Breastfeeding sucks. (Haha! I made a funny!)
No really, it's not at all what I thought it would be. I did my reading. I was picturing some instinctual mother/baby bonding experience and how cool it would be to feed my kid naturally. Finally putting those breasts to their useful purpose.
It did not work out this way. There's a few things the books don't tell you.
1. PAIN
Holy balls from hell does it hurt. I returned the book to the library, so I don't have an exact quote, but The Everything Breastfeeding Book says that if you feel more than a gentle tugging, the latch must be wrong.
Incorrect. I spent 4 days at the hospital. My latch was evaluated by 5 nurses, 2 doctors, and 1 lactation consultant. The latch is fine. The baby was getting milk.
The pain was excruciating. I continue to take 800mg Motrin to get through it. My nipples are always sore and cracked and throbbing, even with generous helpings of lanolin cream. The initial latch always has me grit my teeth and kick the nearest piece of furniture.
2. COMPLICATIONS
The books do make mention of clogs, mastitis, thrush, etc. But a paragraph at best. The first week home I had a fever of 101F and was popping antibiotics three times a day. My right boob hurt so bad I could barely lift my arm over my head. On top of that, it felt like I had the flu. Oh, and I was recovering from major abdominal surgery.
I've had three golf ball sized clogs in the 6 weeks that my baby has been alive. Plus numerous pea sized ones. I've had two milk blisters. Yet the only helpful information in treating these, I've found online or through my doctor. The breastfeeding reference books continue to paint a blissful picture of the experience.
3. TIME
This can go either way. A lot of women (me) complain about the time it takes to breastfeed. My baby will nurse anywhere from 25-40 minutes on each breast. Once he set a record of 57 minutes. Then you burp him between each breast, so tack on another 10 minutes. Let's assume each feeding takes 1 hour of nursing, plus 10 minutes burping, plus 5 minutes beforehand changing diapers and getting your nursing area prepped.....you are nursing a newborn for 8-9 hours a day. At 6 weeks, this may be 5-6 hours a day.
The flip side of the argument is that pumping takes too long. You have to set up the machine, pump for 25 minutes, clean all the parts, feed the baby, burp the baby, rock the baby, etc. Some women believe it to be much more efficient just to lift the baby to the boob and there you go. It depends on how you look at it. And you can also feed on the go, rather than stashing bottles in refrigerated bags.
I choose the former argument, obviously. Sorry, but think about this. 5 hours of nursing. 5 hours of vigorous sucking at your nipple. How the fuck does this not hurt everyone?? Maybe I'm super sensitive?
4. ISOLATION
Pumping takes 25 minutes. That's it. You can do both breasts at the same time, hand the bottle off to someone else, and clean the parts while grandmom feeds the baby. Nursing, however, is about 30 minutes on each breast. If you're like me, you don't feel totally comfortable nursing in front of people. That means you go into a room with a door shut for 5-7 hours a day. You get pretty isolated and lonely, even with a smartphone and Facebook nearby.
Eventually the need for human interaction forces you out the room and you nurse in front of family, hoping you don't accidentally flash them. Still, you shouldn't be made to feel this desperate. And I'm an introvert. I can only imagine what it's like for more social people.
5. UNANSWERED QUESTIONS
I've read about how human milk is best for the baby. I have not been able to find why that milk needs to come from a boob and not a bottle. I can pump and still get the same nutrition into him.
I blame the Breast is Best campaign, and all the published books out there for not accurately painting a picture of what breastfeeding is. Many moms, like me, make the decision to do it because it's the best food for the baby and will create a bonding experience between us. Despite the large amount of research I did beforehand, I was still surprised by the loneliness, the time, and the pain. People tend to gloss over the facts in an effort to get you to breastfeed. Many times the book or article will gloss over it, like "if breastfeeding does not work out for you, congratulate yourself for doing it as long as you did. Your baby will thank you."
What exactly does it mean to "not work out"? Why did women stop? How do you get past the guilt? How come the only place I can get answers to these questions are from blogs and forums?
6. GUILT
Despite the fact I hated breastfeeding and the near-constant pain, I didn't stop. I felt like I couldn't; it was the best thing for the baby. It's like I was waiting for permission from someone to stop.
And that came. Finally. At my 6 week doctor's appointment, I told my doctor about all the issues. The clogs, the blisters, the chapped nipples....She said since these were still going on after 6 weeks, I was too high of a risk for repeated mastitis and eventual breast abscess. She recommended I switch from nursing to pumping.
I have to admit, I felt enormous relief. A guilt-free order from the doctor to cut back. She didn't send me back to a lactation consultant or recommend I keep trying because "eventually your nipples will toughen". She listened to me, heard the pain in my voice, and relieved me of the guilt. I think she knew I was asking for permission.
She also said something that resonated with me. Right now, my body associates breastfeeding with pain. That is not a bonding experience; it's the opposite. I shouldn't dread feeding my child.
Since then, I've only been nursing 2-3 times a day and pumping the rest. I am a lot happier and in less pain. I have more time to myself and more time to spend with other people. Plus, the hubby can now feed the baby too. It doesn't have to be me all the time. That's another pressure off of me. I get my bonding time with my baby by cuddling him after the bottle and having him rest on my stomach while laying on the couch. Same as my husband bonds.
So if you are reading this and having trouble breastfeeding, consider cutting back. I was happier once I did.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
I'm back!
Alright, so it's been a while since I posted anything. I have been busy not sleeping and being a human mattress for a 9lb eat/poop/cry machine.
And besides, I don't have anything to talk about other than my son. The world doesn't need another mommy blog, that's for sure.
While there are a plethora of topics running through my mind (furloughs! Are you kidding?), I haven't left the house much in the last 6 weeks, and therefore don't feel qualified to discuss anything other than eat/poop/cry.
Yes, I need to be qualified to write on my own blog. I do see the irony.
Motherhood is hard. Definitely a lot harder when you don't have an outlet to let off some steam, or just to write about the experience. I'm convinced mothers experience depression because they are tethered to a crying infant without break for weeks. Sure, you can have a life. As long as it happens within the two hour feeding window and as long as you take the baby with you.
Yes, feeding takes 45 minutes to an hour. Yes, the two hour clock starts at the beginning of the feeding not at the end. And yes, it takes 20 minutes to get the diaper bag packed, kid bundled warm, and strapped to the car seat. It feels like you only have 5 minutes to feel normal, and I usually choose to shower instead of trying to leave the house.
Hence, postpartum depression. Which for me, comes and goes. When it comes, it usually sticks around for an hour or two. It depends on how much sleep I've had, how much contact with the outside world, if I have vomit or milk stains on my clothes, if the kid screamed for hours that day, and how helpful the hubby is in the evening.
90% of the time, I enjoy maternity leave. The other 10% has me raging against societal constructs that forces women to hide indoors because we haven't showered, have vomit on our clothes, and most likely have a boob hanging out of our shirts. And the whole "Breast is Best" campaign is a massive conspiracy to force women to stay home.
I have an app on my phone that helps me track nursing times. I use it to monitor how much my baby is getting fed. Anyway, let me give you some statistics. Yesterday I nursed for 290 minutes over 5 feedings. The day before, 315 minutes for 5 feedings. 347 minutes for 5 feedings. 307 minutes for 7 feedings. That's a huge improvement too. The baby is going longer between meals. I'm down from 8 hours of nursing to 5 hours.
(These times don't include burping or butt wiping. This is straight nipple sucking. Let something suck on your nipple for 5 hours a day and see if you stay positive.)
Giving the baby a bottle takes 20-30 minutes. Think of how much free time I'd have! But no, Breast is Best.
My kid is 6 weeks old. That is both an eternity and an eye blink. He is alive and gaining weight and only screams at me half the time he's awake. I give myself an A+.
And besides, I don't have anything to talk about other than my son. The world doesn't need another mommy blog, that's for sure.
While there are a plethora of topics running through my mind (furloughs! Are you kidding?), I haven't left the house much in the last 6 weeks, and therefore don't feel qualified to discuss anything other than eat/poop/cry.
Yes, I need to be qualified to write on my own blog. I do see the irony.
Motherhood is hard. Definitely a lot harder when you don't have an outlet to let off some steam, or just to write about the experience. I'm convinced mothers experience depression because they are tethered to a crying infant without break for weeks. Sure, you can have a life. As long as it happens within the two hour feeding window and as long as you take the baby with you.
Yes, feeding takes 45 minutes to an hour. Yes, the two hour clock starts at the beginning of the feeding not at the end. And yes, it takes 20 minutes to get the diaper bag packed, kid bundled warm, and strapped to the car seat. It feels like you only have 5 minutes to feel normal, and I usually choose to shower instead of trying to leave the house.
Hence, postpartum depression. Which for me, comes and goes. When it comes, it usually sticks around for an hour or two. It depends on how much sleep I've had, how much contact with the outside world, if I have vomit or milk stains on my clothes, if the kid screamed for hours that day, and how helpful the hubby is in the evening.
90% of the time, I enjoy maternity leave. The other 10% has me raging against societal constructs that forces women to hide indoors because we haven't showered, have vomit on our clothes, and most likely have a boob hanging out of our shirts. And the whole "Breast is Best" campaign is a massive conspiracy to force women to stay home.
I have an app on my phone that helps me track nursing times. I use it to monitor how much my baby is getting fed. Anyway, let me give you some statistics. Yesterday I nursed for 290 minutes over 5 feedings. The day before, 315 minutes for 5 feedings. 347 minutes for 5 feedings. 307 minutes for 7 feedings. That's a huge improvement too. The baby is going longer between meals. I'm down from 8 hours of nursing to 5 hours.
(These times don't include burping or butt wiping. This is straight nipple sucking. Let something suck on your nipple for 5 hours a day and see if you stay positive.)
Giving the baby a bottle takes 20-30 minutes. Think of how much free time I'd have! But no, Breast is Best.
My kid is 6 weeks old. That is both an eternity and an eye blink. He is alive and gaining weight and only screams at me half the time he's awake. I give myself an A+.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Pregnancy Chronicles - He's here!
That's right! The baby is here. I'd say finally, but he came a few days early. I'm absolutely thrilled to meet my son, and I don't think I could love anything more. However, labor did not exactly go the way I wanted it to. You know that birth plan you have? Maybe even wrote it down for the doctors? Yeah, throw it away. It ain't gonna happen like that.
I guess it started 4:30 am on Friday. Maybe sometime before that, but I was too sleepy to think about contractions. I thought maybe it was terrible indigestion. So it wasn't until 4:30 that I had a big one, nasty enough that my husband woke to find his wife writhing in pain.
He got up and started packing a bag for the hospital. I told him he was nuts and that it was just false labor. All the signs for false labor were there. Inconsistent contractions, contractions that lessen when you change position or drink water, no blood, no mucus plug, etc. We started to keep track of the contraction time and duration because it's not like either of us were going back to sleep.
For the next couple of hours, that's what we did. I had contractions, he wrote it down, we did some laundry, packed the bag. The contractions remained inconsistent. Sometimes they were 20 minutes apart, sometimes 5. Sometimes they lasted for a few seconds, sometimes 30 seconds. You aren't supposed to go to the hospital until your contractions occur every 5 minutes for an hour. Everything pointed to false labor. I ended up convincing the hubby to go to work because I was confident the contractions would stop.
Two hours later, I asked him to come home. They had gotten bad. BAD I TELL YOU. Every 5 minutes, increasing intensity each time. I called the doctor, but the office is closed from 12-1:30. I called the emergency line but the unhelpful woman said to call the office. I told her the office was closed you dingbat and basically she provided NO help. That's okay because I had a few things around the house to finish up - which sounds crazy, but if you're going to the hospital for 2-3 days, you have to prepare a few things. We didn't end up leaving until 1:30 anyway, but at least I finally did get in touch with the doctor's office to let them know I was in labor.
I was dilated 4cm when we arrived at the hospital. It takes 10cm to give birth, 5cm to get an epidural. Within a few minutes, I was 5cm. Contractions were coming every 3 minutes and were insane. You want to know what it felt like? Have you ever had a leg cramp? Or a foot cramp? Where your muscle tenses and bulges and constricts for a few seconds and there ain't a damn thing you can do to help it? That, except for all over your abdomen and lower back.
Oh and here's a fun tidbit they didn't tell you in labor class: you can't get an epidural until you drain one complete IV bag of fluid. That fucker did not drip fast enough, I tell you. With the contractions 3 minutes apart, it was just a blur of pain. I'm not sure how women do this naturally. They kept asking me on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad was the pain. It was a 10, 10 I tell you! Stop asking stupid questions and get the epidural.
Hooray when it finally did come! I'm not sure I had a normal reaction to it. One, I could still move my legs pretty well. Even put weight on them. Two, I went a bit loopy. I don't remember much from this time except a few happy texts to family members and a feeling of sweet, blissful relief from the pain. Hubby and I started watching the machine I was hooked up to. We giggled as the contractions started coming 1 minute apart. Hehe, the peaks and valleys are so cute! Seriously, I was out of it.
My doctor arrived to break the bag of waters. Things went downhill from there, sorry to say. The baby's heartbeat decelerated. The doctor thinks he was leaning on the umbilical cord or grabbing it. The bag of waters that provided cushion between baby and cord was gone. They kept flipping me around in bed trying to find a position that would take the weight off the umbilical cord. We found one - on my side, with my leg up on a table. I've been in more comfortable positions. The thing is though, I had to lie there and not move an inch. I tried shifting my shoulder around once and the baby's heart rate dropped again.
I stayed there when I got pins and needles. I stayed there when it all went numb. I stayed there until I thought I would never regain feeling again. And I would've stayed there until my leg fell off. Unfortunately, labor was not going well. I had reached 7cm and plateaued.
An hour went by, still 7cm.
Another.
And another.
In total, I stayed at 7cm for 5 hours. Then my nightmare come true. The doctor said the baby's head was too swollen from the constant pushing against my cervix. And my cervix was swollen and didn't look like it was going to progress to 10cm. I had no choice but to get a Cesarean.
Now, I knew throughout the whole pregnancy that I did not want a Cesarean. I remember when we made our birth plan, I said to my husband, "Make sure they do everything possible before they slice me open." I don't like the idea of being cut into. I don't even like needles or IVs. All along, the ultrasounds and doctor appointments looked good. The baby was in position. No chance of a breech birth. Baby's weight was between 7 and 8lbs; doctor said I should be able to deliver that no problem. There was never any foreshadowing this might happen to me.
Which made this day the happiest and the most horrific of my life. I had an hour to prepare for surgery. One hour to come to terms with my fears, accept the fact they were going to cut into me, and mourn the loss of the labor I wanted. I'm not going to tell you the things I thought during that hour, but lets just say I was in a dark place.
See, there's a big difference between pushing life into the world and having it surgically removed. I was cheated out of a life experience that should've been mine. I WANTED to push, as crazy as that sounds. I wanted the physical challenge; I wanted to look at my son and know "I did that." The Cesarean took that all away from me. I had a few contractions, got an epidural, then got sliced up. You can't even call it labor. I certainly don't.
First they shave you. Then they inject more pain killers so you can't move at all. I could move my head around and my arms if I really tried. I remember being freezing cold (because the fluids and medications being injected into my veins were room temperature) and shaking uncontrollably. They put scrubs on the hubby and wheeled me into the operating room. All the doctors and nurses were really nice and calm, but I knew they didn't want to deal with my tears.
They set you on a table under really bright lights, arrange your arms spread eagle out to the side and expose everything breasts down. A curtain is placed in front of your face, which is a saving grace. Though at one point during the surgery, it become blood-splattered. I wondered if the curtain was for my piece of mind or just to minimize the cleanup.
The hubby was placed almost directly behind my head. He could watch the surgery even though they tried to shield him somewhat. It was awful. The doctor used a hot knife to cut my skin; I could smell my flesh burning. Hubby tried to distract me by pretending they hadn't started, but deep down in my drugged out state, I knew better. I knew what that smell was. I asked the nurses NOT to narrate for me or tell me a damn thing about the procedure. I just didn't want to know. It took every ounce of courage I had just to be in that room. But I was doing it, for my baby.
At some point, it occurred to me that this was a bigger test. Yes, I wanted the physical challenge of labor. I wanted to beat it and deliver my son into the world. I was always afraid of a Cesarean, so maybe this was my thing I had to face. I clung to that idea throughout the surgery and it helped. However, it's not true. I still feel cheated and still feel like a failure. A healthy pregnancy for 9 months and my son had to be delivered by scalpel. I didn't even get a chance to push.
Again, I think I had a weird reaction to the pain killers. The doctor said she was going to apply pressure on my diaphragm area to get the baby into a position where they could grab him. She said it was going to feel like "an elephant standing on your chest". I felt her moving around a little and wondered when she was going to get started. About a week later, the hubby told me the two doctors were yanking on my abdominal muscles as hard as they could to expose the baby. Turns out, all those hours of yoga did NOT help. Weak abs make surgery easier. Anyway, so I was waiting for this elephant to arrive when hubby pointed to our baby in the incubator next to us. I was too drugged out and weak to see him or touch him. They took Baby away, with the hubby, while they closed my incision and cleaned me up. It took about an hour until I saw him again. Yet another thing taken from me.
I finally did hold him and it was one of the happiest moments of my life. Then the pain killers from the surgery started to wear off. My incision felt like it had been lit on fire. The nurse wasn't exactly snappy with the pills; I had to call for her twice. The pain got so bad I couldn't enjoy my son in my arms. And he was so beautiful. With gooey crap in his hair, little upturned nose, an overbite, and a chin exactly like his daddy's. I just wanted to stare at him, but the pain kept returning me to the planet Earth. It shouldn't have been like that.
The first night was kinda terrible. It took the nurses a few hours to clean me up, manage the pain, and track my vitals to make sure I was okay. They sent hubby to sleep in another room while they took care of me. Eventually they wheeled me to his room and brought the baby to stay with us.We stayed there for 4 days until I was strong enough to go home. I'm still not allowed to go up or down stairs, or do normal things like cough and sneeze. But at least I'm home and I have my son.
He was born at 12:56am. 7 lbs, 7oz, 20 inches long. Perfect in every way.
I guess it started 4:30 am on Friday. Maybe sometime before that, but I was too sleepy to think about contractions. I thought maybe it was terrible indigestion. So it wasn't until 4:30 that I had a big one, nasty enough that my husband woke to find his wife writhing in pain.
He got up and started packing a bag for the hospital. I told him he was nuts and that it was just false labor. All the signs for false labor were there. Inconsistent contractions, contractions that lessen when you change position or drink water, no blood, no mucus plug, etc. We started to keep track of the contraction time and duration because it's not like either of us were going back to sleep.
For the next couple of hours, that's what we did. I had contractions, he wrote it down, we did some laundry, packed the bag. The contractions remained inconsistent. Sometimes they were 20 minutes apart, sometimes 5. Sometimes they lasted for a few seconds, sometimes 30 seconds. You aren't supposed to go to the hospital until your contractions occur every 5 minutes for an hour. Everything pointed to false labor. I ended up convincing the hubby to go to work because I was confident the contractions would stop.
Two hours later, I asked him to come home. They had gotten bad. BAD I TELL YOU. Every 5 minutes, increasing intensity each time. I called the doctor, but the office is closed from 12-1:30. I called the emergency line but the unhelpful woman said to call the office. I told her the office was closed you dingbat and basically she provided NO help. That's okay because I had a few things around the house to finish up - which sounds crazy, but if you're going to the hospital for 2-3 days, you have to prepare a few things. We didn't end up leaving until 1:30 anyway, but at least I finally did get in touch with the doctor's office to let them know I was in labor.
I was dilated 4cm when we arrived at the hospital. It takes 10cm to give birth, 5cm to get an epidural. Within a few minutes, I was 5cm. Contractions were coming every 3 minutes and were insane. You want to know what it felt like? Have you ever had a leg cramp? Or a foot cramp? Where your muscle tenses and bulges and constricts for a few seconds and there ain't a damn thing you can do to help it? That, except for all over your abdomen and lower back.
Oh and here's a fun tidbit they didn't tell you in labor class: you can't get an epidural until you drain one complete IV bag of fluid. That fucker did not drip fast enough, I tell you. With the contractions 3 minutes apart, it was just a blur of pain. I'm not sure how women do this naturally. They kept asking me on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad was the pain. It was a 10, 10 I tell you! Stop asking stupid questions and get the epidural.
Hooray when it finally did come! I'm not sure I had a normal reaction to it. One, I could still move my legs pretty well. Even put weight on them. Two, I went a bit loopy. I don't remember much from this time except a few happy texts to family members and a feeling of sweet, blissful relief from the pain. Hubby and I started watching the machine I was hooked up to. We giggled as the contractions started coming 1 minute apart. Hehe, the peaks and valleys are so cute! Seriously, I was out of it.
My doctor arrived to break the bag of waters. Things went downhill from there, sorry to say. The baby's heartbeat decelerated. The doctor thinks he was leaning on the umbilical cord or grabbing it. The bag of waters that provided cushion between baby and cord was gone. They kept flipping me around in bed trying to find a position that would take the weight off the umbilical cord. We found one - on my side, with my leg up on a table. I've been in more comfortable positions. The thing is though, I had to lie there and not move an inch. I tried shifting my shoulder around once and the baby's heart rate dropped again.
I stayed there when I got pins and needles. I stayed there when it all went numb. I stayed there until I thought I would never regain feeling again. And I would've stayed there until my leg fell off. Unfortunately, labor was not going well. I had reached 7cm and plateaued.
An hour went by, still 7cm.
Another.
And another.
In total, I stayed at 7cm for 5 hours. Then my nightmare come true. The doctor said the baby's head was too swollen from the constant pushing against my cervix. And my cervix was swollen and didn't look like it was going to progress to 10cm. I had no choice but to get a Cesarean.
Now, I knew throughout the whole pregnancy that I did not want a Cesarean. I remember when we made our birth plan, I said to my husband, "Make sure they do everything possible before they slice me open." I don't like the idea of being cut into. I don't even like needles or IVs. All along, the ultrasounds and doctor appointments looked good. The baby was in position. No chance of a breech birth. Baby's weight was between 7 and 8lbs; doctor said I should be able to deliver that no problem. There was never any foreshadowing this might happen to me.
Which made this day the happiest and the most horrific of my life. I had an hour to prepare for surgery. One hour to come to terms with my fears, accept the fact they were going to cut into me, and mourn the loss of the labor I wanted. I'm not going to tell you the things I thought during that hour, but lets just say I was in a dark place.
See, there's a big difference between pushing life into the world and having it surgically removed. I was cheated out of a life experience that should've been mine. I WANTED to push, as crazy as that sounds. I wanted the physical challenge; I wanted to look at my son and know "I did that." The Cesarean took that all away from me. I had a few contractions, got an epidural, then got sliced up. You can't even call it labor. I certainly don't.
First they shave you. Then they inject more pain killers so you can't move at all. I could move my head around and my arms if I really tried. I remember being freezing cold (because the fluids and medications being injected into my veins were room temperature) and shaking uncontrollably. They put scrubs on the hubby and wheeled me into the operating room. All the doctors and nurses were really nice and calm, but I knew they didn't want to deal with my tears.
They set you on a table under really bright lights, arrange your arms spread eagle out to the side and expose everything breasts down. A curtain is placed in front of your face, which is a saving grace. Though at one point during the surgery, it become blood-splattered. I wondered if the curtain was for my piece of mind or just to minimize the cleanup.
The hubby was placed almost directly behind my head. He could watch the surgery even though they tried to shield him somewhat. It was awful. The doctor used a hot knife to cut my skin; I could smell my flesh burning. Hubby tried to distract me by pretending they hadn't started, but deep down in my drugged out state, I knew better. I knew what that smell was. I asked the nurses NOT to narrate for me or tell me a damn thing about the procedure. I just didn't want to know. It took every ounce of courage I had just to be in that room. But I was doing it, for my baby.
At some point, it occurred to me that this was a bigger test. Yes, I wanted the physical challenge of labor. I wanted to beat it and deliver my son into the world. I was always afraid of a Cesarean, so maybe this was my thing I had to face. I clung to that idea throughout the surgery and it helped. However, it's not true. I still feel cheated and still feel like a failure. A healthy pregnancy for 9 months and my son had to be delivered by scalpel. I didn't even get a chance to push.
Again, I think I had a weird reaction to the pain killers. The doctor said she was going to apply pressure on my diaphragm area to get the baby into a position where they could grab him. She said it was going to feel like "an elephant standing on your chest". I felt her moving around a little and wondered when she was going to get started. About a week later, the hubby told me the two doctors were yanking on my abdominal muscles as hard as they could to expose the baby. Turns out, all those hours of yoga did NOT help. Weak abs make surgery easier. Anyway, so I was waiting for this elephant to arrive when hubby pointed to our baby in the incubator next to us. I was too drugged out and weak to see him or touch him. They took Baby away, with the hubby, while they closed my incision and cleaned me up. It took about an hour until I saw him again. Yet another thing taken from me.
I finally did hold him and it was one of the happiest moments of my life. Then the pain killers from the surgery started to wear off. My incision felt like it had been lit on fire. The nurse wasn't exactly snappy with the pills; I had to call for her twice. The pain got so bad I couldn't enjoy my son in my arms. And he was so beautiful. With gooey crap in his hair, little upturned nose, an overbite, and a chin exactly like his daddy's. I just wanted to stare at him, but the pain kept returning me to the planet Earth. It shouldn't have been like that.
The first night was kinda terrible. It took the nurses a few hours to clean me up, manage the pain, and track my vitals to make sure I was okay. They sent hubby to sleep in another room while they took care of me. Eventually they wheeled me to his room and brought the baby to stay with us.We stayed there for 4 days until I was strong enough to go home. I'm still not allowed to go up or down stairs, or do normal things like cough and sneeze. But at least I'm home and I have my son.
He was born at 12:56am. 7 lbs, 7oz, 20 inches long. Perfect in every way.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Football Baby Blanket
Luckily it was a knockoff anyway and didn't cost very much money. Still, he'd only worn it a couple of times and wanted to recycle it into something else.
So voila. A baby blanket. I'll go through the steps on how I made this sucker. There's not detailed instructions, but if you wanted to recreate it, I think you can follow along.
Actually, I ended up making two blankets. One for my expected son and one for my cousin's brand new baby boy. Only because the jersey had numbers on the front and back. I also got the fleece 30% off and the minky fabric 50% off.
Materials to make 2 blankets:
2 yds fleece
1 yd minky
scrap white fabric
70-80 inches of grosgrain or satin ribbon
green, white, and brown thread
First, wash everything in baby detergent. I use Dreft. Then cut out the numbers from the jersey.
Square up your two yards of fleece and fold into quarters. Cut along the folds. By square up, I mean make sure they are all equal sizes. Cut off the salvages and cut straight edges. It helps to have a large self healing mat and rotary cutter to do this.
Once I have the blanket squared off (which is kind of a pain in the ass), I mark the corners with color coded pins. That way I know it's supposed to be the upper left corner of the blanket and don't accidentally flip it sideways sew it wrong.
Find the middle of the blanket and pin the numbers on. Fold the raw edges under. You could use an iron here, but I was concerned about the heat and the jersey melting. Sew it on with either a straight stitch or zig zag. Just make sure you are sewing it to the RIGHT side of the fabric.
Next, get a piece of cardboard. Or not, if you are capable of doing this freestyle. More power to you. I needed a pattern. I measured the blanket and used pins to indicate where I wanted the football to be. I measured the vertical distance between the pins and drew a line on the cardboard. The curved line of the football was a little trickier. I found something in my house that was flexible and used it to trace the arc. It happened to be a piece of garden edging that we bought but never installed. When you're done, you should have a semi-circle of cardboard that fits your fleece.
Take the minky fabric - remember I'm making two blankets here. I folded it in half, then folded it along the length, just wider than the semicircle. Put the straight edge of the cardboard alongside the fold. Cut.
You should have two football shapes.
Take some white fabric and cut two inch strips.
Fold the raw edges to the center and iron flat.
Sew the white strips onto the minky fabric. Straight stitch or zig zag would work. If I were doing this project again, I would've reinforced the white strips with fusible web. They would've been more easy to place, pin, and sew if they were stiffer.
Sew the football onto the blanket.
Cut 6 inch long pieces of ribbon. I don't know how many you'll need. You can space these out as you wish. I found that anywhere from 4-8 inches apart looked nice. These are just going to be tabs the baby can play with. Pin them to the fabric wherever you want. If your ribbon has words or a pattern on it like mine, make sure the pattern goes in the same direction as the pattern on the fleece.
Stitch the sides up. Here's the front:
Here's the back.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Pregnancy Chronicles - Week 39
I could turn this blog post into a discussion regarding my cervix, but let's not. There is no baby yet. Still pregnant. Still very pregnant. And getting bigger. Could be because I don't want anything to eat besides donuts and ice cream.
I'm definitely ready for this baby to come. Yet this is the second week where the doctor reported no internal progress. This is the part where I could give you tons of details about my cervix. Let's just say it's not ready.
Which means this pregnancy is likely to go past week 40. A lot of first pregnancies do. I believe the due date was calculated correctly because it was triple checked with ultrasound measurements. Between 5% and 10% of pregnancies end in week 41 or 42. So it happens.
It's what comes next that I'm not thrilled about. The longer the pregnancy goes on, the more the placenta could deteriorate. The baby may not be getting enough oxygen or nutrients. That's when they induce labor or schedule a Cesarean.
I don't want either of those. I suppose no one does really. But I REALLY don't. Look, I'm not stupid. I know for all my bitching and moaning each week, this pregnancy has actually been pretty easy compared to what other people go through. My aches and pains are not that bad. Yeah, it's uncomfortable, but manageable. I've had worse sore muscles than what I'm feeling in my lower back right now. My swollen ankles are disturbing to look at, but I can deal with it.
My point is, everything has been going perfectly for 39 weeks. I can't accept that labor will be different. I don't see my baby as something that has to be medically removed by drugs or scalpel. I can't help to feel that if I need a Cesarean, I will somehow have failed at pregnancy. That is probably irrational, but feelings don't need to make sense. And I do NOT judge other women who had Cesareans; everyone is different. I just know it's not for me.
So if the baby doesn't come by next Thursday, the doctor is going to run a non-stress test. This is risk-free and measures heart rate, movements, and uterine activity. The results may give us a better indication of the baby's health and if medical interference is necessary.
Keep your fingers crossed for me. This baby needs to come soon and naturally.
I'm definitely ready for this baby to come. Yet this is the second week where the doctor reported no internal progress. This is the part where I could give you tons of details about my cervix. Let's just say it's not ready.
Which means this pregnancy is likely to go past week 40. A lot of first pregnancies do. I believe the due date was calculated correctly because it was triple checked with ultrasound measurements. Between 5% and 10% of pregnancies end in week 41 or 42. So it happens.
It's what comes next that I'm not thrilled about. The longer the pregnancy goes on, the more the placenta could deteriorate. The baby may not be getting enough oxygen or nutrients. That's when they induce labor or schedule a Cesarean.
I don't want either of those. I suppose no one does really. But I REALLY don't. Look, I'm not stupid. I know for all my bitching and moaning each week, this pregnancy has actually been pretty easy compared to what other people go through. My aches and pains are not that bad. Yeah, it's uncomfortable, but manageable. I've had worse sore muscles than what I'm feeling in my lower back right now. My swollen ankles are disturbing to look at, but I can deal with it.
My point is, everything has been going perfectly for 39 weeks. I can't accept that labor will be different. I don't see my baby as something that has to be medically removed by drugs or scalpel. I can't help to feel that if I need a Cesarean, I will somehow have failed at pregnancy. That is probably irrational, but feelings don't need to make sense. And I do NOT judge other women who had Cesareans; everyone is different. I just know it's not for me.
So if the baby doesn't come by next Thursday, the doctor is going to run a non-stress test. This is risk-free and measures heart rate, movements, and uterine activity. The results may give us a better indication of the baby's health and if medical interference is necessary.
Keep your fingers crossed for me. This baby needs to come soon and naturally.
Favorite Romances
For Valentine's Day, here's my list of favorite romances. Mostly they are taken from books I read recently.
Alina and Mal. Orphaned together, joined the Army together, were forcibly separated, and well, I won't spoil the ending.
Meliora and Vidanric. They spend a good part of the book on opposite sides of the war. Meliora can be a bit irritating, but the second half (and the romance) make up for it.
Tris and Four. Because damn. They just have chemistry. They understand each other and click from the very beginning.
Jordan and Ty. She's the quarterback and he's on the team. And he waits for her while she figures out what's going on.
Tessa and Jeck. Okay, I'm not sure if this should count. The characters actually didn't get together in this book, or the sequel. But if there's ever a third book (it's been 6 years), it'll be awesome.
Senneth and Tayse. Just perfection. This is one of my all time favorite books.
Cordelia and Aral. This is my other favorite book.
Yelena and Valek. She's the royal taste tester. He's the chief of security.
Lena and Alex. Because where they live, people are given lobotomies to remove love. People are put to death for exhibiting feelings.
Sonea and Akkarin. She's a bad-ass orphan plucked from the Thieves Guild. He's the High Lord at the magic academy.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Baby's New Normal
Laptops will be a joke. Smartphones and tablets will be the mobile device of choice. Amid the mix of rattles, stuffed toys, and pacifiers, there will be iPhones and iPads to keep baby entertained.
I wonder how many actual books he'll hold in his hands, or will all his reading be over the Kindle? By the time he gets to high school, will the school district still supply textbooks? Will he know what it's like to tote a huge backpack, gym clothes, and lunch to school everyday and somehow cramming it all into a locker that's 6 inches wide?
Will DVDs even matter anymore?
He'll grow up in a world where his every milestone will be captured on camera or video and shared for all friends and family to see. I don't think I could help myself; Facebook was created for mothers to brag about their children. It'll seem normal to him though, like everyone grew up this way.
He'll never spend time in a mall. But he will know the first name of the UPS man (Danny) and the post man (Alan).
I wonder if he'll even handle cash that often.
Will he look a photo album and wonder what the F this is? Why can't he click dammit?
Will he still have to pump gas? Or will that be a thing he had to do for his crappy first car?
He'll never hear what a dial-up modem sounds like. Or have to blow on something to get it to work.
Even right now before he's born, he has a video monitor that detects motion and has night vision. He has a stroller with shock absorbers and unfolds like a pop-up tent. He has a swing that goes both side-to-side and forward-to-back with different speeds and music. Nearly all his toys and equipment require batteries of some kind.
I really think the next technological age will begin with the invention of a longer, lighter battery. It'll be as revolutionary as the semiconductor.
And who knows? Maybe he'll live to be 120. Or maybe he won't die, but will have his consciousness uploaded to a storage device and live in a cyber world. Or transferred to a clone. The brain-computer interface is a real thing already being worked.
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