February 3, 2010 at 10:12 pm (Baby A, Project 49)
We went to get Baby A’s passport done today and needed pictures for that and his Canadian Citizenship card. You can’t see me but I’m squatting down almost laying on the floor behind a stool holding him up. He would not stop blowing bubbles.
Ready to travel the world
February 2, 2010 at 3:34 am (Baby A, Pregnancy)
Yeah, about breastfeeding. I didn’t quite ever get to that, did I? I guess this is kinda birth story part 2.
So, some of you may remember from my old blog, I was not able to breastfeed my twins. Partly because they were premature and, uh, there were two of them. Partly also (the clincher) was that I was having to take a medication for my preeclampsia and glaucoma that lasted until they were about three months old. These medications were a danger to them.
I was hoping that with a full-term single baby, I would avoid some of that and all would be well. But it has been a bit of a challenge, a bit of a success.
First, let me talk about day 2. Day 2 in the hospital with my less than 24 hour old child and my less than 24 hour old drugged up C-sectioned self. The following people came into my room to do the following things. Many times simultaneously:
So, never was I alone (or alone with just baby and N) for more than 5 minutes. Never. Never did I get to rest or even lay back. Never did I get a peaceful few minutes to nurse the baby or even hold the baby. The entire time, I was in this drug-induced daze. It was like watching everything from the outside like it was happening but it wasn’t my universe. I had trouble following conversations, I would say something and not know if I said it out loud or in my head. I would space through entire conversations because of the pain and not know what was being said or even who had said it. I had trouble hearing because I had worn my hearing aids for over 36 hours and I never do that. Laying my head on the pillow just gave me feedback.
(Now, let me digress for a minute and just say that I was in the hospital for 4 more days after that. And except for the nurse visits to do meds and vitals, the doctor to come in on rounds once a day and the med tech to take blood, we were left totally and completely alone. We had hours to rest. Why some of that second day stuff couldn’t have been spread out more is beyond me. With a C-section, they knew I’d be in for at least a couple more days.)
Ok, so I was trying very hard to let my past experiences with the twins not affect my emotions in regards to breastfeeding (in that the lactation specialist back then told me I couldn’t breastfeed after wrangling my boobs around for a while and then some of the nurses said I couldn’t feed my kids and they’d be in foster care by three years old). This was a whole new situation. I had a lot going for me. Limited pre-eclampsia, one baby, no retinal detachment and glaucoma, single baby, big full-term baby. No worries, right?
Okay, but lets talk about breasts. You have these things your whole life (or most of it) and you have to keep them covered up. It is a big social/sexual/media induced frenzy surrounding breasts. Too big, too small. Fake or real. Perky or saggy. No one ever really touches them except maybe your intimate partner, and one would hope that he/she would be respectful. And then the one thing they are ACTUALLY for, breastfeeding, is something you don’t think about very often but then when the time comes–somehow people think they suddenly own you and it is your goddamned duty to fulfill your role as a real woman to breastfeed and they are all up in your business. Breastfeeding Nazis and gurus and ok…crazy people. Breastfeeding is BEST!!!!!! If you don’t breastfeed you are a complete and utter failure as a mother!
So, all day and all night and all the second day, I’m trying to recover from surgery and pregnancy, bond with the baby, and FEED him by putting him up to my breasts. Meanwhile, said child is completely in shock by his new world, in a daze and has less motor skills than a quadriplegic with cerebral palsy. Then, you are interrupted EVERY. FUCKING. SECOND by someone who cares not of your privacy. And then, if they catch you breastfeeding, they ALL feel the need to comment and dole out advice.
So, lets see. On day 2, I heard that my breasts were too big. They were too small. My nipples were inverted–no, they are not inverted, it is just that they are too full and engorged. No they aren’t engorged, they are doing nothing and I have no milk. Hold your breast like a bottle up to the baby. Let your breast go and bring it down to the baby. Let the baby come up to the breast. Cup your hand behind the babies neck and shove him on the nipple. Don’t interfere with your baby, he will find his own way. Feed your baby formula before breastfeeding so he has a bit of food in him and is not so desperate and distracted by hunger. NEVER! NEVER feed your baby formula! Feed with a small syringe of formula in his mouth, feed with a bottle, use a nipple shield, don’t use a nipple shield. Pump to get your milk flowing, don’t pump. Save it all for the baby. Breastfeed as much as possible to get your supply up. Don’t breastfeed for a few hours to give your breasts a chance to build supply. Football hold! Cradle hold! The baby can go DAYS without food. The baby needs food right NOW! And my favorites:
Good god, and then there is the boob wrangling. People come in and decide that if they put their hands all over you and your baby and shove you this way and that and grab your nipples and some such, that this is actually going to do anything to help. I was doing semi-ok breastfeeding the baby this one time and this nurse comes in and decides to undress him while he is attached and check his vitals. And then her hands were SO FREAKING COLD and she is shoving a stethoscope around on him and he starts to cry. And then she is telling me what to do and grabbing my breasts with ice cube hands while she is telling me what I’m doing wrong and the baby is crying at the same time. I’m like, um, you think that you freezing his ass off and distracting him might have ANYTHING at ALL to do with why he isn’t latching well anymore? Crazy. That was the point when I determined that my breasts were completely off limits to anyone except myself and baby. No one was allowed to touch me anymore and the lactation specialists had to go.
Now, I have respect for nurses and I know that they are in a hurry and have seen it all, but sometimes I think they are on such autopilot that they don’t really see what they are doing and the harm they are causing. As for lactation consultants, I know that you all have told me that you’ve had some great ones and I believe you and thank god for that. Because my experiences with them have led me to believe that they are about the most worthless professionals in the health care world.
So, near the evening, the baby nurse came in and weighed baby A. He started at 8lbs. 13oz. and at 36 hours was at 8lbs. 3oz. which is pretty common. All babies lose weight after birth. But she acted like it was the most devastating news in the world. I was scolded. Scolded! About not trying hard enough to get him to eat from my completely dry breasts that he could barely latch on to. All the old fears about my 4 pound preemie noneaters came back. All the fears about them losing each precious ounce. All the fears about the health care people saying that we couldn’t feed them. All the fears about measuring every millilitre they sucked down just to be heartbroken when they spit it back up. It all came back to me.
And I’m tired and my boobs hurt and my uterus hurts and I’m drugged up and I’m humiliated by a days worth of constant comments on my boobs and my peeing with 47 people in the room. And baby A is HUNGRY and THIRSTY and his (oh the word escapes me now) the soft spot on his head is starting to get concave for lack of hydration. He tries to latch on less and less and instead just screams in frustration. And D was on the phone with Kim and I wanted to talk to the kids but I had this screaming baby in my arms and I just completely freaked out and fell apart in sobs so bad I couldn’t breathe.
So, N wants to get a nurse. I told him I’d break his balls if he got a fucking nurse near me. So then they both asked me what I wanted to do. And I said I want to give this kid some FUCKING! FORMULA! RIGHT! NOOOOOOWWWW!!!!!
So D calmly goes out in the hall, and a few minutes later calmly comes back in with those small two ounce bottles of formula that they have in hospitals. And, feeling like I was doing something awful, I opened one up, plopped a nipple on it and fed it to my baby.
And it was the most wonderful thing ever. He settled down, staring at me with that newborn bonding gaze of security, and drank away. The last time I held a bottle like that, my preemie babies couldn’t eat more than 10 ml at a time with me pinching drops into their mouths. Baby A sucked it down happily like it was nothing. It was the first time I felt like I was really his mother, and it was the first time I knew I had made the right decision for him as a parent.
In the next few days in the hospital, I pumped and got nothing. Maybe a drop after ten minutes or so. I sent the lactation specialist away. I answered judgmental questions from staff. (“Why aren’t you breastfeeding? You just don’t want to?”) Now, most were fine and supportive, but some you could tell just thought I was a horrible, lazy ass. But I blocked it all out and just had a really, very special, very pleasant time bonding with baby and with N. Resting and relaxing. Feeding and holding the baby while N sang Swedish lullabies to him and held my hand. Some nights D would come, too. And it was actually really nice that I could give the baby to D and he could feed him. It helped us all bond and be comfortable with our new reality.
The underlying medical problem that kept me in the hospital so long and persisted was very low hemoglobin and iron lab work. During my hospital stay I pumped with a hospital pump rather unsuccessfully while I received IV iron. I took the pump parts that were mine and cannot be reused by the hospital home with me and pumped manually here and there while I went to the outpatient infusion clinic and received the rest of my iron. My peri said that low hemoglobin can have an effect milk supply and let down because your circulation is so poor. (I had tingling in my hands and arms during this time.)
During this time it was kind of nice to have help with feedings. N and I took turns at night so we both got more sleep. D and even Little A and Little N also fed him occasionally. In this way, everyone felt more involved with him and he got more comfortable with everyone. And my life was not spent constantly feeding him, I could recover better and do more stuff with the other kids. I was able to jump right back into life a hell of a lot faster because I was sharing feeding duties. And as with the twins, I still felt very bonded to A. Extremely, actually, because the first few months with the twins was 24 hour me Me ME and that was so exhausting that I didn’t have any emotions left for them. Choosing to share feeding duties along with the fact that he was a single full-term baby, made this post partum time totally different from theirs. It was really a magical time, and still is.
The first night home with the twins, for example, was pure hell. I remember sitting on my kitchen floor in great amounts of pain so bad it made me cry while making formula for them. I was up all night with them trying to get them to eat anything while on about my 72nd hour of being awake. My mind was literally starting to go hallucinatory from the sleep deprivation. And this was after D’s brother had acted like a total ass at the hospital and made me cry all the way home. (I know much of this doesn’t have to do with breastfeeding, but it is part of the birth story, the going home part.)
Leaving the hospital with Avery was just like you see it in the movies. D and N were there (well, you don’t see that part in the movies) and everyone was in a happy mood and we were taking pictures and stuff. I dressed A and I have a picture of me holding him in the wheelchair. When I was wheeled out, a whole waiting room of people I didn’t know started oohing and ahing and congratulating me. When I got home, D had left us food and coffee and pacifiers and a balloon and chocolates. He also offered to keep the twins for the night. N and I had a nice dinner and had hot chocolate and just sat around admiring baby cuteness and high-fiving each other for getting through the marathon that is pregnancy. It was picturesque. And made much better because I had a baby who ate and I did not have to worry about breastfeeding.
Going Home
But the story is not over yet. After about two and a half weeks, I had literally given up on breastfeeding and was at peace with that. And then one day I started leaking. And coincidentally, it was the same day the kids had drug out my breastpump stuff and were playing with it (which was quite hilarious, actually). So on a whim, I picked up the parts and assembled a manual pump, just to see what would happen. And lo and behold, I had milk. Not a lot. Like a tablespoon. I saved it and poured it symbolically into one of A’s bottles of formula. There. He got a little of my milk.
In the days to come, I leaked more and more and so started giving A a chance to breastfeed. I did nothing but put him in proximity of my breast. And given a little time and quiet, he just figured everything out by himself within a day or so. I knew my supply was way lower than he needed so I borrowed a hospital grade breastpump and started breastfeeding, bottlefeeding and then pumping. I really concentrated on that for several days, but it was all consuming and I still was not getting a good supply. I got up to about 2-4 ounces per feeding and he was eating 4 to 6.
It never really improved, and meanwhile, he keeps eating. I couldn’t keep this pace up, so I decided to just be satisfied with what I could do and just do what needed to be done for him and in looking at the family as a whole. I am needed more in other areas than constantly feeding and pumping for A. D has broken his leg and is needing extra night time attendant care now. N does a lot with the big kids but they miss me and need me, too. And little A and I have managed to have the best of both worlds.
A dose of the baby ativan
We still breastfeed several times a day, but he still needs the bottle right after to supplement. When I pump, I still only get 1-4 ounces at a time. And he usually gets a full-bottle of my breastmilk a day as well. But the majority of his diet continues to be formula. I like breastfeeding him because it is like baby ativan and calms him down like nothing else. I like that he maybe gets some of my antibodies and my natural, organic breastmilk. But I also like that he is getting enough to eat despite whatever it is with my health that hinders my supply. I am most grateful that I have the option to give him formula and I think that is good for him. I like that all of his family can share in his care a bit more because I’m not the exclusive milk tap. I like that I am not so bound in baby jail because of breastfeeding.
It's really important to me that my BOYS learn to be nurturers. This is a great opportunity for them to know that men care for babies, too.
Let me also just say that this whole post is about choice and doing what is right for you and your family. I strongly support women’s right to breastfeed anytime, anywhere they want. I believe they should have access to options at work to make breastfeeding easier. That there should be more rooms and areas to allow women to breastfeed privately. And I believe that women should be able to breastfeed anywhere openly and publicly as well. If women want and need lactation consultants, breast pumps, education or other services to support breastfeeding, I believe they should get those services. So, in no way should this post be considered anti-breastfeeding.
After the twins, when I actually had many, many legitimate reasons why I couldn’t breastfeed them, I felt guilty about not doing it for a long time. I don’t anymore. I am doing what is best for baby A and the whole family. I know sometimes we get scornful looks when we whip out a bottle for him in public. I know sometimes people get scornful looks when they whip out a breast in public, too. You know? Just fuck all that. People need to do what works for them. I am very happy with the decisions I have made and the work I have done to make sure baby A is healthy, happy, well-fed and loved.
At two months, Baby A is a tubby 13.5 pounder. It took the twins about 8 months to get this big.
January 2, 2010 at 10:11 pm (Baby A, Big N, D, Disabilities, Pregnancy)
I’ve been in such a mood to write and have lots to say…and remember for myself if not anyone else…but I all I have is tiny fragments of free time because my life revolves around nothing but FEEDING THAT BABY!! I also had all these categories, like birth story, what is happening with N and I, breastfeeding, the big kids birthday and christmas, etc. But finally I just decided to write chronologically and they will all fall where they fall. So, that’s the plan, to write a bit at a time when I can and just get to stuff when I get to it.
Okay, so birth story. To start a bit before, you all may remember that around mid-October, my doctor went into a hub bub about my b/p and kidney function and it was all Pre-eclampsia! And so in October, my life immediately shut down. And Big N came in November and I had all of these appointments. D had been going to all of my perinatal stuff and then I started taking N or D or whoever it made sense to take based on childcare and transportation needs. I went by myself sometimes, too. So it was all kind of day by day until 38 weeks which was when my doctor said I wasn’t going past and I would have a C-section for sure so if I went into labor earlier than that, come in right away and they would do a C-section ASAP.
So I basically had a good idea when I was going to give birth. And I had to plan for transpo for me and for the kids to get to Kim’s house and who was going to be there for what at the hospital. I got in touch with the maternity social work er and asked if both D and N could be there for the birth and if we could have the same accommodations as we did last time where we got the big room and the extra hospital bed for D. It wasn’t so much that I expected both of them to be with me 24 hours a day. I didn’t. But I wanted to be able to swap N and D in case the big kids needed childcare if I was in the hospital too long. N would be in a better position (I thought) to take care of the twins while D could run back and forth to the hospital easier.
So, all I got from this woman was no, no and no. Only one person in the OR, only one person in recovery, no way on the big room and hospital bed. And I was getting the weirded out vibe from her about my whole situation. She asked a huge amount of DHAC questions about D and how he was the father of the twins. Weird. So I wrote a letter that went over what I wanted and how I thought they should be more accommodating to diverse families and how I had been treated poorly by some staff at my last stay five years ago and this time I was not going to put up with it. (I said it very diplomatically and basically laid out how my family was as legitimate as any other and would she not allow a biological dad wheelchair user to stay with his baby and how this was not acceptable. Basically, I let myself get screwed around last birth and this time I was way more confident and knew my rights and wasn’t going to take any crap.) So I had her name but not an exact address for her to give the letter to. I googled her name and came up with an interesting find.
I won’t give too much info, but I found her sort of personal/professional website where I found out that she had had a son who had gotten a spinal cord injury and died soon after from complications. And I became full of sympathy, because any time you hear about a fellow SCI person who didn’t make it, it stabs you in the heart. But also, I noticed in her writing that she appeared to deal with his death by thinking it was probably for the best. I’m not going to judge her for that, but it made her questions about D and the twins make a bit more sense. It was almost like she resented that he went on to have kids and a life as a quadriplegic. I’m not sure if I’m saying that right, but it was just all a little strange and I wasn’t sure what to do with my letter then. It seemed kind of cold to imply discrimination of a SCI guy but also she was taking out her–whatever–way of handling grief on us and that wasn’t fair.
I ended up taking the letter to my peri’s office and sharing it with the nurse and getting her advice. She was very, very nice and asked permission to copy the letter to one of the doctors there who is chair of some kind of women’s health committee at the hospital and to the charge nurse of maternity. I agreed to this and she understood that I wanted it to be done in a positive way and not make it into a war or anything.
Lo and behold, a day or so later, original social worker calls me back and in a much more accommodating tone said that there was no budging on the one person in the OR rule, I would have to choose, but as long as there were no complications in recovery (which was going to actually be in my hospital room, not the recovery room) I could have both in there. Furthermore, the “census was low” so they could provide D his own hospital room if he needed it like they do in situations of adoption or surrogacy for the other family members. So I could work with this. Great.
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, we had this whole plan to put up the Christmas tree and Christmas stuff with the kids, and all was going well until I started having contractions every five minutes all the sudden. Let me stop here to just say…
Damn! Contractions hurt.
I say this knowing I didn’t even go through the worst of it, but
Damn!
This went on for hours and I finally called the doctor and got checked out. No significant dilation yet. Go home, come in the office Monday unless this this and this happens. So, Contractions all through Sunday, but not getting really any worse or better. Monday, nothing much is happening cervically and the C-section is on for Tuesday. I was so irritated I had to wait until Tuesday. A whole nother day of this, you crazy fucks? You’re kidding, right? And then I think, I’m so lucky I get this over with on Tuesday, because at the rate I was going, I was not going to have this baby naturally until 2012.
So, Tuesday morning the kids are shipped off to Kim’s in the am and D shows up (ON TIME! a major feat if you know D. He made me late to the twins C-section). We all show up at the hospital, me hugely pregnant, D the quad and N the blind swedish guy. EVERYBODY knew exactly who we were and made a big fuss. We got a room in L & D that we would get to keep the whole time. And we mutually chose N to go into the OR with me, with a swap of D in recovery if necessary because I have a history of awful recoveries after surgeries and he is the guy who knows my history and understands what drugs I do well with and don’t do well with and can advocate for me.
A few days before I went in to the hospital, I went to a lactation consultant appointment with Big N. It was kind of funny because my hospital registration said something weird like:
Next of Kin: D
Relationship: Partner
(second line for next of kin:) N
Relationship: Father of child
And so the lactation consultant came out and was all to N, “you must be D! Nice to meet you!” And we were all he’s N. And then she practically tripped over herself apologizing and we were all, nah, you’ll meet D in post partum probably. And then she was all fascinated with us and very nice.
Anyway. I talked to her about how impersonal I felt my last C-section was and how they took the babies away from me after like, one second and I was drugged up the whole day and remember practically nothing. She and another L & D nurse said that with a 38 weeker they wouldn’t take him away if I didn’t want them to and the drugginess must have been a complication because they don’t usually give any drugs except the regional epidural. And I should have a much better time of it this time with one full-term baby. Great! They encouraged me to write up a birth plan (part of the reason of my letter) and also were very encouraging about breastfeeding and were like, this is not going to be like premature twins. This will be totally different and just get that experience out of your head. It was all good and I was encouraged.
So, back to the hospital. I talked to the anesthesiologist about my past problems with drugs and what happened with the last C-section and he assured me that everything possible would be done to make sure it would all be okay this time. I talked to the baby nurse about keeping the baby with me and she said she would put him right on my chest and he could stay there the whole time and they would not feed him or bathe him or whatever until I said so. (All this stuff was done with the twins before I ever even held them. I understood why, but was trying to make a better experience this time. That the baby’s first few hours would be with his mother/parents, not the nursing staff doing shit to him.) Okay, great! We left D in the room and N and I headed to the OR.
N waited outside as is procedure while I got prepped and -epidural-ed. I sat in that C position on the edge of the OR with the nurse hugging me while the epidural was set up in my spine, just as I had done five years ago. And they said, you will feel warm tingling in your legs, just like they said five years ago. And just like five years ago, I felt the numbness start in my legs within seconds. But unlike five years ago, I felt it in my stomach, chest, arms and neck. Still sitting on the side of the OR, I suddenly collapsed backward and the anesthesia guy caught me with a “woah.” And instantly there were a bunch of blue all around me as the staff rushed over. Everything started to fade to black.
Then I remember voices and being disoriented, like, did I have the baby yet? No, I still felt him in my stomach. I heard b/p is 85/50 and I thought, there goes my nice birth experience, I’ll be lucky to be conscious for it. I remember thinking that they wouldn’t let N in and he would miss it. Everything was tingly and black and I was struggling to stay awake and aware of what was going on. anesthesia guy says, “L, your blood pressure is a little low so I’m going to give you something that is going to make you nauseous.” And then something about putting my head down to reduce blood loss which totally made me think I was going to pass out, but then they tilted the whole table down and I felt better. And then something about the whole pin prick thing where I was supposed to say where it felt normal and it didn’t until about my neck. At some point, there was another voice behind me that I didn’t recognize, because I was too busy turning my head and barfing. But then he said, “L, you rock” and I was like, “oh, that’s N! They did let him in.” And then I barfed some more.
Seexxxayyy!
So, they waited a few minutes and I did feel a bit better. And then they started and anesthetic guy was giving N a play-by-play but I couldn’t hear it all. I felt the incisions the way you do with an epidural, the pressure but not the pain. I felt the gush of amniotic fluid and the sensation of the baby sort of spreading out and being pulled out. And then, the first cry. It always hits you when you hear them cry for the first time. Like there was an actual baby in there.
My doctor held him briefly over the curtain and I saw his head for a second. Blurry and white with amniotic stuff. My doctor, usually very low-key, was all excited. “Did you see him, Miss F? Did you see him? He’s big! You need to name him Chuck or Bubba!” He kept calling me Miss F. Which was very strange to me. Oh! And I was told before that since I was having a baby at a Catholic hospital, it would be a big deal to get a tubal ligation done at the same time. Like you had to get this committee’s approval and all this. But then, like literally a second before he started cutting, my doctor peaks over the curtain and says, Miss F? You didn’t want a tubal ligation?
What? That’s an option? What? Huh? Keep in mind I just started regaining consciousness…you know, in between the barfing. I wasn’t even sure I understood the question. It totally confused me and I was like, I didn’t even sign a consent for that, I was never presented with a consent for that, can you really ask me that now? So I said yes, first. and then he asked me again. And then I said, no. It completely confused me. And now I’m like…damn! I should have just gotten that done already. It’s not a huge deal, but it was just really a weird question to be asked at that time in that context when they told me in the office before that it mostly wasn’t an option and I didn’t even know what insurance (if any) would pay for it or how much it costs. Medicare has denied all of my pregnancy stuff thus far.
Okay, so minutes after I heard the baby cry, he was brought to me all bundled us and N and I held him between us. I remember that I couldn’t figure out which side of him was up or down, head or feet, next to me. Finally I figured out that it was his head next to me, which makes sense. Then they took off his swaddling blanket and put him on my chest on his stomach. And he lifted his head up and was looking around. Which amazed me. Because A and N couldn’t do that for months and hated tummy time. He was all over the place with neck control. He sort of larvae-d his way around, probably looking for the breast, and sort of slide onto my neck and throat which made me have to barf again, and I had to ask them to move him off of my neck because I still couldn’t move my arms. But he stayed on my chest a long time, with N holding him there. It was nice to have him there instead of having him be whisked away. I believe N and the baby returned to the room a little bit before I was finished. It was kind of good that way because then N got to show the baby to D and they had a little male bonding time before I got back and they kicked one of them out.
I was still barfing on my way back to recovery and when I got there, my b/p was low again and my temp was also low. I guess after a few minutes they asked either D or N to leave because they were having so much trouble with me (its my MO after surgery). D and N decided D would stay and N would leave. I remember just bits and pieces of the rest of the day. I didn’t get to hold and feed my baby and had to acquiesce to the nurses taking care of him for a bit. D and I worked on what medications would work for me with the nurses and anesthesia guy. I remember bits of this. D worked on dosages with them, and it was finally the dreaded promethazine that saved me from eternal barfing, after a failed zofran try. (I ended up accidentally OD-ing on promethezine several years ago. D was really good in telling them to 1/4th the dose for me and give it to me over time.) They had one of those huge blanket tents that blows warm air on you while you shiver helplessly underneath. The funny thing about this was that eventually when they let N come back, this blanket completely freaked him out and he thought I was dying or something. No, just hypothermia, honey! But having them both there went really well. Everyone worked together and everyone managed to be in the place they were meant to be in. I’m very lucky to have had both N and D there supporting me.
I’ll stop there for now. There isn’t too much I remember about the rest of that day. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the first time I got to hold him or feed him. I used to wish for that storybook birth where you get to have your baby naturally and you have a more meaningful time experiencing all those firsts moments and stuff. I’ve come to accept that I’m no Michelle Duggar and my body was not probably meant to be pregnant. I do have precious memories of all of my children’s births. They are minutes and seconds, not hours. Fuzzy, not clear. Tinged with more sickness than elation. But I value these memories just as much as if I had the more “hollywood” textbook experience. Na*im’s first cry that slammed home the beginning of my motherhood journey, Aa*ron’s first attempt at taking command of life with his big stretch in my uterus after Na*im was removed first, Avery curiously lifting his head to look at the big new world. They are all meaningful to me and I know that with all the risks and health trials how lucky I am to have managed to bring three healthy children into the world. I love my memories of each one of them.
December 12, 2009 at 11:57 pm (Baby A, Little A, Little N, Pregnancy)
I have about a million posts in my head and have had very little time to sit at the computer, but lets see what I can get done now. I’ll start by answering some of your questions.
I got out of the hospital last Sunday. I did two days of Iron infusion there and then they sent me home and I did the rest at an outpatient infusion clinic last week. Even though I just sat and slept all afternoon at the infusion clinic, just getting there and back each day was exhausting. But I believe I am done now. I go back to the Dr. next week to check and see if all is well. Recovery for me has been slow but steady. After six weeks in bed, my stamina is shot. I’ve just started walking little 2-3 block walks yesterday. It is pitiful how much that tires me out. But every day is a little bit of improvement.
Avery has had two appointments already (one with the postpartum mom/baby appt. and one with the pediatrician). He is very healthy and doing well. I have to write another post about the hell that has been my experience with breastfeeding (both pregnancies) and how I seriously, seriously question the sanity of some lactation specialists. It will have to wait for another post but let me just say Off. Their. Rockers. Some of them.
But other than that, the staff at the hospital treated all of us very well. I did some work upfront to make sure that was the case. I went in this time with more confidence and very specific expectations as to how we were and were not going to be treated and (politely! believe it or not) laid all those expectations out in writing. There were a couple of minor weird incidents, like when a nurse freaked out when Big N’s foot bumped something when he was carrying the baby and said she hoped he wasn’t planning on carrying the baby further than from the crib to the rocking chair (about three feet). Of course I was like, you think he isn’t going to be carrying this baby all around PDX by himself? Because it’s his turn now, I’ve carried him for 38 weeks.
The big boys–who used to be my little boys but now look SO mature and gigantic–met the baby Sunday afternoon after doing their first ever sleep-over at daddy’s house. And that was after five days of apparent paradise at Kim’s house that was round the clock fun and “why couldn’t we stay there 45 more days?” Little A came in and said “your baby is cute!” Little N’s first reaction was “why doesn’t he move?” A is much more gentle and enthralled with him than I expected, after he expressed almost no interest in a new baby brother throughout my pregnancy. Little N seems to have had his expectations shattered a bit, as this boring baby doesn’t know how to do anything, mom! He wants to know when is the last day he will be a baby so he can learn how to do stuff. But he seems to have adjusted his expectations throughout the week and is enjoying feeding him and pulling the little cord on the baby swing that keeps the music going for him. They are both adjusting well. My only problem is that whenever they talk to him it reminds me of how Elmo talks to the baby on “Elmo’s World” which drives me a little nuts.The next thing I know, my head goes to Mr. Noodle and Mr. Noodle creeps me out. Oh, you know he creeps you out, too, right?
Little A meets Baby A
Little N's turn.
On Monday, we had a little family party for the boys’ fifth birthday. They are FIVE!!! Can you believe it? Five years of parenting celebrated with a bonus baby I never thought I’d have. I had to go to infusion so the kids made a cake with Big N. D came over with some decorations and gifts. Grampa B. stopped by. The kids were hyperspastic and had a lot of fun.
It has been a long, hard road to get here and there are still messes that need to be dealt with up ahead. But I have carved out a space for myself to let myself be happy here with my new baby and with Big N and D and the twins. I have struggled physically with this birth but emotionally it has really been pure joy in many ways. On the kids’ birthday, I was sitting in the rocking chair with my newborn bonus baby next to the Christmas tree that N had put up the Saturday before when I was having contractions all night. Avery’s big newborn eyes stared at the lights and ornaments in wonder. D had basically brought the party for the boys over to the house as I had gotten out of the hospital just the day before and had no time to do anything. N has worked his ass off stepping in and taking care of almost everything–the kids, the cooking and cleaning and errand running– while I was on bedrest and in the hospital. D and N were taking pictures and videos as the big boys were opening presents and were trying to ask the kids questions for the video and were getting nothing but silly answers. And I just thought, this is my family. My weird family. I am so happy to have them and be in this moment and am so lucky to have all this love and kindness in the house. I was just so overjoyed at all my good fortune. I have no doubt in my mind that we will somehow figure out how to work this stuff out and remain a loving family.
I have lots to say but have to ration my time and energy. I’ll have the obligatory “birth story” post sometime soon.
December 4, 2009 at 7:06 pm (Baby A, Pregnancy, Uncategorized)
Tags: Baby A
Still in the hospital, I’m anemic so on IV iron for the next four days. Ugh. But other than that, all is well. Avery is great. VERY different experience than the twins. Some pics to tide you over…
(Oh, and thanks for all your congrats and well wishes.)
N-Dad
Daddy D
Obligatory First Photo in the OR
There are a couple of pics of me and the baby, but with two blind photographers, a certain part was unkowingly showing…ahem. So I’ll try again later.
