sueeeus

Run along now.  This is a post that will likely be long and laborious.  I’ve just got a load of disappointments that are eroding my sense of equilibrium, so I think it may behoove me to write it out.  Perhaps I’ll feel better at the end of it.

• Much as I’m grateful for the magic and mystery that is the human body, and its ability (however challenged, in my case) to produce milk, and much as exclusive pumping has its advantages, I have to admit that I am, after all, disappointed that I don’t get to be one of those nursing mothers, completely attuned to her child, the child contentedly suckling away.  I suppose there is a bit of grief to process here.  It’s one of those experiences that I’d longed for and worked valiantly toward.  And it’s apparently not for me.  I’ve studied in earnest hundreds of pictures of nipples and breasts (dear me, I might actually get blog traffic for that combination of words) and suckling babes trying to determine what they have that I don’t have.  Yes, milk flow was and is certainly a handicap, but it appears that I come from a line of women who can not nurse.  Not my grandmother, not my mother, not my sister.  My nipples are wide and flat, and the aerolae are huge.  I could do without Gadget’s ever helpful mother’s suggestion that perhaps the baby would be able to nurse if he’d get his mouth past the nipple and on to the ‘dark circle part’.  No, dear MIL, I wasn’t aware of that.  Sigh.  She means well, so I shouldn’t be so sarcastic and short with her.  And she hasn’t seen what I have to work with.  Not that I plan to flash my breasts at her, but it would go a long way in explaining things.
• I don’t like goodbyes.  My sister and her family came to spend LB’s first week with us, and she filled three freezers with amazing food for us, to tide us through many months.  She’s wonderful and generous and I love her to bits.  It’s always so hard to say goodbye, and I selfishly wish and hope that one day we can live closer, much much closer, to each other.
• Shortly after my sister left, my mother and her husband (MH) arrived, to spend ten days with us, and they left this morning.  None of the siblings have a particularly close relationship with her, but we love her.  She’s our mother.  So I’m sad when she leaves.  It took a little arm twisting to convince her to stay as long as she did.  I don’t know how much of it is her, and how much is her husband, but they generally stay only a day or two, and they zip off long before sunrise, sometimes without even saying goodbye.  Well, they say goodbye at night before bed, but what’s the hurry?  They’re retired.  It’s easy to push buttons and tread on nerves (more on this later), but even so, it’s sad to say goodbye.
• With a new baby, we’ve been trying to organize some family get togethers, so everyone can meet him.  One of my nieces planned a trip up, and wanted to make a dinner for us.  We gladly accepted, and as the time drew near, we all decided to get together at my SIL’s place, rather than my place, because she’s more centrally located to all of us, so the commute would be much easier for most people.  She planned to make Thai food, so Gadget said he’d stay home, since he doesn’t like Thai.  I gave him the evil eye, and later I told him that it would mean a lot to me if he’d go, regardless of what was being served for dinner, because it wasn’t really about the food in the first place.  He said he was only kidding (but he wasn’t) and that he’d go.  Then we were trying to figure out when to get together with Gadget’s family, because we wanted to do it while my mom was here, for more family bonding.  We weren’t certain of the dates, so the next thing we knew, my mother’s husband was dialing the phone.  He’d called my niece, and proceeded with the grand inquisition, which probably freaked her out a bit.  It would me.  He has a tendency of taking more initiative within the family than many of us are comfortable with.  For instance, he spanked my nephew once, and I’m not sure how my SIL handled that, but my sister who witnessed it was livid, as was my BIL, and because of that, MH is not welcome to stay in their home.  Somehow, I didn’t notice that event, but I kept a bit of an eye on him while here, because I didn’t want him to be disciplining my child in such a manner.  He came close, but didn’t cross the line where I’d have had to rear up as MAMA BEAR and tell him to leave the discipline to me.
• The day for the niece dinner arrived, and we converged on my SIL’s home.  But where was the niece?  Dinner was to be around 6, and she didn’t even arrive until after 7.  She has two kids of her own, which she left at home for this trip, but surely she knew that kids can only wait so long while maintaining reasonably good behaviour.  Surely she knew that?  My SIL ended up putting together a quick kids meal to take care of the hoarde of hungry children.  Once my niece arrived, she seemed preoccupied, and went to work immediately in the kitchen, prepared a fine meal, grabbed a plate, took a bite or two at most, then left.  She left!  I don’t know….  I was disappointed because we were having this family get together that it seemed as though she didn’t even want to be a part of.  Maybe she didn’t really want it to be a big thing, and maybe she just wanted to come to my house by herself and cook dinner for just us, rather than for us, my mom and her husband, my sister, my nephew, and my SIL and her kids (half of whom are her half-siblings).  Maybe it was family overload and maybe she has a touch of social anxiety.  It runs in the family.  I just don’t know.  But I felt disappointed afterwards, and even now, thinking of it.  I’m certainly taking it personally, whether or not I should.  It feels sort of like rejection.
• The next day was the Gadget family get together.  To make it easy, we bring all the food and we drive an hour and a half to get there, so they don’t have to do anything but show up at the MIL’s house.  The rest of them live only minutes from her, so it makes it very convenient.  But do they show up?  NO!  Only one of Gadget’s sisters came, apart from the brother who already lives there.  His other sister and dad, who live less than a mile away, didn’t come, nor did the other brother.  It will be a long time before I agree to a get-together up there again.  It was especially disappointing because it seemed like it should have been a big deal, to come meet a brand new baby in the family.  Plus, with my mother and her husband making the effort to extend themselves to the other side of the family, it all seems like a slap in the face.  And more rejection.
• I’ve made the recent observation that there are several personalities within my family, that, were I not related, and should I cross paths in the course of living with people of these personalities, I wouldn’t befriend them, and probably would never even make any effort to introduce myself or interact with them at all.  At all.  This makes me sad, because these are my people.  What is it they say, that you can love someone, but not like them?  I suppose this is how it is.  And it makes me sad.  And maybe a bit ashamed.
• I find it very sobering to recognize that those traits which I find most frustrating and least appealing in my mother are traits that I quite possibly manifest myself.

…it doesn’t seem to have helped (much).  I’ve written it out, but don’t feel much better, if at all.

I ought to take a shower.  There is more milk than there was before, enough that I leak all over my shirt when LB screams, but still not enough to sustain my goliath of a boy.  He’s sporting quite the double chin and an extra roll at the back of his neck, though, so I’m not feeling any worries about him not getting enough to eat.  I seem to be producing around 19-20 oz/day now, which would be dandy if I had a 7 or 8 pounder, but he’s over 11 pounds now, so he needs 22-28 oz/day.  According to sources.  I’m trying to remember to write down how much formula we give him, so I can figure out just how much he’s consuming.  So far today he’s had 4 oz of formula.  If he wakes up before I finish pumping, then he gets another 2 oz of formula, otherwise he’ll get the good stuff.

The domperidone trial is in full swing now.  It came from Vanuatu, since it’s not FDA approved here.  Why do I get visions of Olivia Newton John singing Xanadu when I see that name?  I ordered a six week supply, to give it a fair shake, plus enough extra to gently taper off.  It would be heaven to produce enough milk that I could pump only four times a day.  I don’t mind bottle feeding at all, and in fact I find it quite endearing.  No, it’s not the same as breast feeding, but I’m not as emotionally tangled up over it as I was the first time through.  This time, if he’ll breastfeed, that’s wonderful, and if he won’t, well, it makes me a bit sad, but I’m not devastated over it.

Mostly, when we try, he gets all mad and turns beet red in the face and screams.  Nice.  But once in a while, when he’s not freaked out and he’s had a little nibble at the bottle, I can put him to the breast and he’ll have a go for a little while.  His latch is still not the best, but I’m not pushing it too much.  It becomes that beet mad experience, which we could both do without.  And this way, even though it’s not the best latch, since we’re not doing this a whole lot, it’s not excruciating like it was in the first days, when he mercilessly chewed my nipples to scabby, bleeding messes.  We can both do without that, too.

We’re using the Dr. Brown’s preemie bottles for now.  They have the slowest flow nipples I could find.  There certainly is a lot of bottle washing going on around here.  That’s a mark in favor of breastfeeding.  Less bottle washing.

And we’re not going to call it colic, but there occur the off and on late night fits in which the babe cannot be solaced.  Well, he can, but he’s so very, very particular, and one’s body must be aligned just so, else his quite capable lungs will be exercised to their fullest.  Perhaps there are things that I’m eating that I shouldn’t be eating?  Some nights he’s a dream boat.  Others, inconsolable.

I’m about ten pounds less than my pre-pregnancy weight, which is nice, but still nowhere near any sort of ideal range.  And when I look in the mirror, I’d think I’d be happy that I’ve lost some weight, but what I see reflected back is so shockingly unattractive.  And then I stumbled across this site, the shape of a mother, and it helps me feel better.

I was thinking about the well-intended comments from the well-intended doctors about the need to lose weight, and how irksome I find it, as though it never occurred to me that I might be heavy and that it might have health ramifications at some point in life.  No, I didn’t notice that I was obese.  I missed that one.

At least my own ob/gyn isn’t making mention of it.  He’s been my doctor for fifteen years or so, through the whole fertility challenge, the pregnancies, the miscarriages, both cases of GD and both deliveries.  He probably said something at some point, but he doesn’t keep repeating things, and I appreciate that.

Part of me has been thinking that maybe this time will be the time — that my life is in a place where all the pieces are fitting together — I have my family, two beautiful boys!  I have a good job, good health insurance coverage, good retirement/pension prospects, a stable home, and I live in a mostly decent neighborhood (apart from one set of troublesome neighbors).

This may be the time when emotionally I’m ready to tackle my self.  And possibly it won’t be that hard.  That is my hope.

I’ve been wondering about what might be the best exercise choice for me.  I still don’t have all that much energy, at this point, three weeks post-partum.  My belly still hurts and has alot of numb and tingly spots that ache much much more if/when I get constipated.  Supposedly this new pain is due to the abdominal wall as things are shrinking their way back to normal. Apparently my uterus and all things female are okay, which is goodness.

I think I’ll start doing my wii Dance Dance Revolution again.  That was fun and got me sweating nicely, so surely it must have been a reasonable amount of exercise.  I can also walk, but why is it that the thought of getting dressed and going outside seems overwhelming?  It feels so nice to be outside, once there, but the getting there is the hurdle.  I can rejoin the gym, but not for at least a couple more months, and if I do, I will want to go enroute to or from the office, so I don’t have to wrangle the kids.  That will mean that I absolutely will have to count on Gadget to be there for daycare pickup.  And here I am, only three weeks into my LB’s life, and thinking about daycare.  I ought to just be thinking of the moment, which is sleep, pump, feed, wash bottles, sleep, pump, feed, wash bottles.

This baby time is so fleeting.  I absolutely must savor every moment.  And try not to think about body image for a while.

• What happened to my emailed blog comments?  Why are they not being sent?  Did they stop before or after the WordPress update?  Before, I think, but I can’t be sure.
• When one is strapped to a breast pump every so many hours, one has time to do things like upgrade blog software, fiddle with graphics software and design birth announcements.  In half hour increments.
• Heavens, I’m tired.
• Feeling happy after a percoset a few days ago, I noted to Gadget that I’ve not noticed any real post partum depression yet.  He replied that he likes it when I’m depressed, because then I like to spend money and buy things.
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was (mostly) serious.
• Every now and then I gently bring up the topic of the snip.  Most recently, Gadget said, “Tell you what, I get the snip, and you get me that motorcycle.”
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was serious.  (I’m fairly certain.  He really wants that stupid bike.)
• If I were five years younger, I might want to consider having another child.  I’ve always wanted three, or at least for as long as I can remember.  Two boys and a girl.  But now that I’m 43, and have this most beautiful and wonderful baby, I’m feeling my age and can’t imagine how I could possibly go through the newborn days again.
• I can’t fathom how mothers of three and more do it.
• My mother had nine, and I’m finally beginning to cut her a bit of slack for how lackadaisical I perceived her mothering to be (back then).
• Is it just mine, or do all three- going on four- year olds have serious obedience and defiance issues?
• How does one teach a three- going on four- year old what a lie is, and why not to do it?
• Today he played outside and got covered in mud.  As boys do.  Then he took a shower, all by himself.  He even remembered to take his socks off, and he set the water temperature correctly, and he even lathered himself up with soap.  I’m so proud of him!  It’s the most grown up thing he’s done so far.
• Pumping isn’t so bad, really, but it certainly forces a particular structure into one’s life, for which there is very little latitude.

LB had his follow up appointment yesterday, at two weeks and two days old.  He’s eating like a champion and weighed in at 11lbs 0.5 oz, a full eleven ounces more than his birth weight, which is great, considering he lost over a full pound before leaving the hospital.

I also bit the bullet and mustered the courage and resolve to properly peel back the skin and expose his little turtle, and though he cried passionately, I persevered, and we both lived through it.  After the fact, I have to say that most of his crying was no different than the display he provides any time his diaper is changed.  He really doesn’t like having his diaper changed, or being on his back, or being naked.  Funny kid.  So many kids are completely opposite, loving to be naked and free.  Anyhow, after that initial peel-back-exposure, all has been well — no major swelling, no bleeding, no screaming at the liberal application of neosporin.  It would appear that my earlier freak out was mostly unwarranted.  Not much of a surprise there.

The pediatrician gave him flying colors all around.  Good feeding, good color, good head control, good eye tracking, good circ site, good umbilical site.  All good.  Hooray for my little champion.  My little dream boat.

So far I don’t have any signs of post partum depression.  Last time I had a short-lived phase in which I didn’t want to see or speak to anybody, not even those closest to me.  While part of me wanted to call and share the good news, another part of me just couldn’t bear to pick up the phone.

This time, I’m emotional, but I think that goes with the territory, regardless.  And today, my beautiful boy was circumcised, and I’m a wreck because of it.  I couldn’t be in the room when they did it, and I could barely stand to look at the dressing when it was done, and when it was time for the first post-op diaper change and the removal of the dressing, I had to turn the job over to Gadget, while I sat across the room and sobbed.  Circumcision is a controversial subject, and I don’t really want to get into that.  We had decided to have it done with BB, so we followed suit with LB.  Only, I don’t remember it being so traumatic with BB.  His was done when he was only a day old, in hospital, and possibly it wasn’t traumatic because the nursing staff took care of the initial dressings and post-op care.  This time, with insurance and hospital policy changes, we were advised not to have it done while in hospital, but to do it at the ob/gyn’s office within the first two weeks of life.  Today was the first available appointment, and today LB was two weeks old.  I think I was also told that having it done in the first days of life could have a slight impact on the nursing scenario, and because I’ve been struggling with that, I didn’t push the issue to have it done in hospital.

After Gadget finished removing the dressing and applying the neosporin, I held my precious boy and sobbed, all the while thinking that my freak out sobbing is not helping anything whatsoever.  And it thoroughly distresses BB to see his mother cry.  LB seems to be weathering this well.  He was calm after the diaper change, and fed well, and is sleeping well.  My little love.  Now, to gather my courage and collect my wits so that I will be able to tend to the healing properly, by pulling the skin gently to expose the ridge, and applying the neosporin liberally.  Sigh.  Why is it so difficult for me this time?

Meanwhile, I told my doctor that my own healing process seems much more painful than last time, which he said was unusual, because repeat c-sections are generally weathered better than the original.  I was able to get a prescription renewal for some more percoset, which I will use sparingly, and hoard for future migraines, should they materialize.  When I’m hit, there’s no way I’ll drag myself to a doctor, so no chance of acquiring any medication to alleviate the pain.  This way, I have options.  The problem with percoset and pain is sort of a catch 22 in that I suspect a great deal of the pain I’m experiencing is intestinal in nature, and percoset has constipation as a side effect.  To take it or not to take it, that is the question.  The thing is, this constipation, if that is what it is, is far and beyond anything that I’ve heretofore experienced, and I’m no stranger to the condition.  I wonder if I’ve actually been impacted.  I watched my belly grow and harden over the course of a few days, and the pain increased until I could barely walk, and finally decided that if it was, indeed, intestinal, that the colace wasn’t cutting it and it was time for some senna.  Even so, it took quite some time for the senna to do anything, and when it did, it was incredibly painful.  But the swelling began to subside and the hardness of my belly diminished.  I continued taking the senna, and every two or three days something would happen, so to speak, and the hardness seemed to drop with each passing.  So it would seem that as things work their way out, the pain in my gut is working its way down.  However, the act of passing is dreadful and painful and nigh on impossible, at times, leaving me sweating, sobbing, and bleeding.  I resort to a pain killer to help work through the pain, but does this very same pain killer actually prolong the condition?  What to do, what to do.  I’ve been drinking loads of water.  Loads.  I’m pumping around the clock, and drink a full 20oz jug of water during each pumping session.  Surely I’m getting enough water.  Tomorrow’s strategy includes incorporating prunes and apricots, and maybe forgoing the pain killers.

I will be glad when this part of the healing process is complete.

I have no idea what day it is, but today, the mailman rang the doorbell and left a package on my front porch.  I was attempting to nurse my little monkey, and my three year old decided he wanted to get the door, to which I vehemently objected, to which he belligerently disobeyed.  Oh, it’s so exasperating, trying to teach one this age why he can’t do certain things like answer the front door.  By himself.

But look at the goodness that arrived!  A gift from MsCellania!  Soft, warm fuzzies for both of my boys, so that BB wouldn’t feel left out.  And look at the adorable monkey fabrics, that are perfect for my new little monkey!

Thank you!!  I haven’t even told BB that the big race car blankie is for him — he’s still working on finishing his breakfast.  Yes, it’s 8:30 p.m.  He asked for a peanut butter and jam sandwich this morning, then ate about three bites and commenced a full day of play and mischief.  I bagged the sandwich and let it be known that that would be lunch, and if it didn’t get eaten then, it would be dinner.  So.  Dinner it is.  When he finishes, I’ll give him the blanket, and he will be delighted.  🙂

Thank you so much, M!!

This is all I had to show after a span of six hours.  Pathetic.  Things are improving.  They’ve gone from dismal to less dismal, but still pathetic.  Life in two hour increments was killing me.  It takes a full one of those hours to pump, decant, clean, feed, diaper, and burp, leaving the other hour to use the bathroom, sleep, shower, attend to the other child, etc etc etc.  So I switched to three hour compartments.  It’s so liberating!  That extra hour is pure wealth, and I can actually get reasonable naps in here and there.  I even made banana bread today, with such an abundance of time on my hands.

I’m the luckiest mom ever, because LB is the best baby.  He’s so content, except when diapering.  He has the biggest, brightest eyes, when they’re open.

He’s so laid back.  When he’s awake, he just kicks back and looks around, calm and content as can be. (Yes, I know the pictures are blurry; I thought they were in focus when I took them, but I’m living life in a blur right now, so what do I really know?)

BB, on the other hand, is proving to be quite a challenge, with the adjustments of late.  He’s a love, really, but his one year old cousin is here all week, and sharing attention and toys and life in general with so many others is a difficult thing for a three year old. I think he will do better when it’s back to just the four of us.  Even so, he does need to learn how to behave and obey, regardless of how many other people are here.  I let him pretend he was a baby last night, and snuggled him in my lap and spoon fed him his lunch, then tucked him in for a nap, and stroked his face and talked to him, telling him that’s what I used to do when he was a baby.  He really liked that moment of attention, and took a nice, long, refreshing nap.  It was very good for him, to get some rest.

I simply do not know how mothers of more than two can function.