A Story of Blessings, a Baby, and Breasts.

 

 

*EDIT: I forgot to add this within the story, and I just want to make a note that I did have blood work done in November when I was first struggling with low supply.  Nothing of concern was noted.  I also had more blood work (hormonal levels and thyroid) checked in March at my annual physical, and again, no concern.  I do realize this does not MEAN there are no physiological reasons, but these were explored and so that is why I am at such a loss!  Thank you for reading – I am overwhelmed with the response to this post, and I feel SO honoured to hear so many stories from amazing mamas.  <3 

When I was pregnant, one of the biggest themes present in my crazy, extremely vivid pregnancy-style dreams was that of breastfeeding.  My baby, in my dreams, was faceless, but beautiful.  I didn’t know if my baby was a boy or girl, because we had decided not to find out, let nature run it’s course, and find out when I gave birth to our child.  In my dreams, it was the same, I didn’t know if it was a boy or if it was a girl, and sometimes, it was a boy, and sometimes, it was a girl.  But for the most part, when I would dream about my baby, my baby was simply that – a baby.  But MY baby, a beautiful tiny little being, full of life, love, and full of dreams.

Just like I was.  I frequently had dreams about my unborn baby, and I would always wake up and tell Kyle what happened that previous night in dreamland.  Most of the time, it was nothing new.  Most of the time, it was simply that I was holding my baby, rocking my baby to sleep, and breastfeeding my baby in my arms.  Simple, right?

Throughout my pregnancy, and for any of you that have been pregnant I’m sure you can relate, one of the hot topics is how you are going to feed your baby, except it is not asked in such a way, it is asked of you if you are going to breastfeed.  It’s just one of those natural things, right?  Right.  I had done a lot of reading about pregnancy, birthing, and breastfeeding (however, not NEAR as much as I do now, the birth junkie that I am) and so I felt like I had a good handle on it.  I was not fearful of the labour or birthing process, in fact, I was looking forward to it.  I was amazed that my body was going to take over, with the aid of my brain and my baby, and we were going to do something miraculous, yet totally normal and happens all the time.

For the 9ish months that I was pregnant, I was waiting for my breasts to change.  I was waiting for them to get ginormous, to say the least, and it never happened.  I knew that this didn’t always happen, but I never really experienced much in the way of breast changes.  The only time I remember any pregnancy symptom that was breast-related, was in the summertime, being in the hot sun and going for dunks in the lake, and having the sorest most tender nipples EVER.  It was uncomfortable but secretly I was cheering inside because I had always wondered up to that point what was up with the lack of boobie changes?  On more than one occasion, did I wonder out loud if I would have issues with not being able to produce milk for my child because my breasts were not showing any evidence of this whole pregnant deal.

Cade was born on November 3 at 8:08pm and as most of you know, it was the most beautiful and transformative experience of my life.  Cade was born and I was born as a mother.  Just like that.  It still blows my mind, really.  He was immediately placed on my chest for me to introduce myself (though he had known me all along) and love all up.  I was in a state of complete bliss, and perhaps a slight amount of shock, but most of all, I was ecstatic and beside myself.  I couldn’t believe it.  ”Oh my god, Oh my god!  I can’t believe this!  I can’t believe you are mine!  You are so cute!  Oh my god!  You are so beautiful!  I love you so much!”  I wish, to this day, that the moment that Cade was born was video’d, because it was incredible.  And not only that, but my declaration of love was, am I allowed to do this, flippin’ AWESOME.  I was over the moon for this little being!

And while I was beside myself, blissed right out, it did not cross my mind at that moment to breastfeed my son.  I don’t know if it crossed anyone’s mind, because it didn’t happen right then and there.  I wonder to this day if it would have made a difference, and I don’t THINK it would have, but I’m a sucker for not knowing.  I held my son for quite awhile, and Kyle and I gushed over him like mad.  I don’t remember timelines exactly, I don’t remember when he was taken to the warmer, Kyle right beside him for the whole time, and I don’t remember when they wrapped him all up, but I know that we had skin-to-skin for awhile.  I have tried not to have any regrets about this moment, because I know in my right, rational mind, there is nothing I can do differently about it, and having regrets is unhealthy.  So I don’t regret it, but I use it as a learning tool.  I would loved to have delayed everything, the “cleaning” of my son (rub that goodness right in!), the weighing, you name it, and I would’ve wanted us to attempt the breast crawl right off the bat, to initiate eye contact and bonding in such a way.

It wasn’t until we were up on post-partum, after I had showered and cleaned up, and after Cade had been wrapped in blankets, warmed right up, and had a bath, did we attempt breastfeeding.  He knew exactly what to do.  I remember the nurse that was helping me, bless her heart, said “look, wow, he knows exactly how to do this, he is a pro.”  I believed her and we went on with our night, as rough as it was.  Cade cried most of the night, despite frequent attempted feedings, cuddles, and skin-to-skin.   Kyle and I were both exhausted, and I broke down at one point because I “didn’t know what to do and I was so tired” and the nurse swaddled Cade up tightly, rocked him a bit, and handed him back to me.  It was not until 6am that he finally got some sleep, and so did I.

I always say that the beginning of motherhood is so insane.  You start off after going hours, days without sleep, and then you are thrown into a whole new wild world of breastfeeding, caring for a baby, and trying to heal, physically and emotionally from everything that just took place.  That’s exactly where I was at.  I could barely lie in bed without my perineum aching, and not only that, but I couldn’t pee due to the epidural/IV combo I had been infused with.  Toss in sore and cracked nipples into the mix and I’m spent.

The next day I remember being a bit calmer.  I would frequently breastfeed Cade, and I felt that things were going well.  I was in a sleep-deprivation induced haze, but was over the moon and in love with everything.  The tears poured out of my eyes over any and everything.  I was tired, so I cried.  I was in love with Kyle as a father, and so I cried again.   I remember the nurses in the hospital telling me to rest up that day, as baby’s second night of life was usually chaotic and they wanted to be up eating all the time.  I felt somewhat prepared, but that didn’t really happen.  That night, actually went off without much of a hitch.  Cade would wake up every 1.5-2 hours to feed, and would then go back to sleep.  Kyle and I woke up feeling somewhat refreshed, but still extremely exhausted.  Mostly, we were excited to be taking our little boy home, as that was the plan.  They tested his bili levels and they were fine, he was not jaundiced, and so we were able to go home.  That morning, I remember asking a nurse for the help of a lactation consultant, to ensure that everything really WAS going well and that we were latching.  The nurse basically denied me this request, saying that the LC’s were usually reserved for individuals who were struggling and having breastfeeding issues.  At the time, I accepted this, especially because she told me she had a passion for breastfeeding and offered to help me out.  I thought this was fine and dandy, and she really WAS of great assistance and showed me different positions to ease my achy nipples, however, looking back, I do think this was wrong.  I should have not have been denied the support of a LC by any means, and while I don’t think this affected our journey at all, I just think it’s unfortunate.

So homeward bound we were, and we couldn’t be happier.  I was on a strict regiment of having 2 baths a day, and to feed my son on demand, which I would do anyway.  The thought of using formula never crossed my mind.  I thought things were going quite delightful actually, until that night.  The sun went down and the evening reared its ugly head.  Cade turned into a nightmare, and in turn, so did his mama.  I must say, thank goodness for the best father ever, because he really was our rock at this time.  I’m sure there were times where he wondered who he should comfort first, though obviously that answer is pretty clear-cut.  Cade screamed.  All.  Bloody.  Night.  Despite constantly nursing him.  Despite endless cuddles and swaddling.  We swaddled him with an additional blanket.  It was shortly after that that he stopped crying and slept.  That was around 7am.  And I must say, we were pretty proud of ourselves.  Oh, so THAT was it. He was just cold, well DUH!

But it wasn’t just temperature regulation that was the issue, oh no, because he lost his mind the next night too.  And I felt oh so bad for this poor little boy.  What an entrance to this thing called life.  He screamed.  He screamed some more.  He cried.  He yelled.  He wailed.  I cried.  Kyle rocked and swaddled and patted and rocked and cuddled.  I think it was about 8am that Cade finally crashed for a couple hours.  Kyle and I were absolutely zonked.  I knew in my heart that something wasn’t right, and Cade looked a little on the yellow jaundicey side of things, and so I called the Healthy & Home nurses and demanded that they come for a home visit that day.

It pains me so hard, it breaks me into pieces, and it hurts my heart to think what COULD have happened if the nurses didn’t come that day, if something wouldn’t have told Kyle and I that we NEEDED to seek out support immediately.  I was starving my boy and I didn’t even know it.  Except, I did.  I knew something was wrong, and it was only after 2 nights of solid screaming did I wonder if perhaps he wasn’t getting enough to eat?

I was in tears on the phone with the nurse.  They sensed my urgency and they came over within an hour and a half.  They weighed my poor, sad, hungry little boy, and he had lost a pound of his body weight, which totalled 13 % which is a major red flag.  He hadn’t pooped in a couple days, and I really don’t remember his wet diaper count, but it wasn’t good.  I know that some major lactivists might say I was booby trapped after I say this next point – and maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t – what I DO know is my boy HAD to eat and he was a completely different baby after we fed him formula.  The nurses with Healthy & Home are lactation consultants as well, and Cindy, oh dear Cindy, was a kind, compassionate soul.  She understood my deep desire, my need, to breastfeed my son, and she understood my need to nurture him, with love and with nutrition, and she understood that he HAD TO EAT.  This was not an option, and I was not producing enough for my poor, sweet boy.  When we came to this conclusion, I was heartbroken.  I burst into tears, I had a million questions, and Cindy was amazing.  I swear, I should’ve sent her flowers.  I don’t know if it’s because she was the first nurse we encountered after going home or what, but she is the only LC’s name that I remember, and there were I think 5 different LC’s that visited us at home within a few days, to check on Cade’s bili levels and to provide breastfeeding support.  (Actually, this is an aside, but I think I am going to contact Cindy and let her know how much I appreciated her. )

Cindy basically demanded that we had to get some calories into this boy asap.  She asked if we had some on hand, and sure enough, WE DID (go on lactivists, attack me for not tossing out the free formula samples).  I saved everything we got in the mail, why?  I don’t know.  I remember thinking when I got the formula samples “oh, well, I’ll never need these, in the closet they go.”  I showed her the only bottle we had on hand (also a free sample), and she encouraged us to try the Supplemental Nursing System if we wanted to continue breastfeeding as well as getting formulas into our boy at the same time.  I remember the method seeming petty and confusing, and WORK.  But we agreed to try it out, and she showed Kyle and I how to team up and make it work.  It was complicating and stressful and just thinking about it gives me a lump in my throat.  Basically, we would fill a syringe with formula, attach a tiny sterile tube to the syringe, and then place the tube alongside my nipple as Cade latched on.  We were still trying to perfect the latch, so adding an extra step in caused much grief, but we did it.  For nearly 4 weeks, every feed, we would use this tiny little tube and place it as Cade latched, so that he would still nurse and hopefully stimulate my breasts to provide milk and increase my supply, but that he would still get substantial calories as well.  I remember feeling increasing anxiety as it came time for Kyle to go back to work, because how the hell was I supposed to do this on my own?  It took my tears, many tries, until we figured out a system that (sort of) worked.  When the tears got to be too much, I would just use my finger and feed the tube along my finger to feed Cade, after breastfeeding him.  I was scared of the bottle and we avoided it for as long as I could stand to.

After going in to the Breastfeeding clinic to meet with an LC there, Cade’s suck was evaluated and determined to be great.  The LC checked out his slight tongue tie, and also determined it to be very slight.  Our doctor has said the same.  This is still something to this day I wonder about.  Everyone has said it would not affect breastfeeding because it’s so slight and far back, but I am skeptical, if only because I am searching desperately for answers.  At one point when we met with the LC, I was breastfeeding Cade, and the LC was doing hardcore breast compressions to attempt to get the milk flowing.  And it still didn’t flow.  It just would NOT flow, stubborn supply.  The plan was to rent an electric hospital grade pump and attempt to pump after every feed for approximately 10 minutes per side (or all at once if using a double pump).  Needless to say, this was exhausting, but we did it.  The pump became my worst enemy.  I felt overwhelmed and intimidated by the pump.  We were not friends and I don’t believe this helped to increase my milk supply either.  I began to despise the pump, everything about it.  I hated washing out the pump parts a million times a day, I hated sitting there with the flanges on my breasts, making the “werr, werrrrrr” noise with every suction.  I hated anxiously watching the bottles that would catch the pumped milk, waiting to see a bottle at least half full.  I hated seeing next to no milk come out of my pumped breasts, my breasts that were so desperate to be full.  I’m sure one day I will regret it, but I wanted to experience hard, aching, full of milk boobies.  I felt envy and jealousy when my friends would have to slip in a breast pad because they were leaking.  I wanted to leak.  Shit, let me leak all over my shirt, let’s soak it up.  It never happened.

I attempted to take Fenugreek and Blessed Thistle, two supposed galactagogues, but the only thing they did was give my body a sweet and spicy odour.  I took these in combination with Domperidone, a prescribed medication used to treat stomach issues with the sometimes fortunate side effect of inducing lactation.  Again, I’m not sure it did much, though I did take it for about 6 months.  After 4 weeks of feeling in my heart that I tried everything I could to increase my supply, but to see really no improvements, I retired the SNS and revamped our routine to 1) Breastfeed Cade for as long as he would latch and suckle 2) Give him a bottle with formula to top him off.  This worked and I felt like a huge amount of pressure was eased off of me.  The SNS created stress and I began to cry at almost every feed.  Was it worth it?  Was Cade benefiting from a depressed and completely worn-down mother?  Eventually, I returned the pump.  I held onto it for a very long time, because I couldn’t bring myself to take it back for fear that it was signalling I had given up.  I hadn’t used it in days, and it was sitting there, taking up space, it was almost daunting in a way.  I returned it, and I felt a twinge of sadness, until I realized why I was returning it.

It took me a long time to realize what our feeding routine was doing to my son, and to myself.   I was completely worn out, I was stressed, and I was depressed.  I had begun to question if I really did everything I could, surely I missed something, right?  But when I realized that I did everything I could, and when I realized that it was worth it for our feeding routine to change, was when I felt a complete let-go of the stress that had been bogging me down.  I felt this within myself, and I noticed a change in my son at feeding.  He took to the bottle like a champ, and he took to the breast like a champ.  There were no issues with him going from breast to bottle and back.  Was it so important to me to not use a bottle because it might mean failure, even when it might have meant not so pleasant things for my son?  He truly thrived when I was happy, and I didn’t realize that in the moment until we had decided to change our routine, for everyone’s sake, but mostly Cade’s and my own.   Cade needed me, he needed his mother, to be happy, and to be content, and to feel GOOD about the time spent feeding him.  I was not feeling good about this, and what was this doing to him?  Did I want to transfer so much negative energy to a sweet little baby?  Of course I didn’t, so why I was doing that for so long, I don’t know.   I have determination and I have perseverance, and because I knew in my heart that that was one of the best things I could do for my son, was breastfeed him.

This was what factored into my decision to keep at it for so long.  I understand that everyone has a choice to make, and that choice is truly their own.  I respect each woman’s choice, and I do believe that decisions are made for a reason, based on past experiences, life issues, and the like.  The choice that I made, that we made, as a family, was for me to continue to breastfeed Cade for as long as we could sustain it.  Even if it was a teaspoon of milk he was getting from me.  Even if it was a drop.  We had become pros at breastfeeding, and it was part of our routine, so we kept on keeping on.  Gradually, he started to get more formula and less breastmilk, though there were times where he would breastfeed and did not want to take a bottle after that.  Those times?  I felt happy.  I felt good.  I felt like that was a huge success for us, and it was sort of a gift, a karmic gift, after the breastfeeding struggles we had endured.

We kept on with this routine until Cade was about 8 months old.  Eventually, it had turned to where he would only breastfeed in the morning when he first woke up, before having a bottle, or in the middle of the night when he would wake up to eat, while waiting for the bottle to warm up.  He got to an age where he got so distracted, and nursing was not on the top of his priority list, and so we went with it, and we excelled at that for awhile too.  Around 8 months old, he lost his interest in nursing, and it sort of happened gradually, which I am thankful for.  I remember thinking that I had to prepare myself for the end of this rocky journey that we had had, but because it just dwindled off, I am just now mourning the conclusion of it, pouring it all out there.
Truthfully?  I feel okay with how things went.  I had to come to terms with it, and I still have many what if’s that cross my mind, sometimes on a daily basis, but not as much anymore.  Do I wish that things would have went differently?  I do.  But I have learned so much based how things did go, and they went according to the agenda in which they needed to go.  Not only have I learned an insane amount about breastfeeding, pregnancy, birthing, and how the birthing process can affect breastfeeding, I have learned even more about my son and myself.  My son is patient and determined.  He possesses these traits like no other, and while some might argue that I can’t determine that since he’s so young, I CAN and I know that he will fight for what he wants, and if he wants it, he will get it.  I feel like at such a young age, only 8 months, he already knows exactly what he wants and how to go for it.  When my son is old enough to understand, I want to talk to him about our journey, and I want to thank him for being patient with me as I learned, and for helping me to learn.  He taught me the gift of patience and perseverance.  He taught me to believe in myself, and to be strong when times were tough.  And really, by simply being born, he has encouraged me to conquer my fears, to take on anything.

Still to this day, I don’t know why we were not able to exclusively breastfeed.  I don’t want to say that we weren’t successful at breastfeeding, because the way success is measured can be so trivial.  We were successful in ways that we had to be.  Was it the tongue tie?  Is it because I was induced and my body just wasn’t ready?  Was it the epidural and intense infusion of IV fluids?  Did the pitocin have something to do with it?  Should we have done skin-to-skin sooner and commenced the breastfeeding journey right then and there?  Do I have insufficient glandular tissue, a physiological condition that can prevent a sufficient supply of milk?  There were times where I wanted to be more successful, and around 6 months old I seriously considered attempting the process of ‘relactating’, but aptly decided that I would be doing more damage than good by taking on that.  That’s just a whole other ball game.

Just like any other mama who breastfed once but is no longer, I miss the feeling of my beautiful little angel’s tiny hands on my chest, resting on my breast, as he nursed and looked at me, or nursed and got so comfy he dozed off.  I miss being skin-to-skin and having his warm and so very soft tummy pressing against my own.  I miss his little “hmm” noises he would make when he was latched on.  I miss the feeling of nutritionally nurturing him, knowing I am providing him with the antibodies that he needs and his body desires.

I had many moments where I felt extreme amounts of guilt.  I didn’t want to feed him in public, because pulling out that bottle meant that I had failed breastfeeding, and so obviously I had failed as a mother, right?  WRONG.  I learned that breastfeeding did not equal perfection, nor did it equal motherhood.  Was it a huge component of motherhood?  Yes it was, but it was not the be all and it was not the end all.  In the end, I was doing for my son what I needed to do for him.  We learned along the way.  I’m hoping with future babies (probably only just 1 ;) that breastfeeding will work out, and that I will be able to use the tools that Cade taught me, in order to be “successful.”  But that’s for another time, and for now, this is where we’re at.

But most importantly, I am proud of where we were and where we have come.  I feel blessed that we were given an obstacle, a hurdle, and we flew right over it, with a little bit of turbulence along the way.  I know that my experiences might seem trivial compared to other’s, but the fact is, this is our story, and it does matter.  Our story might help others, but most of all, it has helped us.  It will make us better people, more empathetic, stronger individuals.  I feel like I have a surge of compassion that has been injected in me because of it.  I feel better able to understand other’s experiences with breastfeeding.  I never realized the emotional intensity of a breastfeeding journey and all that goes along with it.  I now do, and I think that that is beautiful and such an important part of the life that I want to lead.   My boy is thriving and I am happy and as healthy as I’ve ever been.  We work as a team, and this was only the very start of it.  We are in for a very wonderful, a very fulfilling, and a very triumphant ride.

C25K: Week 5 Day 3

This was the big one, the one I was dreading but not dreading because dread doesn’t finish runs now does it?  This was the first interval-less run of the program.  Five minute warm-up, and a five minute cool-down, with a 20 minute full-on run smack dab in the middle.  Could I do it?  Oh yes I could.  What I did not know was how many times it would take me to complete this run.  Turns out, I nailed it on the first try.  Well maybe not nailed it, but you know.

I actually did this run on Thursday, but am just getting around to writing about it now.  It’s been a whirlwind couple of days.  Thursday and Friday were mostly consumed by my most precious boy, who has come down with a cold, and who does a boy need most when ill?  His mama, of course.  And then Saturday, Kyle and I took off to Moose Jaw for a wedding and a much-needed-much-appreciated night alone, while Cade chilled with grandma and grandpa.  Thankfully he was feeling a bit better, but still a tad stuffy, but not enough to dampen the weekend fun for him, and not enough to make me worry about him.  Make sense?  I should clarify, I missed the little peanut the minute we got in the car to leave, but seeing him the minute we came in the door today was priceless and I don’t know if I’ve ever been that excited.

So I surprised myself and completed the run.  When I checked my distance, it was even LESS than what it has been, so that again is kind of crappy but I am hammering that useless point home by talking about it every post, so I’ll drop it.  I’ll still talk about distance, but not about how crappy it is that my distance is decreasing.  OK, I’m done.  It was a hot one when I ran, and a mosquito-filled one at first.  I’m going to wager a guess that swatting and scratching while running add a bit more intensity and help to burn calories, yes?

The one thing that continues to surprise me, but less so because I am expecting it now, is that my breathing is SO in check it’s awesomely freaky.  I went from running for 60 seconds and wanting to curl up in the fetal position and go to sleep in the middle of the road, to being able to run for 8 minutes, and then only take 30 seconds IF that to catch my breath completely, while still doing a fairly nicely paced brisk walk.  I need to build my strength because that is the one thing that gets me.  My legs and my feet get sore.  Or not even that, they just get tired and weak feeling, like there is no way they can continue to carry me along the streets.  But they do and they have not failed me yet and did I mention how much TRUST I have put into my body, my heart and my soul to be able to complete all of these runs?  I am thoroughly proud, thoroughly amazed.  I am conquering and I am completing and I am trusting.

Mamabear.

I am planning a big whoppin’ six month summary post of my boy’s first half of a year journey into Tangible Life.  I’m thinking it may be an emotional one for me to write and reflect on, because I simply cannot believe this little monkey is growing into a boy who responds to goofiness, totally knows who mama and daddy are and again, responds accordingly, and also, who has such clearly defined likes and dislikes.  He is being shaped, he is constantly developing as an individual, and while he is still a baby, he is not a teeny, fragile newborn who needs his head supported.  You try supportin’ my boy’s head and he contorts and twists and squirms because he just wants to GO.

Almost every day I remind myself that I am a mom.  It’s not that I forget, but it’s that I have to remind myself because, at least to some extent, I am still in shock that we created a beautiful life, a life who has thrived from day one, a life who has made me proud, who has played a part in shaping me into the woman I am today.  No one could have prepared me for what pregnancy, birthing, and subsequently becoming a parent have been about, and I appreciate that.

I appreciate that it has been at times a rough journey, at times a journey that I never thought I would make it through.

I appreciate that this has helped me to become a survivor of my own story and experiences no matter what they are.

I appreciate that I have shed an amazing amount of tears, an amount that I didn’t think my body could create.

I appreciate that my muscles have grown as my boy grows and never thought lifting 20 lbs could be so easy.

I appreciate that I have never felt closer to my family or my friends and truly feel an indescribable connection to them.

I appreciate that while I may not have been able to fully breastfeed the boy, I have been able to provide him with as much of my breast milk that has been physiologically possible, and that we have created a routine, a breastfeeding relationship, based on what my body can and has given him up until this point, and also, that as a result of establishing and coming to terms with a routine that works for us, my boy no longer has to deal with a crying and emotionally drained mama at each feed.

I appreciate that I am now a pregnancy and birth junkie and am slightly addicted to reading birth and mama blogs and envisioning how my next birth experience will go.

I appreciate how while there are certain aspects of my birth story that, looking back on, I would know to do differently next time, I would not change a thing, because everything that happened resulted in the birth of my amazing and beautiful boy, and the flowering and growing of my relationship with my husband.

I appreciate that on top of all the rough moments, the non-stop 4am crying sessions, the nursing troubles, my boy is healthy as can be, and at nearly 6 months old and nearly 20 lbs, that speaks for itself.

I appreciate that I was able to feel comfortable with my body to do what it needed to do, and, albeit needing a little bit of, er, medical assistance what with the induction and all, I trusted myself and I felt comfortable in my body to labour and experience intense rushes and waves which resulted in the amazing birth of the boy.

I appreciate that I have never felt as assertive as I do now, but not so much so that I have crossed the line of being able to be respectful, because I think respect is one of the most important lessons I can teach my son.

I appreciate that Kyle and I are individuals and have our own beliefs and personalities and as a result, will be genuine role models to Cade, in hopes that he too will express himself in such a way.

To sum up the past 6 months before I properly reflect, it has been the most trying, sleepless, tearful, emotional, happy and beautiful months of my life.  I have never experienced such highs or lows, and I have never been so happy to say the same.

SNOOPY SUNDAY.

RULES:

1) Every Sunday, I will post an answer to a question from a reader.   You can ask me questions on Facebook or by commenting on my blog.  The question I choose will be random – I will put the questions in a hat and pick one out; that will be the question I answer.

2) Once I answer a question, I will visit your blog or your Facebook and ask you a question in return.  I will also link to your blog when I write the answer to the question you asked.

3) I don’t know if this is exactly a rule, but I will encourage my regular readers who have blogs to also participate on Snoopy Sundays.  Let’s make this fun, shall we.

4) Questions can be relating to anything, although try to keep it somewhat appropriate.  I cannot police how you interpret appropriate, so be nice.

Since you were all jumping at me with your questions (NOT), I had 2 questions to pick from, both from Elizabeth (thank you, you are a trooper) and so I picked this one:

What age difference would you like Cade to have between him and his brother or sister down the line (assuming you want to have a second child!)? What do you think a ‘good’ age difference is between siblings?

To answer the second part of this question first, I don’t know if there is a ‘good’ age difference between siblings.  I am not sure I can accurately answer that until I experienced a couple different gaps.  I’ve heard people say they’ve had their babies 1-2 years apart and that is great because they are close in age, and that way you kind of get the whole baby-making process done with earlier.  I’ve also heard that 3+ years apart is also great because the older one can then be somewhat of a helper, and feel responsible and independent, as well as an assistant in helping out with their little brother or sister.  So, I really don’t know, I think it totally depends on what works for one’s family.  Which brings me to the first part of your question…

I feel like I am going to jinx our ‘plan’ because I spoke so very highly of waiting 4-5 years after getting married to have our first baby, and, well, look how that panned out.  I feel like I need to clarify every time – the actual plan did not go as planned, but the actual plan is now amazing and we could not be happier.

Regardless, of course once you have your first, everyone has to start asking about the second.  Like c’mon people, let’s all recuperate from the shocking reality of having a human child to care for 24/7 before we start planning for another.  That reality is definitely not something you can plan for.  Moving along now.  There are different factors to consider for us in planning an age gap, one of the major ones being daycare.  I’m feeling a little bit anxious about having to pay for daycare just for Cade, and I really cannot imagine paying for two children in daycare.  That’s basically a whole pay cheque.  Probably even more.  That thought scares the shit out of me and I don’t want to have to deal with it.

Kyle and I both can see ourselves having a wider age gap (think, 3-5 year gap) rather than smaller.  It’s just the way we roll and I think that is what would work best for our family.  I think with Cade being a bit older when we have our next baby, it will also make it easier to explain to him how our family will be changing, and what his ‘role’ will be (being a big brother, and of course totally hyping that up, because it WILL be very exciting for him).  We’d also like to not have two babies in diapers, just because of the logistics of it all.  I think it would be great for Cade to be a little bit more independent too, and while obviously he will still be getting a ton of attention from us, it will make it easier to have him be a little bit more independent in terms of playing on his own and not having to have mommy and daddy solely be the entertainers.

Another reason I think 3-5 (probably somewhere in between there) would be a great age gap, is because, say we had our next baby when Cade was 4, I would then have a year off with the baby and Cade, and then when I went back to work, Cade would (hopefully) be starting kindergarden.  However, Cade was born in November, so there is the issue of us possibly holding him back so he will be 5 turning 6 rather than 4 turning 5 when he starts school.  If that was the case, then we would be waiting closer to 5 years to have our next babe, which seems a bit longer than what would be ideal.  It’s really something we will have to figure out, and there are probably so many more things to think about in terms of age gaps and what makes one gap better than the next.

Remember to post more questions so I have something for next Sunday’s post.  Goodnight to all, xoxo!

Breast Blog.

Now if that didn’t get your attention…

I blog as an outlet.  As therapy.  As a record of my thoughts and emotions.  I feel like sometimes I’m overdoing it in the whole talking about breastfeeding all the time area, but because this is for me and not necessarily you (though it is in a sense, let’s build communi ty!) I’m going to talk about it some more anyway, because I want to and because I have to.

As I write I am that much closer to figuring things out, though not always even close, but closer. I’m grieving a loss right now and that is the loss of a goal I had been striving towards the second I found out I was pregnant.  In the dreams I had while pregnant, I would be holding my to-be-baby, breastfeeding him or her and in a total blissful state.   That was the predominant theme in my pregnancy dreams – breastfeeding, breastfeeding, breastfeeding.  I’ve never dreamed about boobs so much!

I’ve blogged about my journey, somewhat.  I’ve skimmed over it in a sense.  Just as I do when I’m talking about it with people.  Some days I feel okay with the reality that I cannot exclusively breastfeed, and other days I feel jealous of every other breastfeeding mother, angry that I can’t give my son only my breast milk, and obsessive about why things went wrong and if or what I could have done something differently to change our breastfeeding outcome.

When Cade was born, motherhood was born inside of me.  That was a transition in itself.  But toss into that mix struggles with feeding my son the way that I thought was natural and maternal and therefore would come sort of easy but not without challenges?   I’m not that naive, I knew breastfeeding had a learning curve, I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I knew it was somewhat instinctual, in that as soon as Cade was put to my chest to feed, he essentially knew what to do.

The first month with Cade was extremely difficult physically and emotionally.  I had basically started off this new life with minimal sleep, a couple hours over a several-day period at best.  There is something about the natural and beautiful high in a new mother that makes that whole bullshit sleep deprivation thing not quite AS bad as it really should be, though.  (Til’ that high sort of starts to wear off, that is.  Then you wanna talk about sleep deprivation?  Oh, we’ll talk, alright.)   When we came to the conclusion, along with the help of a wonderful lactation consultant, that I was not producing enough milk to solely nurse Cade, we had to supplement.  It was basically an order.  Cade had lost nearly 1 lb in 3 days, had not pooped in several days, had a yellow tone to his skin and was screaming for hours, despite my frequent attempts to latch him on to my breasts to feed.  Parental instincts told us something was up and we requested the LC to come to our house and weigh Cade/check his bili levels as soon as they possibly could, which was THANKFULLY that day.  Bili levels were low and jaundice was now in the picture.  Made sense as we had basically figured that out, anyway.

When we started to supplement with formula (and no I am not going to refer to it as the all-mighty poison, instead, I like to tell Cade that after boobs he gets his Formulatte), we used a supplemental nursing system (PDF info sheet here) in hopes that it would stimulate my breasts and increase my supply within a few days.  Fast forward 4 weeks later and still no luck on the supply front.  I didn’t want to give up and I didn’t want to feel like a failure.  I desperately wanted to nurse my son, full-time, all-the-time.  That’s it, not really asking for a lot I didn’t think.  But something prevented and still prevents me from doing that, and I’m still clueless as to what that something is.  I had my thyroid and hormonal levels checked, I took Fenugreek and Blessed Thistle (herbs that can increase supply), I took (and am still taking) Domperidone, a medication used to increase lactation, I did a ton of hand compressions, frequent feeds (every 2 hours for a few weeks, along with waking Cade to feed rather than on-demand feeding), pumping with an electric hospital-grade pump for nearly 6 weeks, I met with lactation consultants several times so they could watch a feed and ensure we had a good latch going on (we did and do, Cade is a pro-latcher), and on top of that – I shed a lot of tears.

My whole point of this particular post was to say that for the first month, I cried a lot about breastfeeding.  I cried because god DAMN did it hurt.  My nipples were cracked (but not bleeding! +1 for me!) and achey.  I dreaded each feed and I cried in between feeds knowing what was to come.  I cried because I felt bad about dreading the feeds, because breastfeeding him was all that I wanted.  I cried because my supply just was not increasing and I had no idea why, and I was sad, depressed and frustrated about it all.  Then I developed what I think was Raynaud’s Phenomenon which caused my nipples to turn blueish/whiteish and burn and sting after each feed and whenever I was cold (hello Saskatchewan winters great having you around NOT).  This did not help with the whole Dreading Every Feed thing.  At all.  However, warm air and warm cloths helped and after about a month this too subsided.

Oh yeah!  The crying thing.  So for the first month I cried a lot.  Did you get that?  Then each week, hell, each day, got a little bit better and a little bit… easier?  I hate to toss that word around ’cause shit nothing about this journey has been easy, except for that whole business about the crying.  And I am proud to say that on Monday, February 14, I cried about breastfeeding for the first time in a very long while.  I cried and oh did I cry.  I cried because Cade would not latch.  Typically our routine is for me to nurse him on each side for as long as it takes for him to empty each breast (doesn’t take long – I gauge this by doing a “squirt test” aka hand expression and/or by him pulling off of my breast).  However, there was something different about that day.  I don’t know if maybe he just got extremely ravenous and hungry to the point where he would not mess around with slow flow real nipples and wanted straight, fast, efficient Tommee Tipee artificial bottle nipples.  But he just wouldn’t latch on, and instead would cry.  Which makes absolutely NO sense to me because dude, you can cry and cry and cry yourself crazy while you wait for me to heat you up a bottle, or you can at least latch on and have an appetizer to tide you over until The Feast.  Baby brains work in very mysterious ways.  So then he wouldn’t latch and he cried, and then I cried and cried.  Thank the dear sunshiney sky that Kyle was home because honestly?  Cade and I looked like the biggest pile of Crying Messes ever to cry on this earth.  Disgusting, really, if not for the fact that there is a tad bit of cuteness when he cries.  Til the cries turn to the bloody awful screams of course.

My spell-o-cries started a series of “it’s my fault” “I should have tried harder to make this work” “I feel like a failure“.   That is the recurring theme – I feel like a failure.  On one hand I know I did tons to try and make this journey work, and it just didn’t.  I am one of those ‘rare’ cases of breastfeeding honestly truly not working out.  Or at least that’s what the LC’s tell me, and that’s what I think, because I really don’t know what I could have done more or differently, and still been emotionally present and sane enough to have a relationship with my partner, my son, and my pooch, and not be admitted to a psychiatric ward.  On the other hand, I feel guilt and I feel shame when we’re out in public and I pull out that handy, convenient bottle of Formulatte (except not handy because a) have to go to the store and get it rather than reaching inside of my shirt and b) sterilizing bottles and nipples and water need I say more? IT GETS OLD and c) $$$$$$$$$$$$ and d) did I mention $$$$$$$$$$$).  I feel like everyone is judging me for using formula.  I feel like I want to wear a billboard on me, or at least a shirt with a story printed on it, about the struggles we had and why I am using the dreaded bottle.  I feel like I have to defend myself and explain every single detail to anyone that asks about breastfeeding.  Do they care?  No, they probably do not, but I know there are some hardcore lactivists out there probably shaking their fists at me as they are getting ready to latch their babe on.  I know this because I do too much reading and too much googling and some people are crazy about breastfeeding and feel it is the only option.  Sigh sigh sigh.  Human decency is a beautiful thing.

Sometimes I even feel jealous when I see other moms pulling out their Udder Covers (or their Hooter Hiders, or their Booby whatever they’re called, or nothing at all and just going for it – so awesome) and nursing their little ones.  Even though I do this too, it’s just not the same, because after I pull out the Udder Cover and it takes all of 2 seconds to nurse Cade, I get to pull out The Bottle.  Blasphemy!

So as much as I think I am okay with not being able to exclusively breastfeed, I’m not 100 % okay with it.  I mean, I am okay with it because this is how it HAS to be, I do not HAVE a choice, you hear that lactivists, LOUD AND CLEAR I DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE.  This is not how I want it to be.  I guess we have the best of both worlds, but as far as I’m concerned, the only good thing /”best of the formula world” is that Kyle can help out in that regard too.  I know that it is okay to use formula, it’s not that I think formula is bad, because obviously people use it for a reason, personal choice, or out of necessity, and I don’t want to get into a debate about why breastfeeding is best, because we all know Breast is Best, but there are tons of reasons why women either don’t or choose not to breastfeed.  I know that for myself I need to acknowledge the emotional pain of not being able to breastfeed, how much it hurt me and still sometimes does.  The other day I had lunch with a friend who is pregnant.  She was mildly aware of my breastfeeding struggles and so I further filled in the missing pieces.  After listening to me talk about my challenges and my feelings surrounding these challenges, she said “That must have been so devastating.”  Maybe it sounds weird or self-fulfilling, but it was positive to hear that, and reassuring.  Instead of always hearing that “formula isn’t bad, it’s okay that you have to use formula, formula babies grow up to be just as healthy and smart as breast fed babies!”, it is supportive and encouraging to have people close to me recognize that this is a loss, something I need to grieve, and something that IS devastating (and she wasn’t the first that had responded in this way, it just got me thinking more this time – after having a couple months to work towards healing the emotions surrounding this).   Along with feeling supported, it definitely opened me up to talking about it more, feeling okay with the fact that I am still grieving, and further acknowledging that this is a journey in which I have further healing to do.

 

Fussy Gussy Wussy Woo.

It’s been the hardest almost 3 months of my life, but the best.  Being a momma is hard!  Duh, right?  I wasn’t prepared for a lot of things.  You cannot really prepare.  I suppose that is the beauty of it.  I put on my Facebook status that I wish birthing went: baby, placenta, instruction manual.  Obviously it would be so nice if someone told me exactly what my on sweet babe needed at any given moment, however, I guess it is kind of nice (and I will realize this more in a year+ I’m sure… right?) not knowing and figuring things out as we go.  “You live, you learn.”   I Google too much, I worry too much, I doubt too much.   People tell me to do what feels right, and I do, but then I doubt if it feels right because it is right for us, or if it feels right because I read that one article yesterday that said it was right. 

We’re currently co-sleeping, not necessarily due to choice, either.  It’s basically the only way he’ll sleep solid and sound!  Don’t get me wrong, I love cuddling with my babe and having him next to me, and in fact, I’m quite apprehensive about having him sleep in a crib and far away from me (such a sap), but I know we will probably sleep better once we can make that transition and feel okay about it.  It amazes me how well Cade sleeps when he is cuddled up to us, or at least right by us.  And believe you me, it makes the whole nap thing difficult, and this little guy in turn will take cat naps.  It’s almost like he realizes that mom or dad are not near by when he is in the middle of sleep, and then wakes up in the middle of a nap.  I feel bad when he is screaming and crying due to being overtired.  It makes me sad that he gets sooooo tired that he has to lose his mind over it!  The sleep issue is the hardest one for me, I’d say.  Though it’s got a close competitor – the issue of him always needing to be held.  Some days are better than others – some days we can put him in his chair and rock him or bounce him around in it for awhile and he will be fine.  This little dude definitely is attached to us and definitely needs tons of loving and cuddles.  I’ve read articles (I know, I know) and most say that you cannot really ‘spoil’ a baby or create set habits until 6 months old.  Babies need love, babies need cuddles, babies need physical touch.  Some more than others, Cade being one of them!  He just doesn’t seem content unless he is in our arms or at least touching us in some way.  It’s kind of heartwarming actually, and I obviously don’t mind lovin’ up my most favouritest little guy ever, it just makes the days hard when I am alone at home with him and can barely grab lunch.  I know I need to take care of myself because ‘happy mom = happy babe’ right? Right.  Mostly it’s easier to have him attached to me at all times than to listen to his heart wrenching cry, which is actually a scream.  When he was born, the doctor and nurse commented about how he had such a set of lungs on him, and I remember thinking oooooh dear, is this what we are in for.  Turns out I was right.  A mother’s intuition never lies.

We’re still giving him the probiotic drops, and they seem to have helped in the nighttime colicy fuss department.  He settles easier at night and does not cry for hours.  THANK GOD.  We tried the chiropractic route as I’ve heard good things in terms of helping babies feel calmer.  Spinal trauma or misalignments of the bones can happen during birth, so we tried it out.  We went to two different chiropractors, and the first one mildly adjusted his neck and back, and the second one mildly adjusted his neck and pelvis.  Other than that, they said he looks great.

I’ve said it before, but I must have been naive.  I must have thought that once we got into a swing of things it would be so easy and we could figure it out, just following baby’s leads.  And maybe I’m not doing enough of that, and maybe I should stop berating myself for things I should be or should not be doing because it does not help anyone!  Guilt is terrible and I have a lot of it, sometimes.  I know that’s weird to say, a lot of it sometimes, but there’s no better way to put it.  I second guess myself constantly, however the next day I feel fantastic and like I am figuring it out and might as well throw another newborn into the mix because I can DO this shiz.  Then other days Kyle calls me from work and I break down, tears pouring, because I am clueless and feel like I am doing every single thing wrong and I am messing Cade up and this is going to affect every aspect of his well-being.  It’s ridiculous and I am assuming partially hormones can be blamed.  I am pretty confident it’s not to the extent of Post-Partum Depression.  I like to think I’d be seeking help if it was that bad.  I don’t have ‘bad thoughts’ though I do sometimes lie awake at night for no good reason other than the what ifs.  Tiredness bombards me but yet I lie there awake.  It’s so lame.  I did that last night, for a couple hours.  I was so tired and so needing sleep, but then when I needed it it wasn’t there.  How does that work? 

Like I’ve said over and over, it’s been an amazing rough 3 months.  I don’t even like saying ‘mom’ things that are not gushy-gooey because I fear people will think bad things about me, but I kinda don’t care because I’m sure most of you get it, especially if you are a parent.  We’ve been through a list of things that are not fun – diaper rash early on, colic, breast feeding struggles, jaundice, a cold 5 weeks in, fussyness, healing issues.  But we’re alive!  We made it almost 3 months, we can make it 3 more, and 3 more after that, and so on.  And it can only get easier from here on in, or so I am led to believe.  I am so thankful I have so many amazing people in my life who I can talk to, on a daily basis if need be.  People who will just listen, people who will offer up stories or their own advice, people who will make me laugh, people who will listen to me cry.  Friends, family, KYLE KYLE KYLE, furry friends!  The whole shebang.  Y’all know who you are, I am not about to name names MOM.

Oohh and to end this I should update you all on the status of my perineum because I know you are just DYING to know and I don’t have a filter nor do I feel the need for one.  This is natural schtuff.  The beauty of childbirth, if you will.  I hadn’t been healing properly, or didn’t think so anyway, so I had the doc ‘take a look.’  She did the silver nitrate solution which I talked about previously then had me bath daily for a couple weeks and see how it went.  No dice, so I went back to the doctor and she took yet another look.  Turns out my perineum looks great (oh the language) but there is a piece of scar/granulation tissue that does not need to be there that is red and irritated.  Yes, it is red and irritated, I LOOKED.  I was scared of what I was going to see, but I wanted to know what was going on.  Because I am a doctor and can diagnose these sorts of things.  She suggested that we freeze it and cut it off (we, ha, as if I am going to be of great assistance) and that it will heal nicely and feel a lot better.  I hope by feel a lot better she means that I will be able to pee without leaning drastically forward so the pee does not trickle over the tissue and burn.  So, she had me book an excision (oh the language) and she will just do it in the treatment room at the office (THE LANGUAGE!).  Treatment room.  Excision.  Freezing.  Cut.  Not words I want to become besties with.  So January 31 is the big day.  She assured me that the freezing will hurt a bit, but it’s such a minor cut that it will heal nicely.  How do they know these things, I always wonder.

So that is that in the life of us.  My babesies are cuddling right now.  One wearing the Moby wrap and one in the Moby wrap.  Can you guess which is where?  So cute.  The smiles are coming a mile a minute now and that totally helps those rough days.  I just vibrate my lips together and make that bzzzzzzzzz noise (you know the one!) and he goes silly for it.  I love him I love him I love him I love him!   And geez, even Lily is needy these days!  I have the laptop on my lap, what a place for it if you can imagine, and since my legs were not up on the table, she stood there, growled at me, and pawed at my leg, Lily-language for “Put your GOD DAMN legs up on the table so I can jump up and sleep on them, DAMNIT, don’t you know how this works and no I will not say PLEASE.”

 

Other stuff about other parent things.

I know what you’re thinking.  This blog has turned into one of them there mommy blogs. It’s almost like a swear word to some.  There’s eerie shadows surrounding the phrase, monsters that jump out of the letters.  The dreaded Mommy Blog.  Has that become my niche?  I wouldn’t say so.  Does most of the shit I have to talk about and write about revolve around parenting, babies, and diaper blow outs?  Pretty much.  Photo blog turned personal blog turned pregnancy blog turned Mommy Blog.  The dreaded.  Except… not.  I need to reflect just as much as the next guy does ’bout finances, relationships, or what have you.

I cannot believe my little man is nearing 10 weeks old (Wednesday!)  It blows my mind.  We have some photos on the wall that I swear were taken last weekend, however, they were taken when Cade was about 4.5 weeks old.  I cannot even keep up with the days and the nights yet they are passing me by at a speed which is unthinkable.  Most days feel the same as the day before, except maybe with an extra dose of fuss.  But we’re surviving and that is the main thing, and happy, mostly.  That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?  We are always happy.  We are so in love with our family, with our little boy (and can’t forget Lily!), it’s just that some days are hard hard hard.   There are days where I barely brush my hair or eat anything, and then it’s 4 o’clock and I look in the mirror and get freaked out.  God lady, clean that shit UP.   Cade is pretty cuddly, and by cuddly I mean Loves Being Held ALL. THE. TIME!  Don’t get me wrong, I love cuddling with that little boy so stinkin’ much.  When we’re lucky and he naps in his crib or basinette for a couple hours, I actually miss kissing that squishy little face, smelling’ that sweet baby smell, looking in those baby blues.  However, I don’t know if he’s in a habit or just gets too cozy (they say you can’t really create habits until 6 months, T or F?) but he loves to sleep in our arms, and can use his Supersonic Baby Sensory System to detect the instant we put him down in his crib or basinette – sometimes he can even sense when we are slowly lowering him to lie him down.  And then the cries come.  And if we don’t respond quick enough, the cries slowly turn into deeper, chesty cries.  Such a lovable little stinker!  So as much as I do love cuddling with him when we all decide that sleep is much needed and Cade sleeps with us, I do want to get him used to his basinette and crib, and for him to learn how to self-soothe, though I know that will come with time.

It happened way more before, but sometimes I will look at Cade with disbelief.  Did I really give birth to this child?  And if so, why does he look EXACTLY like his father?  (No offense Kyle, I think you’re stunning and all, but please?  Can he not at least have GREEN eyes so they are like momma’s?  Sigh.   I s’pose he’s got my eyes and nose, or so you say.)   It’s just really weird to me that the little 7 lbs 3 oz monkey I birthed is now 13 lbs and some ounces, and 3 inches longer, and his head is 5cm bigger.  So strange.  I’m reading Heather Armstrong’s “it sucked and then i cried: how i had a baby, a breakdown, and a much needed margarita” right now, and she states in it “For nine months I grew a human being inside my belly and then I pushed it out my vagina and now I’m feeding it with my boob. Biology is so fucking weird.”  She summed it up better than I could have.

I try to get out of the house often during the week when Kyle is at work.  It gets a little lonely at times.  I’m sure my mom gets sick of my daily phone calls.  What would I do if she worked out of the home rather than having a home daycare?  Oh. Dear. Lord. I do not want to think about the consequences of that arrangement.  Anyway, that isn’t the case and so all is well.  I’ve got a couple gal pals who are on maternity leave as well, and we will often do lunch, stroller walks at indoor walking tracks, or just hang out.  (Maternity leave has introduced me to the amazingness of the salads at Prairie Ink Restaurant in McNally Robinson, OMIGOD.)  It’s nice having people to relate to, even if we only ever talk about the frequency of our babe’s bowel movements, sleep patterns, and a variety of things that we may feel guilty about.   That’s not even that much of an exaggeration, really.  We do branch out though, I promise.

So quick update for all of youse that are keeping notes.  We’re still doing both breast feeding and formula feeding.  And based on his 2 month doctor’s appointment, he’s definitely well fed and growing like a trooper.  I nurse him until I can feel that he is not swallowing any milk anymore, and then we top him off with formula, except I like to tell him that he is getting his FormuLatte, just because I am a cool mom and cool moms say ridiculously stupid things like that.  In sing song voices, most often.  Oh, one thing about the breast feeding thing, obviously my milk never did fully come in.  Sucky.  I grieved it and now I’m okay with it, aside from the financial suckiness of buying formula, but that is a-ok because the main thing is my little dude is being fed.   I got a bit sentimental, wait, that’s not the word, and I was going to backspace BUT I NEED TO REMIND MYSELF TO BLOG ABOUT EVERYTHING BEING SENTIMENTAL AND ME BEING OBSESSIVE – so I left it in there.  Caps locks surely will help me remember.  Anyway – I got a bit, err, sad today about nursing, or the lack of I guess.  I was at this stroller fitness group (2x/week for 6 weeks, it’s actually pretty intense and I think I sprained every muscle in my leg and tore every ligament in my body today) and a couple of the women were making comments about their boobs leaking.  I thought to myself, aw, I’ve never felt that.  It made me a bit internally weepy for a couple minutes until I looked at my sleeping little angel’s pudgy cheeks and felt better.  Gosh, those baby cheeks really do have some magical healing powers to them.

And of course, have to end a post with your favourite furry friend.   Merry belated Christmas, suckers.

Prep.

Nobody can prepare you for pregnancy, labour, delivery, post-partum issues or being a parent.  Obviously they all go hand in hand, and obviously we all have expectations about what each will bring.  When I first found out I was pregnant, I did a lot of reading about ‘natural’ childbirth and what it was that I wanted and didn’t want throughout labour and delivery.  I had no idea what I was in for and I thought, oh, if I just trust my body and trust myself, we can do this however we want.  And totally, we can and we did.  As I got closer to having my life completely blessed with Cade’s birth, I became way more open to other options and doing what felt right at that moment.  We didn’t have a birth plan like I thought we were going to.  Not a written one anyway.  We had some ideas of what we wanted and didn’t want, but the main thing was that I wanted to be fully present for the birth of my child, whatever that meant at that time.  Turns out that it meant getting an epidural and being in amazingly good spirits, joking around about mid-delivery-pooping, and not being able to pee for almost 24 hours following labour and delivery.

I also remember saying to anybody that wanted to listen, “I could never handle a colicy baby, I think I would have to spend time in the psychiatric ward.”  Turns out that didn’t happen either.  Cade is a little bit colicy – nothing major though, nothing compared to some of the horror stories I heard when pregnant (gotta watch out for those, too).  He gets fussy and irritable in the evenings/night time, and has a really hard time settling down to sleep for the night.  We haven’t gone to bed in this house earlier than probably 1:30am for about a month now due to this little one’s sleeping habits.  I’ve spent many-a night crying with Cade, while Kyle physically calms Cade and verbally calms me, as he is pacing the hallways trying to soothe the little man.  Sleep deprivation is unreal and once it hits me in the middle of the night it turns me into crazytown.  Being a parent is unreal.  Kyle and I were talking the other day about it – it boggles my mind that mommies are expected to go through labour and delivery, which is extremely intense in and of itself, and then have to heal from possible tearing, C-section wounds, and emotional distress, deal with hormonal wonkiness, and figure out the learning curve of caring for a newborn child – ALL while getting next to no sleep, or at least madly broken up chunks of ‘sleep’, which is shocking (maybe even traumatic!?) when you are used to getting at LEAST 8 hours a night – solid, straight-through.

Cade is 2 months old today and I cannot believe it.  This little dude is growing like a weed, except not a weed because he’s awesome and weeds aren’t.  He’s in the 50-75 percentile for his weight, and 75-90 percentile for his height and head circumference.  What can I say, we’ve got some big heads a-running in this family.  Brains rather – not heads.  Since we missed our 6 week appointment because our doctor was ill, we went for our “6 week” post-partum checkup today.  Little stinker was so good, on his bestest behaviour.  I was anxious to talk to the doctor about switching formula, as I had a sneaking suspicion that my little guy might have a bit of a lactose intolerance – runs in my family, too.  We talked about it and she recommended we try a lactose-free formula, that is, until she saw how well he is growing!  She advised that typically little ones who have an intolerance or allergy do not grow this well as they do not digest the proteins/nutrients that well.  Instead, we’re going to try and tackle his fussiness/gassiness from a different point of view.  We purchased some probiotic drops called Bio-Gaia drops.  Apparently the other anti-gas methods such as Oval and Gripe Water have not been proven to combat gas in babies, but Bio-Gaia drops have proven to help with the discomfort caused by gas, which then often causes fuss.  I’m excited for this new journey and to see if it helps Cade feel better and more content.  All appendages crossed!

I also wanted to have my doctor check my healing progress in terms of my perineal tear.  Turns out it’s not healing that great – there’s some excess tissue.  Boourns.  I knew something was up because something didn’t feel right, in fact, it felt pretty awful most of the time.  I couldn’t pee without it burning, so I had to readjust my peeing position to a “lean-forward so the pee doesn’t dribble on the tear!” stance.  Too much info?  Then stop readin’. :)  Anyway, doctor applied some silver nitrate to the tissue to sort of ‘burn it off’ and hopefully help it to heal further.  I’m reaaaaaaaally hoping it works because if I still feel crappy in 2 weeks she will refer me to a gynecologist.  And because I’m obsessed with asking Google questions, I read some very awful stories of having to get perineal surgery to re-tear the tear and re-stitch it back up again, etc etc etc.   Yucky yucky yucky.  That’s the last thing I need.  Gosh, am I getting punished for having a really amazing pregnancy?  Let’s hope not, or there’s a lot more to come ’cause that pregnancy was awwee-some.  I was feeling a little bit upset when we got home about this whole non-healing issue, especially once I stupidly Google’d it.  I shed some tears, told Kyle that I was stressed out about it and spilled out a bunch of “what ifs” to him, to which he tries to be empathetic, but also sort of kind of gives me shit for Google’ing it when he knows that is a terrible habit of mine.

I know I’ve blogged it before, but I am surprised at the amount of patience I have.  Honestly?  Before we had Cade, I would get SO annoyed with babies/children crying/whining in the stores.  It was almost embarrassing how much I couldn’t handle it.  I felt like a bad person with no motherly instinct at all, which of course is not the case.  I am so excited for what month 3 will bring.  Month 1 and 2 have both had their challenges but their awesomeness outweighs the challenges, it’s just hard to see that sometimes, especially at 2am.  Month 1 brought the first smiles, month 2 brought even MORE, BIGGER smiles as well as a tummy-to-back rollover and a ‘play-date’ with a little guy 10 days his senior, and month 3 will bring much more, which I am ecstatic for.   Just wanted to give y’all a quick update while my little guy napped.  Mommy nap while baby naps?  Nope, not in this house.  Mommy BLOGS while baby naps :)

Oh and Lily had her 2nd birthday – Happy birthday darling dearest Lily! <3 <3

The month of 1.

There are so many mom-related things that I don’t know, that I feel clueless about.  Especially at 3 o’clock in the morning when I haven’t yet slept a wink.  And then, there are so many mom-related things that I know, that I thought I wouldn’t know.  I never thought I would know how to soothe my own baby.  I didn’t know I would have ‘the touch’ or ‘the rock’ – the ability to calm Cade down.  Don’t be fooled, there are days and nights where I don’t have that ability, but for the most part it’s there.  It’s there because I calmed him for 9 months, I kept him warm, nurtured, and fed.  We’re just getting to know each other yet we’ve been close friends for 10 months now.  Just when I think one day I have it figured out and am feeling on top of the world, the little dude goes and changes plans on me.   How dare he!

It’s so funny how things change.  I might even go as far as saying that I used to be a ‘know-it-all’ before I was a momma.  I had ideas in my head that I was adamant about.  I never thought I could really handle crying.  How pathetic is that?  Of course babies are going to cry.  We talk, babies cry – it’s their talk.  It’s how it goes.  I also remember having conversations with people about sleeping plans for babies.  I remember taking the stand – “Well my baby is never going to sleep in the bed with us.  Nope, not happening.  I don’t want to create habits and my bed is not the family bed.”    I don’t know what I thought.  Was I going to let my 1 month old baby cry and cry and fuss and fuss?  Uhm, probably not.  Did I even consider that babies get sick?  Cade has a cold right now but is significantly better than a week ago.  He is stuffy and congested and I feel bad for the little stinker, not likely that I am not going to let him fuss and cry in his basinette, especially when he is all stuffy sounding.  I’m pretty sure he got it from me.  Of course he has to get sick from me rather than getting more antibodies to prevent the sick.  Boourns.   Sickness is new to him.  he was nice and cozy and protected in the womb, and now he’s sick.  Darn rights he is going to fuss.  I fuss too at first encounters with scary things.

So.  This has been a trying month with our little guy.  First he got a diaper rash.  Ish.   I say ‘ish’ because it wasn’t really a diaper rash it was more of a bacterial infection which I am not really sure how he got it as he change him frequently, used vaseline.  I’m thinking it may have been from the wipes as the “rash” started out as a skin irritation of sorts – very painful looking bum he had!  A doctor that was on call in our clinic one evening prescribed a cream for an overgrowth of yeast, however after 5 days of the cream not working, we took him back to our own doctor, who disagreed and did not think it was yeast.  She prescribed another cream and voila, he has a perfect looking little bum again!  So first the ish-rash-ish, and then he got sick.  Not cool hearing a little boy all stuffy-sounding, congested and subsequently miserable.  Well but of course, don’t you get miserable when you’re sick?  We picked up a humidifier and pediatric saline drops to hopefully soothe his nasal passages and help the little stinker breathe better.  He’s healing and we’re (slowly) (starting) to get more sleep.

We’ve had somewhat of a fussy little lad on our hands the past week.  Just overall unhappiness it appears – always needing to be in mom’s or dad’s arms.  And that’s all fine and dandy because we love love absolutely love to cuddle and nurture and love Cade.  However, when I can barely grab a bite to eat or take a poo without him crying and screaming, yikes.  For one, I hate hearing him cry and I feel so helpless when he’s feeling so helpless.  And two, a girl’s gotta eat.  And poop.  But that’s another story.  (Post-partum pooping is exhausting.)

I think his fussiness is due to being sick, but I guess we shall see come healthier days.  There were several nights in the past week where we were up from 11PM – 4AM trying to get Cade to sleep.  He’d be upset because he was hungry.  So we’d feed him.  Then he’d be upset again.  Change diaper.  Still upset.  Burp.  Still upset.  Cuddles hugs and kisses.  Still upset.  There was absolutely no chance of him sleeping in his basinette unless we were to let him cry and cry and cry, which I just couldn’t bring myself to do.  Not at 1 month old and not at 3AM.  So then the next day I decided to google sleeping/calming ideas.  There are so many, too many, and they are all conflictual with each other!  Sleep train.  No way DO NOT sleep train.  Let baby cry it out – but not until they are 4 or 5 months old.  Do NOT let baby cry it out you will create a needy insecure monster.  Don’t let your baby get too used to being held and cuddled or you will never be able to put him down and you will not get anything down and your house will be a disaster and what will your guests think by golly?  Cuddle and hug and kiss your baby as MUCH as possible for the first year especially as this is creating secure, healthy attachments and allows baby to feel safe.

Well, WTF?  I thought I knew it all!  I thought I wasn’t going to let my baby sleep with me.  (Fail.)  I thought it was okay to let my baby cry as long as they had sufficient hugs, a dry diaper, and a full belly.  (Fail.)  I don’t think that I was or am naive.  Maybe a little too idealistic?  Perhaps?  I do like to think that the mind is extremely powerful and I can (to a degree) obtain a reaction or result that I’d like to obtain, however that’s not always the case with a wee little lad with an agenda of his own.  Buuuuut we’re learning.  We’re figuring it out.  We’re getting to know each other, albeit slowly, kind of?  Some days quicker than others.  Some days I feel like a mommy-whiz, I’ve got this shit covered, in other words!  Some days I feel like a useless pile of poo who cannot even meet my own son’s needs. (Gasp!)

The first month has been trying.  The first month has been wonderful.  I never thought I’d get 3 hours of sleep in a night and wake up the next day feeling amazing and want to share the greatness of being a mommy to everyone I know.  Who woulda thunk it.  The whole lack of sleep thing is difficult to get used to, obviously.  Sleep is invaluable.  You cannot do anything to physically, emotionally, mentally prepare yourself for lack of sleep, I don’t think.  I’m not trying to be a scary fear tactic monster, but when I was pregnant a lot of people would tell me to get lots of rest “because soon I wouldn’t be getting any.”  Well dudes, I’ll tell you, if I could have banked up my sleep and saved it to put towards these first few months (who am I kidding, these first few years, maybe!) I totally would’ve.  No question.  But you can’t bank sleep.  One day maybe we will have evolved to that point but we’re not there yet.  It’s amazing how I have adapted to the amount of sleep that I’m NOT getting.  Some days are a lot harder than others.  It is a lot harder to deal with new mom things when I am completely exhausted.  I cry more when I am completely exhausted.  Add an upset, crying baby to that exhaustion and I’m spent.

I am a lot more calm and composed of a mommy than I thought I’d be.  Not that I thought I’d be a disastrous wrecking ball, but I thought I would be a bit more anxious and a bit more stressed about all things baby.  I have more patience than I ever knew existed within me.  It’s kind of beautiful actually!  Sometimes I look at myself parenting my son and think, hey, you’re a pretty good mommy.  Sometimes I bury my face in my hands and cry and say that I can’t do this and I am so tired and god is tomorrow going to be HARD.  That’s usually at 3AM when I haven’t yet slept.  But still – there are more times where I praise myself than slaughter myself, thankfully.  I’d tell you to be worried if it were the opposite.

I am loving being a  mom.  I am loving this new role in my life.  I am loving co-parenting our son Cade, with my wonderful partner Kyle.  I truly feel that we have an ‘equal parenting relationship’ which is so important for Cade, for all of us.  Kyle is extremely supportive to me and gives me encouragement and positive words every single day.  He stresses the importance for me to have me time.  He changes a lot of diapers and wipes away a lot of tears.  He gives a lot of hugs and kisses, to Cade, Lily and I.  I feel like we have so naturally slipped into being parents and still having our own identities which is so important.  Lily has been an amazing pooch and she is so in love with Cade.  She is in love and obsessed.  She is his protector and always has to be near him or things that have his scent (his play mat, his chair, his blankets, his car seat).  I am sincerely and SEVERELY loving my life.   It’s hella hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve done, but it’s so so worth it.  Every time I look at my little guy makes me realize that even more.  Okay, maybe not when he’s screaming bloody murder.  But still.

The one where I’m not what you think I am.

So at work I’ve adopted the nickname, or rather, umbrella description of More Assertive Now That She’s Pregnant.  I’m not going to deny it, but I am going to venture into a personal journey (of sorts) of how this description may have came to be.  I’m not going to get too technical, just speculative.  And maybe a tad defensive?  What can I say, I’m sensitive and I guess that’s all part of it.

Throughout my life I’ve been the quiet one, the peacemaker, the listener, the good friend.  Some of you may not agree, but most of you probably do.  If I don’t know you that well or don’t feel entirely comfortable, I rarely speak my mind.  In fact, some of you maybe think I am without opinions, or just aloof.  Neither of these are true.  It takes me a painfully long time to become entirely comfortable with someone.  I haven’t figured out why this is yet, but I’m working on it.  I wouldn’t go as far as saying I am socially awkward, can’t form relationships or bonds, or am cold-hearted, but I would say that I’m careful about who I share myself with.  More careful with some – less reserved with others.  I use my feelers and go from there.

In high school and even beyond that, I was always the one people came to to spill their emotional guts out to.  Breakups, hurt, pain, agony.  You name it.  I listened, I offered advice to the best of my ability, and then we hugged.  I have kind of always been a caregiver, and I realize that my current chosen career field obviously reflects this.  I also realize that because of this innate characteristic of mine, I have to be extremely careful to not over-caregive, if I can even use that word with any sort of comprehension.  I’ve let myself get lost in others too many times and been hurt along the way.  I became so used to going with the flow of people and not standing up for myself.  I’ve been walked over, ran over, and driven over.  Pretty much without even realizing it at the time.  I never really knew how to stand up for myself, to be assertive about my needs.  I’d downplay my needs, comparing them to the extreme situations of others.  I know now that it’s all relative, and I also know that I am smart and logical enough to realize that my needs are just as important as yours.

So fast forward to me not being assertive.  I’ve had labels over the years, actually, I don’t know if I’d call them labels?  Maybe.  Because they stuck.  A jokingly one was being hardcore, due to my black hair, glasses, whole shtick.  And of course my leather-clad birthday wardrobe seen in the above picture.  GUYS.  I am so not hardcore.  I am a sensitive baby.  I get my feelings hurt easily.  I like to be liked.  I don’t always take criticism well.  Let me back up – you need to be cautious about how you constructively criticize me because there is a high chance that I may take it extremely personal and dwell on it for weeks to come.  I feel guilt too often and I feel sadness too often.  I am deeply affected by the actions of others which do not have to directly affect me.  I wish I could save baby animal’s and children’s lives all day long and nurture all of them with my own heart.  I CRY.  I’m not hardcore, so not hardcore.

What I am, is assertive.  I have it in me, and it may take a long time to come out.  Apparently with my new status of Pregnant I am assertive, perhaps aggressive – though I beg to differ.  I think that others may interpret it as aggressive because it is a side that a lot of people will not have seen.  And because I’m fairly soft-spoken (though I do whip out a gem randomly, because I can be charming like that), when I am the opposite and when I am bold and stand up for what I see fit, right, or just sensible – it’s the new me and watch out because I am loose.  People aren’t used to it.  And to be truthful, I’m not really either.  I catch myself off guard, and then afterward question if I was rude or offensive.  But as I said before, I am smart and logical enough and don’t think that I’ve been rude.  Just assertive, and it makes me happy.  I think that assertiveness is an important trait that I have always tried to unleash but it never really happened all that genuinely.

I’m not sure why it’s happening more now and what causes it.  It could be that I am preparing to be the strong mentor, leader, advocate for my children, and to teach them the skills that are critical to have growing up in this world.  It could be that my hormones are dancing around, rearranging themselves, and bringing out new qualities that I haven’t let shine in a very long time.  It could be that because of the dancing hormones I am moodier and therefore don’t put up with as much bologna or stupidity and therefore call it out.  It could be a combination of all three.  Whatever it is, I think I’m alright with it.  I feel comfortable with it, and I feel like it is truly an extension of my own self, that has been hiding deep, deep under the surface of my skin.