sueeeus

I ought to take a shower.  There is more milk than there was before, enough that I leak all over my shirt when LB screams, but still not enough to sustain my goliath of a boy.  He’s sporting quite the double chin and an extra roll at the back of his neck, though, so I’m not feeling any worries about him not getting enough to eat.  I seem to be producing around 19-20 oz/day now, which would be dandy if I had a 7 or 8 pounder, but he’s over 11 pounds now, so he needs 22-28 oz/day.  According to sources.  I’m trying to remember to write down how much formula we give him, so I can figure out just how much he’s consuming.  So far today he’s had 4 oz of formula.  If he wakes up before I finish pumping, then he gets another 2 oz of formula, otherwise he’ll get the good stuff.

The domperidone trial is in full swing now.  It came from Vanuatu, since it’s not FDA approved here.  Why do I get visions of Olivia Newton John singing Xanadu when I see that name?  I ordered a six week supply, to give it a fair shake, plus enough extra to gently taper off.  It would be heaven to produce enough milk that I could pump only four times a day.  I don’t mind bottle feeding at all, and in fact I find it quite endearing.  No, it’s not the same as breast feeding, but I’m not as emotionally tangled up over it as I was the first time through.  This time, if he’ll breastfeed, that’s wonderful, and if he won’t, well, it makes me a bit sad, but I’m not devastated over it.

Mostly, when we try, he gets all mad and turns beet red in the face and screams.  Nice.  But once in a while, when he’s not freaked out and he’s had a little nibble at the bottle, I can put him to the breast and he’ll have a go for a little while.  His latch is still not the best, but I’m not pushing it too much.  It becomes that beet mad experience, which we could both do without.  And this way, even though it’s not the best latch, since we’re not doing this a whole lot, it’s not excruciating like it was in the first days, when he mercilessly chewed my nipples to scabby, bleeding messes.  We can both do without that, too.

We’re using the Dr. Brown’s preemie bottles for now.  They have the slowest flow nipples I could find.  There certainly is a lot of bottle washing going on around here.  That’s a mark in favor of breastfeeding.  Less bottle washing.

And we’re not going to call it colic, but there occur the off and on late night fits in which the babe cannot be solaced.  Well, he can, but he’s so very, very particular, and one’s body must be aligned just so, else his quite capable lungs will be exercised to their fullest.  Perhaps there are things that I’m eating that I shouldn’t be eating?  Some nights he’s a dream boat.  Others, inconsolable.

• What happened to my emailed blog comments?  Why are they not being sent?  Did they stop before or after the WordPress update?  Before, I think, but I can’t be sure.
• When one is strapped to a breast pump every so many hours, one has time to do things like upgrade blog software, fiddle with graphics software and design birth announcements.  In half hour increments.
• Heavens, I’m tired.
• Feeling happy after a percoset a few days ago, I noted to Gadget that I’ve not noticed any real post partum depression yet.  He replied that he likes it when I’m depressed, because then I like to spend money and buy things.
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was (mostly) serious.
• Every now and then I gently bring up the topic of the snip.  Most recently, Gadget said, “Tell you what, I get the snip, and you get me that motorcycle.”
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was serious.  (I’m fairly certain.  He really wants that stupid bike.)
• If I were five years younger, I might want to consider having another child.  I’ve always wanted three, or at least for as long as I can remember.  Two boys and a girl.  But now that I’m 43, and have this most beautiful and wonderful baby, I’m feeling my age and can’t imagine how I could possibly go through the newborn days again.
• I can’t fathom how mothers of three and more do it.
• My mother had nine, and I’m finally beginning to cut her a bit of slack for how lackadaisical I perceived her mothering to be (back then).
• Is it just mine, or do all three- going on four- year olds have serious obedience and defiance issues?
• How does one teach a three- going on four- year old what a lie is, and why not to do it?
• Today he played outside and got covered in mud.  As boys do.  Then he took a shower, all by himself.  He even remembered to take his socks off, and he set the water temperature correctly, and he even lathered himself up with soap.  I’m so proud of him!  It’s the most grown up thing he’s done so far.
• Pumping isn’t so bad, really, but it certainly forces a particular structure into one’s life, for which there is very little latitude.

This is all I had to show after a span of six hours.  Pathetic.  Things are improving.  They’ve gone from dismal to less dismal, but still pathetic.  Life in two hour increments was killing me.  It takes a full one of those hours to pump, decant, clean, feed, diaper, and burp, leaving the other hour to use the bathroom, sleep, shower, attend to the other child, etc etc etc.  So I switched to three hour compartments.  It’s so liberating!  That extra hour is pure wealth, and I can actually get reasonable naps in here and there.  I even made banana bread today, with such an abundance of time on my hands.

I’m the luckiest mom ever, because LB is the best baby.  He’s so content, except when diapering.  He has the biggest, brightest eyes, when they’re open.

He’s so laid back.  When he’s awake, he just kicks back and looks around, calm and content as can be. (Yes, I know the pictures are blurry; I thought they were in focus when I took them, but I’m living life in a blur right now, so what do I really know?)

BB, on the other hand, is proving to be quite a challenge, with the adjustments of late.  He’s a love, really, but his one year old cousin is here all week, and sharing attention and toys and life in general with so many others is a difficult thing for a three year old. I think he will do better when it’s back to just the four of us.  Even so, he does need to learn how to behave and obey, regardless of how many other people are here.  I let him pretend he was a baby last night, and snuggled him in my lap and spoon fed him his lunch, then tucked him in for a nap, and stroked his face and talked to him, telling him that’s what I used to do when he was a baby.  He really liked that moment of attention, and took a nice, long, refreshing nap.  It was very good for him, to get some rest.

I simply do not know how mothers of more than two can function.

First, I want to thank everyone for all the wonderful, sweet, and kind comments.  Thank you so!

We are home, safe and sound.  Our first stop, en route from hospital to home, was Costco, to fill the prescriptions.  It’s Labor Day weekend, and the last thing I wanted was to be home with no pain meds!  Because I’m a wuss.

Seriously, though, you know this attempted breastfeeding business is tough stuff if narcotics are necessary in order to bolster oneself enough to overcome the pain to try yet again.  And gosh, I’ve been trying.  The thing is, some will say that these giant babies still have teensy tiny tummies and can survive just fine on the meager quantities of colostrum produced until the milk comes in, but so far, not my boys.  No, they whither away at an alarming rate, plummeting past that x% normal baby weight drop, right on by, so the doctors recommend the alternate therapies begin.

I was all ready for this, though, and I started pumping in the hospital, just to see what was there, and to try and encourage things.  The lactation specialists were so good, too, and I was feeling so confident.  They noted that my milk was working its way down, and we had a plan to keep on pumping after feedings, use a supplemental tube to add the pumped milk to what the baby is trying to pull from the breast, and occasionally supplement with formula if necessary.  And some formula was necessary, at that point, due to the massive drop in weight.  The lactation specialist deemed that although LB doesn’t suck properly when there is no flow (and hence chomps the nipples mercilessly, just like his brother before him, resulting in bleeding, cracked, swollen, horrible protrusions that hurt like holy hell), once flow is present, he’ll switch his pattern to the normal suck.  Which is GOOD!  He can latch!  They estimated that I’d only have to use the tube for one or two days at most, because by then the milk would be flowing, and off we’d go.

So last night the boobs got all swollen, huge, and hard.  (I can only imagine what visitors Google might send my way, with that combination of words.)   Practically engorged, or what I remembered engorgement to be.  I was a bit surprised that this would happen, since I’m pumping regularly, every 2-3 hours, after each attempted feeding, and that’s supposed to help bypass the whole engorgement phase.  I assumed that the milk would come.  I knew that LB wasn’t getting much, because I couldn’t hear swallows, and he never switched to the sucking pattern, but continued chomping.  I expected to see more, once I pumped.  But no.

It has become too excruciating, even for me, and I actually have quite a high pain threshold, even though I called myself a wuss at the beginning of this post.  So I decided to take a break from nipple chomping, and just pump exclusively for a while to give things a chance to heal.  Meanwhile, the plan was to use the tube and my finger, to feed the expressed milk.  This is all under the assumption that there will be milk.

I’ve been pumping every two hours, and each time, what do I get?  A measly 10 mLs.  And that’s from BOTH breasts.  I brought out my diary from BB, and I was getting 30 mLs at this point, and I was distraught then, for that piddly amount, and my poor starving (giant of a) child.  (Who, we all know, is far far from starving, and is indeed a very robust boy!)

And then I noticed the whites of LB’s eyes turning yellow.  Jaundice.  Dear Lord, these things freak me out to the point where I want to curse these useless humongous bags of flesh.  All show and no go.  And really, hardly a worthwhile show at that.  I’ve been feeding LB every drop of expressed milk, and giving him as much formula as I can coax him to take.  Two days ago, the lactation consultant estimated he should be getting 45-55mL per feed, and feeding every 3 hours, increasing each day by another 10-15mL per feed.  So today he should be getting 70-90mL per feed.  I’m producing only about 120mL a DAY.

I’ve been trying all day to get him to eat, and have only managed to get him to take 40mL at any given feeding with the supplement tube, and at that, it takes a good hour and much coaxing.

So tonight I say, screw the nipple confusion, my boy must feed.  If I’m not making milk, I’m not making milk.  God knows why, or why not.  I’ll keep pumping like this and see what happens. Maybe there will be more milk.  Nature and science both say there should be.  We shall see.  In the mean time, bring on the formula, my boy must eat.  I got him to take 67 mLs, from a bottle, and it made me SO happy.  And afterwards, he stayed awake for a couple of hours, and I hope it’s not my imagination, but the whites of his eyes look more white.  I am relieved.

My beautiful, precious boy.

I’m ready.  I’m NOT ready!  This is THE DAY.  The end of this journey and the beginning of the next.  The journey in which LB joins our family at last.

I’m not sure I can articulate my feelings, but I think it’s important that I try.  How can I begin to express my gratitude that I’ve been blessed to be a mother, twice over?  Two boys.  The mother of two beautiful boys.

There’s such a difference, from the baby leaving my body and coming out into the world.  The sheer sense of responsibility is almost overwhelming.  I know what it’s like, having been down this road with BB.  All the same.  Today, life will be much different.

Possibly some of this is the knowledge that this may truly be the end of this journey for me, that I will never be pregnant again, never carry another child, never bring a daughter into this world.

I don’t think I honestly want more than two — my body is not young, and there is much effort in raising children well.

Only a few hours more and our family of three becomes a family of four.  I suppose I am a bit terrified of what lies ahead, but for no good reason.  BB is nothing but a joy and delight.

A family of four!  How can it be anything but beautiful?!

I think perhaps the trepidation is merely that fear of change, of leaving one’s comfort zone and becoming accustomed to a new reality.

In a way, it’s like that feeling you get when you’re on a roller coaster, when you’re strapped in to the seat, motoring ever so slowly towards the peak, wondering to yourself why on earth you decided to get on this ride, and knowing that there’s no turning back and you absolutely must and will face the inevitable, that very, very soon you will be plummeting over the edge.  And as you drop, your fears crash through your stomach as you hurtle down, down, downward.  And then it’s over, and you’ve survived, and all is well.  (And sometimes you run right back, to queue for another go!)

So today, I’m nearing the precipice in this roller coaster seat, and the tension is rising in my throat.  In but a few hours, the drop.  And then it will all be over.  I will hold my precious new son in my arms, put him to my breast, and love him fiercely until the day I die.

A mother.  Again.  The dream of all my dreams, coming true.  How blessed I am.  How absolutely and completely blessed.

LB, my LB.  My dear, sweet LB.

LB and BB.  My boys.  My sons.

I am a mother.

So blessed.

Babes in arms. Soon.

There has been a marked silence in blogland lately, particularly amongst the ladies in waiting. I’ve been hoping that we are all just going through the frantic and harried late third trimester nesting times in which all is well with the babes, and we are just too busy with wrapping together the pieces of our lives that need to be taken care of before our bundles of joy arrive. It can be so stressful, these last few weeks, when the doctors say to heed the movements and make sure you feel at least 10 movements every two hours, and if not, CALL. I’m finding myself looking at the clock, wondering why LB hasn’t moved, gently prodding my belly to see if I can get him to squirm, and either feeling panic or joy when I don’t or do get a response. And then there’s the fear that I’ll go into labor at any time, and even though he’s a big robust boy already, it’s still too early, so please, please don’t come yet. And then there’s the office. The loads and loads of loose ends to tie up. All the things to get in order for an extended absence. Finding all the things that must be delegated and delegating them properly so that all will be well. Finishing things that have been in work for ages. Anticipating what might come up whilst away, just in case. The management tends to get a bit nervous when they know you are single thread and there’s nobody else who can fill in for task X, should the need arise. And even though I am single thread on many things I do, the chances are that no emergencies will arise in my absence. And the company will go on. My single threadedness remains only the smallest drop in a very large bucket. So I won’t actually let that bother me. Much. I have much more important things on the horizon with which to prioritize my emotions, thoughts, and energy.

Today I’ve caught up on several posts and projects that have been rattling around. I made some bibs for our bloggy babes. My hand painting is crude – the pencil sketches turned out much nicer than the actual product, once rendered in paint. And even though it’s not much, and they didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped and imagined, it’s something that I wanted to do.

Now, to send them off!

Spurred by a recent visit to Target in which we found it impossible to steer past the toy aisle without the young lad going berserk, I devised a plan. No, you can’t have everything you see and everything you want. These things are privileges, and you must earn them.

Okay, so I tried to put it in terms of 3-1/2 year old language skills. The Good Boy Chart. I made a set of magnets with happy pictures and a chart with ten spaces to fill. Good boy deeds earn magnets. But they can also be forfeited. So it’s one step forward, two steps back. But he gets it! So all week he’s been working on earning stars, and he is now very close to earning a reward. He wants a Batman mask.

Last night he opted to continue with his bad behavior, and have a star removed. It was quite amazing to me, that he weighed the cost of the transgression, and decided he’d rather go on doing what he was doing, which was something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, but which was FUN! …and forfeit a star.

I can see we’re going to have our work cut out for us.

We did remove the star, then he decided he’d go ahead and stop doing what he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He wanted the star back, because he’d stopped, but I explained that he had had his chance, and now he has to earn it back again.

I’m a tough mamma-jamma.

*~*~*~*~*~*

My 8 year old nephew is spending the weekend, and my little guy’s behavior slides drastically during such times. He (my nephew) is the sweetest boy, but I think my son just gets too wound up and excited to have him here. Consequently, there were meltdowns and a significant loss of stars. This morning we worked hard doing jobs to earn them back. Sadly, Target was freshly out of the coveted Batman mask, but happily, they had a bazillion other things to choose from, and my little one was tickled pink to get to choose… …a Transformer -Barricade- which also, as luck would have it, was marked down to $5 from $20. Woot.

Good Things

• 3 a.m. – realizing there is a warm little body burrowed against mine, even though he was soundly sleeping in his own bed at last recollection. I do want him to feel safe, secure, and confident, and I do want him to develop healthy independence, but I also want to savor the snuggle time for as long as I can.
• coffee at 4 a.m. when I’m all swollen and can’t sleep (not so much the swollen and can’t sleep part, though)
• colostrum. 34 weeks and it’s here – my body is working! This pleases me immensely.
• a peaceful quiet house, all to myself (even though I’ll be paying for it in a few hours). Not so much the rude awakening that I’m not alone, and sharing the otherwise tranquility with a monstrously large moth, and where the hell did it come from anyway? (Swearing, although a rarity with me, is not uncommon when monstrously large flying creatures invade one’s space.)
• broccoli, steamed and smothered in butter. Normally I wouldn’t indulge in the decadence of butter, but when I do, oh my. Yesterday’s dinner.
• sweet corn. Miraculously enough, it doesn’t wreak havoc on the blood sugar. The broccoli wasn’t enough, so I had corn too. Yes, we’re all about fine and lovingly prepared meals around here.
• the prospect of a healthy baby

Not so Good Things

• insomnia
• bladder capacity (lack thereof)
• monstrously large flying creatures invading one’s space
• edema
• full body aches
• muscle cramps
• insulin resistance; diabetes
• employer changed medical insurance plans mid-year requiring more out of pocket expenses, additional paperwork, deductibles, and higher copays
• the strange numb and unpleasant but not so much painful feeling on the surface of my skin at the peak of my belly (by my navel, which somehow remains an innie) when my belly inadvertently but invariably brushes against anything

Things to Do

• buy newborn size diapers. I have a case of size 1, but they may be a bit big for the first couple of weeks.
• set up the baby hammock
• unpack baby items – bibs, burp cloths, breast pump, all that good stuff
• preregister at the hospital
• pack my hospital bag
• discuss leave of absence and return to work plans with my boss
• make daycare arrangements – the babysitter is going to Poland on August 20th, without consulting me first. Imagine.
• wrap up work projects. HAHAHAHAAHAHAAHHAHAHAHH. Actually, I probably will leave things in good shape for my backups. I’m responsible and considerate that way.
• clean and organize the fridge and freezer
• get more rest

28 Weeks.

Today I got to see LB! He’s beautiful (to me) and I’m smitten even more. He seems to have an abundance of personality.

He smiles. (He frowns too.)

He’s peaceful. (He’s grouchy too.)

He sucks his thumb. I hope this means he’ll take to the breast.

He looks like he’s a sweetie-pie.

He poses. (And puts up with the paparazzi.)

I’m so in love. I can’t wait to meet him face to face.

What a wonder technology is. Truly amazing.

The stepchildren have arrived. Gadget didn’t get to see them at all last year, due to irresponsible and inconsiderate scheduling on his ex’es part. They are here for a month and a half this time. He reports that their living conditions are similar to those of my own youth, a squalid shack in the middle of nowhere. It’s hard to fathom why his ex left him for a crotchety man eleven years her senior. If he had wealth, charm, or some other redeeming qualities, I might understand, but the only thing I can see (and I’m being objective!) is that he’s not Gadget. Apparently that was enough.

It’s sad to see the kids raised in an environment in which he has absolutely no influence. The step-dad is out of work, hobbling around recovering from having an ingrown toenail removed, and the mother has never worked. From what Gadget can see, they live on the child support that he sends for his daughter, and welfare and social services. They were receiving social security payments for the step-son that had something to do with his having leukemia as an infant. I’m not sure how that works, but he’s 19 now, graduated from high school, and about to face the future, so for some reason, the social security payments stopped, which means that much less for them to live on.

While we were dirt poor, we never used welfare and social services, and my dad went to work every single day, regardless of health. He was an emotional tyrant (and sometimes physical), but he had a good work ethic. Our house was a pigsty, but we had a band of nine wild ones and a harried and frazzled mother who tried her best to keep food on the table and clean clothes on our backs. If she’d had more energy and perhaps some parenting assistance from my dad, we might have been made to contribute with housework and chores. One thing is for certain. Each and every one of us counted the days until we could be out of that house and on our own. I left the very day after I graduated high school. I was 17.

So these two children are being raised by a mother who doesn’t and won’t work, and a step-dad who works sporadically. They don’t clean their house. Gadget wouldn’t even use their bathroom while there. Dirty dishes are everywhere and stacks of junk are everywhere else. When not in school, they watch TV, movies, or play video games, all day, every day. Or they go shopping. (??? I’m not even going to get into that…)

Neither know how to swim. The daughter is going into high school next term and doesn’t yet know how to ride a bike. When here two years ago, she loved to read and had a little spark. Now she hates to read, and she’s all huddled into herself. She mumbles incomprehensibly if she does speak, or she just doesn’t respond when spoken to. Occasionally, she’ll nod her head yes or no. She’s got extreme pronation in which she practically walks on her ankles, and now one leg is visibly longer than the other. We tried to get her to take interest in trying to correct her walk, the last time she was here, to no avail, and now the problem is much worse, and she claims not to care at all. She’s setting herself up for a future of chronic pain. We’re going to try to get her to at least wear specialty insoles. She snubs any reasonable shoes. Gadget is very angry that his ex doesn’t try harder to help her correct this.

Enter Sueeeus, the wicked step-mother. Sueeeus has rules. Every day there is a chore to do, and it must be done before any game-playing or TV/DVD watching. Work first. Then reward. And Sueeeus sets limits. Only one movie per day. Only one hour of video game playing per day. Only one hour of TV per day. (That’s three hours of leisure trash time, but one would think it was cruelty to the utmost extreme.) Oh, that Sueeeus, she is so wicked.

These kids are not prepared for life in the real world. The boy is very soon, as in several weeks, going to be out there. At least he has some enthusiasm, and although he has very limited vision and ambition, I think he will be able to make a way for himself. I hope.

The girl has no ambition. No interests. No spark. Nothing.

It breaks Gadget’s heart, and mine, and makes us both angry and frustrated.

***

A few days have passed, and thankfully, the girl is opening up a bit. They’re not grumbling TOO badly about their chores, although, in the long run, I may wonder if the price is or was worth it.

So far, we’ve nearly lost our freezer after being left ajar a night. Gadget worked all his magic on it, to no seeming avail, but it kicked back into operation after a full day and two nights. Phew. Such a sad and shameful waste of good food, though. That was just a sloppy oversight, not a chore.

Yesterday I assigned weeding. One might think it would be common sense that things IN planter boxes were meant to be there, and things outside of containers were not. One would think. Gone is my lavender and my dwarf bamboo. Present are dandelions, bindweed, and thistles. Today I reassigned weeding. They’re on their second round, having failed the first inspection. I’m not sure what they pulled this time, but the dandelions remain. There may be hope for my lavender and bamboo, because I noticed that they were just pulling tops, and not pulling out the roots. I re-instructed them to pull the roots up, using a dandelion as an example. They didn’t give me a very appreciative look. I told them that if they don’t pull the roots, they’ll be pulling those same weeds all summer. Another steely glare.

I haven’t told them that we might go to the movies tonight. They can wait and be surprised by that reward. Meanwhile, this weekend the hot tub must be scoured and sanitized, and the carpets and floor mats in the car must be cleaned. I’m sure they’ll rejoice over that. Next week they’ll get to steam clean the upholstered chairs and sofas. And the downstairs carpets. And maybe paint a wall or two.

Yes, I am the most wicked of evil step-mothers.