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.     

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…


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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.

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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 ;)