Lies At The Vet Office, Part 2

Lies at the Vet Office: Part 1

Inappropriate But Fun Things To Do With A Baby

Tickle fights to startle your neighbors

Putting entirely too much trust in pets

 

 

Letting Daddy play

 

 

Carrying on conversations like you're not being used as a human jungle gym

 

 

Feeding them

Savor It

You Always Run When Told

Breastfeeding - A Love-It/Hate-It Resource

I haven’t breastfed in four and a half months. A hateful little voice in the back of my mind likes to remind me of this every time I feed my kid a bottle. So as if the internal guilt trip wasn’t enough, then there’s the looks of pity from people here and there out in public who think I’m siphoning poison down her throat. So I’m just gonna throw this out there.

Bottle feeding is okay.

This is going to be my experience with breastfeeding and bottle feeding, if you’re wanting to know what’s REALLY hiding behind those peaceful photos of mothers and nursing children.

THE FIRST TWO WEEKS

The night Kelsey was born, the nurse handed her to me and showed me how to get her to latch. In my drug-swept haze, there was zero pain, she latched immediately, and ate contendedly.

“This isn’t bad at all,” I remember saying. “I think I can do this!”

Three days and two bloody scabs later, I was crying in defeat. Don’t let me dissuade you, though – I happen to have overly sensitive blood vessels (vasospasms) that make breastfeeding hurt more than it should. I tried everything to keep on that horse but just kept getting kicked off.

The first two weeks are breastfeeding boot camp, especially if you want to be able to pump an additional supply for the freezer. This is ideal if you’re going back to work, or if you just want to save for a rainy day. Baby needs to eat about every one and a half to two hours. And the feed can take anywhere from 20-45 minutes, if not more. You space out the time by the latch; so if Kelsey ate from 7:00 til 7:45, she’d need to eat again at 9:00 at the latest. If you want to boost your supply and begin a freezer stash, you pump for ten minutes or so after every feed. T his is a lot of time to have something stuck to you.

And it hurts.

Under normal circumstances, after the initial latch pain, the pinch should subside and become much more bearable. Some women feel no discomfort. I was in brutal, make-me-wince pain for the duration of the feed AND the pump. And lanolin can only do so much.

GOING WITH THE FLOW

Pun intended.

After two weeks, your milk supply is established. Baby still needs to eat about every two hours. Also at this time you’re probably experiencing the baby blues, which affect 95-97% of post-partum women. Top all of that with healing from just having given birth, and you’re in a special circle of hell. After my c-section I wasn’t allowed to drive or use the stairs for two weeks, so I was very limited in what I could do. Basically I sat in a rocking chair and nursed and pumped all day. You feel like a cow, you’re still full of baby fat, your hormones are having a motherfucking rave in your body, you constantly bleed worse than you ever have before, your husband is DYING for the six-week mark to get here, and this whiny, beautiful little worm wants to be attached to you ALL THE TIME.

CAN’T SOMEBODY NOT WANT YOU FOR FIVE GODDAMN MINUTES

Unfortunately, no. Husband is going to have to deal. So don’t worry about him. Baby, however, DOES need you to manage to collect yourself at three in the morning, undo that nursing bra, and cringe with anticipation of the latch.

TROUBLESHOOTING

Those first weeks were absolutely brutal in the worst definition of the word. I was ready to drive off a cliff - except I wasn’t allowed to drive, har har. Even when looking for support in my mom’s group meetings, which were ran by a lactation consultant (LC), I found nothing but pressure.

First we thought Kelsey was having trouble latching. She would bite and twist, and be very violent during her feeds, and she wanted to be latched the majority of the day. Half of which was just comfort sucking. So we went back to the hospital and the LC’s tried to help out with feeding positions, watching her latch, and giving me tips. Nothing changed and the pain was still fierce.

Then the LC got wind that I was playing with the idea of exclusively pumping. Kelsey had already taken a couple bottles, but I still needed to get up every two to three hours to pump anyway. I figured rather than feed her for 45 minutes and then pump for 15, I’d let David feed her while I pumped. And the LC told me this was a terrible idea. She explained nipple confusion and how bottle feeding would wreck Kelsey’s latch.

I’m convinced it depends on the baby, but “nipple confusion” is a guilt mechanism to keep you breastfeeding. Some babies truly do end up preferring the bottle and not latching, because the bottle gives more food for less work. But Kelsey had no such problem, and neither did other babies whose mothers I spoke to. She actually preferred me for the comfort and closeness, so I ended up becoming her pacifier as well as her food source. Ow.

The only real driving force that kept me going was my own guilt. I loved the milk-coma smiles and when she would fall asleep with her cheek to my chest. Her poop didn’t stink. And I knew I was giving her the best food she could have. But mostly I loved the snuggles.

Yes, I have a heart.

But I tried exclusively pumping. I made it for a month. After David went back to work it got to be difficult to take care of Kelsey AND pump. I tried to pump when she slept but – it never failed – she would wake up and start having a fit after the pain finally subsided enough for milk to flow. And she would have to sit there and whine while I was attached to this torture device for twenty minutes. Nights went so much better, since the time to take care of her was cut in half for me. David would change her and feed her a bottle while I pumped. We got done at the same time. I got a freezer stash built up, and hoped I could use it to finish out the summer bottle feeding so I could stop pumping early.

At six weeks, though, my baby blues had turned into full-blown post-partum depression. My OB wouldn’t prescribe anything while pumping, so he recommended I get out in the sunshine more and find a way to get more sleep. Seeing as how I had to pump every three to four hours by this point, there wasn’t much more sleep to be had, and this was in April, when rain dominates Pittsburgh. My therapist was helping me cope with the idea to stop pumping, and suggested I go ahead and get the medication I needed.

After that appointment I picked up my prescription, pumped my last bottle, and took my meds. And I cried the whole time.

A couple weeks later, the pediatrician told us Kelsey wasn’t digesting the cow’s milk proteins in my milk well, so we should try soy formula. I sobbed like an irrational mess as I mixed that first bottle and fed it to her. But she took right to it, didn’t even notice the change, and she became a completely new, happier baby.

PSYCHOLOGY SHIT

Moms are pretty well programmed to guilt themselves over every little decision that involves their child. I cried over that first formula bottle like I was ordered to poison my kid. I felt like a failure. When the LC called me to “check in” after I started taking my meds, and I told her I had to stop pumping, the disappointment in her voice was palpable. “Well, sometimes you have to do what’s best for you,” she said sadly.

Yeah I did.

It took months of therapy to finally come to terms with stopping breastfeeding. Why I beat myself up so bad, I have no idea, but that little bastard voice is STILL in the back of my mind. So if you’ve come here looking for permission to quit – IT IS OKAY.

Your baby WILL live. Sometimes they thrive better off formula than with your milk. Kelsey couldn’t handle the dairy I ate, and whenever I had even a little garlic, she was a horrid mess the next day. She had stringy-looking diapers, which is a sign of intolerance to something. She cried a lot, even with gas drops. She was always full of air, and would spend two hours every morning and every evening crying non-stop. On soy formula, she rarely fusses, is never gassy, digests everything perfectly, and is a happy, smiley baby.

The public will get over it. Babies aren’t on a liquid diet forever, and it’s a fairly recent movement to promote breastfeeding. Some women STILL don’t think it’s natural, even though it is. It can be a wonderful bonding experience, but so can bottle feeding. I hold Kelsey close with every feed and she touches my face, studies me, smiles when I talk. If you get looks, make a big deal over your baby. Kiss her head, make stupid noises, have fun with the feed and be obnoxious. Your baby will think it’s hilarious, you’ll look like one hell of a fun mom, and that bitch with the hateful face will look like a jackass.

I put myself through emotional, physical, and psychological hell for six weeks, and it took a need for anti-depressants to make the decision for me. And I still sortof regret it, even though Kelsey is thriving. I even tried straight-up breastfeeding again right before quitting in hopes that it might not hurt anymore. Seeing that she still remembered how to latch and how content she seemed tore me right in half when I found the pain was still very much there, and she was still a violent eater. With the next bottle she looked at me like “why aren’t you feeding me?” which translated to “why don’t you love me?”

I get it.

It’s okay.

It will be okay. Soon solids will be introduced, bottle feedings will lessen, and the whole debacle will be a thing of the past.

RESOURCES I TURNED TO

I have been a part of an online group since I found out I was pregnant last summer, based off a forum from The Bump. The women on that forum broke off and made a Facebook group, so I went through pregnancy, the hospital stay, and all of Kelsey’s life so far with 111 other women at the same stage. I highly suggest joining a similar group, on whatever forum you choose, especially if you’re somewhat isolated from friends and family. This group has been a vital support system since the beginning.

Kellymom is an excellent source of help and FAQs about child-rearing but I came here all the time for breastfeeding information.

Lucie's List is written by a woman on my wavelength, and breaks babyhood down into reasonable terms. She’s very down-to-Earth, and you feel like you CAN do this after reading her tips.

I wouldn’t bother with any of the What to Expect books. It’s been my experience (and many women agree) that they are worst-case-scenario books that tell you everything that can go wrong. When reading the breastfeeding section, I felt like I was being lectured and further pressured. What to Expect – the First Year is good to have on hand as a reference for milestones each month and “should I call the pediatrician” moments.

This article – It Will Get Better – helped me cope with stopping breastfeeding, as well as just pulling through post-partum depression. It’s been saved in my Favorites tab for the days I feel like I just can’t do it. Because even though I was sick to death of hearing “it will get better” – I wanted it better NOW – it eventually did get better.

Wag More, Bark Less

Too Late.

Mobility is the Pits

Now that we’ve gotten this pesky post-partum depression shit out of the way (woo) I’ve been able to actually have some fun watching this wiggly little worm slowly become a wiggly little person.

The animals are watching as well. Watching very closely.

Kelsey has no fear. Since day one the dogs have been in her face and Ares insists on licking her clean from head to toe at least once a day. When greeted by any strange dog, she smiles and opens her mouth for some French kissing. She didn’t even bat an eye at a group of two Great Danes and an Irish Wolfhound that towered over her with love. But now she has some motor skills, and has gotten very good with hand-to-mouth motions.

The dogs give her a wide berth whenever she’s not safely contained within her pack-n-play. Ares will venture a few licks on her feet when she’s strapped into the bouncer but once the arms start waving, he’s gone. It only took a couple fistfuls of hair removed to teach both dogs to stay away.

Onyxia, however, is some kind of masochist.

The cat will rub her head into Kelsey’s open hand and let her ear get pulled into a waiting, gummy maw. The other hand finds something to do in gripping the shit out of Onyxia’s side. The cat will slowly melt to the floor and wait for Ares or Orion to come investigate. Then she takes out her frustration on them.

She knows Kelsey has to let go eventually, so she waits it out. And when the grip is released, I make sure to rub where the pain was dealt so she doesn’t feel TOTALLY hated. But then something amazing happens.

 She comes right back.

 This is the cat who tried to trip me down the basement stairs throughout my pregnancy. Who hides behind furniture and launches at anything that passes. Who tries to cram herself through the baby gate and cries all night like an asshole. The cat that destroyed an entire rug and a hardwood floor from pissing around her litter box more than in it. The cat that answers to “Bitch” before “Onyxia.”

If I had been told when we adopted Onyxia that she’d make an excellent family cat and would allow herself to be chewed on, I never would’ve believed it. Not bad for an ex-hoarded shelter cat.







Ares's New Puppy

How Not To Play With A Baby

A Non-Graphic Account of Labor

What is this I don’t even

I’m actually quite proud of myself for how labor went. No one was maimed or scarred, no one died, and I was so determined to not make an ass of myself that I stayed completely focused. Didn’t even CRY. I think I can write off labor as my Biggest Moment of Badassery Ever.

Granted, towards the end I cheated and was drugged out of my mind, but I digress.

Midnight on February 18^th the contractions started. Like right at midnight. It was weird. They started off as uncomfortable, kindof painful cramps, then by 3am had escalated to “I need a heat pack.”

I had let Megan know somewhere after midnight that I was pretty sure labor was starting, so she could get a head start on the four hour drive to Pittsburgh. By 9am, those annoying cramps were not fucking around and it was time to go to the hospital. Megan showed up at 9:30. Pretty sure she strapped rocket packs to her car. Or at least broke a law or two.

I was hooked up to an IV and drained two bags of fluid and the contractions slowed down. The nurse had me get up and walk the halls for an hour, though I got super bored and quit after maybe thirty minutes of wandering the same eight feet of hall over and over with an IV pole.

At 2 in the afternoon they finally sent me home to suffer on my own. David and Megan took naps to catch up; we were pretty sure something was happening soon anyway. I washed the dishes, cleaned up the house a little, took a bath, tried to take a nap but was contracted right back up on my feet again, and made sure I ate something. By 7, contractions were 2 minutes apart and they were BITCHIN. Back to the hospital.

I was finally admitted and wheelchaired into a labor room (just like in the movies!) and left to suffer while hooked up to another IV and all kinds of monitors for two hours. It was somewhere in this time period that all sense of shame completely disappeared.

Around 9 the epidural was discussed. The anesthesiologist didn’t show up til 9:30, and the nurse who kept saying “I don’t know where he is, I don’t know why he’s taking so long... I wish he’d get here” was about to draw some ire but I kept my trap shut. When he finally showed up, everyone was ushered out of the room.

The epidural is one of the weirdest feelings ever. I could still move my legs and feel pressure when touched but there was no sensation to it. Like moving or touching your arm when you sleep on it wrong, without pins and needles. Maybe like trying to test your motor control when exceedingly intoxicated.

After that sucker was working, though, not even an hour later it was go time. I pushed for about twenty minutes before the nurse stopped me and oxygen was strapped to my face. No one spoke and the doctor was called.

The baby’s heart rate dropped every time I pushed. So the bed was wheeled out of the room and into the OR and I just kinda laid there and let the world go nuts around me. The doctors laid my arms out to either side, gave me a Super Epidural, then another pain med via IV, then ANOTHER numbing shot to the stomach for good measure. They didn’t discuss their tools or anything that was going on, and I stared at the light over me and listened to everyone chat about their day. I felt a pop and some shaking and knew they were already cutting; David was not in the room, and the SCREEN WAS NOT UP.

When the screen was up, David was finally allowed in the room after what felt like forever, and as soon as he sat down, they waved him up. “Here she is!” It was 11:05.

After a couple seconds, they brought her around the screen so I could see her, and all doped up on God Knows What I made some mental quip about her being an Eskimo child for how purple she was.

Then she was gone; all human contact around me was gone. I later learned David followed the doctor over to where she was getting weighed and he was allowed to cut off a portion of her umbilical cord. The doctors had no idea why her heart rate dropped during labor since the cord wasn’t wrapped around her neck and everything looked normal. I’m convinced she was determined to burst through me to get to David ever since she started hearing him in utero. I heard her screaming and telling the world what she thought about it, and David talking to her. That was the only time I cried.

The doctors took turns coming back to where I could see them and holding my hand and talking to me while everything below deck was getting closed up. David and the baby were gone to the nursery for her first bath and the table under me suddenly inflated while everyone in the room swooshed me onto another rolling table.

I was left in the labor room alone for a few minutes, and everything was swimming like I had been drinking for DAYS. Megan and David came back after a little while and were witnesses to the ridiculous uncontrollable shaking that I still don’t have a reason for happening. I was given MOAR DRUGS to try to calm the shakes. When I quit looking like a heroin junkie Kelsey was brought into the room, somewhere after midnight. We took turns holding her for the first time, and the nurse helped introduce me to breastfeeding. Everyone remarked how pretty of a baby she was, and they were right. We’re still not sure where she came from, being related to both of us.

Mmm drugs.