cindy's world

I don’t know if I jinxed everything by writing that previous post, or if, like Flip Flop Girl said on text in the early hours of the morning to me when I was having a breakdown and she stayed with me (via cellphone texting) through it, I just happened to hit on a growth spurt… but last night broke me.

Things were going well and I was optimistic, until about 9:30p after a feeding when I asked Mr. W if he could help me put Allie (dozing in my arms) to bed, and I was tired so I was just going to stay up there with her. We all went upstairs, and she started crying hysterically. After a few minutes of this, she managed a couple of “leh”s in her crying so I figured, she drank very little from one of my breasts, so I’ll put her back on that one. She probably wasn’t done before she fell asleep. So I did that, and she had her nightcap, and dozed. Then when she was transferred from my arms to bed, she woke up screaming and crying. She cried from 9:40p straight through to 11pm and we tried EVERYTHING — swaddling, shushing, pacifier (she rejected it repeatedly), gripe water, rocking her in the rocker she sleeps in on Mr. W’s side, putting her in the cosleeper on her back on my side, and at 10:40p, because she was crying “leh” repeatedly altho I’d just fed her, I heated up some previously pumped breastmilk and bottlefed her. She drank 55 ml (nearly 2 ounces!) and refused the last 5 ml, but resumed crying “leh.” I couldn’t believe it. How could she take so much milk, refuse to eat more, yet not be full, and still cry for more? What was going on? I was totally freaked as she cried “leh” continuously in between screams.

It was a battle of wills — Mr. W was determined to get her to sleep in either her co-sleeper or rocker bed, she was determined to stay up and scream. He rocked and rocked and shook and shook the beds — both of them. She’d doze fairly often, then moments later, a small whimper and then the usual wail again. It was so discouraging. Knowing he was trying to get her to sleep on her own, I didn’t pick her up, but I was so torn and stressed, and seeing how stressed Mr. W was and upset and frustrated just made everything so much worse. The guilt came back and I found myself apologizing to him again and he told me to stop being sorry, he wasn’t mad at me.

Finally at 11pm, by rocking the cosleeper (which isn’t designed to rock) and having on both the vibration and music attachment, she was quiet for about an hour. Then at midnight, she started all over again. I was curled at the end of the bed sobbing at this point, not knowing what to do, and Mr. W came running up in a flurry and shook the cosleeper again. That didn’t work this time. He changed her diaper despite her not really needing it because he didn’t know what else to do, shushed her as he carried her around rocking her on her side, she didn’t stop. She went for almost an hour more.

This morning I was awakened at 6am by sounds of her restlessly moving around and sucking, but she wasn’t crying. Mr. W mumbled that she was up doing that since 4am. But I know I hadn’t fed her since 10:40 pm’s bottle, and I felt like I needed to feed her, but I also knew Mr. W was trying to sleep in this lack of crying and if I picked her up and fed her, the cry cycle may start all over again, and I couldn’t handle that frustration and tiredness from him again. So I laid there, crying to myself, until I got up and stole downstairs to leave a message for the lactation clinic, begging for an appointment. Then I texted Flip Flop Girl and she consoled me, said it was a growth spurt, that everything was normal and fine, and to just feed her on demand. I took Allie out of our bedroom, locked myself with her in the nursery (which is rarely used), and fed her around 7am as I cried. Later I spoke to my cousin Jennifer, who said the same thing. The lactation nurse called back and said the same thing with a tiny caveat that hopefully she didn’t have an ear infection which would affect her ability to suckle from my breasts, especially if she had a stuffy nose to go with it (Allie was sounding stuffy a few days ago and these days, some of her wails have the sound of phlegm vibrating in the back of her throat). The lactation nurse gave me their earliest open appointment next Wednesday; meanwhile I’ve been crying from stress all morning. Every time Allie wakes up I nearly have a panic attack.

We took Allie for a short walk so I could get to my ATM and we stopped at a local bagel place for breakfast. I was so relieved to see Mr. W handling Allie lovingly as normal. I keep having a fear that because he was so tired and her crying was so problematic, that he wouldn’t like her or want to interact with her anymore. But that hasn’t happened. He comforted me and told me to stop listening to him and to do what I want, pick her up or not; he said he was like me in not knowing how to handle this baby because every baby is different, and that I’m probably better prepared than he is because I have maternal instincts. Allie was good and peaceful through most of the time out, only crying on our way home from the bagel place. We walked thru an isolated neighborhood and she fell asleep in the stroller after some minutes anyway.

Thank God my mom came over around noon. She held Allie the entire time as I tearfully relayed the recent events to her (minus the outing). She said Allie’s an angel, and that she and my dad will always be available to help, I need only call her. She offered to babysit Allie so Mr. W and I could go for dinner for New Year’s, but I don’t think we’re gonna do it. No reservations could be made at with this late notice, I’d imagine. Then my mom told me stories about her early mothering experiences at age 24. She also told me it WILL get better, and I was dubious, until I realized I’m an only child so she was talking about ME, and I am not currently a crying infant. I was glad my mom was holding Allie and she was mainly sleeping — but every time Allie opened her eyes I felt my anxiety level rise, like I was going to have a panic attack. I was next to tears, had a headache and felt nauseated the entire time and still feel that way now. I think I’m seriously traumatized.

I had my first bad-mom thought yesterday evening. I had read in various places, and learned in various babycare/birthing classes, that it’s normal to have an awful thought relating to the baby when you’re exhausted and your nerves are frazzled, and it doesn’t mean you’re a bad mother or that you’re going through post-partum depression or post-partum psychosis — like the moms who drown their babies or the one who microwaved her newborn (*vomit*) — unless you find yourself acting it out. Apparently a lot of moms imagine throwing their screaming infants out the window or something. That wasn’t my thought.

I was holding the most innocent-looking, peacefully-sitting sleeping infant in my arms after feeding her. She’d fallen asleep and I was sitting her upright, snuggled between my body and the inside curve of the Boppy pillow, and she was sitting with her feet neatly touching together, her hands obediently together on her lap. Her face was smooth and untroubled. She looked like she was kissing butt, how perfectly she was sitting there, breathing evenly in her sleep.

I took a photo of her beautiful form, and noted that the camera distorts the image, makes her head look way bigger than her body, and doesn’t do her form justice. And I thought, “This past month in its surrealness…if I were to wake up suddenly and realize it was all just a dream and I wasn’t pregnant, and this whole past year’s experiences just dissolve, I’m not sure I would choose to get pregnant.” The implications were so horrible I wouldn’t let myself explore much beyond it. I got to, “I’m not so attached to Allie right now that I would cry at her disappearance if I were to wake up and find that she never existed?” and stopped the thinking. I feel like the most rotten person for thinking I may take up an opportunity to change things if I were given a guiltless freebie. Rotten person, horrid mother.

I love Allie; it’s just so much harder than anyone had warned me it would be. And the ridiculous part is — I don’t actually think anything’s WRONG. I’m just submerged in a new game in which I’m unfamiliar with any of the rules, and the rules keep changing when I figure some of them out, and I’m not used to feeling SO lost and SO insecure about something so important. I constantly have dreams that I’m back in college and find myself suddenly on the eve of finals and realizing I’m completely unprepared and had done none of the required assignments or studying.

I never thought I’d be one of those moms who’d cry about this feeling, either. I really thought my optimism would just barrel me through. Now I’m instantly worried something’s terribly wrong when Mr. W merely shakes his head and rolls his eyes that I’m feeding her again after I’d just fed her a little over an hour previously, despite the fact that he has told me to stop taking cues from him. My cousin Jennifer said her 3-month-old had gone through a growth spurt and feeding frenzy every 2-3 weeks and that this is normal, and I’d read as much, but I still have these ridiculous fears like, “What if my baby is an anomaly and doesn’t actually know when to stop eating?”

Because of my insecurity causing me to take to heart every negative inflection from Mr. W, I almost feel better about his going back to work next week. Then I wouldn’t feel guilty about her crying upsetting him, or about holding her and letting her sleep in my arms after a feeding (he says I can’t hold her all day and he’s right, and I hope I’m not “training” her to only be able to sleep when held, but the fact is that she wakes up in 15 mins or less when we put her down somewhere after she’s fallen asleep, whereas she’ll sleep on me for 2-3 hours, and THAT’S got me concerned, too). But more than that possible tiny bit of relief, I mostly feel scared. 12 hours is a long time to be alone with the baby when I’ve been so dependent on Mr. W to take over things. I won’t have those long morning showers when Mr. W is playing with Allie after I’d just fed her; there won’t be another parent to soothe her crying or change a diaper if I can’t get there fast enough; I can’t leave her to get online or clean up or throw the changed diaper away immediately. I can’t make food for myself and then eat it uninterrupted. Worst of all, I can’t leave the house with her if I need to. I still have some days left. I’m going to train myself to use the baby carrier so I can free up my hands at home, and to use the car seat/carrier/stroller.

Thank God my cousin Jennifer lives a few cities over and has offered many times to come by with her baby to help if I need it, and has told me to go over whenever I liked until she’s back to work after maternity leave.

I don’t know if this is a normal part of new motherhood, but I feel lots of guilt today. Allie’s been crying on and off all day, except when she’s eating or sleeping. I feel guilty when I’m not holding her. When I’m holding her and can’t get her to calm down, I feel guilty. I feel guilty for not cleaning up around the house more even though I’ve been constantly tidying up any chance I get. I feel guilty for not making healthy meals for the family. I feel guilty when I eat because I’m not doing baby duty when I’m eating. When I’m holding Allie I look around and feel guilty for the pacifier laying on her swing, the box of diapers and changer stuff not put away and out of view, the baby blanket not folded, the burp cloth laying strewn across the couch. When Mr. W has Allie in his arms I feel guilty for his taking baby duty even though I’m taking out the trash, loading or unloading the dishwasher, heating up some food for him or us to eat.

How do people survive the first month?!

My friend Laurel: So how does it feel to be a mommy?
Me: Surreal, like when I was in Italy and things there resembled normal stuff at home, but no one and nothing was actually familiar, even the stuff I recognized from other people’s stories and photos, and I felt out of place, jet-lagged, lost, insecure and unable to communicate with anyone. And I’m not sure the strange people really cared for me to be there.
…I hear it gets better. Haha!
Laurel: That’s exactly what it was like for me at the beginning! For a new sleep-deprived mom you are remarkably adapt at being eloquent! Good job! And it is totally strange, and it does get better but it never is the old version of “normal” ever again

I bet.

The Hospital
I didn’t have much expectations of motherhood, but so far it’s been surprisingly harder than I’d expected. The first two days in the hospital were a little tough because everything was new, I was learning how to cope with breastfeeding and interpreting a baby’s screams (at all hours), but the nurses tended to me and helped me with everything from latching to caring for my nether regions, and I didn’t have to find my own food or leave the room. Medical supplies and freebies were ample. Mr. W was always by my side, helping care for Allie. It wasn’t easy, but it was like new parenting with training wheels.

On Our Own
After we came home, I still didn’t quite have the hang of how to get her to latch right, and I already had painful cracking and blisters on both sides. The nurses and lactation consultants at the hospital said that based on the amount of diapers Allie was going through, I was doing just fine, I had “plenty of milk (colostrum, thick pre-runny-milk nutrition for a baby with a tiny stomach),” that sore nipples are normal, and it would be no problem for Allie to breastfeed despite those cracks and sores, so I kept at it, hoping things would improve on their own. They got worse. Allie cried through the night, I was in a lot of pain every time I nursed her, and it took forever to finish a feeding because she would constantly fall sleep and only suckle periodically. The second day we were home, we logged a total of 11 hours and 4 minutes spent breastfeeding, done over 12 feedings. (Mr. W has a great iPad app he keeps these records on.) She still cried for food often, was seemingly endlessly rooting even after she had just come off the breast minutes prior. I was grateful for our system that Mr. W automatically started — when she cried, Mr. W would pick her up from our cosleeper in our bedroom, check her diaper, change it if necessary as I prepared the Boppy or Brest Friend and myself for nursing, then hand her to me to nurse. After Allie finishes with one side, he’d take and burp her, then return her to me for the other side. After that, he’d take and burp her, swaddle her, and (try to) put her back to bed. We figured out that when she screamed bloody murder, it was because she needed changing, had gas, or was hungry. The problem is that she is ALWAYS hungry and rooting (mouth opening and closing in the air, head turning when she feels contact with a person to look for a breast, stuffing her fists in her mouth), and screaming. This is especially hard between 11pm and 2am when we are exhausted from being up all day and are not allowed to sleep, even after we’d just fed her. I had been fairly well-adjusted and optimistic, but Mr. W was troubled by Allie’s unproductive feeding, I picked it up, and suddenly got the baby blues over the weekend. I actually wondered whether I’d made a mistake and was incapable of being a good mother; I couldn’t even feed my child right.

Scary News, New Instructions
Our 2nd day home, thankfully, was also Allie’s first out-of-hospital pediatrician appointment. We were sent to an out-of-town doctor because that was the only place open on weekends (it was Sunday). Our major concern is that altho she was wetting and poopying on as many diapers as she should in the hospital — more than, even — as soon as she came home, she stopped. Day 3 of life means 3 wet, 3 poopy diapers. She had 1 each. Day 4 of life means 4 wet, 4 poopy diapers. She had 1 wet, no poopy. Day 5 was the appointment. She had 3 wet diapers that day but still no poopy since she left the hospital. That female doctor was a God-sent. Mr. W was at first lamenting the long drive to Garden Grove to see her when the pediatrician we’d selected is conveniently in our own town, but we left Garden Grove knowing we’d been given a blessing.
Allie weighed in that day at a shocking 7 lbs 5 oz. She’d lost 9.5% of her birthweight (normal is 7% weight loss, 10% means a serious problem), and was very dehydrated. She wasn’t pooping because her body had entered survival mode and was withholding every calorie, refusing to waste anything by expelling it. The constant screaming for food was because, the pediatrician explained, Allie was starving and wasting away, and her survival instinct was to fight it by demanding food constantly.
Given the dire situation, the doctor immediately brought a 2-oz disposable bottle of prepared baby formula, and had Mr. W feed it to her. She recommended no more than an ounce as supplement, but said this time to let Allie have as much as she wanted to get her back on track. Allie sucked up 2/3 of the bottle in less than 2 minutes. I was then put on the “10-10-10” feeding plan. Clearly my 11 hours per day feedings were unproductive; she was largely using me as a pacifier, wearing down my body but getting insufficient nutrition, so instead of marathon feedings, I was instructed to feed every 3 hours by putting her 10 minutes on one side, burp, 10 minutes on the other side, burp, then supplement with 10mL of baby formula. The doctor actually told me to spend the next 2 days giving Allie 1 oz of baby formula supplementation because her weight was so low, and hopefully that would catch her up for the first week of her life. I was to pump my breastmilk after each feeding to tell my body I need more supply, and I was to always breastfeed first so she doesn’t get too used to the ease of the bottle and start rejecting my breasts. What I pumped out would be used to supplement (by bottle) in lieu of the formula until my pumped supply is good enough that I could wean her off formula. What? I get to bottle feed in addition to breastfeed, breastfeed so many fewer hours, AND I got permission to use formula? This was going to fix my baby? For the first time, I cried. I didn’t know why I was crying, maybe relief, maybe because I was just tired and stressed for so long without a rest, but my crying made the pediatrician cry a little, too. That’s the mark of a great doctor, cuz by this time in my career, there’s likely no one who could walk into court and give me a sob story so great that it’d make ME give a crap about their case. We were sent home with a 6-pack of premixed 2-oz baby formula bottles, instructions, and best of all, hope for improvement.
The rest of that day (till midnight), Allie pooped 3 times and had 4 more wet diapers. I’d never celebrated poo before. There’s a first time for everything.

Improvement?
After that the graphs on Mr. W’s iPad app showing my feeding schedule looked much more normal. The feedings were at regular intervals, the durations much shorter. I’d spend an average of 3 hours per day nursing (in addition to Mr. W’s supplementing) instead of 11 hours. My husband has been amazing. I thought I’d be doing the nighttime stuff on my own since he’s more an early riser and needs his sleep, but instead, I was never, never alone. As frustrated as he was to not be able to sleep due to a screaming baby wanting to nurse every couple of hours, then refusing to go down to sleep for inexplicable reasons, he kept at it. Daily, around 10pm, 1am, 4am, 7am, 11am, 2pm, 4pm, 7pm, he’d stop what he was doing (including sleeping), change the screaming baby’s diaper, bring her to me to nurse, burp her in between sides, prepare 15-20 mL (30 mLs is 1 ounce) of previously pumped breastmilk, bottle-feed her as I pump, then sit with her comforting her until I was done pumping, help me with the pump (taking it apart, storing the milk), swaddle and put Allie to bed. And then we’d lay there in the dark freaking out with every gurgle and squeak, terrified it’d turn into screams of bloody murder as she refused to be put to sleep despite the fact that she was so comatose during the ends of feedings that I’d have to keep tickling and annoying her to keep her awake so that she could get enough milk in her system (apparently normal in newborns). We decided to switch the order we did things to see if we could take advantage of her food comas. Instead of changing and swaddling her after the feedings, which would seem to wake her up, we did all those things before she switched to the second breast so that once she dropped off, we could put her to bed immediately. Sometimes that helped, but only sometimes.
I cried a couple of times at our usual most difficult stretch of 11:30pm to 2am, when she would just stay awake and scream and cry despite the feeding she’d just had. Mr. W comforted me, told me to stop apologizing to him, that we were in this together. I just felt like I brought such a difficulty and nuisance into his lifestyle with this baby whom I can’t handle on my own. The number of diapers he’d changed vs. the number I’d changed was at a ratio of something like 20 to 1. Maybe 25 to 1. And he was so tired and aggravated, especially during that stretch. Despite that, he kept getting up, every time, telling me to take care of myself, to rest a few minutes and ready the breastfeeding pillows. And then he’d bring me water with a bendy straw as I nursed, and Allie would gulp as I gulped.
Allie was wetting regularly now, 8 or more diapers a day, but still no poopy since the ones after the formula bottle feed of Sunday’s pediatrician appointment.

Lactation Clinic to the Rescue
Allie’s 7th day of life, I had an appointment at the lactation clinic at the hospital I birthed Allie. Mr. W came with me and was allowed to stay in there as long as no other women came in for their consultation, since we breastfeed in there. The lactation nurse weighed Allie naked and there was already a huge improvement. Allie had gained 8 ounces in the past 2 days since the pediatrician appointment, a bigger improvement than the nurse, already familiar with Allie’s medical chart, had hoped for. She was now 7 lbs 13 oz. The nurse then instructed me to breastfeed from one side. She cringed when she saw my nipples and said I was a trooper, most people would’ve given up before they looked like this. She noted I wasn’t complaining. Complain? Because I couldn’t seem to do the basic thing needed for my child’s survival? That just made me more diligent, to force my body to do what I need it to. Who has time to complain? The nurse took Allie and weighed her during that feed, announced
Allie had taken in half an ounce. She returned Allie to me, taught me to fix my latch on the same breast and to nurse properly. Apparently I’m not aggressive enough with the baby, causing her to latch too shallowly (painful). I ended up putting an ounce of milk from each breast into Allie, and Allie was fat, dumb and happy after that. She slept the entire way home. The nurse said by the looks of things, my transition milk (more volume, less thick) had come in just that day, and I can stop using the formula to supplement now. She said to pump only when necessary or just once in awhile to give my nipples a break while Allie’s bottle-fed with pumped milk, and said I can now supplement with my own milk exclusively.
I asked her about the screaming bloody murder and refusing to sleep thing, despite falling asleep all the time during nursing, and the nurse said Allie’s a survivor who fights hard to let us know that she’s not done with her feeding yet, she didn’t get her 2 oz of food, and to not give up on feeding her. That’s all the screaming. As far as the rooting right after she eats, that’s just her looking for a little topper to soothe her into sleep; if I give it to her it should be minutes before she drifts off into the food coma again. And the nurse revealed another reason for her cries: in addition to needing diaper changes, food, and to be burped or relieved of gas discomforts, sometimes the cries are just for a little cuddle after she eats. So if I don’t see a dirty diaper, she’s not rooting or she just ate, and I couldn’t figure out what’s wrong, just holding and rocking her calms her pretty quickly if she just wants a cuddle. Swaddling also helps. Mr. W is now an expert swaddler.
The problem left is that altho I now know I can produce 2 oz of formula total, the amount the lactation nurse said a baby this age needs to drink at each feeding, I don’t know how much I’m putting in her because I don’t have a baby scale at home. So how do I know I’m supplementing enough? How long do I keep her at each breast?

The Turn
I had been pumping 8-15 mL of milk after my feedings since I started pumping 4 days ago, but I decided last night to skip the 10:30pm session of breastfeeding and pump exclusively as Mr. W bottle-fed Allie 2 oz of formula (which we thought would knock her out like it did at the pediatrician appointment). That would get us sleep through the usual difficult period until her next feeding at 1:30a or 2a, it would give my breasts a break as they were finally starting to heal, and I would find out how much milk I’m producing and better estimate how much she’s taking in from me directly. If I produced 1 oz on each side (as proven I could at the lactation clinic), and I could still pump out 15 mL (1/2 oz) after she’s done feeding, I’d know she’d only gotten 1.5 oz from me directly, and that the correct supplementation is half an ounce. Plus we’d now have a little stockpile of breastmilk to supp with in our fridge.
Several things were surprising last night. One, Allie drained about 1.5 oz of formula (Mr. W accidentally spilled some from the 2-oz bottle) in record time, he added half an ounce more of breastmilk to supplement for 2 oz total, and she still rooted and screamed and cried afterwards, refusing to go to sleep. Maybe she she got more from nursing than just the physical milk. They sat with me as I pumped, and the rhythmic machine sounds soothed her and she eventually dozed off. Two, I pumped out 55 mL from one side and 45 mL from the other for a total of 100 mL; that’s close to 4 ounces. That’s an incredible amount of milk for someone’s first baby, nursing for just a week. (Happy 1 Week birthday, little baby! Here’s 4 oz of breastmilk as your gift.)
Also surprising, it was still a miserable time slot in the first part of the night, and so miserable that I even nursed her after pumping. She dozed as usual, but we’d put her down, she’d start breathing funny, I’d internally panic and wake up every time I heard anything from her, and sure enough, she was up and screaming bloody murder in seconds, rooting again. How could she be rooting? She just drank an enormous amount of formula, way thicker and longer-lasting than breastmilk. Mr. W would sigh, get up, rub his sore back, unswaddle her, check her diaper, change and/or reswaddle her, try to rock her, as she wailed her head off. I found myself guilt-ridden again, apologetic, and told him I don’t mind doing feedings 2 hours apart instead of 3 hours because maybe this is her body’s way of getting her over the starvation hump. I offered to take her and rock her, but he told me to try to sleep and give my breasts a break as he took care of it. I finally convinced him 2 hour increment feedings are as normal as 3 hour increment feedings if a baby is to be fed between 8-12 times a day, and that I didn’t mind doing it. He relented, because at least during the feedings, he gets 15-20 minutes per side to snooze. He still took over the burping in between sides and the logging of the information into his iPad. I thank him for being here, I apologize for being so dependent on him for help; he says he feels bad he can’t feed her in addition to all that he already does to give me more of a break.
I finally realized while studying Allie in the wee hours that last night, she seemed to make throaty sleep apnea sounds and wake up crying so often because she was using a Boppy Noggin Nest head support thing that we’d just gotten yesterday. When we followed the recommended guideline of sleeping on her back on a firm mattress, no head support, she would turn and watch us as she got drowsy, then turn away from us toward the dark wall as she slept. With the Noggin Nest, she couldn’t turn her head and it seemed to affect her breathing. As she screamed, I picked her up and cradled her to me, rocked her to sleep easily enough, and looked curiously at the tags on the Boppy Noggin Nest. It said to never use for playard, crib, bed; only use when the baby is in a recline position, such as in a swing or a rocker. I removed the Noggin Nest and the rest of the night, she slept more soundly. Mr. W called me a genius.
This morning, Allie made her first poop since Sunday, and it was a double-sized load or more. Hopefully this means her body was just cluster-feeding to push her over the starvation mode she had been in, and now she could sleep longer knowing she was going to get adequate milk.

Grandma & Grandpa’s Support
My parents or at least my mom has been coming by most of this week with freshly cooked food prepared in accordance with a Chinese model of proper postnatal nutrition. Things were made in the proper order with proper organic ingredients to do things like replenish my blood, cleanse my body, shrink my uterus, get my milk supply to come in, in that order. Daily during the Thanksgiving break and weekend, she’d cook in the morning and bring different dishes for me and Mr. W in tupperware containers to make sure we didn’t have to cook, then she and my dad would spend a little time with their granddaughter while Mr. W and I ate. Now she refers to herself as “grandma” when talking to Allie (usually misleadingly asleep) and she seems happy with that title. Mom revealed that my dad had said that he misses Allie when he’s not with her. While they were here the first time, my dad came excitedly into the dining room where Mr. W and I were eating, to report that Allie turns her head in her sleep. Then my mom followed later to report that she smiled in her sleep and that it was so cute. They are gonna be one of those people who have boring grandparent stories to tell their friends, but they’ll tell them very enthusiastically.
Sure my mom nags me about having a window open or Mr. W taking Allie into the backyard for a few moments because drafts are deadly to babies and to postnatal women, and she got on me for not wearing slippers in our house and walking on cool travertine tile floors (which I ignored), but at least she’s easily distracted now by even a small gas expression on a baby. We’re very grateful for their help, eating fresh homemade food prepared daily.

Crossing Fingers
Oh, and Allie’s umbilical cord fell off this afternoon, revealing a round little white belly button. We were told to expect that in 2 weeks, not 1. I’m gonna cross my fingers that this is a good sign of her progressing development, and that tonight will go better without the crying bloody murder thing between 11pm and 2am.

I’ve had multiple friends (all female) ask me for my birthing story. I used to be all queasy about birthing stories, but ever since we decided to get pregnant, I had been very interested. It may have been from an educational standpoint. Anyway, here is mine, written in pieces over the course of the past few days (I didn’t have much time available in productive blocks). A timeline:
* Wednesday, 11/23, contractions started (~3am), entered hospital (~8:30 a.m.) and had baby (4:57 p.m.) (I was pretty happy I started in the wee hours of the morning, labored through the day with sunlight streaming through the windows and we weren’t feeling like we were up when we weren’t supposed to be, and I was done by the end of a regular workhour day. It was perfect. Oh! And I didn’t cuss, didn’t fly into verbal or physical attacks on Mr. W. I pretty much felt in rational control the entire time. [I just asked Mr. W if he was glad I didn’t cuss him out or scratch him to death and he said, “Mm-hmm! You were very pleasant to be with, as aggravating as it may have been to have me keep telling you to do stuff like breathe and count…”])
* Thursday, 11/24, stayed in hospital (we opted to stay overnight Thursday night cuz the nurses and staff were so helpful; otherwise they would’ve discharged us after 24 hours, since everyone checked out as healthy)
* Friday, 11/25, discharged early afternoon (~2pm) and came home for the first time with Allie

WARNING: This is long AND graphic; if you’re one of those queasy-about-birthing-story people, don’t click “more.” Otherwise, welcome to my last Wednesday.
(more…)

Hooray! I made it through all my scheduled days of work without incident, and am starting maternity leave after today! With a due date of 11/21 (11 days away) and a clairvoyantly-predicted delivery date of 11/13ish (3 days away, eek!), I know I really pushed it. But I had wanted as many days home as I could after Allie comes out, not sitting around watching TV while she incubates in here. I figured early on in my pregnancy, since I wasn’t very affected by all the pregnancy symptoms people complain about (my hair texture/thickness didn’t even change, altho I think my skin actually got clearer thanks to a lack of PMS the past 10 months), that I could work until as close to the end of my pregnancy as I dared. Looking back, the worst of it all was just the nausea that my occasional not eating well induced in the first trimester (not that I ever threw up), and the current finger joint pain and upper abdominal pain (caused by Allie’s recent favorite places to lodge her foot while I was sleeping) I’d wake up with.

Until last nite. I’d been having random minor lower abdominal cramps, feeling like menstrual cramps. I would give it a 2 on the pain scale — annoying and distracting but not rising to any caliber where I’d even be concerned with it. But last nite as I tried to sleep, these cramps were persistent, strong, and joined by lower back pain. Half-awake, I thought to myself that if this continued, I wasn’t sure if I could make it to my last scheduled day of work in the morning. At some point, everything subsided and I fell easily into sleep until the morning. I did dream that I had these awful sensations at work and had to leave early. (I still think that if I have to deal with the stresses of work in my dreams, I oughta get overtime.) I remember saying to Mr. W in the midst of these cramps, “I think she’s coming this weekend, if not tomorrow.”

Yesterday at work, I was in the restroom and studied my engorged-looking tummy in the mirror. That old Ambrosia song popped into my head and I thought, looking at the giant bump, “…she IS the ‘Biggest Part of Me.’ ” I googled the lyrics, and yup, looks appropriate when you think about it being applied to my baby girl. I think this’ll be our song.

BIGGEST PART OF ME – Ambrosia

Sunrise, there’s a new sun arisin’
In your eyes, I can see a new horizon
Realize, that will keep me realizin’
You’re the biggest part of me

Stay the night, Need your lovin’ here beside me
Shine the light, Need you close enough to guide me
For all my life, I’ve been hopin’ you would find me
You’re the biggest part of me

(Chorus:)
Well, make a wish, baby
Well and I will make it come true
Make a list, baby
Of the things I’ll do for you
Ain’t no risk now
In lettin’ my love rain down on you
So we could wash away the past
So that we may start anew

Rainbow, risin’ over my shoulder
Love flows, gettin’ better as we’re older
All I know, all I want to do is hold her
She’s the life that breathes in me
Forever, got a feelin’ that forever
Together, we are gonna stay together
For better, for me there’s nothin’ better
You’re the biggest part of me

(Chorus)

More than an easy feelin’
She brings joy to me
How can I tell you what it means to me
Flow like a lazy river
For an eternity
I’ve finally found someone who believes in me
And I’ll never leave

Oh, not to doubt now
Mmmm, make life grand

(Chorus)

Beside me, need your lovin’ here beside me
To guide me, keep it close enough to guide me
Inside of me, from the fears that are inside of me
You’re the biggest part of me

Forever, got a feelin’ that forever
Together, we are gonna stay together
Forever, from now until forever
You’re the biggest part of me
You’re the life that breathes in me
You’re the biggest part of me

You changed my life
You made it right
And I’ll be a servant to you
For the rest of my life
You’re the biggest part of me

(she IS the life that breathes and hiccups in me, and I’m sure she’ll make me her servant for long to come. 🙂 )

Today marks the first day that Rebecca said the baby might come. Hubby tried to get me to be more proactive in getting her out this weekend, trying to drag me on walks, getting me to sit on the birthing ball, etc. I’m more of the mind that I’m not totally ready for her to come yet, because my maternity leave doesn’t start until after 11/10, and there are still a few things pending in the courtroom I’d rather not leave for some random person to come in and mess up.

This weekend, we laundered all her washcloths, hooded towels, crib sheets, socks and 0-3 month clothes and I organized them and put them away (I organized and put away the larger clothes, too, but didn’t take the tags off in case exchanges would be needed in the future). Hopefully then I won’t have to do laundry the first few weeks we’re home from the hospital. I semi-packed for myself (and for her) for the hospital, Mr. W and I went out after work last week and bought all the essentials on our registry that we didn’t get as gifts from the showers (some coworker friends threw me a work shower on Halloween, photos forthcoming), and this weekend, those things were all set up and ready to go. The portable playard we got is a 6-in-one; what we need it for most immediately is the changer and cosleeper, so that was set up this weekend and placed next to my side of the bed. The cosleeper is at the perfect height for the bed, and we packed the pockets next to the changer with diapers, burp cloths, receiving blankets, etc. The changers, bassinet and cribs are now lined with waterproof liners under clean sheets. Her room’s been long-since done. I felt great about everything.

And then my parents came by to visit on Saturday and my mom had an endless stream of criticisms about how our house is not big enough for all the stuff we have and that we should return a ton of Allie’s clothes (received as gifts) and furniture (she thinks the crib, too big to fit in our room, is unnecessarily redundant with the playard/cosleeper currently in our room) and complained that we finally got the living room cleared up (we put the ottoman upstairs at the foot of our bed, mounted our flatscreen TV onto the wall, which cleared up a corner for the xmas tree) but then immediately cluttered it again with a tree that’s too big (our high ceilings provided for the 8′ tree Mr. W wanted for Allie’s first Christmas, and he had wanted to go taller, too, but the diameter of the base would be too big), she didn’t like the tree in the corner of the living room where the cutout for the windows are, she thought a giant tree should be in the center of the room, and I said that’d be a giant obstruction, and she said hence our living room is not big enough for a tree of that size, etc. I overheard the stepkidlet ask her if she’s excited about her first grandchild coming, and heard my mom respond, as she did at the baby shower that Ann threw a couple months ago, “Not really. It’s not MY baby.” (The stepkidlet responded, “Well, I’M excited.”) Then when Mr. W excitedly showed them our new soda making machine (so we can have carbonated water without drinking soda or buying flavored Perrier), my mom took a sip and said it tasted bad, not sweet like soda (that’s the point), and then Mr. W showed them the new Keurig coffee maker he got that uses those single-cup pods that are available everywhere, my mom said we buy too much unnecessary stuff. I think hubby’s “toys” (new acquisitions these couple of weeks include the xmas tree, Allie’s stuff, soda maker, pod coffee maker [but it cost $5 as a refurbished item he got thru a coworker’s connection] and an ultra-fancy coffee machine costing in the thousands retail being delivered today [which he paid half-price for]) are a little excessive, too, but we aren’t going broke, and they make him happy, cuz let’s face it, we aren’t gonna be splurging on much once Allie gets here. And I wouldn’t go around someone’s home where they’ve already purchased these things and rant about how everything isn’t worth the money or the space and should be returned. It wasn’t like I was trying to decide whether to get something and I asked for her opinion. Basically, the evening was once again an exercise in holding my tongue.

I didn’t intend to go off on a rant like this when I started this post, and the evening did get better. We treated my parents to French food for dinner and they really enjoyed the savory crepes and French onion soup (both of which they’d never had), and they had even agreed to try escargot, but for the first time that we were aware of, the restaurant ran out of escargot. 🙁

I keep having paranoia about, what if Allie’s relationship with me ends up being like my relationship with my mother? 🙁 🙁

(…like our late President FDR’s Fireside Chats, as I’m likely drinking as much coffee as he was sitting in front of an actual fireplace on air.)

WORK: I turned in my doctor’s note about the driving and public transportation restriction yesterday. The “powers that be” here at work kept me in the building, telling me to cover for a late-arriving clerk in Family Law in the morning. I went in there and was a fish out of water, but I was going to fudge my way through it. Luckily, a floater clerk heard about my being in there and came up of his own volition to relieve me, since he was trained in Family Law and I wasn’t. I totally owe my awesome coworkers. I ended up getting caught up on desk work in my own courtroom. We’ll see what management decides to do with me today.

PREGNANCY: I’d always wondered why pregnant women rub their hands and fingertips repeatedly on their swollen bellies. I’ve never gone up to a pregnant belly-rubbing woman and asked, but I’d filed the question away in my mental filing cabinet in a section called, “You’ll find out when you get older.” My mom started that file for me when I was very young. “You don’t need to ask me about grown-up stuff. You’ll find out/understand when you get older.” I’d put tons of stuff in there in the past, like the lyrics to “Star-Spangled Banner,” or why it was inappropriate to share a bed with one’s stepdad (thank you, soap operas that play when 6-year-olds are home from school). Now that I’m 6 months pregnant and definitely “popped,” I pulled out that belly-rubbing question again. I still don’t get it.

PHILOSOPHICAL PONDERINGS: I’m having an e-mail conversation with Dardy, and we’re discussing expectations leading to disappointment. This applies to anything, from my let-down trying a Magnum ice cream bar for the first time after seeing the most incredible advertising for them, to his meeting people face-to-face for the first time. His perspective is that generally, he’s learned to stop having expectations because those can skew how one perceives an otherwise perfectly fine situation. He brought up as an example, “that damn 99% rottentomatoes rating made me think that _toy story 3_ would blow my mind, but it didn’t, so i walked out disappointed despite it being a perfectly decent movie.” So it made me think a little.
I think anticipation is natural and kinda fun, but I do agree that expectations ruin a lot of things. We as humans can’t be so cocky as to think we know exactly what would and what should happen in our paths. When we get cocky, the Universe decides to show us a thing or two. 😉 I think rolling with the punches is an excellent skill, as with being able to see beyond the mismatch of expectation-to-reality, so that instead of griping and being upset that things weren’t as we’d wanted, we can see the beauty of things being MORE than we’d anticipated. There are learning experiences everywhere, and not everything is a black mark just because it wasn’t what we’d expected. That’s one of those things I seem completely incapable of teaching some people, as those people are continually aggravated by things not being exactly as they’d expected/wanted them to turn out. I can’t seem to make them see that the way things do turn out is still okay, and in some ways better, and in some ways needed in order to improve oneself. I think one has to be open-minded and introspective to see that.

Flip Flop Girl gave birth today. Congrats, Flip Flop Girl (Christi) and Wilco (Mike)! Kyden gets a baby…uh…sister? Brother? They posted photos of the baby wrapped up burrito-style, but still won’t tell us the gender! By the way, the parents themselves didn’t know until the new baby showed up, having instructed their doctors not to reveal the gender to them on ultrasound and other test results.

About 10 hours ago, when Christi was in the hospital (actually, she’s still in the hospital), she posted a question on her social networking site. “Drugs or no drugs? …that is the question.” I know that when she was in labor with Kyden, she had tried to hold off on getting the epidural as long as she could, hoping that if she stalled in getting to the hospital, etc, it’d be too late to administer the epidural so it wouldn’t be a choice she’d have to make. However, the labor ended up being so painful that she took the option for pain control once she was in the hospital. I don’t know which way she ended up going with Baby #2, but as she was laboring away, her question brought about a flurry of opinions online. 10 women (and actually, 1 man) emphatically encouraged her to get the drugs. My position is that she should do what she wants and make the decision based on her personal reasons, but that as she is aware, my decision for myself is to go without to avoid potential side effects to mom and baby. Apparently this is a hot topic and made some people unhappy with me, and argue that the possible side effects I briefly referred to (spinal fluid leaks, colicky baby, less responsive baby, lower IQ later on in life, prolonged labor, which are based on studies I’d read before I made my preliminary decision) are not conclusively proven. (I later elaborated on what I’d referred to by quoting study results, but I’ll save readers the long quotes.) One friend made a point of telling me details about her own labor experience, which sounded painful and atypical in that she had complications with her delivery, which resulted in a long labor ending up with epidural and c-section. Her logic was, would I opt for open-heart surgery without pain medication if I was told I’d recover faster afterwards? Also, is it really necessary to have super-smart Einstein children anyway, even if it were proven conclusively that epidurals do affect the baby’s future mental development? The other women’s logic in response to Christi’s question were based on things like “why suffer?”, “no need to traumatize yourself with screaming pain.” I think my friend’s situation is something separate, but the other women’s reasons are very mother’s-comfort-oriented (which is the point of administering the typical epidural, anyway.)

It sounded like from the tone of my friend, who shared her painful labor details with me to make her points, that she took offense from thinking I’m condemning mothers who get epidurals, told me not to “knock it,” and defended her son’s IQ (in that her labor is not responsible for a baby’s IQ). Another mother on Christi’s conversation thread who used an epidural also defended her toddler’s IQ by saying how many words he knows at his age.

I get where they’re coming from: they feel that someone (me) saying she doesn’t want an epidural because it can potentially negatively affect the kid’s development is the same as me saying because they used epidurals, I’m saying they are bad moms or have dumb kids, but that’s not what I’m saying at all. I said multiple times on Christi’s conversation thread that it’s each mother’s personal decision. Some women have paralyzing fear of pain and WOULD be traumatized without major pain control. Others have extreme situations, like my friend, which cause doctors to have to intervene and perform emergency surgery so that the mother and baby wouldn’t be endangered. Others have low pain tolerance, period. These people understandably get epidurals because the benefits outweigh the cost.

What I’m saying is, I’m not one of those women, unless something unforeseen happens during delivery and the doctors have to intervene (in which case I’d give them carte blanche to do whatever is necessary to save lives). I’m someone with high pain tolerance, who doesn’t take pain relievers generally, so assuming delivery is normal, I would make the choice to go without. Like I told my friend:
“I’m not knocking it. She asked for for or against, and she knows my position for my personal decision. I explained that it was a personal decision for both her and for me and that I’m not telling her to do or not to do. I’m not saying across the board there is no reason for someone to take pain meds for any given situation. Obviously your situation called for pretty severe intervention or it would’ve been impossible. Open heart surgery is not the same thing as natural childbirth where it’s an option to go natural or not. (BTW, I don’t consider your situation to be an option, it was a requirement given what was happening during your labor.)
Given a choice when an epidural is being administered simply to take away mom’s pain during labor, my decision is that given the risks involved in an epidural for both mom and for baby, I would rather take the pain to prevent the POSSIBILITY of problems. I didn’t say the studies were conclusive or that I believe every woman who uses an epidural is wrong or will have a negative outcome with her child. If someone has pain phobia or high sensitive to pain/shock/trauma, obviously it would be better to have an epidural. I am not one of those people. I choose to suck it up in order to give even a smidgeon of extra possibility of advantage to this child. To me, all the comments of “why suffer?” do not hold a candle to anything I can do for the benefit of this child. I will suffer, I will sacrifice, I will go natural, I will get over it. That isn’t important to me. This doesn’t mean it isn’t important to other women who do NOT want to feel pain if anyone can help it, or women in your situation who have complications and need intervention. But like I said repeatedly, it is a personal decision, it was yours, it is Christi’s, and it is mine.”

Stats show more than 50% of laboring women opt for epidurals. Where are the other 50%? There was ONE woman on Christi’s conversation string who opted to go without an epidural. She said she liked being able to get up right away afterwards (epidurals numb the bottom half so that walking afterwards isn’t going to happen) and liked that she didn’t need an IV, but that others told her that it was worth it to them to sacrifice those things just to avoid labor pain. I don’t disagree with any of them on their decisions; it was their decision for their delivery style. But it’s not my decision. I don’t know why it seems that women who use drugs seem to want (pretty badly based on other responses to Christi’s question) other women to use drugs, but those who don’t really don’t care despite having their own reasons for their choice.

Besides, if a doctor could guarantee me that my child’s health would magically benefit if I got open-heart surgery without meds, I would seriously consider doing just that.

Something new I read in re-researching this today, some other study found a correlation between epidural use and that child’s future (teen/adult) addiction to drugs. I tried to find this study to be more accurate in saying what kind of drug addiction, etc, but couldn’t find the study, so for now I’ll disregard it. Another new thing: studies seem to point to correlation between epidurals and hyperactivity in kids for up to the first 7 years of their lives. This is the stuff that scares me, altho I realize that website isn’t exactly impartial.