A Need to Pause

Yes, it’s been awhile.  Again.

For lots of reasons, I haven’t been posting.  I’ve had good intentions.  I’ve started four or five posts with fervor and then… nothing. 

Initially I chalked it up to all the usual things, which I won’t bore you with, but if you have any procrastination “skills” I’m sure you could put together a list, too.

However, after some time passed I had to ask myself: Why haven’t I been writing?  What is really going on (beyond the usual BS excuses)?

When I take that quiet moment and ask myself what on the surface appears to be a very basic question, I am quite often bowled over by what rushes forth in the way of response.

I’ve been so bowled over that I haven’t written for some time now.  That in and of itself is quite striking because my usual response to any situation is to write about it.  I may not always share it, but it will undoubtedly be written about.

Lately, though, I’ve been stuck.  My thoughts have not moved down to my fingers and onto the page like they are so normally apt to do. 

In short, I’ve been in a mourning period. 

In mid-February, Sophie stopped breastfeeding altogether.  She was just over ten-months old, a respectable run some might say.  The fact that breastfeeding had been a struggle since she was just shy of four months old makes that ten month run seem downright amazing on some days.  However, on most other days it makes me sad.  When you want something for your child, when what you feel so strongly about is a struggle and cannot be accomplished, well, my tendency is to blame myself.

I know this is foolish.  I know she is fine.  She’s always been fine.  I’m the one who struggles with these things.

Beyond that, and I can only really talk about this in a peripheral sort of way, even now, is the fact that for about seven months I was really, really depressed. 

To feel so depressed in light of all these wonderful things happening in my life, at a time when the dream of finally moving into our first home was realized, a time when I could look at my beautiful and healthy and complete family and say, “we’re home,” was devastating to me.  How could I be depressed?  Why couldn’t I snap out of it?

Well, I didn’t.  Not for a long a time.  And it wasn’t something I could talk about when I was in the throes of it because it only made me feel worse, only made me feel like I should be able to wake up one day and “feel better.” 

Of course it’s not that simple.

I wasn’t prepared for the toll all this would take, either.  With Eli, I had a several-week period of “baby blues,” but between month three and four, when all the breastfeeding and sleeping and colic issues had smoothed out I started to feel somewhat “normal” again, finally felt some semblance of my former self. 

Sophie turned one last Friday.  Although I am finally emerging from a months-long fog of sleep deprivation and depression, I still don’t feel like myself, yet.  The difference now is I can see that I am making progress and this propels me forward, strengthens my attitude on a daily basis.  I know that one day, maybe soon, I will wake up and feel ever closer to… myself. 

It’s a difficult concept to explain to anyone that has never experienced it.

Sophie turning one has been a shock to my system.  Vinny and I were watching videos of her early months the other day, and in some ways it was as though I were seeing Sophie as a baby for the first time.  Truly seeing her.  I marveled over every coo, every little facial expression.

Then I cried.  A lot.

While I know at the end of the day she is fine, we’re all healthy and fine (thank goodness), and that I did the best job I could during her first year, it still pains me greatly that I wasn’t as present for her (and the rest of my family) as I wanted to be. 

Her first year is gone.  Gone.  And I feel like I am just now showing up to the party, just now being as present as I would like to be on a daily basis. 

When it hit me how much I missed, how much of her first year was spent on autopilot in an attempt to just get through the day, well, how can I not feel guilty about that?  I can never get those days back, no matter how much I long for them.  And I do.  So much.

So I’ve had to allow myself some time to be sad, to reflect, to think about what it means to be Milk Machine Mom.  When Sophie stopped breastfeeding I initially thought, “Well, I guess I need to find a new title.  I’m all dried up…”

But I’m not. 

I’m still here.  I’m still giving to my kids all day, every day.  Sure, in the early days I was a literal milk machine to those hungry babes.  But even once the boob juice stops running we are always giving and giving and giving to our children.  It’s what we do. 

And I’m back to it to the extent that I would like to be, finally.  I am grateful for a return of clarity, some occasional long-ish stretches of sleep (after three years of not sleeping through a night my body has needed to re-learn even this seemingly basic task, and it’s been slow going even on the best day), and most of all to a healthier mental state. 

During the worst of it, I had thought about closing up shop and shutting down the blog, but I still have words I would like to share with you all, and the comments and support I’ve gotten from so many of you propel me forward.  I’ve always thought of this space as a community for anyone who cares to join, and still think we always learn the most from each other.  So thank you for helping to create this little corner of the internet with which to share my experiences… I hope to share more with you, soon.

And On the Fourth Night There Was Sleep

Sophie slept through the night last night.  I know, I can hardly believe it myself.

And because this topic has been on the radar again recently (see article in Psychology Today), I feel compelled to share my experience.  Yes, we finally relented and resorted to letting Sophie cry it out. 

For those of you that may not know, this is a polarizing, controversial topic.  The approach is basically what it sounds like: letting your babe cry during the night until they get themselves back to sleep (for a little more background, go here – there are several approaches and modified versions of this method, popularized by Dr. Richard Ferber). 

I’ve always had mixed feelings about this sleep training method.  Any parent knows how agonizing it is to listen to your babe scream bloody murder, even if it might be for the (hoped for) greater good.  And I can’t get behind the whole “put ‘em to bed and sleep as far away as possible so you can’t hear ‘em” suggestion, either.

I do believe that at a point a child does need to learn to self-soothe.  This doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be nighttime instances that require parental assistance.  However, I also think babes are creatures of habit, and I know my babe has gotten very, very used to seeing me multiple times per night.  Whether she “needs” me or not, apparently she does like to see my face anywhere from 2-5 times per night.

This might be flattering on some level if I could sleep my days away and party it up with her all night.  Alas, I cannot.

We may have arrived at this point much sooner were it not for the continuing issues with breast feeding, and fluid intake in general.  Her nursing has been so erratic, and as of last week had slowed down to one feeding per day – at about three in the morning. 

I’ve had continued concerns and anxieties about her hydration levels.  When her nursing slowed to this one nighttime feeding for close to a week, I called the pediatrician (again) in a panic, because even her one nighttime feeding was brief, and I could tell she was waking for it out of habit, not hunger.

After a lengthy discussion with the pediatrician, I was assured (although not pleased) that I have on my hands a baby that eats like a linebacker, but that cares very little for fluids of any sort (oh, how I’ve tried).  He ruled out anything being medically wrong with her and concluded that “this is just the way she is.”

When I expressed concern that I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed much longer since her demand is so low (and pumping is not helping to maintain my supply) he said, “You’re probably right.  It’d be preferable, but she’ll be fine.  We’d like her to have breast milk or formula for another couple months, but she’ll be okay either way.”

On some instinctual level, I knew this all along, but hearing someone say it out loud was such a relief.  We all know that during a baby’s first year of life that breast milk (or formula) should be the main source of nutrients.  Sophie has other plans, and I need to accept that.  It hasn’t been easy and I’m still not quite there.

So after attempting to get my head around all of this, and knowing that medically she is on stable ground, I knew it was time to get to work on her sleep habits.  We are both miserable most of the day because neither one of us sleeps for any considerable stretch of time. 

For a long time the only way she would go back to sleep was if she would nurse.  Not nurse to sleep, mind you.  She hasn’t done that since she was two months old.  No, she would nurse, I would lay her back down, and she would go to sleep.

However, as time went on the number of overnight feedings decreased, but not the amount of times she woke up.  Most babes want to be snuggled back to sleep.  Not Sophie.  She does want me to come in and pick her up.  But then she gets antsy and wants me to put her back down.  So I do.  And sometimes that’s enough, and sometimes it isn’t.

Long story short, she fusses for much of the night.  She resists going back to sleep, for whatever reason(s) she has.

With crying it out you have to be consistent.  And for me there’s any number of reasons why I’ll eventually go in to rescue her.

As anyone who knows me could attest, after nine months of no sleep I am truly not myself these days.  I’m forgetful.  Cranky.  Struggle to concentrate.  Struggle to make decisions.  Struggle to take good care of myself as I use what little energy I have to care for everyone else.  As you can see, it’s a struggle.

So something had to give.

We started last Thursday.  I kept asking, “We’re really going to do this?  We’ll really just not go in there?”  I was nervous (I have to mention I tried a modified version of crying it out three months ago, where you go in at set times during the crying to briefly soothe – but not pick up – your baby.  This did not go well, so for this go-round we decided to go all in.  I will also point out that my pediatrician strongly encouraged trying this method for 3-5 nights, and to my doubtful glance said, “I know some people strongly disagree, but I’m telling you it will work.”).

Thankfully, this process has not been as torturous as I had feared.  She has woken up, she has fussed, and at times she’s cried hard for short stretches, but so far she hasn’t resorted to that top-of-her-lungs screaming that I can’t stomach.  And part of me knows this is the key to me sticking with the method.  I know her screams.  I know when she’s hungry or when there’s something wrong (i.e. pain from teething).  I also know when she’s simply mad and fussy and wants me to rescue her.  Even though it is hard for me to ignore those kinds of pleas, I am not doing either of us a favor at this point by repeating the rescue cycle.

The third night she woke several times and each time it took her nearly an hour to get herself back to sleep.  It was a long, long night. 

Then last night: she slept from 6:45 – 5:45.  Eleven glorious hours.  I didn’t manage anything like that, waking several times to check her.  She was fine.  She woke this morning babbling happily in her crib.  She never does that, and it put the biggest grin on my face.     

I won’t lie.  I’m not sure I could stick with this if she really screamed for any great length of time.  And even if this “works” for us, I couldn’t be a champion for the method.  It’s honestly come down to desperation and the fact that any other tactic I’ve tried has done nothing to improve her nighttime sleep. 

I’m once again reminded that we do what works best for us at any given moment.  And by “us” I mean parents and Sophie.  I wouldn’t press on if I didn’t think there were benefits in it for her, too. 

Will she do it again tonight?  Have we finally, finally, finally made it over the hump?  I don’t know.  But for the first time in a long time I feel hopeful that maybe things are changing…  for the better.

A Sticky Subject...

I recently came across an article entitled, “Don’t Glorify My Breast Milk,” discussing the book, “Is Breast Best?  Taking on the Breastfeeding Experts and the New High Stakes of Motherhood,” by Joan Wolf.

Wolf’s stance is: “It’s time to end the glorification of breast milk and the shaming of mothers who choose formula. For many women, nursing works; for many others, it doesn’t. But accusations of selfishness and bad mothering won’t contribute to anyone’s good health.” 

I can agree with the last sentence wholeheartedly. 

This is harder to swallow: “[N]ot all women are able to nurse, whether it’s because the baby doesn’t latch, it’s painful for the mother, she doesn’t have time, or she simply doesn’t like it. In those cases, says Wolf, the pro-breast-feeding studies, without appropriate scientific evidence, make the mother feel inadequate.”

Hmm.

At the end of the day this is a choice every mother has to make, and ultimately, she should do what is going to work best for her and her child (and I realize not all women even get to choose; for various reasons this decision is sometimes made for them).  However, I have to admit I find it unfortunate when a woman won’t even give breastfeeding a chance, when the decision is made before baby even arrives … especially when it falls under the reasons of time and/or inconvenience. 

Get 'Em Out

Did you know it was World Breastfeeding Week last week? 

A friend on Facebook posted an event, “Big Latch On,” that was being held in conjunction with the week’s festivities.  The event was held outdoors at a park downtown, where breastfeeding mommas could convene, connect, and nourish their little ones.

I had honestly never heard of World Breastfeeding Week before, and for some reason it sparked a memory of a sentence I read in some breastfeeding literature awhile back: “breastfeeding in public is legal in all 50 states.”

At the time I did a double take when I read this.  Really?  Someone had to tell me this? 

It never occurred to me that there may have been a time when it wasn’t legal, or that it even needed to be written down somewhere that breastfeeding in public isn’t considered obscene (if you’re curious about breastfeeding laws in your state, go here).

That being said, it’s taken me some time to get comfortable breastfeeding in public. 

The reasons for my discomfort initially were quite varied:  I didn’t want to “flash” myself at strangers (easily avoided with a nursing wrap), I didn’t want to attract attention to myself (I’ve always been this way), and most of all I didn’t want anyone to be offended.

It shames me to admit that I thought publicly feeding my child might offend anyone.  Or rather, that I cared if it did. 

One of the larger underlying issues was that, quite simply, I had almost never seen anyone else breastfeeding in public.

When Eli was a newborn, breastfeeding went poorly.  I didn’t have confidence feeding him in the privacy of my own home.  It was a frustrating ordeal, and the thought of feeding him in public, with a potential audience, was anxiety provoking at the highest level.

I would plan all of my errands, and essentially my entire day, around his feeding schedule.  I would feed him, Vinny and I would look at the clock and say, “let’s go to lunch now so we can get back before he needs to eat again!”  And so on…

This is no way to live, mind you, tied to a feeding schedule, feeling rushed wherever you go.  After awhile I would feed him in the car if we were on the go.  And eventually I did nurse him in public with my nursing wrap.  For all my nerves over it, I can’t even remember where/when our first public feeding was!

All the while I never felt particularly comfortable in what I was doing, but I was getting more and more determined that I shouldn’t have to hide away in our apartment or in my car to feed my child. 

At this point I have breastfed in various stores, the mall, the park, dressing rooms, restrooms, restaurants, museums, the airport, the doctor’s office, and I’m sure several other locations I cannot recall.  I still always prefer to feed at home, where we are both most comfortable, but over time I have grown more confident breastfeeding in public.

I am one of those people that tries to be very discreet when I breastfeed.  I don’t like to flop my boob out for all to see, and it’s not because it would make me uncomfortable at this point, but rather, I realize it does make others uncomfortable.  I have come to understand that many people are not necessarily offended by women feeding in public, it’s more about them being uncomfortable seeing a private body part so openly on display.

I don’t get this, exactly.  On any given warm day in most of our country, countless women wear tank tops or other such clothing that not only leaves little to the imagination, but quite often offers a peek at their girls if you’re really so inclined.  You don’t see anyone complaining about that. 

Regardless, nudity of any kind still tends to shock people, whether it’s for the greater good of feeding a child or not.

Which brings me back to the fact that I so rarely see anyone breastfeed in public (well, other than people I already know).  Since having Eli I feel like I have a keener eye for this sort of thing, and I can count on both hands how many times I’ve seen a breastfeeding momma out in public over the last two years.   

In some ways I feel it is my duty to breastfeed in public.  I’ve heard little kids whisper to their mom, “What is she doing?”  I’ve rarely heard the response given.  I imagine not all kids get the most positive reaction, but I hope the experience stays with the child.  I don’t remember seeing anyone breastfeed when I was a kid, ever.  I wish this would have been “normal” to me, to know that people breastfed, to know that it is acceptable to do in public, to know that it is encouraged.

Breastfeeding is difficult enough without feeling nervous about having to do it “out there.”  I’m happy to report that with Sophie I have had none of the reservations that I experienced with Eli.  If we have something to go do, we do it without thought of when she may need to eat next.  And wherever we happen to be, that’s where she’ll eat.  It’s worked out beautifully so far.

Now, getting back to the "Big Latch On.”  A fine idea, but I have to say if I had stumbled upon that park and not known what was going on only to find tons of breastfeeding mommas?  Well, it certainly would have felt like a Twilight moment, albeit a very welcome one…

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.     

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.

To VBAC Or Not To VBAC

Sometimes it can't be avoided: serious topics. And I'm struggling to find much humor in this one.

At my last OB visit, my OB-of-the-day (there are four in the practice) wanted to talk about my upcoming labor and delivery.

An aside: this is my temporary OB as we have re-located for my husband's job … we are supposed to be back in L.A. before babe #2 makes her appearance. And a little refresher: Eli was born via c-section due to an abruption. There was also an issue of my pelvis "not opening," or so I was told, so I was also labeled as “failure to progress.”

At the visit, my OB told me that since my pelvis didn't "open" last time there isn't much chance of it doing so this go-round, and that I should seriously consider having a scheduled c-section.

I listened to her reasons and came home. My OB back in L.A. has told me I'm not the best candidate for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), but in previous visits, told me he would at least let me try.

As the hours after my appointment passed I found myself becoming more upset and emotional. I do not want another c-section if it can at all be avoided. I realize if it's scheduled, meaning: if I don't have the 20+ hours of labor, the abruption and THEN the c-section that my recovery will, in fact, be better. But it will still involve a surgical procedure and me being stuck in bed the first day attached to a catheter and those funky inflating leg warmers to ward off blood clots. I won't be able to immediately bond with or breastfeed my baby. I won't be able to hold her. This is devastating to me, again. Then there are the risks of having a c-section in the first place, and those do not diminish for repeat c-sections.

What I kept wondering was: Why are my healthcare providers so convinced my body isn't capable of doing this?

I went online and decided to do some research.

I posted a thread on Mothering.com (home of Mothering magazine). I know this particular crowd is pro-VBAC, homebirth, midwife, natural birth, etc., and I figured if there was an audience that would encourage and support me in my endeavor to have a VBAC this would be the place.

I laid out my birth experience and asked if any women had had a similar pelvis issue and gone on to have a successful VBAC.

It's worth noting that Eli was asynclitic before I went into labor, meaning he was head down, but slanted off to the side a bit. He was like that for several weeks before he was born, didn't flip for the longest time and was actually quite lodged in there. It was for this reason he was born with torticollis and plagiocephally (an issue with neck muscles; he also had a flat spot on his head). Well, come to find out his position was most likely responsible for my unyielding pelvis, as this is a common “side effect” of having an asynclitic baby. It's amazing what you can learn in an afternoon.

I dilated to a nine during my labor. Were it not for the abruption and had I been handling the sciatic pain (due to his asynclitic position) better, basically, if I had had more time (and no epidural), it's tough to say whether or not he could have been born naturally.

What I do know, after my frenzied research period, is that there are things I can do before I go into labor and even after I do, to encourage an optimal birth position for the baby and to prep my pelvic floor. I can visit a chiropractor, continue my yoga, hire a doula to assist me during labor with stretches and positioning to encourage the baby to move into a good position. Most of all, I will do whatever I can to avoid getting an epidural, as that hindered my ability to move around, thus ending any hope of assisting the opening of my pelvis.

These are all things I didn't know during my first labor, but none of them are absolutes. This baby may not be asynclitic. My pelvis may open if she is in the proper position. Will I have another abruption? There is no way to know. It is the one factor I cannot prepare for and the one big risk I will be taking in attempting a VBAC. Because I have already had one, statistically I am at greater risk of having another. That is frightening. Will it keep me from attempting a VBAC? I don't think so.

The point I’m trying to get at here is that if I only listened to my healthcare providers I would continue to believe that my body isn't "right," that it isn't capable of delivering a baby without surgery. In my heart I do not believe this. I was almost there last time. Had I been better educated (and supported) perhaps things could have turned out differently. That's the beauty of hindsight, and it means I will be better prepared this time.

I would like to think I've moved past my c-section. In most ways I have. All I have to do is look at Eli, at what a beautiful, smart, sweet boy he is, and I know the c-section, in that instance, was the right thing to do, it is what needed to be done to insure the safety of both of us. My problem is that without getting into the next labor, seeing how the conditions play out, I can't say with any certainty it would be the way to go next time.

Sure, if we get a few hours in and some of the same hurdles present themselves and we are not getting around them, well, I wouldn't hesitate to get the c-section. But if I can try and birth my daughter naturally, hold her, feed her, walk around with her on the same day she is born, well, that makes me tear up just thinking about it.

All I can say is be your own advocate. If you don't like what you're being told, do your own research and seek out the experiences of other women. Obtain and read your medical records. I guarantee they will tell you things about your medical history you did not know.

Ultimately, as was the case during my first labor, some conditions and issues cannot be prepared for and if that is the case, I will do what is best for the health of the baby. At the end of the day that is all that matters. But it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a choice or a say in how my next birthing experience unfolds. I will prepare myself and hope for the best. It is all I can do; it is what I have to do.

An End, And Beginning

It's been exactly four weeks since I stopped breastfeeding Eli. I was hoping some distance from the event would give me some shiny conclusion, a pearl of wisdom to share, something meaningful to say.

That hasn't happened, exactly. We stopped and there hasn't been much looking back. Between my participation in National Novel Writing Month during November, which took every spare second I had (and yes, I made my 50,000 word goal and will continue to work on this novel), and Eli's seemingly-daily-increase of energy, well, there hasn't been much time for reflection. What I do have is my experience on that final day.

Here is what I wrote in my journal the day the milk ran dry…


* * * * *

11/8/10
Today has been an emotional day. First off, it was Eli's final day of breastfeeding. He has been down to one feeding, first thing in the morning, and it is the one feeding he has been resistant to give up so I've been taking my time with him. But today there was nothing left. The boob juice was gone. He sat up and looked at me, confused. When I realized what was happening and what it meant I felt conflicted. Was I really done breastfeeding? I had made it just over a year, a huge accomplishment for me. But was this it?

It was a bittersweet moment. When I look at Eli I know I will miss the connection we've shared for so long, but at the same time I swell with pride when I see what a little man he is becoming, how much he has grown and changed, how he is becoming more independent each day.

The combination of this event, coupled with all these disparate thoughts and feelings, started me off on shaky ground for the day. Barely an hour later we were at my OB's office for our "big ultrasound," where we also opted to find out the sex of the baby. I initially thought girl when I first became pregnant, but then for several weeks had no inkling one way or the other. Then in the last week or two my husband and I had convinced ourselves this babe was a boy.

There was an immediate crotch shot during the ultrasound and I swear I saw some junk floating around in there. The tech didn't say anything but in my head I thought I knew. So it was a rather big shock to hear her announce a couple minutes later: "It's a girl!"

My response? I asked in disbelief, "Really?" Then my eyes filled with tears.

Of course the tech thought I was moved because I was going to have a little girl to buy frilly dresses for and to take doll shopping. She immediately started telling us about taking her daughter to the American Girl doll store. This is not my idea of a good time, by the way.

No, I'm not sure where the tears came from, other than the joy of feeling like I now knew my baby just a little better, felt a greater connection to this little person squirming around in there. Perhaps it was the knowledge that while one connection was ending on this day, another was beginning.

It was strange for me to feel so emotional over this news. The circumstances had been different with Eli. I was going to acupuncture during my first pregnancy and ten weeks in my acupuncturist asked if we were planning on finding out the sex of the baby. I said yes. "Well," she said, "I can tell you right now if you want to know."

Well of course I wanted to know so I found out. No one believed she could know such things, but my husband and I had already suspected we were having a boy, and Cristina only confirmed it. So while we were excited for our "big ultrasound" for Eli, it was really just a safety check, and then a confirmation of something we already knew.

This time around it was a true surprise.

I spent the rest of today wearing a silly grin one minute and then teary-eyed the next. I would look at Eli, imagine him with his baby sister, and feel my heart swell. In many ways, it is probably the best possible day for us to stop breastfeeding, a day when there is other happy news to focus on, to distract us from what could otherwise be a sad and/or traumatic day.

* * * * *


Four weeks later we all move forward, Eli drinking whole milk like a monster (he loves it, thank goodness). I am thankful for a smooth transition, not one clouded with doubt about whether I did things the right way. Eli never seemed upset that he was no longer breastfeeding, never tugged at me. It's like we both knew: This time is over. It's time to move on.

Mostly, I am thankful that we made it. Breastfeeding for one full year was always my goal and so many times, especially in the early days, it seemed unattainable. By the time we finished it felt second nature, natural, like there couldn't be anything more normal in the entire world. I never thought any of these statements would come out of my mouth (or fingers) so that feels like true progress. It also feels like a wonderful way to move forward in preparation for our next babe, who will have a much more assured mother waiting for her.

This Milk Machine is closed, for a little while ;)

To Aid You in the Early Days

A couple quick asides:

*Posts this month will be brief. I am participating in National Novel Writing Month. The goal? To write 50,000 words during the month of November. At the end of week one I am 12020 words in and working hard to maintain momentum…

*Thanks to my friend Trish for the photograph I am currently using as my blog header.

And now on to business…

* * * * *

So many of my loved ones have had babies in the last several months (two in the last week), and it always takes me back to the early days of breastfeeding. Here's a list of ten things I wish I had known before I began breastfeeding:

1. That my boobs would not resemble each other in the least. They were certainly not a "pair." Rather, one nipple pointed up, one pointed down, the right nipple was about an inch lower than the left and my left breast was generally twice as big as the right one. If you feel like giving your partner a scare, flash your "new" girls and see what kind of reaction you get.

2. That I would have lumpy looking boobs thanks to the breast pads I had to wear at all times. You know, because my boobs would leak whenever they felt like it. And this didn't just last "the first few weeks" as is so often stated. No, this lasted for months. I tried several different brands of breast pads, disposable pads, re-washable pads (my ultimate preference, though they are thicker). This discovery works in close conjunction with #3… which is:

3. That none of my regular (i.e. pre-pregnancy) shirts would fit. Not that I wear hoochie clothes to begin with, but my form-fitting shirts became obscene. Nearly everything was too tight (and as you learned from #2, looked even more horrible due to the lumpy factor). Finally I gave in and bought a few new shirts, bitter that my boobs were now the cause of even more temporary clothes.

4. That I would feel like a 24-hour, buffet-style milk dispenser. I knew the little rascal would be eating frequently, especially in the early weeks, but damn, it felt like I had no sooner put him down and hoovered some lunch (or showered, or done one load of laundry, or paid one bill, or…), then he'd wake up and was ready to go again. Get used to this simple fact: for some time, life will revolve entirely around your boobs.

5. That buying a nursing bra before the baby comes, while it seems practical, will probably spell disaster. Sure your boobs get huge during pregnancy and you will think to yourself, "Surely they won't get any bigger." Just wait. Just wait and see.

6. That hot water pelting your breasts, in the early weeks of breastfeeding, will feel like torture. Suddenly showering is equal parts pleasure and pain. Drying your nipples off with a towel may bring you to tears. Proceed with caution. It's a sensitive area.

7. That it might take a long time for your baby to get it right, to be a "good" eater. One boob may be more enticing (or full) than the other. Your baby may have a hard time staying awake as he eats, latching on, etc. It's okay to become frustrated. You're both learning a new skill. Cry if you need to. This is hard work.

8. That once your baby starts sleeping for longer stretches at night, while it sounds heavenly in theory, will initially be quite painful for your boobs as they adjust to the longer period between feedings. You will believe your boobs are capable of exploding. Have your pump handy, otherwise you will be tempted to wake your little one for some relief.

9. That there will be nipple abuse. Your baby isn't doing this intentionally, of course, though in your sleep-deprived state you will begin to question whether or not he's capable of such things. Whether it's clicking, pulling back and stretching your nipple to its limits, or plain old chomping down, there will be trauma. Just know it gets better with time.

10. That there will come a point when you can see the beauty in what you are doing, sleep deprived or not, and that the bond you form with your child will become one you treasure. Now get your boob out.

* * * * *

What has been/was your most surprising discovery about breastfeeding? Leave a comment and add to the list...

A New Year & New (Old) Clothes

An older entry I never posted (written on 12/30/09)…

* * * * *

I hate to start the year off with something as vain as appearance, but with all the "eat less sweets" "get back into shape" and other such "resolutions" being tossed around I can't help but look in the mirror.

Not that I want to look in the mirror. Tomorrow Eli will be nine weeks old. That means I've had nine weeks to melt back into my former self. I was cautiously optimistic. But I was also deluding myself.

I gained 51 pounds during my pregnancy. There is no way to sugar coat this number. I far exceeded the recommended healthy "25-35 pound" pregnancy weight gain. From the moment I saw that range I knew there was no way I would exist within it. Twenty weeks into my pregnancy I had already gained 25 pounds.

I knew I was in deep shit.

People will feed you all kinds of compliments as you pile on the pounds in an effort to make you feel less like a hippopotamus. They'll tell you you're glowing, that you look beautiful, that pregnancy agrees with you, that they can't believe how well you're hiding the weight.

Sure.

Meanwhile, you're trying to reconcile the fact that not only is the baby inside your body changing by leaps and bounds on a weekly basis, your body is capable of expanding at a rate you never thought possible. I didn't feel beautiful, except on very rare and brief occasions. By the end of my pregnancy I couldn't see my ankle bones, could barely bend my toes they were so swollen, and even my maternity clothes were too small--the most depressing development of all.

It didn't help that as my pregnancy progressed people around me were popping out their babies and returning to their pre-pregnancy weight in four to eight weeks. Sure, they might have been hiding their leftover stomach pooch (not that I could discern one), but they were already back into their regular clothes and there were no outward signs that they'd ever been pregnant. My acupuncturist announced that at eight weeks post-partum she weighed less than she did before she got pregnant.

Yes, my friends, it's an unfair world.

So with the New Year looming ahead I have decided one thing: On January 1st I will not put on any maternity clothes. Yes, at nearly nine weeks post-partum I am still wearing my maternity jeans and many of my maternity shirts. My breastfeeding ta-tas are huge and most of my regular shirts are obscenely tight against my chest, not to mention the fact that they point a huge arrow at my still lingering pregnancy pooch.

Two weeks ago I tried on my pre-pregnancy jeans. Or, rather, I attempted to try them on. Sure I could pull them up, but most of them would not be buttoned, and the two pair that did required great straining on my part and there's no way I could have sat down comfortably wearing them.

I do take occasional walks with Eli, but I am nowhere near ready to start up my (very sporadic) jogging regimen. I need to build stamina and endurance with longer walks before I'm up for that kind of activity. And I couldn't muster a stomach crunch before this whole ordeal, so the thought of doing one now… Yet, how else will I get rid of all this extra baggage in the front?

* * * * *

10/25/10 - A brief update: All-in-all, I did eventually lose all but eight pounds of my pregnancy weight, most of it coming off without much effort … until I had about fifteen pounds to go. Then it started to take some serious work.

And now, pregnant again. I'm much more mindful of what I’m eating this time around and am trying not to fall into the "I'm pregnant, I can eat anything I want," trap. For most of the day I am doing very, very well. This does not mean, however, that I have not fallen back into the "I have to eat ice-cream nearly every night because it's awesome" routine. Thankfully I am gaining weight at a slower pace, so far. Seventeen weeks in and I've gained twelve pounds (Oh, plus the eight I never lost. Shit.).

I have also been in maternity clothes for nearly two months already. At first I felt devastated, but I got over it quickly. Comfort should not be underestimated, ever. Welcome back, stretchy-waist pants.

The Hesitant Exit Strategy

Well, here we are nine months later. Clearly, updating this blog on a regular basis has not been my forte. The sad part is that I've written entries in the interim and they are sitting on my computer. That is to come, readers.

Before getting to the past and sharing the struggles and triumphs leading up until this moment, how about a current update?

I am pleased to report that Eli is now eleven months old, and yes, I am still breastfeeding. I have begun to supplement as my milk supply has taken a serious dive in the last two months … this may have something to do with the fact that I am pregnant with our second child(!!!). Yes, there will not be much of a break for me or my boobies before diving into this process all over again.

The amazing thing is that if you only read the first entry I've written, and know nothing else of the time between, you might assume that I still hate breastfeeding. And yes, did I ever have a love-hate relationship with it, for a very long time. There are still moments when I resent it, say, on a Saturday morning when my husband doesn't have to work and sleeps in, and I still schlep out of bed before seven to feed Eli. It's tough to never, ever sleep in on any given morning.

But, when I think about the fact that this part of our time together is coming to an end, and that soon Eli and I won't share this special bond, it makes me very emotional. Part of it is pregnancy hormones. One minute I am insanely happy and the next I could bawl. You know, it's like amped up PMS.

I also have an irrational fear that Eli simply won't need me once I am not his "food source." Of course, he's been eating solids and is transitioning away from nearly all of his jarred baby food now. I am not his main food source, nor have I been for some time. Still, if I'm not supplying any of his food, there is a part of me that feels like anyone could care for him and he wouldn't know the difference. Again, irrational. I know this.

What I'm realizing is this: I didn't think it would be so difficult and emotional to stop breastfeeding. I figured I'd be ticking the days off the calendar by now, waiting for my little man to hit that one-year mark so I could begin real cow's milk and slowly finish weaning him. That's still the plan, though things have been accelerated by my lack of supply and his occasional lack of interest in breastfeeding.

In theory this all sounds simple enough, but like so many other aspects of mothering it is more complicated than it appears. And everything, for me at least, also involves so many different and often conflicting emotions. Eleven months ago, when I was struggling, crying, frustrated, on the brink of giving up, it never occurred to me that one day I may not want to stop breastfeeding.

Now, here we are. I realize I could continue breastfeeding beyond the first year. And were I not pregnant, I may have traveled down that road (though I also never want to breastfeed simply because I am having a hard time letting go, either). As it stands, I would like a break between children, a time to "rest" my body before the demands of breastfeeding begin again. I would like to sleep in on a Saturday morning, perhaps just once, before baby #2 makes his or her appearance. This used to make me feel selfish (another, all-to-frequent emotion that bubbles up), but then I remind myself for the thousandth time that once in awhile I need to take care of myself before taking care of everyone else.

Of course, this is easier said than done.

The No-Plan Plan

(or, why things got off to such a rough start)

I'll be the first to admit that I was (and still am) anti-birth plan. I downloaded a copy of a birth plan template from thebump.com, and was rather overwhelmed to see it was six pages long. This isn't to say you shouldn't give your upcoming birth some time and consideration. It's crucial to educate yourself and know what could/should & likely will happen.

However, my experience in life is that any time you try to plan for an event, and put all of your hopes into the said event going a very specific way, your plans will be foiled. I have never known any major life event to go perfectly, ever.

I figured birth would fall into this category as well. Why force parameters onto something you have no control over? So instead of compiling a birth plan, I put together a brief list of "preferences" for my OB. Such as: I would prefer not to have any pain relief. I would prefer to move about as needed/possible. The list was brief: eight preferences. When I showed it to my OB, he pulled out a ruler and measured the page. "What is this?" he exclaimed. "Four inches? It's the shortest birth plan ever!"

It felt good to not expect my birth to go a particular way.

Well, readers, let me tell you that while in some ways I had amply prepared myself for the process of birth (and in my mind, by extension, breastfeeding), in a few key ways I did not.

MISTAKE #1
I assumed I wouldn't have a c-section.

Why did I do this? Well, my pregnancy was "normal," and up until days before Eli's birth there were no inclinations that I would have any complications. Even then, the issue at hand was that my pelvis was not opening. My OB assured me that in most instances this became a non-issue once the woman began to dilate. A tiny red flag went up somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, but I chose to ignore it. I shouldn't have.

You see, in the few pregnancy books I did read, I always skipped over the c-section chapters. I wasn't going to have one, they freaked me out, why scare myself even more by reading about them?

MISTAKE #2
I assumed that breastfeeding would proceed without a hitch (yes, I can be a naïve idiot).

How the scenario played out in my mind: I would naturally birth my son, he would be placed onto my stomach, and minutes later he would breastfeed for the first time, thus completing one of the oldest, most natural scenes in all of history.

Remember Mistake #1?

I ended up having an emergency c-section after twenty hours of labor. When I emerged from recovery I found myself in a drugged-up, stupefied state. By the time Eli was wheeled in for our first true introduction, he'd already been introduced to the bottle and formula. This hadn't been my "preference," but I hardly felt in a state to disagree. I could barely move, how was I supposed to breastfeed?

MISTAKE #3
Not having a breastfeeding plan.

Sure, there's tons of talk about birth plans and what will happen during delivery given factors A, B, or C. But I had given no thought about what I would do, what support systems I would lean on, if and when breastfeeding became a harrowing challenge, which it did almost immediately.

On day three post-partum, after asking the nurses several times, the hospital's lactation consultant finally paid me a visit. At this point I was becoming discouraged from the entire enterprise, and the blisters on my right nipple had me wincing each time Eli was forced onto my breast to "try again." Maybe this wasn't going to work?

Thankfully, the LC had a soothing demeanor, and offered some useful tips and suggestions. Of course, one of those suggestions was that we not feed the baby any more formula. At all. Considering all the problems I was having getting the baby to latch on, this didn't seem realistic, but I became determined that dammit, the baby wasn't going to have any more supplemental formula.

MISTAKE #4
Failing to be flexible.

Once I decided Eli wasn't going to have any more formula, I became hell-bent on that goal. And for nearly two days (the last day at the hospital and the first day home) he was an entirely breastfed baby and I felt like I had somehow overcome the worst of it. I was doing this!

That is, until I wasn't. Until Eli wouldn't latch on, again. Until he wasn't eating sufficiently. Until I was so sleep-deprived that I caved in, sobbing to my husband, "Just give him some formula." I felt so defeated. I felt like I had failed. I felt like a terrible mother, poorly equipped to nourish my son.

In reality, I had underestimated the toll labor and delivery would take, as well as the effects of ping-ponging hormones raging through my body. In the days after birth the highs and lows came with alarming force and with small passages of time between each extreme.

I needed to cut myself some slack.

I made a couple calls to close friends and to my acupuncturist (who had recently given birth to her second child & is always a source of wisdom for me). It was from these conversations that I began to learn that breastfeeding rarely comes "naturally" to anyone. It's a taxing process, one that takes practice, patience, and gentleness towards oneself. Having a meltdown each time we needed to supplement with formula, until we could get things on track, wasn't going to do anyone any good whatsoever.

I began to wonder why, in all the excitement of pregnancy, in all the talks with friends about pregnancy-related ailments, discomforts, joys, and fears, we had never talked about breastfeeding?

That's why I’m here. I'm here to share my challenges, my triumphs, my frustrations, and perhaps most importantly, my mis-steps. I find myself struggling, at odds with what I think is best for Eli, and what is best for me. There are feelings of guilt and selfishness. So far, I have managed to persevere. I am ten weeks in and still breastfeeding. For me, this is an enormous victory.

I want to talk about breastfeeding (and motherhood) with openness and honesty, and because it is in my nature, with humor. This is a place for sharing, with no judgments handed out when the goals, tactics, and ideas of others differ from my own.

My one breastfeeding goal from the earliest stages of pregnancy was to breastfeed Eli for a year. We'll see if I get there, but if I don't, I will back up and remind myself of that "gentleness towards oneself" bit.