A Hard Habit to Break

While I was pregnant, I thought about trying to breastfeed. In my head it was always "trying" to breastfeed. I had planned to give it a real effort, but would I like it? Would it hurt? Would it feel awkward?

I have been very blessed in that Oliver and I never had a problem with latching, and the sore nipples and small amount of cracking never hurt so bad that I thought "OMG I hate this and I don't want to do it any more!", like I have heard and read about. I feel bad for women who really want to breast feed and have these issues that they have to work through. I am so lucky that it has worked out the way it has and my body has done very well producing enough milk for him. I have to admit that if things had not gone this smoothly for me, I might have given up.

I really had no idea how much I would love it. I don't think I even considered that fact that breastfeeding was something a mother could love. I read about how it's a bonding thing, and that sounded all fine and well, but I truly didn't understand the effect that being able to feed my son from my breast would have on me. It's our time together, this wonderful, beautiful thing that only the two of us share... it's more than a feeling of needing each other, it's a feeling of HAVING each other. We ARE connected.

What really brought these feelings home for me was this episode of The Office. I'm not hugely into the show, but seeing Pam's struggle... against the nurse pushing formula, problems with latch, uncertainty of whether the baby was actually getting anything... I don't know if I could have overcome all of that. I'd like to hope that I would have, but I just can't say for sure. Oh, and the JOY when her baby latched on properly... it brought tears to my eyes.

Thank God for St. John Westshore Hospital. Not only did I get a fabulous water birth, caring, supportive nurses, and food that was actually good... but they also had lactation consultants that made daily rounds. So I got questions out of the way ahead of time about things like:
       1. WTF is a football hold?
       2. Does he have tongue tie?

And most important of all:
       3. Does this look right?

It was SO reassuring to have a professional tell me "that looks good" and "he's going to be a great breastfeeder"!

Also, I know I couldn't have done it without Nick's support. All the simple things he did were invaluable; like bringing me water and handling SO MANY diaper changes, and cleaning the kitchen... so I could just focus on nursing and resting.

So. Obviously I know how lucky I am to have had a relatively easy time of it... but this was also something that stressed me out during my leave. How would he take to a bottle? Since I had to go back to work 7 weeks after he was born, I worried that he was too young to understand switching back and forth, even though "the book" said five weeks should be "enough" time to get breastfeeding "established".

I worried that he wouldn't like the bottle. That he would like the bottle too much and not want to nurse at home, therefore risking my supply. I worried that I wouldn't have enough milk for that first day. I worried about pumping at work... my LORD did I worry. With all the stress, it's a wonder I produced any milk at all.

But, after five weeks of exclusive breastfeeding it was time to start pumping, let him try out the bottle and let Nick have a go at feeding Ollie. That first bottle feed - such a sweet moment between father and son.

Pumping is... foreign.

Breastfeeding very quickly became second nature. Hungry baby? Grab the Boppy, pop him on the boob. Pumping, not so easy. Being hooked up to the thing makes me feel like a dairy cow. I can see the milk coming out! I can see how many ounces there are (which is more of a curse than a blessing). It's unnatural and messy... I have to use rubberbands to rig the thing up so I can at least play solitaire on my cell phone while pumping at work. (More on that weirdness another time.) AND I'm still struggling with how many ounces did he eat today? Am I getting enough for him? Our nighttime routine for prepping for the next day now must include washing the bottles, labeling them for daycare...

It's something I do because I need to. My pump (thanks, Mom!) has become a relied upon tool and essential to feeding our son. My minimum goal for now is six months... that's when he'll start solids. I know I'll get there, but already I'm sort of dreading it.

Even now if I close my eyes and see his profile... which is one of the things I do to trigger "let down" when pumping. But there are things I want to be sure to remember. (I thought about taking pictures, but then thought that might be weird. I dunno, I still might. It would only be weird if I like, showed them to people at work or something. And probably if I posted them here... and I'd think about putting them in his baby book... maybe.)

Anyway, what I see in my head is how he first gets really focused, and then he squints his eyes and sort of rolls them back... like it tastes better than anything, ever.

When we first started laying in bed at night, we could tell that he was done eating when he would come off the nipple to use my boob as a pillow.

He grabs the middle of my bra like he wants to make sure I'm going to stay put... I think it started out accidentally, a comfy, convenient place to rest his hand... but now I'm not so sure, because his little grip has gotten stronger and he holds on at almost every feeding.

The best, though, is the way it feels to snuggle up together after a long day... I can feel his feet wiggling against my thigh, the soft breathing through his nose against my skin... I am forced to just relax and enjoy being with my son.

I get weepy when I think about giving up this part of our lives, knowing that all too soon it will happen, and how it's just one more example of how time really does fly and they really do grow up so fast... but a lot of things make me weepy so that's just par for the course.

Right now though, I'm just going to focus on each day as it comes. And more importantly, I'm going to try my hardest not to fall into the pattern of spending every day thinking "I wish it was the weekend" because even though I DO wish it was the weekend (especially on Wednesdays MYGAHD) I think that wishing away the weekdays does more of a disservice to me. Fun times DO happen during the week! Bathtimes and feedings and playtimes and rocking him to sleep are things that will happen any day of the week and those times are all special and perfect and important and I shouldn't just wish them away. Just because I didn't get to spend the whole day doing them like I would on a Saturday doesn't make them any less precious of a memory. And obviously, I don't want to lose a single one.

And they called it... Puppy Love

Roxie is a smart dog. As most dogs do, she knew early on that "something was happening" with me while I was pregnant. After he came home, she pretty much ignored him, the way she does with Elvis, Nick's mom's chihuahua. My thought was that she didn't really get that this little guy would affect her life... she probably thought he was temporary.

She was used to seeing all of his stuff, and smelling baby smells (especially since we would sometimes powder her) but she had to investigate all the new stuff in the house now that it was in use.

We let her sniff him whenever she wanted, which wasn't often... but when she did we threw a Good Girl! Party. I kept looking for some indication that she was warming up to him, but didn't get any...

This reminds me of another Roxie::human relationship that took a while to reach its full potential... and now look at them.

ZOMGFAVORITE.

 Then one day, out of nowhere, she decided to check him out. She sniffed at the milk on his cheek, then gave him his first "kiss".

Since then, they've shared a little playtime here and there...

So. Even though she still pees in his room every effing chance she gets, I think it's gonna work out just fine.

The One Where I Almost Dropped the Baby

So, this weekend went well. We got a bit of the cleaning done... Nick dusted and vaccuumed, and I did laundry and started organizing the paperwork. Sunday night as we settled in to watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (OMG KISS) I started feeling guilty, thinking I could have done more. I mean, I had TWO WHOLE DAYS and this is all I got done??

But, baby steps. It's ridiculous for me to expect to get everything done in one weekend. Besides, we did leave the house... so it's not like I spent those two days on the couch, settled into my comfy butt dent, watching my sweet baby sleep. Well, I did do that, but not ALL weekend, which is the point. Balance. Baby steps. Small victories.

Moving on.

Anyway, one of the things we did outside of the house was go to Costco. Yay for wearing our grownup pants! Because bulk toilet paper & ground meat = grownups, right? Anyway, we now have our membership cards, complete with icky little black & white pictures.

So here's the real story: We get home from Costco, and Ollie's starting to fuss and make his hungry face.

I scoop him up out of the carseat and head toward the living room... probably munching on his cheeks or something. (As many times as I've replayed this in my head, I still don't exactly know what happened.)

I turn the corner to go from the dining room into the living room, not realizing that the GATE to keep the dog off the couch is still in the doorway. I fall forward, landing on my knees on the gate.
As I'm trying to stand up, Nick rushes in, "OMG are you OK?!? " Oliver's crying, and I can't remember if he was crying before I fell. I'm crying.
"Are you OK??!?"
"I don't know. Take him. Is he OK?"
"He's OK."

I slowly get up off the floor and hobble back to the bedroom.
"Check his head... did I bonk him?"
"He's OK honey... you had your hand behind his head."
"I did?"

So I take my pants off, because I'm sure that my knees are bleeding. They are not, but the left one is pretty badly scraped and both are really lumpy and already turning purple.

I lay in bed, on my side, to feed him. He stops crying, starts eating. I'm stroking the back of his little head, feeling for lumps. I'm still crying, and replaying the whole thing over and over again in my head... Did his head hit the ground? Mommy FAIL.

Nick says that I was already starting to stand up when he came into the room. He says I had my hand behind his head. All I remember is BANG slam CRASH ouch WAHHH!

Ollie starts to doze off and I start thinking what if he has a concussion? Isn't that when I'm not supposed to let him fall asleep or he will slip into a coma? Needless to say, we spent about an hour laying in bed, until I was sure he was OK and felt like getting up.

So, yes. There's my big update for the week. That's the plan, anyway, at least once a week until I'm all caught up. But I'm slow at work today, so I'll probably work on a few. Y'all may get lucky next week

This Blog Sucks

And here's why:

I am such an awful procrastinator. I have all these wonderful blog posts rattling around in my head, but I can't post them. Why? Because I'm behind in my blogging. Doesn't make sense, does it? See: I can't post about what happened the other day while pumping at work, because I haven't posted Ollie's 2 month pictures (or 3 months either, hell).

Working titles of the posts half formulated in my head:

• Pumping the boobs - tips and tricks, awkward moments at work, and the pressure of building a freezer stash
• 100 reasons why I love my son's dad
• I think I like my job!
• How does she DO that? a.k.a. Krista's "I'm not dealing with that shit" life
• OH the drama of my car
• Oliver's first Christmas (CRAP!)
• A hard habit to break  
• Baby, you can have whatever you like

And I have a few videos! I want to edit the videos and post them because he gives such great smiles and lives to play with his daddy and he smiles at the pictures on his nursery walls! Oh and he loves his mobile so much! The world needs to see these things but I put it off and put it off because I don't have time at work to really put the thought into it, and at home I get so distracted wanting to spend every waking second just looking at him.

So here's the real problem: it's gone from "eh, I'll get to it this weekend" to "oh crap I am so far behind I'll never catch up, so screw it."
But I can't do that because I love writing and from what my family and friends say I'm good at it and they enjoy reading it. So I have to fix this. It may be a jumbled mess around here for a while, but I can't just give up (the way I have apparently given up scrapbooking *sob*) because I feel like if I don't keep up with some kind of chronicle of his life then I'll forget all the little moments that are just SO special... the same ones that keep me rushing home from work to be no more than inches away from him all evening.

But it's not just the blog. I haven't balanced the checkbook in two months. Yeah, the bills get paid (with the exception of the water bill because the stupid computer doesn't remind me and my lovely spiral bound calendar of when things are due is long buried - oops.) I hate knowing there are piles of papers, envelopes and receipts waiting to consume me.
I can't get organized because I'm SO unorganized. I still need to file our taxes, but if course how am I supposed to do that when there are bills to be organized and the computer room is in shambles?

I had to wear Nick's socks to work the other day for cryin' out loud! Would I rather stress myself out and run late in the morning than do a freaking load of laundry on a weeknight? Answer: no. But you can't tell from the state of my closet/hamper/laundry room!
And don't get me started on the dog hair, the inch of dust, the icky toilet, the coffee stained kitchen floor. The only reason the dishes ever get done is Nick the Amazing cleans the kitchen
before Ollie gets a bath!

In short, I feel like I'm failing at this whole working mom thing. I have no routine. I'm LAZY. There are so many women who get it right and I feel like I'm not one of them... but I could be.

Which brings me to my POINT du jour... what I realized the other night while laying in bed nursing him to sleep... if I just DO THE SHIT that's been bugging me and giving me that nagging feeling in the back of my brain every night, then my time spent with him will be that much BETTER!

I recalled this post from No Ordinary Rollercoaster (thanks Ben - no you don't know me but I lurk and intend to comment often) which I will paraphrase:
"The other day I had an epiphany... "DUDE. DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN ACTUALLY JUST DO STUFF AND THEN IT STOPS STRESSING YOU OUT?!?!?!"

What I wouldn't give to be stress-free, without this awful feeling that I'm being naughty by putting off the "important" household tasks that need attention. Dishes and laundry and vaccuuming are stupid, yes. But if I would just DO IT, then I could actually move on to more entertaining tasks like blogging, and packing up all the adorable tiny outfits that Oliver no longer fits into because OH MY God he is getting to be such a big boy with the holding his head up all the time and the SMILES...

... there I go again.

I just want to let my shoulders relax and enjoy being a mom. So I will. THIS WEEKEND. STARTING RIGHT NOW.

I will no longer be a lazy sack of crap. I will not let my OWN life overwhelm me anymore.

This blog will no longer suck.

Oliver - the first month

I never want to forget how quickly he changes. It's hard to remember every moment...

Learning breastfeeding together... I feel like it's something special the two of us were meant to share. One could not do without the other, and us together make this awesome thing happen... I am able to feed you, to help you grow.

Through the sleep deprivation and crying fits when I wished he would just go to sleep, so I could sleep...

When he was asleep and I would miss his eyes and his face so much... I just want to hold him and watch him. Awake or asleep, as long as he's near...

It's amazing how one tiny person consumes my whole life, what did I ever do without him?

For Oliver:

The first best picture your dad ever took of you... ready to head home for the first time.

The first day of the rest of my life.

 My love, you steal my heart when you make this "kissy face".

Sweet angel, sleeping peacefully... what do you dream about?

Your gaze focused on the light pouring in through the window.

Your first interests were the bright contrasts of windows and lights and the shadows they cast.

Looking at your Daddy. He's so proud to call you his own.

Our silly baby! Sometimes this is what you needed to fall alseep...

Bathtime, a household favorite!

Our tiny Soapasaurus loves the water, and the soothing music Daddy picks for us.

I just want to hold you, always. I can't wait for our lifetime of hugs!

Birth Story Part 3... In the tub

(See, this is the date I started the post. Sorry I took so long to post it, y'all.)

Sweet relief. On a scale of one to ten, (as I was later asked) getting in the tub took my pain level from a 9 to a 7. By my standards at that point, this was nothing short of a miracle. I started out seated on a small ledge in the tub. Nick went around behind the tub so that he would be right by my head the whole time. I had a few contractions like this, then had to change positions again. Being on my hands and knees felt so much more comfortable... I think leaning forward took some of the pressure off of my back. One of the nurses took a barf bucket and used it to keep pouring water over my back as the tub continued to fill.

With every contraction, I squeezed Nick's hand. In between, he offered me water, kept my hair out of my face, and told me what a good job I was doing.

Me: "I'm so tired!"

The nurse, telling me: "This is the worst part. It doesn't get worse than this!"

(Yes, that thought was oddly comforting. Like, well, here I am, already in the middle of it, and I'm still alive. Not I am SUPERWOMAN I can do this, but more like I can SURVIVE this because, hell... I already AM surviving it!)

(I am SUPERWOMAN came later.)

Me: "I just want it to be over." *sob*

My amazing husband, who never left my side: "I know baby... not too much longer! You're doing so well!"

I must say I'm proud of myself for never saying "I can't do this!" The TV shows and the internets tell us that when the woman yells something to that effect, "I give up" = Ready to go! and you all know how I feel about doing the thing that everybody always does.

(For those that don't, "typical" & "expected"... them's fightin' words!)

Time. To. Push.

It was sudden, just like that! I was so scared at this point... this is where most women who tell the story say that they get excited (until they remember hearing tales of the Ring Of Fire), I'm going to meet my baby soon! Me? Scared. What if I didn't push right? I didn't know what the hell I was doing!

But the thought was fleeting. Colleen the midwife asked me if I wanted to get out of the tub. I told her no, DO NOT WANT. I didn't think I could. I wanted to push. So she told me that if I could feel him coming and felt the urge to push, I should push.

The first time I pushed, I screamed. Because it hurt. The nurse said the thing about using the energy that I was wasting by screaming to bear down. I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up, but I figured that wouldn't do any good, and she was the one pouring the lovely water over my back, so I didn't want to piss her off. Irrational, I know, but oh crap! Here comes the next one!

I pushed through the contractions, and I rested in between. Nobody counted. I flipped around in the tub (it came with these cool little divots for your to put your heels in and push against) but being on my back was still not working, so I flipped back onto all fours again.

Nobody holding my legs, nobody staring at my crotch, no stirrups.

I ended up mostly growling as I pushed... I think it helped me focus, and the nurse didn't correct me. I think she even told me I was doing well. I do know that Nick was there, right by my head (have I mentioned he was amazingly perfectly supportive? That he said all the right things and never left my side?) telling me to "GIVE IT HELL BABY!"

I pushed three or four times, then I felt it. His head. Was coming.

I pushed... someone said: the baby's crowning!

I pushed... I yelled... and suddenly I was kneeling upright in the tub... someone said: the head is out!

They had me lean back. I'm so tired.

Me, eyes closed: "Is he here?"

Someone: "One more push and he will be!"

In my head, all I could think was: Ok, one more. That's what she said. I only have to push one more time. Once more. I remember being terrified that it wouldn't be just One More and Oh God What would happen then???

I pushed one more time.

Nick, behind my right shoulder: "He's here! Oh my God there he is!"

I opened my eyes, and saw my baby being pulled up out of the water and placed on my chest. I reached up to cradle him. I was not surprised, yet stunned by the tiny boy with the full head of hair. Mine.

Again, the next few minutes are a blur. Nick reaches out to carress the tiny hand. He gives me a kiss. They have him cut the cord. I touch the tiny cheek and say, "Hi baby."

I sat there and stared at my baby for I don't know how long, until someone asked me if it was ok if they took him and wrapped him up so I could get out of the tub. I had forgotten I was in the tub. They kept saying what a "nice, long umbilical cord" we had. Super.

(At this point, I'm tempted to censor the story, but I won't.)

I sort of snapped back into reality and looked around to find myself sitting in a murky tub full of bloody water. There is a smear of white goo on my top where Oliver had just been laying, but I don't remember him being slimy at all, just wet. There is a splatter of blood on my arm, hand and the side wall of the tub that had come from the umbilical cord. As I'm getting up the midwife is telling me that it's because the placenta/cord combo has a lot of built up pressure (think: blood and nutrients must pump into the baby) and isn't it amazing how that works. Whatever.

Why won't my legs stop shaking?!?

At this point, I think we're down to just two nurses and the midwife. One nurse is tending to Oliver, the other is helping me get into bed. The midwife tells me I now have to push out the placenta. Dammit! I thought I was done with the pushing! And somebody please tell me why my legs are shaking!

She tells me to push, so I give a half-hearted push, and out plops the placenta. Weird and gross. Honestly, it looked like a clear plastic bag full of puke. I know it's supposed to be all beautiful, "tree of life", this is what sustained my son for 9 months, but... yuk.

I look over to see my boys: Nick staring down into a tiny bundle of blankets, so dreamy... then OUCH!

The midwife is poking around at my sore, bruised parts and saying things about how I only have a few small tears, and she probably won't even stitch them up. "Skid marks." I'm finally coherent enough to ask, "Why are my legs shaking?" She tells me it's the hormones, and that my body just went through a lot (really? DUH) and the hormones need a little while calm down. She also tells me that I've just had what they call precipitous labor, meaning that it lasted three hours or less, since his time of birth was 2:56 am.

I don't know how many times I looked at Nick and said, "I can't believe I just did that."

That thought alternated with I AM SUPERWOMAN over the next few days, but it was mostly I Can't Believe I Just Did That. All in all, it was very scary, but we both came through it and ended up healthy, so of course that is all any mom could ask for.

Birth Story part 2... Off to the hospital

I grabbed a towel to put on the car seat, because at this point I was gushing fluid with every contraction. On the way to the hospital Nick called my mom and let her know we were going to the hospital. I looked at the clock in the car: 1:40 am.

When we pulled into the hospital Nick asked me if I wanted him to drop me off at the emergency room doors. I said no, because there was plenty of parking relatively close, and I didn't want him to leave my side. I NEEDED him. Nick grabbed the bag and we walked from the car. The midwife had called ahead to let them know I was coming and to set up Room 8 (the room with the giant labor tub). The lady in the emergency room called up to maternity to send a nurse down. The nurse asked me if I wanted a wheelchair, but after the misery of riding in the car, sitting in a chair did NOT sound appealing. So we walked. Down the neverending hall, around the corner, and up the neverending elevator ride, contracting all the way.

"They're coming too close together! I'm not getting a break in between!"

We get down to Room 8 and the nurse that walked us up says to another nurse, "Well, we had 5 contractions on the way up..." And the second nurse's eyes got all wide. They had me change into a hospital gown and get on the bed. She checks me, and announces "She's 8 centimeters." A third nurse showed up at some point. They put the monitors on my belly, and one nurse went to put the heplock in my left wrist. She said something to another nurse about a blown vein, and when I looked down I saw a big bubble behind where she had stuck the needle. The other nurse said "yeah, that looks blown." I'm pretty sure it hurt, but this part of the story is vague recollections through a haze of pain. I do remember Nick looked pretty pissed off about that. A different nurse sucessfully put it in my right wrist.

For what seemed like forever, they kept me in bed trying to get a good reading on Oliver from the monitors, but the way I had to sit in bed was apparently keeping that from happening. I was later told that the nurse in charge of getting the reading was starting to get upset about it, but was told by another not to argue with the woman in labor! The midwife came in and got updated on what was going on and said I could get in the tub as soon as they got a reading, so I decided that I could get on all fours in the bed so maybe they could get their reading and let me get up! I was ready to get in the tub!

I didn't believe it when people told me that I would lose all modesty during labor, but I did. There I was, on my hands and knees on the hospital bed, my ass on display for all to see, and I didn't care one little bit. In fact, I was only barely aware of anyone else in the room.

Someone called out through all the background noise that she got a good reading, and Oliver was handling the contractions well. Before I got in the tub, she checked me again, and announced "She's complete!" (This means 10 centimeters dilated, fully effaced... basically, baby's coming as soon as he drops low enough to give me the urge to push!) It did kind of bug me that everyone kept talking about me like I wasn't there, but I realized later that everything was moving very quickly, and they didn't have time to stop and talk to me every step of the way.

Now, I could get in the tub! Nick grabbed my maternity band (thing that's supposed to help keep your pants up during pregnancy) that I was going to wear as a tube top in the tub. I changed, and Nick and a nurse helped me into the tub.

Part 3 (the conclusion, hopefully) coming tomorrow.