And Then...?

Sleep deprivation.

Yup, I’m in the thick of it now.  With Eli, weeks 5-8 postpartum were the worst, and I find myself in repeat mode with Sophie.  The first few weeks after you bring the baby home you seem to coast along on some kind of magical fuel.  You’re tired, sure, but manage to keep going and going and going…

Until you don’t. 

I knew it would be different in some ways this time around.  And it is.  Breastfeeding is going better, Sophie goes back to sleep easier than Eli did after night feedings, and these two things alone have saved me so much grief and frustration.

However, Eli is up and at ‘em most of the day and that makes any kind of daytime rest difficult.  Plus, Sophie’s been on a feeding rampage and one day will be full of feedings every one-to-two hours and then the next she’ll nap like a champ (but I won’t).

Were we not gearing up to move across the country in just over a week, I would be viewing this stage of exhaustion with more amusement.  Normally, I like an occasional bout of sleep deprivation.  No joke. 

There’s something about entering this phase of mental meltdown that I find fascinating.  In the past I’ve had this experience while working extremely long hours on film shoots.  At some point you cross the threshold into this altered state where you are still mostly functional, with now-and-again brain hiccups.  In college one of my friends referred to this state as “film trippin’.”

One of my favorite sleep deprived moments came while working on Jarhead.  I was working on location and we were putting in 16-17 hour days, and had been for a couple weeks.  We were filming at an empty military base and as I walked across the base to our office I randomly stopped and picked up a stick with a leaf on it and said, “Jeanine would like this” (Jeanine being one of my co-workers and very good friends). 

Of course I frightened Jeanine with my “gift,” and under normal circumstances I would not be inclined to pick up stray objects off the ground.  But in the moment it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and this is the part of sleep deprivation that I find fascinating.  Why wouldn’t I normally pick up sticks off the ground?  What made this action so normal (and pleasant) in this instance?  My intentions were good, even if the action was a little strange.  And so part of me wonders if in my “normal” state I am too rushed, too oblivious to the small details around me, blind to the small bits of beauty that sometimes lay at my feet. 

Regardless, this memory has become precious to me and always generates a good laugh when it is recalled.

When it comes to being sleep deprived with small children I have to admit there is much less to giggle over.  At least, not in the moment.  Later on you’ll find amusement at your mindless mishaps.

The other day as I was feeding Eli oatmeal I held the spoon up to him and asked, “Would you like more email?”  Thankfully he isn’t old enough to mock me.

I’m not sure what happens in your brain, what synapse misfires as you search for a word and then replace it with a completely unrelated one.  That, or at times your brain shuts down altogether.

“Hey, I’m going to…”

Hmm, going to what?  It’s amazing that you can launch into a sentence and completely forget what you were going to say four words into it.  I can’t tell you how many times this has happened: I start a sentence only to drift off and stare into space.

Where did the thought go?  It’s not like a bowl of ice-cream just floated in front of my face, or I noticed that our apartment is suddenly clean.  No, nothing like that.  But sleep deprivation is distraction at the highest level. 

My inability to pay attention to anything or anyone for more than four seconds (if it requires any type of thought or concentration) is embarrassing.  I forget what people say to me as they’re saying it.  I can’t recall details that should be difficult to forget.  I have newfound sympathy for anyone that struggles with an attention disorder, as it is ultimately very frustrating when you are trying to be “on it.”

I only wish I didn’t have to be.  “On it,” that is.  I wish I could sit here and simply enjoy my children without our daunting “to-do” list staring at me, our rooms full of belongings still waiting to be packed, my up-and-down ride of emotions as I flip from excited to devastated when it comes to our move.  In the throes of this sleep deprivation every emotion is amplified, every brain fart is annoying rather than amusing, and I sit here wishing for more sleep.

That time will come.  Part of me feels guilty for wishing my days away, wanting to be in that “land of more sleep” since I know this is our last baby.  I should savor every second.  Part of me feels wistful, wishing I could be infinitely amused during this latest bout of sleep deprivation.  Part of me feels…

Shit, I forgot.

Milk Machine, Again

Checking in from somewhere deep in the Land of Sleep Deprivation…

And the real question is: How is breastfeeding going with child #2?

The answer: Better, worse, the same.

I will say this: we got off to a much, much better start with Sophie.  This, in large part, is due to my doula, Gracie.

I had been in recovery only a couple minutes when she said, “I think we should try breastfeeding now.”  This was after the forty hours of labor and a rather hellish c-section.  I was relieved to finally be lying down in peace, as close to resting as I had been in two days.  The idea of breastfeeding at that moment, honestly, did not thrill me. 

My husband expressed doubts, too.  “But she’s still hooked up to so many things (me, not Sophie), and there are all these tubes.  I don’t know if she’s in any shape…”

Gracie would not be deterred and pressed in her oh-so-gentle way.  “Sophie’s about an hour old and now is the perfect time.  We’ll help place her and get her comfortable.” 

With some rearranging and maneuvering of tubes and gown, Sophie was placed on my chest, where she quickly latched on and began to eat.  I could barely move to hold her, but Gracie helped to keep her in place.  I was amazed and thrilled, moved to tears that this was happening and so very grateful that I had someone there helping to make it happen.

Compared to our early days with Eli this was a fairy tale beginning.

Sophie continued to and has been exclusively breastfed so far.  This makes me very, very happy.

This is not to say all has gone without a hitch. 

I am, again, a constant food trough.  My nipples have taken a beating.  There have been blisters, there has been cracking, there has been blood. 

Our last day at the hospital Sophie spit up blood.  I was in an immediate panic: why was blood coming out of our baby?  To see it spattered on her shirt made my blood pressure spike and I felt lightheaded.  Vinny was off doing release paperwork and I could barely make the flustered phone call to get him back to the room.  

After much hoopla by the nurses and attending pediatricians, not to mention a half-day delay in our release, it was decided, “Oh, your nipple was bleeding when she ate and she spit it up.  Totally normal.” 

Good times, friends.

All the old ailments and challenges returned: engorgement, spontaneous leaking (and no, not just when my milk lets down, just whenever … it soaks through my nursing pads and my shirt), her pulling back while latched on, clicking, total agony when water and/or a towel brushed anywhere in the vicinity of my nipple.

It’s hard in these early weeks, as we are adjusting to each other, to truly enjoy the process.  I am thankful to know this time around that we will arrive at the day where we are both comfortable, where things will proceed without a hitch, where the process will feel natural. 

We’re not there, yet.  And it gets frustrating.  One feeding goes well.  The next does not.  One feeding she eats calmly, the next is a frantic feeding frenzy that ends in me near tears and her with a gassy belly, screaming in pain. 

We are still in the “learning” period. 

You’d think there would be more patience this time around.  But the combination of sleep deprivation and knowing things should and will be better in the future sometimes sends me into a tailspin of frustration.  Did I mention we are also moving across the country in just over three weeks?

Add to that our 18-month old who is also adjusting to all this change, vying for my attention, wanting to be picked up by me (this breaks my heart, and was one of the reasons I so adamantly did not want a c-section), etc., and I often feel myself being pulled in too many different directions.

Thankfully, my husband has been home with me since the day we brought Sophie home.  He keeps me centered when everything feels overwhelming, keeps Eli happy when I cannot give him attention, and is my true partner in keeping our household functioning.

And so the days unfold, often in a haze, often spent entirely in my pajamas.  I know one of these days soon I will realize with a start that breastfeeding is going smoothly… that the haze is lifting and there is once again some semblance of a “normal” life.

Until then, it’s one feeding at a time.

 Sophie and I with my doula, Gracie, at our post-partum visit, 

where we talked at length about breastfeeding.