Get Out While You Can

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Update – Several of you have inquired about the outcome of my OB visit.  First off, thank you for your concern.  A few of you had ideas, suggestions, etc. as to what may be causing my problem.  I appreciate the support, and am once again reminded that yes, I should be as open and honest as possible in my little corner here. 

The good news is that my ultrasound came back normal.  If “things” don’t completely stop soon (I’m attempting not to gross anyone out this post), then I will be put on the pill for a couple months to force my body into a cycle.  It was a huge relief to know there is no need for some kind of procedure, which would only further prolong my already slow recovery.

Enough about that…

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So in the last two weeks I have been able to go out with my husband not once, but twice for dinner.  No, don’t rush over that sentence.  Okay, in case you missed it, I have spent time alone with my husband outside of our home TWO times in the last TWO weeks.  Prior to this, the last time we’d spent any time together sans child was way back in November 2010. 

There are several reasons for this, the main one being we were living on location while Vinny worked, away from family and friends, and I am paranoid beyond belief about having someone I do not personally know well watch our child (now children).

And now, as I continue to breastfeed our second child and avoid my breast pump as much as possible (I can’t help it, I know it “buys” me freedom, but I hate pumping), we are once again reduced to life revolving around my boobs and Sophie’s feeding schedule.  Mind you, I say this with no irritation or ill-will.  It’s my choice to do this, my preference, and in the grand scheme of things, committing a year of my life to feeding her is a blip on the radar.  It flies by. 

All this being said, would I like to “get away?”  Would I like to spend time just with Vinny on occasion?  Hell yes.

Thankfully, this is starting to happen (a rather huge perk to our cross-country move).  We enjoyed an evening out courtesy of my parents, and then a little more than a week later (and 200+ miles away) an evening out with Vinny’s sisters and their husbands, courtesy of his parents.

You’d think I would be totally and completely thrilled to have this time away.  And mostly, I am.  But I do find myself lingering between wanting the time away and then feeling like I am going to miss something while I’m gone.  Evenings are toughest.  Although it is the most draining part of the day, it is also my favorite time of day with the kids.  I love the last bit of cuddling in the evenings: rocking Sophie to sleep, reading Eli a couple bedtime stories. 

Knowing that Sophie is our last, there is part of me that doesn’t want to miss a moment.  She is growing and changing so quickly.  Then there is Eli.  He is so much fun each and every day.  I love this age with him, and know that I will look back on this period with longing when he is older.

Of course we all need a break from the wee ones now and again.  But I never anticipated leaving them with so much reluctance, even for a short two-hour break. 

In the end, the time away always does me good.  I feel recharged, refreshed, and thankful for adult conversation.  The car ride to and from is always quiet, and man, does it ever feel peaceful.  It reminds me of how much I love (and miss) spending time just with Vinny. 

Now that we know we have occasional babysitters, we are plotting for the days when Sophie is off the boob and we could escape, er, leave for an entire day (or more? Dare we wish for such a thing?). 

As good as it feels to get away and spend some quality time together, there is always such a rush of happiness when I see the kids upon our return.  Cliches tend to originate in some grain of truth, and as much as they tend to annoy me I have to admit some of them have taken on more depth for me as time passes.  What is that saying?  Absence make the heart…?  Just kidding, I know how it goes, and so do you.

Until There Are Answers…

Milk Machine Mom, where have you been?

Well, readers, let me just say this: Don’t move across the country seven-ish weeks postpartum.  Not that any of you would.  But me?  Well, I may just be certifiable…

As you might imagine, packing, moving, unpacking, all the while caring for two small children, has eaten up more minutes than there are in a day.  Sleep?  It teases me occasionally, although Sophie is starting to put together some longer stretches at night.  Now if I could only get my butt in bed earlier…

On top of all this fun (and it is fun moving into our first home, despite the overwhelming nature of moving itself), my body is struggling to heal.

WARNING: If reading about blood and/or my lady bits is going to traumatize/offend/sicken you, I suggest you stop reading.  Now.

Okay, for those hanging in, here it is:  I haven’t stopped bleeding since Sophie was born.  The “norm” for this lovely after effect of pregnancy is a few days to eight weeks.  Sophie will be ten weeks old on Wednesday.  So yes, it’s like I’ve had my period for nearly TEN weeks.  Please, weep with me now. 

I’m reminded again that when it comes to anything pregnancy related there truly is no “normal.”  With Eli, this particular fun lasted four weeks.  At my six-week check-up, my OB in L.A. reminded me that this labor and delivery was especially long and taxing, and healing will be slow.  He told me that if I was still bleeding after eight weeks I should come in and have an ultrasound.

I laughed and said, “Yes, but I’ll be moving across the country at that point.”  This was if-I-don’t-laugh-I’ll-cry laughter, mind you.

When you are occupied with something as all-encompassing as moving, it’s easy to push something worrisome to the back of your mind.  Okay, maybe not easy, but at least you don’t have the time to sit and dwell over it.  There are boxes to pack (and unpack), dammit!

But now, as all the essentials have been located and unpacked (though we still sit in a maze of disarray), my mind has had more opportunity to linger over the “what-ifs.”  This is always dangerous territory and a source of so much unnecessary worry.

The pattern goes like this:  What if something is really wrong?  What if I have to have some kind of “procedure” done?  What if I have to have surgery?  Will I be able to pump enough breastmilk for Sophie beforehand?  Will it affect my breastfeeding long-term?  What if…?  Will I…?  Can I…?

The questions pile up, with no answers.

I go in tomorrow to see my new OB here in Michigan.  She comes highly recommended from a friend, and if nothing else, I am looking for some peace of mind, however that is delivered.

Sometimes the answers, whether they are what we want to hear or not, at least give us a point from which to move forward. 

Most days I tell myself, “You’re still healing, it’s just taking a really, really long time.”  Or, “You packed and moved and are now unpacking … you need to REST, lady.”  Or, “If there is something wrong, it will be fixed.”

The body is an amazing apparatus.  Despite whatever is going on (or not), my body has continued to allow me to function every day, do what absolutely must be done, and most importantly, has continued to allow me to feed Sophie.  That baby fat is piling up as the days pass, so clearly she is not suffering any ill-effects of whatever my body is continuing to do.  And when I see her smiling at me, it’s easy to push the worries to the back of my mind, for a few more minutes.