baby blues seems so trite. Like, it’s just the baby blues. For me, they were terrifying.
Along the same lines, mentioning postpartum depression is treated like dropping the n word (sans the hate) – shock. horror. whispers “she has postpartum?”
That’s what makes the baby blues, which are perfectly normal and should just be called postpartum severe PMS, so scary. I lived in fear each day that I was suffering from PPD. That it wouldn’t pass. That I would need to be medicated.
One day in week 2 I told Jim that I missed our old life and while I knew how horrible that sounded, I asked him to please imagine how horrible it must feel to feel that way. A few days later, after the death of my friend, I told my mom that I was “not happy.” She took a leave of absence from work to be with me while Jim worked and went to school.
From the moment Elena was born, I was so focused on caring for her at all costs. Forgetting sleep, eating, showering, thinking rationally. I was like a robot: must.nurse.baby. I never stopped to take a moment to think about the weight of what was happening.
I was a mom! I’ve waited so long for this. I dreamt about this my whole life. She’s here!
I don’t know what to blame. My unexpected post-birth experience, the anemia, the troubles with breastfeeding, the fact that most people around me do not understand the nursing relationship. Or, maybe it was just plain hormones.
I was sad. I cried when she cried because I felt like a bad mother. I declined help from people because I was so determined to do everything my way. I wondered how in the world I was going to feel better. When people said it gets easier, I didn’t care. I wanted to love it now, not later.
The first 3 weeks were rougher than rough.
Of course, somewhere in there I lost my closest friend and her unborn baby. We shared our pregnancy with one another. For nearly 6 years, we shared the most intimate details of our lives with one another…but this is for another post.
I knew being a mom wouldn’t be easy. I was a know-it-all who expected to be tired and smelly. I also knew the demand that nursing would place on me. I guess I just never imagined how this would all make me feel. I assumed that despite all of that, I would be giddy and smitten with my little baby girl.
There seemed to be no room for that.
Then one day (on our 3rd wedding anniversary, but I don’t think that had anything to do with it), it was as if a veil had been lifted, a big, dark cloud moved the hell on out. I was happy! I fell in love with being a mother to my beautiful daughter.
Now when she cries, I’m a sympathetic problem solver, instead of a gloomy mess. When she’s smiling and happy, I am filled with joy. When she sleeps, I stare at her in awe, kiss her little nose and thank my lucky stars that she’s here and that she’s healthy.
It was just the baby blues. Whew. It was just the baby blues.
Did you experience severe post-baby pms or ppd?
27 Jun
If you want to laugh, I’ll share a little secret with you: I honestly thought that Elena would just sleep all day, waking to eat, play briefly, and doze off again. I thought that getting my work done would be a breeze, at least for the first 5 or 6 months. WRONG.
My beautiful girl is needy. I hate the term colicky, so I will go with “high need.” From week 3 on, she spent most of her waking hours crying. A good 3-5 stretch was spent eating, burping, hiccuping, crying, cat-nap, repeat. Luckily, she knows that nighttime is for sleeping. She’s out by 10 or 11 and just wakes to nurse 2-3 times. Since we co-sleep, I just shove my boob in her mouth and nod off. She wakes up between 6 and 7:30. I am thankful for this because I have not felt sleep deprived. I am just everything else deprived.
I should report my oversupply issues. Apparently my body thinks I have triplets because I make gallons of milk a day. One would think this was a good problem. It’s not. Symptoms of oversupply include spraying milk everywhere. On your baby’s face and in her hair. On the couch, at the dog, and at random strangers.
Okay, that last part isn’t true. For the baby, it means she gulps, chokes, gets pissed off at me and my boobs, has gas, spits up, and poops green. Basically, not only does the milk flow super fast down her tiny throat, but she is only getting the foremilk. What’s foremilk? It’s the milk in the front – duh. Which is basically like skim milk, it’s low in calories and high in sugar. After a few minutes, babies should get to the hindmilk, which is rich and high in calories. When you make too much milk and your baby only nurses briefly before nodding off or getting super frustrated because you’re shooting milk at her, she never gets this hindmilk.
There are several ways to try and correct this, though the process is slow. There are no quick fixes and basically your best bet is time. Oversupply issues start to resolve themselves between 6 and 12 weeks. Since last week (knock on wood) things have been better with spraying. I guess I am lucky they started closer to 6 than to 12. On Wednesday, I gave up dairy. This has been tough, but I bought some Silk Dark Chocolate Almond Milk at around noon today and it’s almost gone. 5 days without chocolate-y, milky, sugar-y goodness was no picnic.
I have to say, I’m starting to enjoy breastfeeding. Sometimes. Like when we’re sleeping and she doesn’t even need a light, she finds me and latches on. Her little hand will come up and rest on my breast as she drinks away, still sleeping. It’s beautiful.
Her behavior has improved these past few days. I don’t know if it’s the dairy or the supply or just that we’ve gotten over a hump. She loves her Momma and wants to be at the breast often. This is perfectly normal. It just means I have even less freedom than most new moms…assuming that a large number of new moms bottle feed.
Oh, and let’s not get started on nursing style. Sheesh. But I did get a haircut on Saturday and I felt chic for the first time in months.
Now that you’re up to date. Here are a few photos from my iPhone:
New hair
Elena & I on my 29th birthday
6 weeks old. Smiling today.
I have a few topics I need to write about. I will see what I can do about getting more hours in a day OR getting my daughter to take two long naps, in order to write about the following:
26 Jun
How lame of me to post after a hiatus on my birthday. I swear I’m not just looking for birthday wishes. I wanted to pop in and note that this day last year, I was filled with sadness…and hope. I told myself that by my 29th birthday, Jim and I would be parents. Well look at us now. Elena, though definitely a baby with high needs, has fulfilled our dream. Right now she’s sleeping, mouth wide open, with her head on my breast. That is definitely her favorite spot, as it should be.
Hope you’re all enjoying the summer! If she stays peaceful, I will post a little update on how things are going.
15 Jun
One year ago today, we lost our first baby. I am so, so grateful for where we are right now. If we hadn’t gone through that, we wouldn’t have met her.
Elena at 4 weeks old.
13 Jun
…I got out of bed and WHOOSH! there was blood everywhere. Not just blood, blood clots. The entire path from the bed to the bathroom, say 12 feet, was covered in mega piles of blood. Jim might have said WOAH! And my mom, holding Elena, said something like “Okay, that’s normal. It’s okay.” She is so squeamish I have no idea how she didn’t pass out. Neither does she.
I made it to the toilet and Peggy came in the room. “Oh my god. You got up? Without calling me?” I had no idea I needed to run this by her. She called in Sarah. There was some quiet chatter. They walked me back into bed and started cleaning up. One of them came over and massages my uterus, again. More blood came gushing out. I know because I could feel and hear it. Sarah needed to examine me again. She was looking for a retained piece of placenta, even though she thought it had looked complete. No matter how much they kept massaging, the blood kept gushing out. They told me they would need to give me a shot of methergine in my leg in order to stop the bleeding. I was down for whatever it took to keep them from pushing on my aching belly.
This didn’t stop them from torturing me. I remember asking them to please give me a break. It was painful and the blood kept on coming with each push. At one point, it shot all over Sarah. This is when things got scary.
Sarah asked Jim to take the baby out of the room. My mom stayed with me. They said they would need to start an IV to administer pitocin. I whined at the mention of this. I started feeling quite faint. Probably caused by the mere mention of an IV, in conjunction with the blood loss.
Sarah was clearly in distress, which started to scare the shit out of me. I trusted her, but it became obvious that she couldn’t figure out why this was happening. My mom asked if she dealt with this often. Sarah paused, and said “No.” It was at this point that I thought I might die. Honestly. This was made worse when Sarah asked, “Brooke, are you still with us?” I must have been so pale. Sarah said they would need to get me up to the hospital. It is just 4 doors down from the birth center.
My heart sank. “What about the baby?” I asked. She would have to stay at the Birth Center for monitoring. They were not sure if the hospital would let her stay with me.
Before I knew it there were two paramedics asking me my name. I asked if I could walk onto the gurney (always fighting). They said with all the blood loss, that wasn’t a good idea. They would lift me. For some reason, I was totally naked. I couldn’t even get dressed. My inlaws were showing up as they were wheeling me out. My mother in law was probably as close to fainting as I was. Luckily Jim had warned her that I was in distress and not Elena.
They stayed with the baby while Jim, my mom and I got in the ambulance for a 30 second ride. When we arrived at the hospital an out of the ambulance, I felt the cool air on my face and told them I felt better. I asked “Can I just stay out here? I’ll be fine.” I knew the hospital would only make me feel worse. And it did. Within minutes I had two nurses trying to find a vein to take blood. Umm, I just lost over 2 liters of blood, that’s a bottle of soda. I don’t think you’re getting any more out of me! They put about 5 holes in my arms and blew two veins. An IV nurse had to come in to finally get some. They needed to check my blood count to see if I needed an transfusion. I didn’t.
A doctor that spoke only half English came in and took out a speculum. Just what I wanted after 2 hours of pushing out an 8 pound 7 ounce baby, followed by tearing, stitches and examinations. I kept up my spirits by using my usual I-hate-hospitals-sarcasm.
The doctor couldn’t see any retained placenta and basically as soon as I showed up at the hospital, the hemorrhaging stopped. I continued to bleed heavily, but nothing out of the ordinary. They kept pumping me full of pitocin, which I blame for my gloomy mood. All of that synthetic BS definitely got in the way of the real oxytocin that was supposed to me making me fall in love with my baby.
Speaking of the baby, I was away from her for less than two hours. Exactly what I was trying to avoid. I am glad I got to spend the first hour with her and to nurse her, but while we were apart I cried. I worried she wouldn’t know who I was. My mom had stayed with me while Jim headed back to the birth center to be with Elena.
After she was cleared to leave and Jim filled out all the necessary paperwork, he brought her to me. The nurses told us that she was not their patient and they could not treat her or tend to her in any way. That was comforting. :eye roll:
I was so, so weak. I held Elena and while everyone took pictures, laughed and cooed, I felt like total fucking shit. I could barely sit up and later, when they asked if I could stand and walk to the bathroom, I failed that test. It was hours and hours before I could stand without feeling like I would pass out.
During my stay there, I tried to nurse Elena, but I had no idea what I was doing. The nurses were no help. One tried to help and she was actually shoving the back of Elena’s head onto my breast. I knew that was dead wrong.
When hours had passed and I had all those IV fluids but didn’t feel the need to pee, the word catheter was mentioned. I freaked. They brought over a bed pan and I could barely get on the damn thing. I begged for another 30 minutes to try and pee on my own. When I didn’t, the catheter went in. It wasn’t as painful as I imagined, but just being hooked up to yet another freaking tube was frustrating.
The doctor was only willing to let me go home that night if I was able to get up and take a walk around the hallways. I tried to fake it. That didn’t work. But by 9pm, I was able to pee on my own and walk the quiet halls of the eerily quiet hospital. A midwife from the birth center came by to see me. She urged me to stay the night. I politely refused. I had to get in my bed. Something had to go according to plan after the day I had.
A little after 9pm, about 16 hours after Elena was born and 24 hours after we left home, I was “released.” I had to laugh at the fact that I was wheeled out in a wheelchair…one of the ridiculously unnecessary rituals I was avoiding by choosing the birth center setting. After all, they wanted me to be able to walk on my own before leaving, then they wheeled us on out. Stupid.
The midwives and nurses at The Birth Center were so apologetic and you can tell they truly felt terrible for what happened. It would have happened no matter where I gave birth, but they aren’t in the “at least the baby is healthy” camp. They, like all natural nuts, know that I would need to recover from this dramatic change in plans and the loss of my intended birth experience.
Yes, I brought Elena into this world just as I planned, but afterwards, what went down was the complete opposite. I am not grateful for the hospital. Like I said, as soon as I arrived, I was fine. They did nothing to make me feel any better. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I understand that the midwives needed to make that call, and I don’t blame them.
Ah, I guess I still haven’t even processed the whole thing. I’m just over here surviving new motherhood. Covered in breast milk and cooing at the funny faces made by my sleeping babe.
Well, I hope Part II lived up to the hype. It’s been a tough few weeks for me. I miss my pal. More on her soon.
8 Jun
Throughout my pregnancy, I just had a feeling my baby would arrive early. I was cautious to say that out loud, because I was also fully prepared to go 42 weeks.
The day before I went into labor, Jim & I walked around an outdoor shopping complex. We had lunch & enjoyed the weather. For days I’d been taking two walks (sometimes curb walking), bouncing on my ball, walking up the stairs sideways and continuing my yoga stretches. I didn’t want to rush her out, but at 38 weeks, I didn’t want to slow down the momentum. Remember, I was 80% effaced and almost 3cm dilated at 36 weeks.
On Friday the 13th, I worked in the morning as usual. Then I tweeted:
“I don’t want to sleep, eat, get dressed, go out, stay home or work. Perfect.”
I just couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do. I wanted to get a mani/pedi, but I told myself that if I went, I wouldn’t have the baby for 2 more weeks and would need another session anyway. But if I didn’t go, I would go into labor that night. I even sent this to my mom in a text.
I had been having regular contractions for days. Lower back pain that came around the front like menstrual cramps. I got a confirmation that they were in fact contractions when I was hooked up to a non-stress test on Monday. (I reported feeling her move less often, so my midwife hooked me up just in case). At 2:41 pm, I began timing them. I breathed through each one. They were totally manageable. They were lasting about 30 seconds and coming anywhere from 7-10 mins apart. Though sometimes they were much closer, I knew it wasn’t really happening. I planned on using the 5-1-1 rule (coming every five minutes, one minute apart, for one hour) before calling the birth center. I text Jim to let him know what was going on. I called my parents to make sure they weren’t going to extend happy hour past, well, happy hour. I wanted them to know we might need them to come sit with the dogs, as my closest family was out of town.
Of course, my mom made me call the midwife around 5pm. I explained what was happening and she said that it definitely sounded like early labor, but to ignore the contractions as much as possible. They weren’t painful, but ignore them, I could not. Looking back, I should have tried to sleep. They specifically told us in birth class not to sit up and time early contractions. Then again, they were coming so often and it was the middle of the day.
Around 7pm, I let Jim know he needed to come home. I was tired of being alone and wanted someone else here to time contractions…using my contraction app on my iPhone, of course. He came home around 8 and was quite calm. He kept talking about how we would be meeting our baby so soon. I absolutely could not get my head “there.” I felt guilty about this. For weeks every Braxton Hicks or practice contraction I told myself I was one step closer to meeting my baby. But now all I could focus on was the present (thanks yoga). One contraction at a time. After all, I had no idea if this would just stop. In fact, I was afraid it would. I couldn’t imagine this stopping and starting up again a few days later
I tried listening to positive birth affirmations on YouTube. They didn’t work. I walked though contractions, used the ball while on all fours, and in between them, I gathered up the last few things I needed. Somewhere in there I passed a bloody clot and some more blood. Around 8:30, they were lasting 50 seconds and averaging about 4 minutes apart. I called the birth center and Sarah, the midwife on call, got back to me. She stayed on the line with me through two contractions…I couldn’t talk through them and she could hear my labored breathing. She asked how long my drive would be and told me to head in. At 8:50 we agreed to meet in one hour
We gathered up the food & drinks. I kissed my babies, held them tight and got a little choked up knowing that when I saw them again, our lives would be transformed.
I was really afraid for the ride. I couldn’t imagine sitting upright through the contractions. I grabbed a blanket and pillow. Before we got out of our neighborhood, Jim asked if I was okay. I told him not to talk to me. With each contraction, I told myself it would be over in less than a minute. The drive wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.
We arrived at the birth center just before 10 and Sarah was there preparing the room. Within a few minutes she asked if I wanted to be checked to see where I was. I wanted to know. She did the exam, which wasn’t painful at all. I was 6 centimeters! This was happening. I was relieved, but still, not excited. I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me.
My parents had made their way down and even though my mom really wanted to come to the birth center, I asked her to just stay with the dogs. Part of me knew that if they came, Jim would want to alert his parents and I wasn’t comfortable having them hear everything that was coming out of my mouth. I only dropped one F bomb, but the primal moaning was something I wanted to keep between the three of us.
It was quiet. I wanted it to stay that way. I felt guilty, but I needed the environment to remain just like this.
I walked, rocked and sometimes moaned though contractions. Sarah would come by with the Doppler & check the baby’s heartbeat every few minutes.
I was encouraged to drink & pee often, which I did. At some point she filled the tub and I got in. Being in there felt great…until I had a contraction. I couldn’t stay down. I kept lifting out and hanging over the side of the tub. The few times I stayed down, it felt good, but I could not get myself to stay down! It was in the tub that I spoke the words I think every laboring mother says “I just can’t do this anymore.” I got out of the water and in once again later on.
At around 2am Sarah checked me again and I was fully dilated. She said whenever I was ready to push, I could start. I don’t remember where I pushed first, but I started around 2:30. Because it was clear that I was done with the tub, Sarah suggested I use a birthing stool. I didn’t like it. But then again, I didn’t like pushing at all. Sarah kept going in there to stretch me, using some lube. I simply could not get the pushing down. At one point I asked her to stop with the lube and stretching. The whole breathe in-force your breath down-push like you’re having a bowel movement? Yeah, I never got it. I pushed for two hours. With each contraction, I could only muster up (or out?) two pushes. I think I should have been getting at least three. Several times I asked if the baby would ever come out, and what would happen if she did not. I was tired and felt like I was not making progress.
Sarah eventually called a nurse to have her come to the center. This made me feel like I was closer. She told me I should get on the bed and try pushing while lying on my side. Peggy arrived and the 4 of us gathered around the bed. I continued to push with each contraction and Jim started cheering me on too, as he could now see what was going on down there (poor guy). With each push, I was definitely letting out some pretty insane screams. Not like energy wasting, unnecessary screams, just like these body trembling, oh-my-god-please come-out-of-my-body screams. They kept telling me how much hair she had. After what felt like 10 or 15 minutes, she arrived at 4:52 am. As her body passed through me, I felt a huge, wet relief.
When they placed my little girl on my chest, I was still moaning and overwhelmed physically. She certainly had a ton of hair! Jim asked me if I was sure of her name and we announced: Elena Caroline. She was beautiful and she was finally ours.
Sarah told me I had torn my labia and perineum. She would have to stitch me up. I’ve never had stitches before, but she used Lidocaine and it was pretty painless. Though I was still quite cramp-y and uncomfortable. To be honest, that crazy, emotional feeling of joy never rushed over me. I didn’t cry like I thought I would. I felt like something just wasn’t right.
At some point Jim had called both of our parents.
The nurse Peggy helped Elena latch on (I was clueless as to what she was trying to show me) and she nursed briefly.
Before or after that, I delivered the placenta. Sarah brought it over to us and did a little show and tell with it.
Then Sarah and Peggy began the most obnoxious part of the labor process: massaging my uterus. I remember Peggy telling us in birth class that this is the part where we would want to kick the nurse or midwife. I wanted to kick and punch them. It hurt like hell. But it seemed like my uterus was clamping down and all was well.
My parents showed up around 6 and I must have handed Elena over to my mom. I decided I needed to get up and pee. Peggy and Sarah were not in the room at the time. I got up from bed to walk over to the bathroom and that’s when the bloody show began…
to be continued
2 Jun
1 Jun
I’m going to get right to the point: I hate breastfeeding. I know it’s supposed to get easier, trust me, I’m waiting for that to happen. From poor latch, cracked nipples, wanting to nurse ALL the time, to oversupply, a fussy baby, and spitting up, I’m suffering. And according to her behavior, so is Elena. I have seen the Birth Center’s LC. I’m not looking for advice. Giving up is not an option, no matter how miserable I am. I’m just being painfully honest because maybe you can relate and you feel terrible saying: I hate breastfeeding.
My plan to nurse for up to a year has turned into please baby Jesus, let me get to six months.
Like sobriety, I am taking it day by day. Yeah, I just compared nourishing my baby to staying sober. For me, it’s that bad.
