This conversation happened as I was putting Child to bed tonight.
Child: Mommy, what does this ring mean?
Me: It means I am married to Daddy.
Child: Oh [disappointed]... But I want to be married to you.
Me: But you can’t be married to me. You can’t marry your mommy.
Child: Not even when I grow up?
Me: Not even when you grow up. But when you grown up, I hope you will find a person whom you will love very much and you will want to spend the rest of your life with her.
Child: [tears in the eyes] But what about you?
Me: What about me?
Child: [tears now flowing down his face] But I don’t want to be away from you. I will miss you.
Me: [fighting back the tears] Well... Maybe you can still live with us.
Child: Could you please make sure Baby will live with us then too?
Me: OK.
For the next few minutes, as I listened to him listing all of the girls he currently knows and pondering to himself which one he would marry, I could not keep the tears from coming. His love is so pure and so unconditional it makes my heart ache. I know that some day I will be counting the days until we can get him out of the house. I know that some day he and Baby will fight and scream how much they hate each other. I know that living with your grown children is not anyone’s vision of a happy retirement.
But today... today the thought of being away from him is as scary and heartbreaking and unfathomable to me as it is to him.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Numbers
Nights Husband is spending away on business trip: 3
Minutes spent last night to get everything ready for the day: 90
Children driven to preschool and to the babysitter: 2
Bags packed to be carried to the car: 8
Bags carried to the car in the morning: 6
Realizing, when you get to the office, that the two missing bags were your lunch and your breast pump: so flippin' priceless
Minutes spent last night to get everything ready for the day: 90
Children driven to preschool and to the babysitter: 2
Bags packed to be carried to the car: 8
Bags carried to the car in the morning: 6
Realizing, when you get to the office, that the two missing bags were your lunch and your breast pump: so flippin' priceless
Monday, February 04, 2008
Resolutions
I have never liked New Year’s resolutions—mostly because I really suck at making them a reality. A whole year seems like an awfully long time to make a commitment to something. I admire people who can stick to their resolutions, but for me, most of them go out the window come February. So this year, I am trying a different approach. First of all, I decided not to even bother making any resolutions until the month of February. Secondly, I am not committing to anything for a year, but three months seems like a more reasonable expectation. So here is what I am thinking.
1. I resolve to lose weight.
I gained about 40 pounds when I was pregnant with Baby (and up till now, I lost only 15 of them—and nine of those was Baby himself! I initially lost more, but my holiday cookie-baking extravaganza did not help matters, neither did my long-standing addiction to chocolate and complete absence of will power). Add to that the 10 remaining pregnancy pounds I never lost after having Child and about five pounds I gained during the pregnancy that went nowhere, and you will see why my pant size has pretty much doubled in the last five years. I am 40 pounds heavier that I was before children. I am not foolish enough to think that I can get back to my pre-children body, but I can at least make a dent on the scale (no pun intended). So I join Sarah in the weight loss challenge.
2. I resolve to be a better friend.
I’ve been focused on myself and my own misfortunes for what feels like a very long time. I have missed birthdays, anniversaries and graduations, and I feel very, very selfish. Sending a birthday card or dropping a “how are you?” e-mail doesn’t take much, but it may mean a lot to the recipient.
3. I resolve to spend more quality time with my husband.
In the next three months, I want to go on at least three dates. Just the two of us. We have a great relationship, but life gets in the way, daily tasks take over, kids take center stage, and we find ourselves moving around each other, not together. I think it is fairly normal when you have young children, and I am not at all concerned about us, but I would very much welcome more opportunities to reconnect, to get closer instead of moving in parallel lines. Because life is so busy and so full of responsibilities, every marriage runs a risk of transforming the two people into business partners. And I refuse to let that to happen to us.
4. I resolve to write about my children.
In the fall of 2006, I started a blog about Child. It is a collection of short letters addressed to him, with simple stories from his life. My memory is notoriously poor, so I needed something to help me remember. And perhaps some day Child would be interested in reading these stories, too. Using a blog as a vehicle enabled me to make entries from anywhere since I could access it on any computer. I wrote fairly regularly for a while, but my last entry was almost a year ago. So I need to get back to writing down these stories--and writing them for Baby, too.
…And to round out the list, one last very important item:
5. I resolve to floss my teeth every day.
Gotta take care of those pearly whites.
So in early May, I shall update you on my progress. Wish me luck. God knows, will power is not one of my strengths.
1. I resolve to lose weight.
I gained about 40 pounds when I was pregnant with Baby (and up till now, I lost only 15 of them—and nine of those was Baby himself! I initially lost more, but my holiday cookie-baking extravaganza did not help matters, neither did my long-standing addiction to chocolate and complete absence of will power). Add to that the 10 remaining pregnancy pounds I never lost after having Child and about five pounds I gained during the pregnancy that went nowhere, and you will see why my pant size has pretty much doubled in the last five years. I am 40 pounds heavier that I was before children. I am not foolish enough to think that I can get back to my pre-children body, but I can at least make a dent on the scale (no pun intended). So I join Sarah in the weight loss challenge.
2. I resolve to be a better friend.
I’ve been focused on myself and my own misfortunes for what feels like a very long time. I have missed birthdays, anniversaries and graduations, and I feel very, very selfish. Sending a birthday card or dropping a “how are you?” e-mail doesn’t take much, but it may mean a lot to the recipient.
3. I resolve to spend more quality time with my husband.
In the next three months, I want to go on at least three dates. Just the two of us. We have a great relationship, but life gets in the way, daily tasks take over, kids take center stage, and we find ourselves moving around each other, not together. I think it is fairly normal when you have young children, and I am not at all concerned about us, but I would very much welcome more opportunities to reconnect, to get closer instead of moving in parallel lines. Because life is so busy and so full of responsibilities, every marriage runs a risk of transforming the two people into business partners. And I refuse to let that to happen to us.
4. I resolve to write about my children.
In the fall of 2006, I started a blog about Child. It is a collection of short letters addressed to him, with simple stories from his life. My memory is notoriously poor, so I needed something to help me remember. And perhaps some day Child would be interested in reading these stories, too. Using a blog as a vehicle enabled me to make entries from anywhere since I could access it on any computer. I wrote fairly regularly for a while, but my last entry was almost a year ago. So I need to get back to writing down these stories--and writing them for Baby, too.
…And to round out the list, one last very important item:
5. I resolve to floss my teeth every day.
Gotta take care of those pearly whites.
So in early May, I shall update you on my progress. Wish me luck. God knows, will power is not one of my strengths.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Two firsts and a last
1. Baby has his first official cold. Snotty, plugged up nose, inability to eat efficiently or sleep well (both courtesy of the aforementioned plugged up nose). If Child’s health history is any indication, I predict an ear infection for Baby in the next week or two. Oy. Overall though, I am pretty impressed that this is his first cold in 12 weeks, given the fact that his big brother brings all sorts of preschool germs home and is contantly giving him kisses.
2. Yesterday was Baby’s first snow outing. I have been begging for snow since that idyllic peaceful weekend in the mountains almost a year ago. I hate the cold weather, but I love the snow. I love everything that snow brings—sledding, skiing, snowshoeing, mittens, scarves, red cheeks, eyelashes wet with snowflakes, hot chocolate, hearty soups, cuddles under the warm blankets, school cancelations, snowball fights, the brightness of nights, the feeling of peace.
A snow fall in this area is a fairly rare occasion—and it is very fleeting. It is not unusual for winter temperatures to dip into the 20s, but for some reason, when it snows here, the temps always hover around 32-34 degrees, which makes the snow turn into slushy dirty mess pretty much as soon as it hits the ground. And this leaves a very limited window of opportunity to enjoy the snow. So right after preschool, Child, Baby and I got ready to enjoy the newly fallen snow. With Baby safely tucked in the Baby Bj.orn in his snow suit and Child squealing with delight in his sled, I felt so very happy (and got quite a workout, I tell ya).
Now the snow is melting, and I am melting down, too. Today is the last day of my maternity leave. I am so not ready.
2. Yesterday was Baby’s first snow outing. I have been begging for snow since that idyllic peaceful weekend in the mountains almost a year ago. I hate the cold weather, but I love the snow. I love everything that snow brings—sledding, skiing, snowshoeing, mittens, scarves, red cheeks, eyelashes wet with snowflakes, hot chocolate, hearty soups, cuddles under the warm blankets, school cancelations, snowball fights, the brightness of nights, the feeling of peace.
A snow fall in this area is a fairly rare occasion—and it is very fleeting. It is not unusual for winter temperatures to dip into the 20s, but for some reason, when it snows here, the temps always hover around 32-34 degrees, which makes the snow turn into slushy dirty mess pretty much as soon as it hits the ground. And this leaves a very limited window of opportunity to enjoy the snow. So right after preschool, Child, Baby and I got ready to enjoy the newly fallen snow. With Baby safely tucked in the Baby Bj.orn in his snow suit and Child squealing with delight in his sled, I felt so very happy (and got quite a workout, I tell ya).
Now the snow is melting, and I am melting down, too. Today is the last day of my maternity leave. I am so not ready.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Two-month checkup
At 23 ¾ inches and 13 lbs., Baby is growing like a champ and falling between 80th and 85th percentiles. He charmed the doctor with all sorts of coos and smiles, but then they had to ruin it all with four shots plus an oral vaccine. Baby’s reaction to shots, if I could put it into words, would go something like this:
Shot 1: “Whoa, that hurts. You better knock if off, lady.”
Shot 2: “I said I do not like this, lady. What did I ever do to you?”
Shot 3: “What part of KNOCK IT OFF do you not understand?”
Shot 4: “YOU MOTHER F***ER!!!!!”
With all the wonders of modern medicine, why can’t they figure out how to give several vaccines with just one needle stick? I mean seriously, four different sticks? I would be pissed, too.
Following the appointment, instead of drifting off into a stress-induced sleep coma for several hours, like Child used to do after all of his immunizations, Baby insisted on continually telling us how pissed he was about the whole ordeal for the next 48 hours. Poor guy, I really felt sad for him. And boy, I surely am not looking forward to the next round of shots at the four-month checkup.
He is developing right on track, and with his weight, we should be able to start solids at four months if we wanted to. His head and neck muscle control is great, although I have been pretty lax with giving him tummy time (because he hates it so), so I need to do better. Like all babies, he has the sweetest toothless smile, which he gave only to his dad for the first couple of weeks and then finally began doling them out freely to anyone (including me) (I can’t say I wasn’t a little jealous about that).
The best part is (and yes, I know you will hate me for this—and rightly so, I would too), beginning right before Christmas, he started sleeping through the night. From 9 p.m. until 7 a.m. With no sorts of sleep tricks on our part. Child began sleeping through the night at about 2 ½ months, but only with the help of dream feeds (courtesy of the Baby Whisperer book). But Baby actually slept worse when we tried the dream feeds, so we stopped those after a few failed attempts, thinking he was not ready, and lo and behold, he began sleeping all night long. Of course, there are some nights when he doesn’t sleep that well, but those are few and far between. You know, I am almost afraid to post about this, thinking that I will jinx myself. The thing is, he does not sleep during the day. A few 20-30 minute catnaps is all we get. Once in a great while, he can nap for an hour—and it feels like Christmas, I tell ya. Needless to say, I have not been showering much these days. But we do get out of the house a lot, especially with this gorgeous 60-degree weather we’ve been having the last couple of days. So I am stinky, but at least not as exhausted as I used to be. This should be a huge plus when I return to work on Jan. 22. (Once again, really hoping I am not jinxing it).
Shot 1: “Whoa, that hurts. You better knock if off, lady.”
Shot 2: “I said I do not like this, lady. What did I ever do to you?”
Shot 3: “What part of KNOCK IT OFF do you not understand?”
Shot 4: “YOU MOTHER F***ER!!!!!”
With all the wonders of modern medicine, why can’t they figure out how to give several vaccines with just one needle stick? I mean seriously, four different sticks? I would be pissed, too.
Following the appointment, instead of drifting off into a stress-induced sleep coma for several hours, like Child used to do after all of his immunizations, Baby insisted on continually telling us how pissed he was about the whole ordeal for the next 48 hours. Poor guy, I really felt sad for him. And boy, I surely am not looking forward to the next round of shots at the four-month checkup.
He is developing right on track, and with his weight, we should be able to start solids at four months if we wanted to. His head and neck muscle control is great, although I have been pretty lax with giving him tummy time (because he hates it so), so I need to do better. Like all babies, he has the sweetest toothless smile, which he gave only to his dad for the first couple of weeks and then finally began doling them out freely to anyone (including me) (I can’t say I wasn’t a little jealous about that).
The best part is (and yes, I know you will hate me for this—and rightly so, I would too), beginning right before Christmas, he started sleeping through the night. From 9 p.m. until 7 a.m. With no sorts of sleep tricks on our part. Child began sleeping through the night at about 2 ½ months, but only with the help of dream feeds (courtesy of the Baby Whisperer book). But Baby actually slept worse when we tried the dream feeds, so we stopped those after a few failed attempts, thinking he was not ready, and lo and behold, he began sleeping all night long. Of course, there are some nights when he doesn’t sleep that well, but those are few and far between. You know, I am almost afraid to post about this, thinking that I will jinx myself. The thing is, he does not sleep during the day. A few 20-30 minute catnaps is all we get. Once in a great while, he can nap for an hour—and it feels like Christmas, I tell ya. Needless to say, I have not been showering much these days. But we do get out of the house a lot, especially with this gorgeous 60-degree weather we’ve been having the last couple of days. So I am stinky, but at least not as exhausted as I used to be. This should be a huge plus when I return to work on Jan. 22. (Once again, really hoping I am not jinxing it).
No more silence (maybe)
Am I the only person in the blogosphere who finds it difficult to post any sorts of updates now that Baby is here? I mean, I don’t have a really good track record here, but in the past, my lack of posting had more to do with having nothing new to say (or some stupid excuses like too much work). Now, I have so much to say, so much that I want to talk about, so much that I need advice/support on, so much that I simply want to have as a written record so that I don’t forget… However, I find it nearly impossible to find a decent amount of time to write. Part of the reason is the fact that Husband doesn’t know about this blog, so when the kids are in bed at night and I actually have some free time, I feel like I am sneaking around if I were to post. And during the day… well, there just isn’t any free time during the day (which is definitely a topic for a post, as Baby appears very much against sleeping during the day).
I have composed so many posts in my head while nursing, but by the time I miraculously (like right now!) get a free block of time to write, the issue either becomes irrelevant or outdated. I think I need to let go of my perfectionism and just write what’s on my mind instead of finding the right way to say it. After all, that’s why I started to blog—to write down whatever was on my mind in hopes that writing would help me find an answer or at least get it off my chest. So please forgive me if my posts from now on will become poorly written, unedited and just plain boring. Then again, maybe that’s how they’ve been prior to now…in which case, there is lots more poor writing and boringness to come. Here’s what’s in store: my never-ending struggle with breastfeeding, the dreaded return to work, sleep—or lack thereof, parenting second time around, 2-month check up. Thanks for sticking with me.
I have composed so many posts in my head while nursing, but by the time I miraculously (like right now!) get a free block of time to write, the issue either becomes irrelevant or outdated. I think I need to let go of my perfectionism and just write what’s on my mind instead of finding the right way to say it. After all, that’s why I started to blog—to write down whatever was on my mind in hopes that writing would help me find an answer or at least get it off my chest. So please forgive me if my posts from now on will become poorly written, unedited and just plain boring. Then again, maybe that’s how they’ve been prior to now…in which case, there is lots more poor writing and boringness to come. Here’s what’s in store: my never-ending struggle with breastfeeding, the dreaded return to work, sleep—or lack thereof, parenting second time around, 2-month check up. Thanks for sticking with me.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Love is all around
I have always wanted a spring baby. There is something so natural and so symbolic about bringing a new life into the world at the time when the whole world is reborn: new buds appear on the trees, the first flowers are blooming, the birds return, the people come out of winter hibernation. But there are also practical reasons. You don't have to be pregnant in the summer--and where I live, being pregnant in the summer is quite miserable. Around the holidays, you are safely out of your first trimester, so you don't feel like crap every minute of every day, and yet you are not so far along that you can't travel to see family. Plus, you don't have to worry about putting on those holiday pounds. When the baby is born, you can take him or her out for a walk without bundling up in layers and layers of clothing or go to the store without worrying about the flu.
This was back when I thought it would take just a couple of months to get pregnant. As months went by, I realized that what I wanted was a baby, not a birth date.
Now I have my two winter babies. (OK, so late October and early December are officially fall, but it is darn close to winter.) The other night, as I was baking some holiday cookies,* with my two boys all tucked in and sound asleep upstairs, my husband sitting at the kitchen island across from me doing some online holiday shopping, Christmas carols playing on the stereo, the smell of melted chocolate wafting through the house, I was completely overcome by the feeling of peacefulness. This feeling was so intense and so comforting. Over the last few years, there was always some turmoil in my heart--worry, disappointment, uncertainty, frustration, sadness... And it is against the backdrop of these last few years and particularly the miserable Christmas of a year ago, that I find myself so blissfully happy and peaceful this holiday season. Sure, there are plenty rough moments, like when Baby refuses to sleep and screams bloody murder for no apparent reason, when I am so tired I physically can't get out of bed in the morning, when Child exhibits such stubbornness it makes me want to scream... But on the large picture, when I take a step back from being overwhelmed by the minutiae of everyday life, I feel at peace. My heart is full love. My wishes have come true in the form of two absolutely perfect winter babies. Love is all around.**
I wish this same feeling of peace to you. If your heart is far from peaceful, I know how much you long for it. And I really, really hope and pray that it will come soon.
*What kind of cookies? Well, I am glad you asked. I actually made eight different kinds this season (with various degrees of success). But on that particular evening, I was making these Black Forest Cookies, replacing semisweet chocolate with bittersweet and cherries with craisins. Oh. My. God. These were heaven. (they don't freeze well though, just FYI).
**This is a line from Dave Matthews' "Christmas Song." If you haven't heard it, you should.
This was back when I thought it would take just a couple of months to get pregnant. As months went by, I realized that what I wanted was a baby, not a birth date.
Now I have my two winter babies. (OK, so late October and early December are officially fall, but it is darn close to winter.) The other night, as I was baking some holiday cookies,* with my two boys all tucked in and sound asleep upstairs, my husband sitting at the kitchen island across from me doing some online holiday shopping, Christmas carols playing on the stereo, the smell of melted chocolate wafting through the house, I was completely overcome by the feeling of peacefulness. This feeling was so intense and so comforting. Over the last few years, there was always some turmoil in my heart--worry, disappointment, uncertainty, frustration, sadness... And it is against the backdrop of these last few years and particularly the miserable Christmas of a year ago, that I find myself so blissfully happy and peaceful this holiday season. Sure, there are plenty rough moments, like when Baby refuses to sleep and screams bloody murder for no apparent reason, when I am so tired I physically can't get out of bed in the morning, when Child exhibits such stubbornness it makes me want to scream... But on the large picture, when I take a step back from being overwhelmed by the minutiae of everyday life, I feel at peace. My heart is full love. My wishes have come true in the form of two absolutely perfect winter babies. Love is all around.**
I wish this same feeling of peace to you. If your heart is far from peaceful, I know how much you long for it. And I really, really hope and pray that it will come soon.
*What kind of cookies? Well, I am glad you asked. I actually made eight different kinds this season (with various degrees of success). But on that particular evening, I was making these Black Forest Cookies, replacing semisweet chocolate with bittersweet and cherries with craisins. Oh. My. God. These were heaven. (they don't freeze well though, just FYI).
**This is a line from Dave Matthews' "Christmas Song." If you haven't heard it, you should.
Friday, December 07, 2007
The first month
Where did the month go? On one hand, it feels like we left for the hospital just yesterday. On the other hand, Baby has become such a part of the family that it feels like he’s been here for a very, very long time. Life is busier than ever—what with our constant visitors, holiday shopping, holiday baking, holiday decorating, birthday party planning (Child will be turning four at the end of this week), not to mention this whole round-the-clock taking care of the baby. So here is a quick week-by-week recap of Baby’s first month. I am afraid that if I don’t write it down now, exhaustion will wipe my memory slate clean.
Week 1.
I am not sure if I actually made this point clear in my birth story post, but labor was a piece of cake. I highly recommend having the second labor first. Quick. Easy. Anxiety-free (except for that whole “it may be too late for epidural” business). Margie the midwife and Kate the nurse should definitely be on Santa’s “extra-nice” list this year. The postpartum floor staff and the hospital cafeteria—not so much. I was SOOO ready to go home on the third day. However, it took hours to get discharged, even though we had discharge notices from both the pediatrician and the midwives. When we mentioned that we have been waiting for several hours, the nurse said, “Oh, I saw that you were feeding the baby, so I figured you weren’t ready.” Ummm, if that was the case, no one would ever get discharged from the postpartum floor because newborns, as far as I know, pretty much eat around the clock…
Anyway, being home was wonderful. I was on such an emotional high the first week. I was tired, but the adrenalin kept me going. Breastfeeding was painful, but I knew it would be. Breastfeeding Child was the most physically painful experience I have ever had, so I was prepared for it this time. My parents were staying with us, and they were so, so very helpful in terms of household chores. Husband took a week off from work and was entertaining Child, so all I had to do was take care of Baby. To all of my pregnant and soon-to-be pregnant friends out there, this is how it should be: in those first few weeks, you don’t really need anyone to help you take care of the baby—you just need someone to take care of you and everything else. I was so lucky to have this help, both when Child was born and now when Baby was born.
Week 2.
Breastfeeding is getting tougher, and I am starting to feel down about it. I was really hoping for an easier time this time around. He is eating well, peeing well, pooping well, his latch-on looks perfect, and yet I am in incredible amount of pain. I learned my lesson with Child not to wait a month to seek help with breastfeeding. So I make an appointment with the nurse practitioner at the pediatrician’s office who specializes in lactation. During the weight check, it turns out that Baby is loosing weight. He was born at 8.15, discharged on day 3 at 8.7, was at 8.6 on day 4, and now is down to 8.2 on day 10. Ideally, he is supposed to be at 8.15 by day 14, and that is clearly not happening. Huge surprise for me as he seemed to be doing all the things the book says well-fed babies should be doing (number of wet/soiled diapers, etc.). On top of it all, it appears that one of his newborn screening tests came back with low levels, indicating that there may potentially be a serious disorder, which could be an explanation for why he is not gaining weight. So we are sent back to the hospital to rerun the newborn screening test (which takes a whole week to get results), check the bilirubin and also do a full chemistry panel of blood work. Of course, at that point, my raw nipples are the last thing on my mind. Three hours and three heel pricks later, we are back home. For the next 24 hours, Baby is supposed to be on strict two-hour feeding schedule, and I am also supposed to pump after each feeding to help boost my supply. It was a miserable 24 hours and I did not sleep a wink, but at the end of it, Baby did gain 2 ounces. However, the pediatrician was hoping for a more significant increase, so I am instructed to start supplementing with formula due to low milk supply. Also, the hospital lab lost the chemistry panel blood sample, so we had to do it again, in addition to another bilirubin check. Holding your screaming newborn while someone sticks needles in his little feet is not my idea of fun time.
Week 3.
Breastfeeding still sucks. It hurts like hell, and my supply is not increasing despite what seems like round-the-clock nursing and pumping. I finally see the lactation consultant. This has been the best decision I have made so far in this motherhood experience. She immediately diagnoses Baby with tongue tie. I asked the pediatrician who discharged us from the hospital about this (Child had the same issue, so I was familiar with it), and--just like when Child was a baby--was told that it does not interfere with breastfeeding. When I tell this to the lactation consultant, she simply shakes her head in disbelief. She recommends that we get the frenulum clipped right away. I spend the next day trying to schedule an appointment with an ENT--the earliest openings are a month away. I finally find a practice that can get me in within a week. The procedure goes well, but I don't feel immediate relief. Two days go by, and I am in tears again. I put all my hope in the fact that frenotomy would help with the pain. But on the third day, things begin to improve. I now realize that it must have taken Baby a few days to figure out how to use his "new" tongue. We also hear from the pediatrician's office again. The repeat newborn screening test comes back normal. Beautifully normal. I cry with relief.
Week 4.
Things are improving on all fronts. It is the week of Thanksgiving holiday here in the U.S. I have so much to be thankful for.
Week 1.
I am not sure if I actually made this point clear in my birth story post, but labor was a piece of cake. I highly recommend having the second labor first. Quick. Easy. Anxiety-free (except for that whole “it may be too late for epidural” business). Margie the midwife and Kate the nurse should definitely be on Santa’s “extra-nice” list this year. The postpartum floor staff and the hospital cafeteria—not so much. I was SOOO ready to go home on the third day. However, it took hours to get discharged, even though we had discharge notices from both the pediatrician and the midwives. When we mentioned that we have been waiting for several hours, the nurse said, “Oh, I saw that you were feeding the baby, so I figured you weren’t ready.” Ummm, if that was the case, no one would ever get discharged from the postpartum floor because newborns, as far as I know, pretty much eat around the clock…
Anyway, being home was wonderful. I was on such an emotional high the first week. I was tired, but the adrenalin kept me going. Breastfeeding was painful, but I knew it would be. Breastfeeding Child was the most physically painful experience I have ever had, so I was prepared for it this time. My parents were staying with us, and they were so, so very helpful in terms of household chores. Husband took a week off from work and was entertaining Child, so all I had to do was take care of Baby. To all of my pregnant and soon-to-be pregnant friends out there, this is how it should be: in those first few weeks, you don’t really need anyone to help you take care of the baby—you just need someone to take care of you and everything else. I was so lucky to have this help, both when Child was born and now when Baby was born.
Week 2.
Breastfeeding is getting tougher, and I am starting to feel down about it. I was really hoping for an easier time this time around. He is eating well, peeing well, pooping well, his latch-on looks perfect, and yet I am in incredible amount of pain. I learned my lesson with Child not to wait a month to seek help with breastfeeding. So I make an appointment with the nurse practitioner at the pediatrician’s office who specializes in lactation. During the weight check, it turns out that Baby is loosing weight. He was born at 8.15, discharged on day 3 at 8.7, was at 8.6 on day 4, and now is down to 8.2 on day 10. Ideally, he is supposed to be at 8.15 by day 14, and that is clearly not happening. Huge surprise for me as he seemed to be doing all the things the book says well-fed babies should be doing (number of wet/soiled diapers, etc.). On top of it all, it appears that one of his newborn screening tests came back with low levels, indicating that there may potentially be a serious disorder, which could be an explanation for why he is not gaining weight. So we are sent back to the hospital to rerun the newborn screening test (which takes a whole week to get results), check the bilirubin and also do a full chemistry panel of blood work. Of course, at that point, my raw nipples are the last thing on my mind. Three hours and three heel pricks later, we are back home. For the next 24 hours, Baby is supposed to be on strict two-hour feeding schedule, and I am also supposed to pump after each feeding to help boost my supply. It was a miserable 24 hours and I did not sleep a wink, but at the end of it, Baby did gain 2 ounces. However, the pediatrician was hoping for a more significant increase, so I am instructed to start supplementing with formula due to low milk supply. Also, the hospital lab lost the chemistry panel blood sample, so we had to do it again, in addition to another bilirubin check. Holding your screaming newborn while someone sticks needles in his little feet is not my idea of fun time.
Week 3.
Breastfeeding still sucks. It hurts like hell, and my supply is not increasing despite what seems like round-the-clock nursing and pumping. I finally see the lactation consultant. This has been the best decision I have made so far in this motherhood experience. She immediately diagnoses Baby with tongue tie. I asked the pediatrician who discharged us from the hospital about this (Child had the same issue, so I was familiar with it), and--just like when Child was a baby--was told that it does not interfere with breastfeeding. When I tell this to the lactation consultant, she simply shakes her head in disbelief. She recommends that we get the frenulum clipped right away. I spend the next day trying to schedule an appointment with an ENT--the earliest openings are a month away. I finally find a practice that can get me in within a week. The procedure goes well, but I don't feel immediate relief. Two days go by, and I am in tears again. I put all my hope in the fact that frenotomy would help with the pain. But on the third day, things begin to improve. I now realize that it must have taken Baby a few days to figure out how to use his "new" tongue. We also hear from the pediatrician's office again. The repeat newborn screening test comes back normal. Beautifully normal. I cry with relief.
Week 4.
Things are improving on all fronts. It is the week of Thanksgiving holiday here in the U.S. I have so much to be thankful for.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Perspective
I had a particularly difficult day yesterday. The lack of sleep was really catching up with me. I have been sleeping for four hours a night and have not had an opportunity to take a nap during the day in more than a week. I was exhausted and cranky. All I wanted to accomplish yesterday was a nap.
But Baby had a different agenda. He decided that the only way he was going to sleep was on the breast. He would fall sound asleep—so asleep that I could not wake him up to continue feeding, no matter how hard I tried. But as soon as I would move him off my lap and into his bassinet, he would wake up and begin wailing—either immediately or within a few minutes. I tried swaddling, rocking, swaying, bouncing, putting him the car seat, putting him in the bouncy chair, putting him in the front carrier. Nothing worked. I spent so much time trying to get him to sleep that eventually it would be time for the next feeding and he would immediately fall asleep nursing. Eventually I dozed off in the glider and woke up with a horrible head and neck ache from my head falling forward when I slept.
“This has been the worst day,” I thought to myself.
Some time later, I turned on the computer and noticed the date. December 4. I felt a pit in my stomach. Exactly a year ago, we found out that we lost the baby that I was carrying, the baby that it took us a year and a half to conceive. A year later, I still feel sick to my stomach when I think of that day. I feel such overwhelming sadness. That was the worst day.
Today, I hold a beautiful boy in my arms. My little miracle. How we ever got so lucky to conceive him on the first regular cycle after that loss, I will never know. But I am so, so grateful for him. And every day with him is a blessing, even if he refuses to sleep or demands to always be held. Every day is a great day when you put it in perspective.
But Baby had a different agenda. He decided that the only way he was going to sleep was on the breast. He would fall sound asleep—so asleep that I could not wake him up to continue feeding, no matter how hard I tried. But as soon as I would move him off my lap and into his bassinet, he would wake up and begin wailing—either immediately or within a few minutes. I tried swaddling, rocking, swaying, bouncing, putting him the car seat, putting him in the bouncy chair, putting him in the front carrier. Nothing worked. I spent so much time trying to get him to sleep that eventually it would be time for the next feeding and he would immediately fall asleep nursing. Eventually I dozed off in the glider and woke up with a horrible head and neck ache from my head falling forward when I slept.
“This has been the worst day,” I thought to myself.
Some time later, I turned on the computer and noticed the date. December 4. I felt a pit in my stomach. Exactly a year ago, we found out that we lost the baby that I was carrying, the baby that it took us a year and a half to conceive. A year later, I still feel sick to my stomach when I think of that day. I feel such overwhelming sadness. That was the worst day.
Today, I hold a beautiful boy in my arms. My little miracle. How we ever got so lucky to conceive him on the first regular cycle after that loss, I will never know. But I am so, so grateful for him. And every day with him is a blessing, even if he refuses to sleep or demands to always be held. Every day is a great day when you put it in perspective.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Not quite a trifecta*
At some point during my third trimester, I asked one of the midwives about when I should head to the hospital when labor begins. She said to give them a call when contractions became regular. “You’ve been through this before,” she remarked, “so you remember what real contractions feel like.” I nodded because I thought I did.
I had stomach cramps most of the day on Friday, nasty gas cramps. Constipation has been a major problem for me throughout this pregnancy, so having gas cramps was nothing new. I did note to myself that they were stronger and more uncomfortable than usual.
The cramps woke me up around 1 a.m. I was starting to get a back ache, too. At 4:30, I woke up again. As I tossed and turned, trying to get back to sleep, I kept glancing at my clock radio and soon realized that these “gas cramps” had a certain pattern to them. It was then that it occurred to me that perhaps these were not gas cramps after all but real contractions. I tried timing the duration of them, but that was not easy to do with the digital clock. I got up and went downstairs, turning on my computer and feverishly trying to finish up some last-minute work. At 5:30, I woke up Husband and called the hospital. The contractions were 7-8 minutes apart lasting about 50-60 seconds. They were uncomfortable, but I could still easily talk through them. The doctor told me to take a shower and call back when the contractions got closer to 5 minutes apart.
At 7 a.m., we were on our way to the hospital. My back was killing me, and I could not talk through the contractions anymore. I remarked to Husband that I didn’t remember having this much pain with Child. At 7:40, the midwife who checked me happily announced, “You are at 7 cm!” Holy shit, I thought, no wonder the pain was so much stronger—I got epidural when I was 4 cm with Child. “I need epidural now,” I said (screamed?). Another midwife piped in, “You are so close, you can do it without the drugs.” “I know I can,” I said (snapped back?), “but I don’t want to.” They were happy to oblige, but they warned me that if my water broke or if I dilated much further, it would be too late for the epidural. Talk about sending this girl into a panic mode: having to give birth without drugs was one of my biggest fears about labor this time around. It felt like it took forever for the anesthesiologist to show up, and the pain was intense. Back labor is no walk in the park, I tell ya. Husband was a rock star, applying pressure to my lower back during the contractions per midwife’s directions. It made the world of difference. L&D nurse, Kate, was amazing too—what a wonderful, calming influence. While we were waiting for the anesthesiologist, I got hooked up to antibiotics for group B strep. The midwife mentioned she was glad I was asking for epidural because they needed to stall my labor—I needed at least four hours of antibiotics before delivery.
9 a.m. Epidural. Sweet relief. ‘Nuf said.
At 11:20, the midwife checked me. “We better set up for delivery now.”
They broke my bag of water. I thought about how odd it was that with Child, having my water break was the first sign of labor, but with this one, the water never broke, even though I was fully dilated and effaced.
I pushed once. “Whoa, hold on, stop pushing,” the midwife said. “Dad, do you want to deliver your son?” Husband looked stunned and a little uncomfortable. “I won’t be offended if you don’t want to do it,” I said. He thought about it for a second and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands.
A minute later I pushed again. And the most amazing thing happened. My husband, the love of my life, pulled out our son, the newest love of my life, from my body and placed him on my belly. 11:38 a.m.
I can not find words right now (doubt if I ever will) to describe what a miraculous moment it was. The struggles, the tests, the interventions, the heartbreaks—they were worth it to have THIS moment.
*Suppose I should explain the title of this post. My birthday is October 24. Husband’s is October 25. Baby was born on October 27. Had he come a day earlier, we would have had a birthday trifecta. Welcome to the Scorpio family, babe.
I had stomach cramps most of the day on Friday, nasty gas cramps. Constipation has been a major problem for me throughout this pregnancy, so having gas cramps was nothing new. I did note to myself that they were stronger and more uncomfortable than usual.
The cramps woke me up around 1 a.m. I was starting to get a back ache, too. At 4:30, I woke up again. As I tossed and turned, trying to get back to sleep, I kept glancing at my clock radio and soon realized that these “gas cramps” had a certain pattern to them. It was then that it occurred to me that perhaps these were not gas cramps after all but real contractions. I tried timing the duration of them, but that was not easy to do with the digital clock. I got up and went downstairs, turning on my computer and feverishly trying to finish up some last-minute work. At 5:30, I woke up Husband and called the hospital. The contractions were 7-8 minutes apart lasting about 50-60 seconds. They were uncomfortable, but I could still easily talk through them. The doctor told me to take a shower and call back when the contractions got closer to 5 minutes apart.
At 7 a.m., we were on our way to the hospital. My back was killing me, and I could not talk through the contractions anymore. I remarked to Husband that I didn’t remember having this much pain with Child. At 7:40, the midwife who checked me happily announced, “You are at 7 cm!” Holy shit, I thought, no wonder the pain was so much stronger—I got epidural when I was 4 cm with Child. “I need epidural now,” I said (screamed?). Another midwife piped in, “You are so close, you can do it without the drugs.” “I know I can,” I said (snapped back?), “but I don’t want to.” They were happy to oblige, but they warned me that if my water broke or if I dilated much further, it would be too late for the epidural. Talk about sending this girl into a panic mode: having to give birth without drugs was one of my biggest fears about labor this time around. It felt like it took forever for the anesthesiologist to show up, and the pain was intense. Back labor is no walk in the park, I tell ya. Husband was a rock star, applying pressure to my lower back during the contractions per midwife’s directions. It made the world of difference. L&D nurse, Kate, was amazing too—what a wonderful, calming influence. While we were waiting for the anesthesiologist, I got hooked up to antibiotics for group B strep. The midwife mentioned she was glad I was asking for epidural because they needed to stall my labor—I needed at least four hours of antibiotics before delivery.
9 a.m. Epidural. Sweet relief. ‘Nuf said.
At 11:20, the midwife checked me. “We better set up for delivery now.”
They broke my bag of water. I thought about how odd it was that with Child, having my water break was the first sign of labor, but with this one, the water never broke, even though I was fully dilated and effaced.
I pushed once. “Whoa, hold on, stop pushing,” the midwife said. “Dad, do you want to deliver your son?” Husband looked stunned and a little uncomfortable. “I won’t be offended if you don’t want to do it,” I said. He thought about it for a second and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands.
A minute later I pushed again. And the most amazing thing happened. My husband, the love of my life, pulled out our son, the newest love of my life, from my body and placed him on my belly. 11:38 a.m.
I can not find words right now (doubt if I ever will) to describe what a miraculous moment it was. The struggles, the tests, the interventions, the heartbreaks—they were worth it to have THIS moment.
*Suppose I should explain the title of this post. My birthday is October 24. Husband’s is October 25. Baby was born on October 27. Had he come a day earlier, we would have had a birthday trifecta. Welcome to the Scorpio family, babe.
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