I am the first person to complain about nursing. I don't like the time it takes. I don't like having to suffer through colds and flu without over-the-counter relief. I hate worrying about using prescriptions that are "unknown" as to whether or not they will affect a baby who is nursing. I don't like sleeping in nursing bras and I really don't like that my sex drive is non-existent.
At Alex's wellness appointment this week, I found out that my "short cake" was just a little too short. In fact, so small, she's barely on the growth chart at all. She has had NO weight gain since her last appointment. None. Not even a little. The poor girl has been starving these last few weeks as I have not been making enough milk to keep her fed. Only recently did she start to complain and I started to get clued in that she might not be getting enough.
Of course, my initial concern after her appointment was getting her fed. So we started to defrost the vast stores of breast milk and supplemented her every feeding. Initially, I tried to nurse her and then give her a bottle. After several very long days of nursing, bottle feeding, and then pumping, I realized I was probably putting in a lot of effort for not a lot of reward. While I was pumping as much as four whole ounces, she was consuming somewhere between twelve and fourteen. It was becoming obvious that the supply and demand were no longer in sync. (I blame the last two months of almost continuous illness but that is neither here nor there at this point.)
I scoured the web and tried many of the suggestions. Breast milk cookies (true story), fenugreek, copious amounts of water, etc. Nothing seemed to increase the supply. I spent most of the weekend agonizing over whether or not to keep nursing. Should I keep trying to nurse in the hopes that the milk will come back or do I accept that we are done with this stage and try to let it go? I finally decided that this was probably it for us. As much as I hate to admit defeat, my body just isn't cooperating with me at all. I didn't think it was fair to Alex to subject her to the ongoing aggravation of trying to get milk when there isn't any or to put myself through the ongoing feelings of disappointment that I was no longer able to meet her needs.
So it is with a heavy heart that I say we are all done nursing. I continue to struggle with this decision, alternating between feeling guilty that I'm just "not trying hard enough" and sad that I won't get to experience that bond anymore. My optimistic side wants to make a list of all of the great things about not nursing anymore and give myself a bright side to look towards, but my melancholic side just wants to wallow a bit longer and grieve for the stage that is over. I can't explain why something that felt like such a drag is now suddenly so hard to let go, but it is.
Showing posts with label Alexandra the Great. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alexandra the Great. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Surrender
I wasn't going to go back upstairs. I had finally gotten both children in bed and just fixed myself a large glass of water (which I had been craving all afternoon) when I heard the wailing. The baby that had previously been such a glorious sleeper/napper had turned quite obstinate following her recent bouts of illness. So the nap battles had begun with her. She would doze in the chair and promptly cry once deposited in the crib. Which then resulted in the requisite five minutes of waiting, a return to her room, a pat and some soothing words and then another exit followed by more tears. I am pleased to say that she hadn't taken more than 2-3 pats to settle herself at any given point.
I debated following the 5-minute interval strategy. Had my toddler opponent not finally just given in on his own nap battle, I might have done it. As it was, I didn't want to sacrifice one nap for the other. I sighed and trudged back up the stairs. Initially, I entered the room and attempted to pat and comfort without giving in to the obvious desire of being held and rocked. This worked for all of forty-five seconds when it then became clear to my daughter that I was not picking her up. She decided this was unacceptable and let me know quite audibly.
Back to the chair we went. She squirmed and smiled at me. She pulled my hair and grabbed at my shirt and tried to start up a conversation. I was resilient. Nap was not going to be skipped (and also - OW, I need to get my hair cut!). So we rocked. And rocked. And rocked. Slowly, her breathing slowed and leveled. Her body became a heavy weight on mine. And I was able (with the precision of one diffusing a nuclear bomb) to maneuver her back in to her crib. Finally - two sleeping children. Sometimes to reach victory, all we have to do is surrender.
I debated following the 5-minute interval strategy. Had my toddler opponent not finally just given in on his own nap battle, I might have done it. As it was, I didn't want to sacrifice one nap for the other. I sighed and trudged back up the stairs. Initially, I entered the room and attempted to pat and comfort without giving in to the obvious desire of being held and rocked. This worked for all of forty-five seconds when it then became clear to my daughter that I was not picking her up. She decided this was unacceptable and let me know quite audibly.
Back to the chair we went. She squirmed and smiled at me. She pulled my hair and grabbed at my shirt and tried to start up a conversation. I was resilient. Nap was not going to be skipped (and also - OW, I need to get my hair cut!). So we rocked. And rocked. And rocked. Slowly, her breathing slowed and leveled. Her body became a heavy weight on mine. And I was able (with the precision of one diffusing a nuclear bomb) to maneuver her back in to her crib. Finally - two sleeping children. Sometimes to reach victory, all we have to do is surrender.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Pink Eye and Easter Dye
Heavenly Sarah tagged me in a fun post and I really want to complete it but the baby is starting to shift so I needed to get this down first. Stay tuned for the "fun" post...
This has been a month of illness for us. Such that I feel a need to hang a "quarantine" sign on the front door. It started right before Ben's birthday with my husband bringing home some hideous illness that he is certain he contracted on an airplane. Of course we share everything, most especially germs. So just as one of us was getting better, another was felled by illness leading to a very long week trying to get the house cleaned for festivities and nursing sick children and adults. The day before the party, I remember bemoaning my existence and wishing fervently that I had planned ahead and hired a cleaning service. In any case, we rallied, healed enough to celebrate with Ben and everyone got mostly better.
I still had a bit of a runny nose and some congestion which I attributed to allergies. So, I started taking Claritin and made an appointment for an allergy test. Then Ben started coughing. Just a dry cough. At bed time. And nap time. And when he woke up. And Alex started to get stuffy again. So we all made a trip to the doctor two weeks ago. Alex had a cold and Ben had walking pneumonia and was giving an antibiotic. I called the husband and he said he was also feeling icky and thought he would stop at the doc on his way home "just in case". He was diagnosed with a sinus infection and given an antibiotic. He came home, I tagged out and went to the doc myself and was also given an antibiotic for a sinus infection. By that evening, I had a fever of 102 and was shaking so bad I could barely sit at the table to eat dinner. I went to bed shortly after the children.
I spent the majority of the week in a feverish haze that started to lift as the weekend rolled around. And that was when I woke up with my eye crusted shut and went BACK to the doctor. I was given antibiotics in the form of eye drops this time...for PINK EYE! I've never had pink eye in my life (that I know of). I was told it was caused from my sinus infection and cautioned on the highly contagious nature. I came home and scrubbed every surface of my house. I laundered every sheet, blanket, towel, etc. I washed my hands to the point of cracking and bleeding.
In spite of my obsessive cleaning, four days later (while we had family visiting from out of town, of course), Alex was diagnosed with pink eye as well. Again with the washing, sterilizing, spraying, cleansing and (ouch!) hands. Again with the eye drops. The doctor also gave me different eye drops since mine didn't seem to be working as fast and another antibiotic because I also had an ear infection!
Everything cleared just in time for Easter. The relatives went home. The kids improved. No one else has gotten pink eye (knock wood) and we were able to celebrate with our friends. We colored eggs, had egg hunts, ate a big yummy dinner and attended worship. The weekend felt a bit thrown together and I am certain that if I had been more functional in the days prior, I would probably have thought/planned many more things to do. As it was, it was a still a beautiful weekend and a lovely Easter.
(Hopefully one day soon, I will stop obsessively peering into my children's eyes for signs of illness).
This has been a month of illness for us. Such that I feel a need to hang a "quarantine" sign on the front door. It started right before Ben's birthday with my husband bringing home some hideous illness that he is certain he contracted on an airplane. Of course we share everything, most especially germs. So just as one of us was getting better, another was felled by illness leading to a very long week trying to get the house cleaned for festivities and nursing sick children and adults. The day before the party, I remember bemoaning my existence and wishing fervently that I had planned ahead and hired a cleaning service. In any case, we rallied, healed enough to celebrate with Ben and everyone got mostly better.
I still had a bit of a runny nose and some congestion which I attributed to allergies. So, I started taking Claritin and made an appointment for an allergy test. Then Ben started coughing. Just a dry cough. At bed time. And nap time. And when he woke up. And Alex started to get stuffy again. So we all made a trip to the doctor two weeks ago. Alex had a cold and Ben had walking pneumonia and was giving an antibiotic. I called the husband and he said he was also feeling icky and thought he would stop at the doc on his way home "just in case". He was diagnosed with a sinus infection and given an antibiotic. He came home, I tagged out and went to the doc myself and was also given an antibiotic for a sinus infection. By that evening, I had a fever of 102 and was shaking so bad I could barely sit at the table to eat dinner. I went to bed shortly after the children.
I spent the majority of the week in a feverish haze that started to lift as the weekend rolled around. And that was when I woke up with my eye crusted shut and went BACK to the doctor. I was given antibiotics in the form of eye drops this time...for PINK EYE! I've never had pink eye in my life (that I know of). I was told it was caused from my sinus infection and cautioned on the highly contagious nature. I came home and scrubbed every surface of my house. I laundered every sheet, blanket, towel, etc. I washed my hands to the point of cracking and bleeding.
In spite of my obsessive cleaning, four days later (while we had family visiting from out of town, of course), Alex was diagnosed with pink eye as well. Again with the washing, sterilizing, spraying, cleansing and (ouch!) hands. Again with the eye drops. The doctor also gave me different eye drops since mine didn't seem to be working as fast and another antibiotic because I also had an ear infection!
Everything cleared just in time for Easter. The relatives went home. The kids improved. No one else has gotten pink eye (knock wood) and we were able to celebrate with our friends. We colored eggs, had egg hunts, ate a big yummy dinner and attended worship. The weekend felt a bit thrown together and I am certain that if I had been more functional in the days prior, I would probably have thought/planned many more things to do. As it was, it was a still a beautiful weekend and a lovely Easter.
(Hopefully one day soon, I will stop obsessively peering into my children's eyes for signs of illness).
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Our Time
The room is dim with the sunlight of mid-morning seeping through the cracks of the window shade. The only sounds are her soft breathing and the creak of the chair rocking back and forth. I snuggle her close to me, watching her eyelids flutter and then finally close. I relish the weight of her on my chest, in my arm, marveling at her size - how much she's grown in just a few short months. I know that I am supposed to put her in the crib "drowsy but awake" but I can't always bring myself to do it. The period of time that she will allow me to hold her close and rock her to sleep is so small and gets shorter by the day. This is our time together. Just her and I. No phone ringing, no email, no brother needing attention, no conversations needing to be had. Just us.
Later that evening, in another room, in another chair, he curls his legs up in to my lap and rests his head on my shoulder as best he can. Again I marvel at how much he's grown. How he used to fit into my arms and on my shoulder with no difficulty at all. How he now dangles off the chair and what used to be chubby, baby softness is all arms and legs and energy. We rock and we talk about our day. What was fun, what was new. We say our prayers. We thank God for all of our blessings. We listen to music and exchange "pokono" (Eskimo) kisses and squeezes. Gone are the days of rocking him to sleep. But still I linger just a little longer. Exchanging one more joke, one more story. Enjoying the feel of his head on my shoulder, the smell of his hair. This is our time. Just he and I. No crying sister, no "in a minute"s, no tantrums. Just us.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Nursing Sucks...pun intended
I don't like breast feeding. There. I said it. Bring on the judgement. I know I'm supposed to like it. I am supposed to feel these warm feelings of connection with my baby when she nurses. And when she was younger, there was more of that. I did like snuggling her close and hearing her little baby noises. But, now that she is older and much more interested in my smile, her brother, the television, the cats - it's incredibly frustrating to have to keep guiding her back to the breast that she is SUPPOSED to be interested in.
Gone are the days of propping myself up in the bed with the baby, boppy and remote and catching up on episodes of the West Wing while Ben nursed to his hearts content. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do. These days, we are rushing from preschool to Kindermusik to swim lessons and nursing is getting squeezed somewhere in between. Adding to that a toddler who wants me to get down on the floor and play with him and can't understand why I am always having to tell him "no" or "later" and nursing just isn't as relaxing as it once was.
Nursing is not convenient to me. I know it's supposed to be the easiest way to feed your baby because you don't need anything except yourself. Only - I do. For one thing, I need a nipple shield. The nipple shield and I have a love/hate thing going on. I didn't want to use it at first was warned by friends that it was hard to transition off of but the LC at the hospital pushed it and once again we were hooked on it. Those first few months were plagued with guilt and doubt about my skills and what I should be doing. Rather than being glad for the shield and the fact that it saved me from sore nipples and bad latching, I was resentful and guilty that I wasn't doing it right. I worried that my milk supply would decrease and that I would have clogged ducts. I tried repeatedly to transition off of the shield only to find that nursing made me sore and I would go back to the shield all the while feeling like I had failed. But then Alex got sick and I had to cut myself a break. I was more concerned with her comfort than with what I should be doing and reasoned that she was getting the same milk either way. So I gave up on the transitioning and accepted the shield. (I have also avoided LLL meetings ever since as I feel good about where we are at and don't want to be made to feel otherwise).
The other problem I have is that I am lacking in coordination. Despite having a nursing cover, I don't have the skills to nurse in public without flashing people. I don't know how others do this, but between balancing the baby and holding the breast, I am without hands to adjust my cover and keep myself covered. The few times I have used the nursing room at the church, I have also struggled as I did not have a nursing pillow or boppy to support Alex. I finally just used my coat rolled up under her head but it was not the neatest or most convenient solution. So, in these situations, I find it more practical to pump in the car and make a bottle to feed the baby rather than nurse when out and about.
Because of all of this, I feel somewhat tethered. I dread taking trips that are more than an hour away. I don't want to be out for more than a few hours at a time. I find myself feeling anxious about things like a girls weekend with friends, knowing that I will have to stop and pump at least a couple of times a day. I wish I were one of those relaxed women who could just feed their baby anywhere. Who could nurse the baby in a sling while vacuuming the house or shopping for organic produce. I guess that's just not the mom that I am. I am much more the check-list, planner, "everything needs to be just-so" kind of a mom. Which, I suppose, is what makes it hard for me to drop everything and nurse in the Barnes and Noble or at the gym during Ben's swim lesson.*
Don't get me wrong - breast is best. I plan to try to keep the nursing up for as long as possible and I hope we make it the whole year. But when we are weaned, I will not miss drinking decaf, abstaining from alcohol and cold medicine, and wearing ratty nursing bras. I will not miss waking up uncomfortably full first thing in the morning and not being able to go back to sleep because of it. Nor will I miss having to wash nipple shields and breast pump parts. I am sure that when it is over, I will miss the idea of nursing. The closeness, the feeling of her needing me, the sleepy snuggle time first thing in the morning or just before bed. And I will be sad because being weaned means that she is one step closer to toddler-hood. One step further from the tiny, wrinkled newborn I brought home from the hospital. I will be sad because my girl is growing up. But, not because we are done nursing.
*I know moms who can do this, so it's definitely more about my own hang-ups than anything.
Gone are the days of propping myself up in the bed with the baby, boppy and remote and catching up on episodes of the West Wing while Ben nursed to his hearts content. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do. These days, we are rushing from preschool to Kindermusik to swim lessons and nursing is getting squeezed somewhere in between. Adding to that a toddler who wants me to get down on the floor and play with him and can't understand why I am always having to tell him "no" or "later" and nursing just isn't as relaxing as it once was.
Nursing is not convenient to me. I know it's supposed to be the easiest way to feed your baby because you don't need anything except yourself. Only - I do. For one thing, I need a nipple shield. The nipple shield and I have a love/hate thing going on. I didn't want to use it at first was warned by friends that it was hard to transition off of but the LC at the hospital pushed it and once again we were hooked on it. Those first few months were plagued with guilt and doubt about my skills and what I should be doing. Rather than being glad for the shield and the fact that it saved me from sore nipples and bad latching, I was resentful and guilty that I wasn't doing it right. I worried that my milk supply would decrease and that I would have clogged ducts. I tried repeatedly to transition off of the shield only to find that nursing made me sore and I would go back to the shield all the while feeling like I had failed. But then Alex got sick and I had to cut myself a break. I was more concerned with her comfort than with what I should be doing and reasoned that she was getting the same milk either way. So I gave up on the transitioning and accepted the shield. (I have also avoided LLL meetings ever since as I feel good about where we are at and don't want to be made to feel otherwise).
The other problem I have is that I am lacking in coordination. Despite having a nursing cover, I don't have the skills to nurse in public without flashing people. I don't know how others do this, but between balancing the baby and holding the breast, I am without hands to adjust my cover and keep myself covered. The few times I have used the nursing room at the church, I have also struggled as I did not have a nursing pillow or boppy to support Alex. I finally just used my coat rolled up under her head but it was not the neatest or most convenient solution. So, in these situations, I find it more practical to pump in the car and make a bottle to feed the baby rather than nurse when out and about.
Because of all of this, I feel somewhat tethered. I dread taking trips that are more than an hour away. I don't want to be out for more than a few hours at a time. I find myself feeling anxious about things like a girls weekend with friends, knowing that I will have to stop and pump at least a couple of times a day. I wish I were one of those relaxed women who could just feed their baby anywhere. Who could nurse the baby in a sling while vacuuming the house or shopping for organic produce. I guess that's just not the mom that I am. I am much more the check-list, planner, "everything needs to be just-so" kind of a mom. Which, I suppose, is what makes it hard for me to drop everything and nurse in the Barnes and Noble or at the gym during Ben's swim lesson.*
Don't get me wrong - breast is best. I plan to try to keep the nursing up for as long as possible and I hope we make it the whole year. But when we are weaned, I will not miss drinking decaf, abstaining from alcohol and cold medicine, and wearing ratty nursing bras. I will not miss waking up uncomfortably full first thing in the morning and not being able to go back to sleep because of it. Nor will I miss having to wash nipple shields and breast pump parts. I am sure that when it is over, I will miss the idea of nursing. The closeness, the feeling of her needing me, the sleepy snuggle time first thing in the morning or just before bed. And I will be sad because being weaned means that she is one step closer to toddler-hood. One step further from the tiny, wrinkled newborn I brought home from the hospital. I will be sad because my girl is growing up. But, not because we are done nursing.
*I know moms who can do this, so it's definitely more about my own hang-ups than anything.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
10 minutes
On the way home from my daughter's check up this morning, I day dreamed. about what I would do with nap time. On Tuesdays, Ben has a swim lesson so he eats lunch on the way home in the car and then finishes up and lays down for nap almost as soon as we get home. Likewise, Alex had already been fed and was looking quiet sleepy when I had packed her in the car to pick up her brother. Miraculously, I had been in bed by 11 the night before and slept all the way until 6:30 so sleep was not on my to-do list.
Instead, I thought about blogging and what I might blog about. I thought about the emails from friends that needed to be returned. I thought about my overloaded DVR. I thought about the calls and research I needed to accomplish in preparation for my toddler's birthday party.
When we got home, the tot went down for a nap with only the perfunctory protest (a sure sign of fatigue). The girl was a bit tougher, a tiny bit fussy from this mornings shots (though still nowhere near where her brother was at when he was her age) but still sleepy and the whimpering and groaning on my shoulder soon turned to snoring. I placed her in the crib and dashed down to my sanctuary.
I had begun filling today's stats in her baby book (I have recently found myself seriously lacking in this area - leading me to believe that "neglect of the 2nd child" is much more than a cliche) and was just turning on the computer when I heard her stirring. Initially, the stirring led to some babble. The babble then quickly became a whimper which became a fuss and then an all out cry. By the time I got up the stairs, she was in full crisis mode. "Dear God - why is no one rescuing me from this crib-prison?!!"
Tylenol was administered, patting, rocking, bouncing commenced. Nothing worked. Humming was tried. And singing. And wooshing and shushing and sympathetic sounds. But the crying continued. Finally, we escaped to the living room where nursing began. And continued. On and on and on. Until finally - sleep arrived. And back up to the crib we went.
Finally some peace. All of about 10 minutes until my son wakes up from nap which gave me just enough time to...write this post.
Instead, I thought about blogging and what I might blog about. I thought about the emails from friends that needed to be returned. I thought about my overloaded DVR. I thought about the calls and research I needed to accomplish in preparation for my toddler's birthday party.
When we got home, the tot went down for a nap with only the perfunctory protest (a sure sign of fatigue). The girl was a bit tougher, a tiny bit fussy from this mornings shots (though still nowhere near where her brother was at when he was her age) but still sleepy and the whimpering and groaning on my shoulder soon turned to snoring. I placed her in the crib and dashed down to my sanctuary.
I had begun filling today's stats in her baby book (I have recently found myself seriously lacking in this area - leading me to believe that "neglect of the 2nd child" is much more than a cliche) and was just turning on the computer when I heard her stirring. Initially, the stirring led to some babble. The babble then quickly became a whimper which became a fuss and then an all out cry. By the time I got up the stairs, she was in full crisis mode. "Dear God - why is no one rescuing me from this crib-prison?!!"
Tylenol was administered, patting, rocking, bouncing commenced. Nothing worked. Humming was tried. And singing. And wooshing and shushing and sympathetic sounds. But the crying continued. Finally, we escaped to the living room where nursing began. And continued. On and on and on. Until finally - sleep arrived. And back up to the crib we went.
Finally some peace. All of about 10 minutes until my son wakes up from nap which gave me just enough time to...write this post.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
A month ago...
It's been almost a full month since I have posted anything. Hard to believe our girl will be four months old tomorrow. Even harder to believe that I haven't been able to scrounge up a few measly minutes a day to write. I miss blogging. I miss reading friends blogs. (I'm looking at you, Lucy and Sarah). The only way I get to feel connected to some of my internet friends is by reading what is happening in their lives and so, from that perspective, this has been a month of disconnect.
It's also been a month of transition. I am pleased to say that Alex is currently sleeping upstairs with both arms swaddle free. I am probably jinxing myself by saying this, but she has been such an easy-going baby. So much so that I find myself lamenting the struggles I have had with Ben. Now that we have entered the dreaded "potty training" stage, I catch myself wondering why can't even one of his milestones come easy? It feels that we have had to fight every step of the way to learn how to sleep, learn how to nap, learn to eat solids, eat more solids, etc. that I just wanted one single stage to go by without a hitch. But, maybe that's just not who he is. In some ways, it does make his achievements feel even more like accomplishments because they are so hard won.
In any case, I am still here. Still alive (if anyone in my meager audience was curious) and still hoping to develop some type of routine. Though, as my husband pointed out, if in four months we haven't figured out a general schedule - we probably aren't going to. I continue to feel as if I am balancing spinning plates in the air and there are so many that I am always dropping one or two (or three or four). If it's not the house cleaning that I am letting go, it's the blogging, or the sleeping, or the bible study, or the catching up with friends. On the plus side, the plate that I never seem to drop is the kids. And let me tell you - that is an achievement!
But the missing blog makes me sad for another reason - I started this in an effort to document our lives during this time when our kids are small. The time that, I am told, I will not be able to remember in 15 years. I want to be able to look back at these archives and laugh that Ben said things like "Yester-night" and "I will NEVER" (in a rather dramatic fashion every time he is told to do something). By skipping my time to jot this stuff down, I am losing valuable anecdotes and memories in my Swiss cheese brain.
So, in the future, I hope to find at least one day a week to blog (I just realized that I desperately need to update my header as I now have TWO children to engage in nap battles) and read/comment on other blogs, to do some bible study, and maybe even clean up a little so that people don't think we live in squalor. Here's hoping I can get back on track soon.
It's also been a month of transition. I am pleased to say that Alex is currently sleeping upstairs with both arms swaddle free. I am probably jinxing myself by saying this, but she has been such an easy-going baby. So much so that I find myself lamenting the struggles I have had with Ben. Now that we have entered the dreaded "potty training" stage, I catch myself wondering why can't even one of his milestones come easy? It feels that we have had to fight every step of the way to learn how to sleep, learn how to nap, learn to eat solids, eat more solids, etc. that I just wanted one single stage to go by without a hitch. But, maybe that's just not who he is. In some ways, it does make his achievements feel even more like accomplishments because they are so hard won.
In any case, I am still here. Still alive (if anyone in my meager audience was curious) and still hoping to develop some type of routine. Though, as my husband pointed out, if in four months we haven't figured out a general schedule - we probably aren't going to. I continue to feel as if I am balancing spinning plates in the air and there are so many that I am always dropping one or two (or three or four). If it's not the house cleaning that I am letting go, it's the blogging, or the sleeping, or the bible study, or the catching up with friends. On the plus side, the plate that I never seem to drop is the kids. And let me tell you - that is an achievement!
But the missing blog makes me sad for another reason - I started this in an effort to document our lives during this time when our kids are small. The time that, I am told, I will not be able to remember in 15 years. I want to be able to look back at these archives and laugh that Ben said things like "Yester-night" and "I will NEVER" (in a rather dramatic fashion every time he is told to do something). By skipping my time to jot this stuff down, I am losing valuable anecdotes and memories in my Swiss cheese brain.
So, in the future, I hope to find at least one day a week to blog (I just realized that I desperately need to update my header as I now have TWO children to engage in nap battles) and read/comment on other blogs, to do some bible study, and maybe even clean up a little so that people don't think we live in squalor. Here's hoping I can get back on track soon.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Just Another Birth Story
Here it is, finally (thanks to a long nap from both kiddos!) It's a bit long-winded but I included as much as possible both to share and to help jog my memory some day far into the future when I can no longer remember the tiny details of such an important event:
I spent the days leading up to my c-section feeling anxious. I was anxious that I would go in to labor before my in-laws came to watch the toddler. That I wouldn't get everything at work resolved or things at home set up for our new arrival. I was anxious about how the birth would go, whether things would be as planned, whether there would be complications. We spent the weekend "prepping" Ben with the idea that Nana and Poppa would be coming to stay and Mommy and Daddy would be going to the hospital and coming home with baby sister. He seemed thrilled at the idea that he would get to stay with his grandparents and wasn't much phased by the idea that we'd be gone but I was still nervous about leaving him.
Sunday came and went uneventfully. My in-laws came and settled in. They prayed with us Sunday night before bedtime. They assured me that Ben would be fine, that we would be fine. I slept fitfully. And then it was Monday morning. Early, dark and cold. We had to get up by 4:30 in order to be at the hospital by 5:30. I rushed around grabbing last minute items while the husband packed the car and we both tried to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking the tot or the grandparents. As it was, we still left late and ended up rushing a bit to the hospital. It wasn't the panicked, "oh my gosh, I'm in labor" car ride that I'd always imagined making, but it still added to the excitement!
Once I got to the hospital and was admitted, the harried pace seemed to slow to a crawl. I was attached to various monitors and asked 101 questions about my health, my history, my favorite movies and music (kidding on that last one). They started me on fluids and I kept having to pee. This wouldn't have been a big deal had I not already been so wired up that I looked like Frankenstein. Not to mention that there was another couple in the next bed so I had to maneuver carefully as not to give them a full shot of my backside on my way by - thanks to my classy hospital gown that didn't close fully. To make matters worse, someone else had an emergency c-section right before mine, so we were bumped back almost twenty minutes. As anxious as I was to meet my daughter, I welcomed the reprieve and felt sympathy for the other woman as I had been in her place not long ago.
Finally, we were ready. One of the ladies I knew from church who was also a hospital employee came in to give me a hug and wish us luck. I was instantly comforted by the friendly face and felt some of my anxiety dissipate. I was wheeled to the delivery room and seeing the operating table brought it all back for me. I could feel myself starting to get nervous. The nurse that was with me, Lori, was very reassuring. She showed my husband where to sit and helped me up on the table. The anesthesiologist assured me he would do his best to make sure that I was able to be awake for the whole procedure. Lori had me lean over and put my chin to my chest. She held my shoulders and whispered comfort in my ear. "It's going so well. Almost done. Hang in there" and then the spinal block was done. The staff assisted me with getting situated on the table and let me know that I would lose feeling in my legs very quickly. My OB put the catheter in and I felt the pinch and then after that, nothing. My legs, thighs, and stomach were all numb. I was still concerned that even though I thought I couldn't feel a thing, once the cutting started, I would.
They placed the drape and my husband sat next to my head and held my hand. He kept peering around the drape and squeezing my hand. I don't remember having much conversation as I was so anxious and felt odd talking with so many people listening. All of the sudden, I heard my doctor say "She doesn't want to come out of here. She's all snuggly!" A baby cried and there she was! Alexandra Danielle! They held her up over the curtain and she was squalling and slick and perfect. They brought her over to the warmer where the pediatrician was waiting to check her out and clean her up. They held her up again for me to see and called my husband over to be with her. Soon he left with the pediatrician to take her to the nursery to be weighed and cleaned.
And I laid there. And laid there. And laid there. The nurses and the doctor were all talking and joking with each other while they cleaned me up. I could feel the pressure of their hands, pulling and tugging on me. Putting things back in order. I was a rag doll being stitched and stapled. The spinal block numbed me all the way up to my chest resulting a feeling like there was an enormous weight on my chest. Every breath was taking effort and I was starting to panic that I couldn't get enough air. I had to force myself to focus on the surgical light above my head and take slow breaths. I could hear my own heart rate slowing over the monitors as I calmed myself. After what seemed like an year (but was more like thirty minutes) they were done. I was wheeled to recovery with my new best friend, Lori, who stayed with me while I got my bearings. She gave me ice chips, cool wash cloths and anti nausea medication. My husband came in with our new daughter and I was finally able to hold her close to me. To feel the weight of her and marvel at her tiny features. She was absolutely perfect. My daughter.
I spent the days leading up to my c-section feeling anxious. I was anxious that I would go in to labor before my in-laws came to watch the toddler. That I wouldn't get everything at work resolved or things at home set up for our new arrival. I was anxious about how the birth would go, whether things would be as planned, whether there would be complications. We spent the weekend "prepping" Ben with the idea that Nana and Poppa would be coming to stay and Mommy and Daddy would be going to the hospital and coming home with baby sister. He seemed thrilled at the idea that he would get to stay with his grandparents and wasn't much phased by the idea that we'd be gone but I was still nervous about leaving him.
Sunday came and went uneventfully. My in-laws came and settled in. They prayed with us Sunday night before bedtime. They assured me that Ben would be fine, that we would be fine. I slept fitfully. And then it was Monday morning. Early, dark and cold. We had to get up by 4:30 in order to be at the hospital by 5:30. I rushed around grabbing last minute items while the husband packed the car and we both tried to be as quiet as possible to avoid waking the tot or the grandparents. As it was, we still left late and ended up rushing a bit to the hospital. It wasn't the panicked, "oh my gosh, I'm in labor" car ride that I'd always imagined making, but it still added to the excitement!
Once I got to the hospital and was admitted, the harried pace seemed to slow to a crawl. I was attached to various monitors and asked 101 questions about my health, my history, my favorite movies and music (kidding on that last one). They started me on fluids and I kept having to pee. This wouldn't have been a big deal had I not already been so wired up that I looked like Frankenstein. Not to mention that there was another couple in the next bed so I had to maneuver carefully as not to give them a full shot of my backside on my way by - thanks to my classy hospital gown that didn't close fully. To make matters worse, someone else had an emergency c-section right before mine, so we were bumped back almost twenty minutes. As anxious as I was to meet my daughter, I welcomed the reprieve and felt sympathy for the other woman as I had been in her place not long ago.
Finally, we were ready. One of the ladies I knew from church who was also a hospital employee came in to give me a hug and wish us luck. I was instantly comforted by the friendly face and felt some of my anxiety dissipate. I was wheeled to the delivery room and seeing the operating table brought it all back for me. I could feel myself starting to get nervous. The nurse that was with me, Lori, was very reassuring. She showed my husband where to sit and helped me up on the table. The anesthesiologist assured me he would do his best to make sure that I was able to be awake for the whole procedure. Lori had me lean over and put my chin to my chest. She held my shoulders and whispered comfort in my ear. "It's going so well. Almost done. Hang in there" and then the spinal block was done. The staff assisted me with getting situated on the table and let me know that I would lose feeling in my legs very quickly. My OB put the catheter in and I felt the pinch and then after that, nothing. My legs, thighs, and stomach were all numb. I was still concerned that even though I thought I couldn't feel a thing, once the cutting started, I would.
They placed the drape and my husband sat next to my head and held my hand. He kept peering around the drape and squeezing my hand. I don't remember having much conversation as I was so anxious and felt odd talking with so many people listening. All of the sudden, I heard my doctor say "She doesn't want to come out of here. She's all snuggly!" A baby cried and there she was! Alexandra Danielle! They held her up over the curtain and she was squalling and slick and perfect. They brought her over to the warmer where the pediatrician was waiting to check her out and clean her up. They held her up again for me to see and called my husband over to be with her. Soon he left with the pediatrician to take her to the nursery to be weighed and cleaned.
And I laid there. And laid there. And laid there. The nurses and the doctor were all talking and joking with each other while they cleaned me up. I could feel the pressure of their hands, pulling and tugging on me. Putting things back in order. I was a rag doll being stitched and stapled. The spinal block numbed me all the way up to my chest resulting a feeling like there was an enormous weight on my chest. Every breath was taking effort and I was starting to panic that I couldn't get enough air. I had to force myself to focus on the surgical light above my head and take slow breaths. I could hear my own heart rate slowing over the monitors as I calmed myself. After what seemed like an year (but was more like thirty minutes) they were done. I was wheeled to recovery with my new best friend, Lori, who stayed with me while I got my bearings. She gave me ice chips, cool wash cloths and anti nausea medication. My husband came in with our new daughter and I was finally able to hold her close to me. To feel the weight of her and marvel at her tiny features. She was absolutely perfect. My daughter.
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