Breastfeeding Woes, and More Updates

Well, I think I'm about ready to give up. On breastfeeding, that is. Thank you, those of you who sent me the supportive comments. But I think I need to pick my battles, here. When Grace was a tiny newborn, and only required about 2 oz per feeding, when I was only producing about 1 oz, it didn't seem like such a crazy thing to breast feed first, then supplement. She enjoyed being on the breast, and I enjoyed the closeness and experience of breast feeding her (as soon as my nipples stopped hurting so bad) so I really wanted to keep trying. Then, before long, her required intake shot up to 4 oz at a feeding, and now, she can easily hammer back a 6 oz bottle at many of her feedings. Despite my best efforts, I still only produce 1, to maybe 2 oz (max!) at a pumping session. I am trying to pump at least 3 times a day. And, honestly, every time I pump for 30, sometimes 45 minutes, and only come up with 2 0z (on a good day!) it really does nothing more than depress me further. If I pumped 3 times a day (when I can find the time--good gawd!) and got a lucky 2 oz each time, that would only amount to ONE bottle's worth for Grace! However, up until now, she still really enjoyed being on the breast--at certain times of the day, like when she was ready to settle down for a nap. She'd fuss, and pull away from the bottle sometimes, and seek out the breast, and then stop fussing and fall asleep. I was like a human pacifier, with the added perk of having a little bit of milk. But now, when I offer her the breast, she sucks away for a minute and then just gets frustrated. And then I feel horrible. So, at this point, I think I'm trying to keep it up for myself more than for her. I love the feeling of breastfeeding but it is feeling more and more pointless as time goes on. I have a tendency to get mad at my body--you know, like this is just another way my body is revolting against me and failing me. But, I have to pull back at those moments when I get down on myself and remind myself that my body has, actually, done quite a lot for me lately: my body figured out how to conceive this child all on its own (well, my husband was there, but you know what I mean--no injections, no doctors in the room, etc.), and my body carried and nourished this baby for 38 weeks. My baby was born healthy and I enjoyed a fairly uncomplicated and easy pregnancy. And, despite having a c-section, my body bounced back pretty quickly. (And don't hate me but I look pretty good. No one would guess I had a baby 3 months ago. I don't even have any stretch marks!) So, I guess I'll have to cut my body some slack here. I wish I could successfully breast feed. I so felt I missed out on that experience with Handsome Man, too--but here we are. I also woke up this morning with the distinct feeling that I am about to get my period. Ick. One of the many perks I enjoyed with pregnancy was NOT having a period for all those many months. And, I looked forward to delaying its return even longer with breast feeding. It has been a year now since I have suffered through a menstrual cycle. I am not looking forward to seeing that monthly red visitor again. I've also read that for many women, the return of menses reduces their milk supply--so--do I really want to fight this battle with my body any harder? I think it may be time to raise the white flag of surrender here.

All I can say is, thank goodness for formula. Don't report me to Le Leche League. They might string me up for saying that. Grace is thriving and getting chubby and hitting all her milestones, and that's what really matters. (And I keep thinking, what did people in my situation DO before formula? Good grief!)

And, yes, Grace is a healthy, happy little girl. She really is such a GOOD baby. (Not that there are 'bad' babies, but you know what I mean). She has settled into a bit of a routine. Things are not so hectic around here any more. She is sleeping through the night most of the time, and I am getting more (not enough, but more!) sleep. So things are good. Handsome Man still has his moments of jealousy, but for the most part he seems to be feeling more grounded and secure. Those first few weeks were really, really hard. I am not kidding. There were times when I wished I could find a reason to be re-admitted to the hospital with Grace just to get away from him. And to go back to that blissful time of just being with her in our own little cocoon, where I could connect with her, and get my much needed rest. (And 3 good meals a day). (I honestly think that the stress I experienced after coming home from the hospital had an effect on my milk supply, and everything I have read states that stress effects milk supply, but what could I do?) However, now, with lots of love, sometimes "tough love" (there was one point when we had to literally take everything out of his room other than his bed and a dresser until he could get control over throwing his toys and books, etc.--for about 3 weeks!) and attention and work, Handsome Man is back to his (active) adorable, good-natured self. He is more independent now too, and will play in his room with his trains or play outside in the back yard for stretches without "needing" me to be right there with him. So, I am a little more relaxed (relatively) than before. Grace also naps at a long stretch in the afternoon, so that gives me some time to do a few things around the house, or if I'm lucky, relax a bit now and then.

I am still struggling with juggling my responsibilities of working and being a full-time mom. This coming weekend I have two weddings (one is big) and then nothing for the rest of July. Then I have 2 in August, and 2 in October. Then, I'm done for good. (*sigh*). It's hard, but for now I feel it is definitely the right thing for our family. There really is no question. On the weeks when I have weddings to produce, it really throws a wrench into our little family routine, and I am just so exhausted. It's hard. I need to be at home for the next couple of years at least, and that's all there is to that. So I am looking forward to finishing my last wedding and hanging up my clippers, at least for a while.

Now the baby is crying, I must go. Have so much to do today it's not even funny.... the list that never quite gets finished is growing and growing!! xoxo

Grace's Birth Story, part two

(I have decided to just write this post in small dribs and drabs because to find the time and the brain power to actually sit down and write out everything in a well thought out post is seeming impossible)

By about 7:00 a.m. or so, Mister and I both agreed to give up on the sleep thing, seeing as we were too excited and, any time now they'd be coming in to start prepping me for surgery. It wasn't a happy, jittery type of excitement, though. It was more of an I-feel-sort-of-numb-because-this-is-all-too-much-to-take-in sort of crazy, weird excitement. I don't know how to explain it. You'd think I'd be freaking PSYCHED. But I was very in-the-moment...which is weird for me. It was very much like, ok, now: I'm having a contraction. It's a little one. Now: I'm feeling calm. Now: I can hear more activity out on the ward. Now: I am thirsty.

Oh yeah, thirsty. Gawd. They wouldn't let me eat or drink anything all night. Off-limits since I was about to have surgery. Ohhhh I was so thirsty, and probably from the combo of the drugs they had given me and my nervousness, and the horrible crying jags of the day before, I was sooo thirsty! I had the Worst taste in my mouth. I was afraid I would knock out the next nurse that got near me with my vaporous halitosis. If only I had known they were going to make me wait till morning for the surgery, I would have chugged a gallon of water on the car ride to the hospital. Guck. So I sneaked a mini Altoid. Shh. Don't tell.

But I digress.

So, as Mister and I were both awake, we decided to get down to the business of picking a name for this child once and for all. And, since Mister is the awesome geek that he is, he already had a spreadsheet going of our top picks. So, he pulled out his laptop and we got to work. We had a short list of girls names, and we agreed then and there on the one we both equally liked, and paired it with a middle name that funnily enough was a family name for both of us (both of our sisters have the same name). It sounded pretty and I liked it. I sort of saw it as just another thing to check off the list (gotta have a name picked out for boy and girl) but not really that critical, because I was SURE I was having a boy. So we agonized over the boys name. We had a much longer list of favorites as well as middle name choices. There were more names that we both equally liked so it made it a bit harder. I really, really liked the name Liam. Also, it is a Celtic (or Gaelic?) version of William, which is my father's middle name (may he rest in peace) and he always went by his middle name any way so--I thought it was nice. And another name we had really liked, though we knew it was a little popular at the moment was Nathaniel. I also love that it means 'Gift from God' as this little miracle that was about to be born surely was. So we chose it for the middle name. Liam Nathaniel.

Grace's Birth Story, part one

April 9th was a very weird day.

It was a Friday--and exactly one week before my scheduled C-section. I had plans to move out of my work studio over the weekend, and then to spend the rest of the following week relaxing and just getting ready for our hospital stay. I was incensed and determined to get the house CLEAN once and for all. I knew I was running out of energy, and time, to get the house somewhat dust and pet-dander free, and somewhat organized before the Big Arrival. And, depressingly, the baby's room was still not finished. I had a lot to do.

But, for some reason, Handsome Man was having one of those days. One of those days where he just haaad to get into everything. It seemed like every stride I made toward getting things clean, at least one new mess was created behind me when I wasn't looking. And I was an emotional wreck. I can see now it must have been my hormones going completely bonkers. But at the time I was just frustrated and despondent (and exhausted) beyond belief and felt that nothing was going right. Toward the end of the day, after Handsome Man had managed to find, and pour out, an entire bottle of bubble solution (someone had given us this as a gift, idiots) all over the carpet I had just vacuumed, I had totally lost it. And I had at least two more hours before Mister made it home from work. I had to call a neighbor friend to come take H.M. for a while because I couldn't stop crying hysterically. I was a complete basket case.

When my friend came over (God bless her) I got in my car and drove down the street, parked it, and just cried my eyes out until I had gotten it all out. (Which took a while). In the meantime Mister made it home and took over--totally puzzled by my state when I came back. He got H.M. to bed, and I decided it would be in my best interest to eat something. Finally, by about ten o'clock, I decided to throw in the towel, put an end to the day, and climb into bed to get some much needed rest.

But as soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt a strange 'twinge' down in my nether regions--sort of like a guitar string popping. And it hurt. Which made me tense up. And when I tensed up, a little bit of pee came out, which was a pretty common occurrence at that point in my pregnancy. I went to the bathroom, and went pee some more, only, it was strange... it just kept trickling out. I went back to the bedroom, and as I lifted my leg to put on a fresh pair of undies, fluid came squirting out down my leg and onto the floor (sorry, tmi). I went back to the bathroom, thinking 'wow, I really have NO bladder control now!' But by the time I made it back to the bathroom, it was pretty obvious this was not pee. It kept streaming out of me. Back in the bedroom, I said to my sleeping husband, "I think we need to go to the hospital. I think my water just broke." He didn't even lift his head from the pillow, being so tired from a long week of work and commuting, and said, "Are you sure it's not just pee?"

"Yes. I'm absolutely sure."

Then we started rushing around the house, throwing things into a bag. I took a shower, because I wasn't sure when I'd have another chance. We grabbed a sleeping Handsome Man, and put him in the car. I called the hospital on the way there. (And they told me to come right in). During the 30 minute car ride, as I sat on a pile of towels, completely gushing now, I started getting contractions. Now I was a little scared too, because I wasn't feeling the baby move at all. By the time we pulled up to the hospital the contractions were getting stronger, and when Mister asked me to help him find the sign for the Labor and Delivery parking lot, I said, through gritted teeth, "I'm a little preoccupied over here....!"

Once inside we were taken to a small room, where I was hooked up to the fetal heart monitor and another monitor for my contractions. A nurse gave me an exam and told me I was not dilated at. all. Which because I was breech, was pretty normal. Or at least that's the gist. All I know is, I sure wasn't feeling very good. And I was already exhausted. They called the doctor on call--Dr. G.. (the same doctor who I used to see before I switched over to Doctor Wunnerful. The same doctor who had, four years earlier, performed my D&C in this very same hospital.) Dr. G. had just gotten off shift, and the nurses asked if I felt ok with waiting until 8 a.m. for my C-section. They would give me drugs to keep the contractions at bay until then. I figured it would be better to wait and have a doctor who's fresh and has had some sleep perform my surgery, and it would be better to try and get some sleep, one last time, before I became a mother of two.

My friend, T., was so kind, and met us there, and took Handsome Man home back to our house so Mister could stay there over night with me. They promised us a room where we both could sleep. Only, we waited for what seemed like forever. And after finally getting into our comfy room, sleep was somewhat elusive. Despite the fact that I had been given (or so I thought) drugs to reduce contractions, and pain meds, they were coming harder, faster, closer together. Finally, I rang the nurse. She hooked me back up to monitor my contractions, and a few minutes later returned and said, yes, I needed more meds. The meds. The meds made me feel yucky too. Shaky and gross. These were the same meds they had given me the previous week when Dr. K. had attempted the 'version' to turn the baby. Icky icky ick. Add to this the fact that it seemed like someone was coming in there every 5 minutes to check this or do that, and sleep was not on the menu. For either of us.

Luckily, despite my earlier crazed emotional state, despite the fact that there was a mountain of things I wanted to get done before the baby came, a mountain of things that would now obviously not be getting done, Iw as strangely calm by this point. I just submitted. I was still a little scared about the surgery. I tried not to think about it. Did I really have a choice? Plus, after what little sampling I had just gotten of labor, I thought maybe having a c-section wouldn't be so bad.

Will I Ever Blog Again?

Crazy. Crazy. Crazy... that's what it's been around here. I don't think there's truly any way to prepare for bringing home a new baby and dealing with the fall-out from a 3 year old big brother trying to adjust. The first 2 or 3 weeks were pretty harrowing. Handsome Man did not handle it too well. Everyone told us to expect this, but, wow. Also, at our first post-hospital check-up we found out that not only was Grace not gaining weight, but she had, in fact, lost a pound since birth. Her jaundice was also getting worse. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. I was so scared and worried. Back we went to the hospital to have her bili levels checked and to meet with the lactation consultant. Long story short, it was determined that my milk supply was pretty much inadequate. I had no idea. All I knew was I was feeding Grace constantly, it seemed... I thought all was well! Little did I know she was starving. We immediately started supplementing with formula. They wanted me to do 30 minutes on each breast, then supplement with an ounce or two of formula. And do do this every hour and a half. So, in case you didn't just run the math in your head--that's pretty much round the clock, constant feeding. All while being at home with a very rambunctious, needy, acting-out three year old who also needed my love and attention. I did this for about 2 days before I absolutely totally and completely lost it. Oh, I forgot to mention the lactation consultant also wanted me pumping in between feedings to increase my supply. (sigh...). I switched to feeding her breast at one feeding, and then formula at the next, and pretty soon her formula consumption shot up from 2 ounces to four at most feedings. The good news is her weight shot up immediately and her jaundice resolved very quickly without us having to check her into the hospital. The bad news is that the reality of trying to juggle all this to get my milk supply up has proven to be more than I can really handle. Throw into the mix that I have had weddings to produce this month and well....TILT!!!!!! Overload!!!! So, the little munchkin has been getting more and more formula and I have tried to keep pumping but honestly there are days where I just don't have time. My milk supply is dwindling and I am really upset because I would love to keep breastfeeding. But the important things are that Grace is healthy and continues to gain weight (in fact she's turning into a chunky little Bhudda Baby) and that I have time in the day where I can give Handsome Man some individual attention, and that I stay sane, for all of our sakes. So, I'm not sure what will happen with the breast feeding thing. I doubt I'll be able to get my supply up to where it would need to be to feed her exclusively. So do I ditch it all together and just switch to formula? I'm sure at some point I will have to. I pumped four times yesterday and I only get about an ounce and a half combined (both breasts) after pumping for half an hour. Yeah, pitiful. So, the boobs are more of a comfort/bonding/quick snack sort of thing for Grace at this point.

Shutting down the business: I had to move out of my studio. I had it slated for the weekend before I was supposed to have my c-section, but of course Grace had other plans! My friends and family rallied together and got me moved out the following weekend. It was a lot. A week after my delivery and there I was, wandering around the studio, with a baby on the boob, as everything got broken down and moved out. It was all very strange. I am adjusting to life as a stay at home mom. Still have several weddings to produce to fulfill my obligations, but much, much fewer than I'm used to. It's a good thing. But it's an adjustment. I am anxious to get HM back into daycare soon, maybe a few times a week, if we can work it back into our budget. If not, I will have to hold out until fall when I will hopefully get him enrolled in preschool. Trying to get him potty trained once and for all in preparation for this. So far I have been less than successful on that front but we are making progress.

I am hoping at some point I'll have time to sit down and write a more coherent post and tell Grace's birth story.

For now, I will leave you with some photos:

Welcome to the world!!

Mom's not looking to good here, but happy!!

Home from the hospital...

Having a "cupcake party" to celebrate coming home. Handsome Man's tee-shirt says 'Big Brother'. My sister got it for him--totally cute. My face looks totally bloated in this photo. It probably was.

My amazing Grace--a few days home from the hospital.

A Change of Plans

I was supposed to have my C-section today. But.....

My DAUGHTER decided to come one week early. My water broke last Friday night. We rushed to the hospital (because she was breech they told me to come in right away if I should go into labor). Grace* (*not her real name) was born via c-section at 8:28 a.m. on April 10th. She weighed 6 lbs 13 oz and was 20 inches long. She is beautiful and of course I am in love. It has been a whirlwind ever since. I just got home from the hospital a couple of days ago, and things are crazy, of course. Today is the first day I've had time to even open up my laptop. I will post soon with the whole story and some photos....

C-Section Scheduled

My baby's birthday will be April 16th. I had a choice between the 15th or the 16th but who wants their birthday to be Tax Day if it can be avoided? Of course, if I should go into labor earlier than that, I will go straight to the hospital, but if not, I'll be delivering by C-section next Friday. I guess the benefits are that it takes the guesswork out of the timing, eh? Trying to line up help at home for when I get out of the hospital, plus help with Handsome Man while I'm in there. I'm assuming my husband will want to spend a significant amount of time at the hospital with me, and I don't think HM will have too much fun sitting in a hospital room for long periods of time. This is all so crazy.

Still to get done before C-day:

Find jammies for hospital

Pack hospital bag

Finish washing baby's clothes/blankets

Finish organizing stuff in baby's room

Get changing table moved over from storage (aka my office)

Move out of studio (this is a biggie)

Finish pre-orders and place orders with vendors for May weddings

All while totally exhausted, with swollen feet (that just started happening) a sore back, and a three year old with me full time.

No biggie, right?

Turn Around!

Okay, so this baby is still breech. Yesterday I went into the hospital where they tried a 'Version'--which is where they try and manually manipulate the baby into turning heads-down. Let me just tell anyone out there who may need this procedure--it is not pleasant. Though, I'm sure it is nothing compared to labor. First they pumped my full of a drug that was supposed to relax my uterus. It is actually an asthma medication. How it was discovered it was useful for relaxing women's uteri I have no idea, but whatever. Let's just say it makes you feel like craap! I was shaky and jittery and just sort of icky feeling. Like having waaaay too much coffee. But without the fun. Then the good doctor (not my doctor Wunnerful but another doc from the practice, whom I've been seeing a lot lately) tried (while I was hooked up to a fetal heart monitor and the ultrasound tech was standing by to keep checking position) to moooooove that baby. Um. Let's just say it was painful. I tried as hard as I could to not seize up and constrict my muscles (which would have been counterproductive to what they were trying to do). I had to do a lot of breathing--the type of breathing I would imagine I would be using if I were actually in labor--and try my best to "go to my happy place" while it was happening. Mister was there and he was being very supportive. Unfortunately, it just didn't work. Once the doctor announced he was stopping, I started crying. I really hoped it would work. Because this means of course that the only way this baby is coming out is by C-section.

Many friends have suggested acupuncture or chiropractic or even standing upside down in a pool. Let me just tell you that after what they did to me yesterday, I would wager that if that couldn't get the baby to move, then needles in my little toe aren't going to do it either. Not to sound negative or anything, but seriously--apparently the baby's butt is firmly planted in my pelvis. Pretty stuck.

So I've got another STUBBORN little child on my hands. God help me.

I am disappointed that I will not be able to go through the rite of passage of childbirth. There is a part of me that wants to be angry at my body for failing me once again--but really, I can't go there. I mean, if anything, I owe my body a lot of thanks for getting me this far. Not only did I finally conceive, I have had a pretty uneventful and healthy pregnancy. I even survived and recovered from a terrible car accident at 6 weeks pregnant. I've been feeling mostly good this whole time. I've got a robust, healthy baby growing inside of me. He or she is just in the wrong position. It is not my fault. It is not my body's fault (other than being slender and not providing a lot of space, I suppose?).

I see the doctor again on Monday and he will schedule the C. Do you think it will be rude or weird of me to request my Doctor Wunnerful to do the C-section?

On another, random note: Today is April Fool's Day. On this day 4 years ago I was informed the baby I was carrying was not a viable pregnancy. And it wasn't a joke. It was one of the worst days of my entire life. I guess, when I think about where I was then, and where I am now, having a C-section isn't such a big deal, if it means I get a healthy baby at the end of it all.

But still, I'm a little freaked and a little sad, too.