sueeeus

(Hello again, Gorgeous Boy!)

Counting today, I have three week days of leave remaining, and I find myself teetering on the brink of anxiety.  So there are things that I try to remind myself:

• there will always be laundry to wash, dry, fold, and put away
• there will always be dishes to wash, dry, and put away
• there will always be groceries to buy and meals to plan and prepare
• there will always be bills to pay, accounts to reconcile, errands to be run
• there will always be work to do
• there will not always be a teeny tiny snuggly baby to have and to hold

This helps me put things in perspective, when I begin to panic, wondering where the time has gone and find that my days are consumed with mostly mundane things, and that soon I will have to add to each day several hours of computer working time.  It’s not that I won’t have time for all that I have now.  I will just have to rearrange the manner in which I do things.  I spend a good amount of time each day pumping, and concurrently on the computer.  Soon I’ll be doing bona fide work during much of this time, so that should have little impact to the overall picture.  I’ll just be adding a few more hours to this.

Rather than be anxious and wistful that my leave is coming to an end, I should stop and smell the roses.  I should see the forest and the trees.  I should savor the teeny tiny snuggly baby times, because they are fleeting.

That being said, I love the middle of the night feedings the best.  My precious LB is mostly asleep and not fighting himself or me, and takes the bottle with little or no fuss.  When I pick him up he draws his little legs up to his body like a froggie, and I snuggle him close and listen to his funny rythmic feeding sounds, which are somewhere between a very softly braying donkey and a very softly honking goose.  I need to capture that sound!  Rather than try to sleep through the night, I’ve decided to do a pumping session between 2 and 4 a.m., as I’ve learned that there tends to be more milk during this time.  I feed him prior to pumping, so I’m awake enough to savor the time, aware of the smile on my face as I hear those funny sounds and feel the warmth of his tiny body snuggled close to mine.  It’s a magical, fleeting time that I treasure to the utmost.

As for everything else, I must try not to panic.  There is time for all of it.  It’s just life being lived.

Look at you, seven weeks old, in your six month snuggly and your brother, 3-3/4 years old in his size 6 jeans.  The two of you are giants.  Giants, I say!  I’m a bit sad having to put away your 3 month clothes already.

BB is much more excited by the appearance of the jungle, at this point.  But you will surely like it soon.  It has so many fun and interesting things to explore.  It’s a gift from your auntie C and uncle D, and it sure is neat!

You remind me of Kramer, from Seinfeld, in this picture.  Your hair cracks me up, and I mean that in the nicest way.

Have I told you lately that I think you’re gorgeous and I want to gobble you up?  Oh?  I did?  Well, I’m going to cover those cheeks in kisses, then.  Right NOW!!

p.s. I’m sorry I called you Mister Screams A Lot today when I didn’t hear the phone ring and missed an important message from my work by nearly three hours.  I’m still going to gobble you up!

Because I’ve recently mentioned that I’ve spent a small fortune on baby bottles, all in the quest for that which my oh-so-particular child will tolerate, I thought I would provide a review, as a public service and all.  Because  I need to stop spending my pumping time and loads of money online shopping and do something less expensive and more constructive I’m kind and generous that way.

First.  We begin with what I use, and why.

(LOOK!  More than a full day’s worth of stockpiled liquid gold! Unbelievable!!)

I don’t know if my baby has colic, GER, GERD, or some other unspecified gastro-intestinal issue, but he tends to be fussy at times, and barely tolerates a bottle, let alone a breast.  There are a number of bottles on the market that claim to reduce or prevent colic, and there are camps of people who strongly favor one or another.  We seem to have the most success with the Dr. Brown’s line, but I’m not emotionally attached to it.  We used the wide neck version with BB nearly four years ago, and liked them well enough then.  They had a nice shape with a comfortable hold, and the wide mouth made them easy to clean.  We also used the Avent bottles, and liked them as well.  However, with the crisis du jour regarding BPA, I traded in my BPA Dr. Brown’s and Avent bottles for BPA-free Dr. Brown’s and Born Free bottles.

I started with the Dr. Brown’s preemie bottles, and really liked them for the preemie slowest of slow flow nipples and also the tiny two-ounce size, which was just right for my newborn.  However, they were still BPA bottles, so I decided to exchange them for non-BPA.  The options are 3.5 oz glass, 4 oz polypropylene, or 8 oz polypropylene.  I ended up with some of each.  Unfortunately, the valve reservoir stem is a different length for each different bottle size, and I could only find the long 8oz version reservoir stem available in the replacement parts section.

I don’t care for the actual bottle part of the Dr. Brown’s polypro line.  It’s a hard plastic, and it’s completely cylindrical.  It doesn’t feel particularly good to hold, and because of the special valve system, the bottles tend to be taller to accommodate the valve.  This makes them a bit bulky and unwieldy.  Especially the 8 oz size.  That bottle seems to be about as big as my baby, so I put the 8 oz bottles away for when he’s older and bigger, but harvested the valves and nipples for use with other bottles now.

The glass bottles are nice, but they’re heavy, and as soon as my baby can hold his own bottle, I’ll probably give them up, because the last thing I need is a heavy glass projectile in the hands of a wee one just getting used to his motor skills.

I decided to find other bottles that could be used with the Dr. Brown’s valve system, but because each size bottle has a different length stem, and because replacement stems are only available for the long 8oz size, I had to cut the valve stems to fit the appropriate bottle.  This makes for a tangled and confusing mess of parts, which is best not left to the spouse, who will, without fail, grumble exceedingly if asked or expected to warm up a bottle of stored milk and find the appropriate nipple/collar/valve/reservoir stem, and who will, inevitably, select any stem without consideration, jam it onto any bottle, then curse and sputter when the bottle leaks or hand it to me to feed the by then screaming child, in which case I will mutter something unkind about general laziness and lack of attention to detail.  Not conducive to marital bliss.

The collars actually fit the Medela bottles that I use for pumping, however, the Medela bottles don’t have many threads and they sometimes leak.  They’re not all that comfortable to hold, either, so I just stick to them for collecting the milk, and transfer the expressed milk to the bottles that I like — the old fashioned inexpensive Evenflo hexagonal bottles.  If only they made them in a 5 or 6 oz size.  I buy the 4 oz size for now, and store the milk in 3 oz lots.

And now for the rejects.  Although I like the Born Free, the nipples tend to collapse a bit, and the baby doesn’t seem to like them as well, so they’re set aside for a few months, until he’s a bit more coordinated.

He struggled with most of the nipples pictured above.  The breast flow version is good in concept but the outer nipple completely collapses in use and seems nothing like a breast at all.  He chokes on the Soothie nipple and gets tangled up with the Nuk nipple.   The cheap Gerber style with the lime green collar leaks like a sieve, but the threads work with the Dr. Brown’s parts, so they’re the last resort storage bottles, used only when I run out of everything else (because I don’t care for the odd trapezoidal shape, which isn’t particularly comfortable to grasp).  The bottle on the far left is a different Gerber variety, and it actually is the best tolerated of the lot above.  It’s not BPA free though, so just in case, we’re letting it be.  I did try to do a BPA exchange at Babies -R- Us with the four outer bottles, but they weren’t on the list, like the Dr. Brown’s and Avent varieties, for whatever reason.

I was planning to be more comprehensive with the rejects, but I’ve grown weary of this post.  At least it kept me from Amazon.com and eBay for this particular expression session, and that was the point, in part.

Hello there, gorgeous!  How I wish I knew what made you cry so.  Your poor little tummy must hurt hurt hurt.  Only six or eight weeks more and that digestive tract should be stronger and hopefully you won’t spend so many hours of each day screaming and all worked up.  Poor little guy.

I’ve spent a fortune on bottles, hoping the fancy air vents and contraptions do something to help ease your discomfort.  You have such a hard time eating, even from a bottle.  You get so worked up, and even though you’re hungry (I know you are, even if you shake your head), you’re too worked up to take it.  We have to wait until you’ve calmed down, and then, gently, carefully, finally, you’ll eat. If we’re ever so careful, that is, and if you don’t get all worked up again.  You’d starve to death if you had to suckle me, and I’d be a frayed and frazzled mess.  Even more so than I am.  It’s all we can do to keep you fed with the bottle!

Your brother had colic, and he screamed inconsolably for several hours.  Every. Single. Day.  Well, late afternoon and into the evening.  And then he turned three months old, and became a happy boy.

You’re not nearly so inconsolable as your brother was.  Inconsolable, yes, but you go in bouts of only an hour or two.  And you spread them out all through the day.  It makes me sad that you have so many minutes of unhappiness.

Even when you cry, I love the sound of your voice, and I can’t wait for you to turn into a happy happy boy.  I’m looking forward to hearing you coo and gurgle and giggle and seeing the sparkle in your eyes.

I don’t want to rush through your infancy, but it would be nice to fast forward past the rough stuff.  Only the rough stuff though.  I want to treasure and savor all your baby goodness, and gobble you up, my beautiful, beautiful boy!

What has been happening lately, one might ask?

My boy wonder is now five weeks old.  Five weeks already!  Which means I must return to work in three short weeks.  Thank the heavens I will be able to work from home for some time.  And that I have three weeks rather than one week left.

I just want to eat him up!  Here he is in all his squeezable goodness, modeling an outfit received from an aunt.  It may be the only time he wears that jacket — what business do babies have wearing things with big scratchy zippers?  He is wearing 3-6mos things now, so we may only get a few wears out of 0-3mos things like this anyway.  In fact, culling the closets has been on my to-do list for several days now.  For whatever reason, I still haven’t gotten to it.

So what have we been doing?

Ever working on milk supply, is what, and I’m happy to report that I’ve been able to produce enough to feed him breast milk exclusively for several days now!  I’m expressing between 24 and 26 ounces a day now, which is enough to keep up with my little guy (barely!  –and reviewing my logs from BB, it wasn’t enough for his voracious appetite –because I was actually making a bit more at this stage in his life than I am now, yet it’s enough for LB, thank the heavens above).  That’s not to say he has any interest in the breast itself.  Oh no, he’s just like his brother before him, screaming and shaking his head when given the prospect of warm soft skin, settling only when he feels the impersonal silicone and its ready flow of milk.  I’m not letting it get me down this time, and am looking at the bright side and advantages of a bottle feeding relationship.  I still get to snuggle him close.  We have a good thing going on.

There is the matter of poop, however.  I’ve resorted to brown sugar three times so far in his short life.  Our pediatrician said to use it if he goes over a day.  I gave him some on day two of the latest round, which was two days ago, and he still didn’t go until the evening of day three.  I’ve read online that breast milk fed babies may go some days without a poop, so am not freaking out over this, but I would like some more assurance.

All in all, I think the domperidone experiment is looking like a success, and I think I’d recommend it to anyone who is in the same boat as I am.  I haven’t noticed any side effects, and I’m not sure how much of my production is related to the drug, as opposed to the myriad other factors involved, but if it IS related, then it is well worth it.  And I’m thinking that I may need to name my good friend the breast pump, as we are spending so very much time together.  How does Old Bessie sound?

Run along now.  This is a post that will likely be long and laborious.  I’ve just got a load of disappointments that are eroding my sense of equilibrium, so I think it may behoove me to write it out.  Perhaps I’ll feel better at the end of it.

• Much as I’m grateful for the magic and mystery that is the human body, and its ability (however challenged, in my case) to produce milk, and much as exclusive pumping has its advantages, I have to admit that I am, after all, disappointed that I don’t get to be one of those nursing mothers, completely attuned to her child, the child contentedly suckling away.  I suppose there is a bit of grief to process here.  It’s one of those experiences that I’d longed for and worked valiantly toward.  And it’s apparently not for me.  I’ve studied in earnest hundreds of pictures of nipples and breasts (dear me, I might actually get blog traffic for that combination of words) and suckling babes trying to determine what they have that I don’t have.  Yes, milk flow was and is certainly a handicap, but it appears that I come from a line of women who can not nurse.  Not my grandmother, not my mother, not my sister.  My nipples are wide and flat, and the aerolae are huge.  I could do without Gadget’s ever helpful mother’s suggestion that perhaps the baby would be able to nurse if he’d get his mouth past the nipple and on to the ‘dark circle part’.  No, dear MIL, I wasn’t aware of that.  Sigh.  She means well, so I shouldn’t be so sarcastic and short with her.  And she hasn’t seen what I have to work with.  Not that I plan to flash my breasts at her, but it would go a long way in explaining things.
• I don’t like goodbyes.  My sister and her family came to spend LB’s first week with us, and she filled three freezers with amazing food for us, to tide us through many months.  She’s wonderful and generous and I love her to bits.  It’s always so hard to say goodbye, and I selfishly wish and hope that one day we can live closer, much much closer, to each other.
• Shortly after my sister left, my mother and her husband (MH) arrived, to spend ten days with us, and they left this morning.  None of the siblings have a particularly close relationship with her, but we love her.  She’s our mother.  So I’m sad when she leaves.  It took a little arm twisting to convince her to stay as long as she did.  I don’t know how much of it is her, and how much is her husband, but they generally stay only a day or two, and they zip off long before sunrise, sometimes without even saying goodbye.  Well, they say goodbye at night before bed, but what’s the hurry?  They’re retired.  It’s easy to push buttons and tread on nerves (more on this later), but even so, it’s sad to say goodbye.
• With a new baby, we’ve been trying to organize some family get togethers, so everyone can meet him.  One of my nieces planned a trip up, and wanted to make a dinner for us.  We gladly accepted, and as the time drew near, we all decided to get together at my SIL’s place, rather than my place, because she’s more centrally located to all of us, so the commute would be much easier for most people.  She planned to make Thai food, so Gadget said he’d stay home, since he doesn’t like Thai.  I gave him the evil eye, and later I told him that it would mean a lot to me if he’d go, regardless of what was being served for dinner, because it wasn’t really about the food in the first place.  He said he was only kidding (but he wasn’t) and that he’d go.  Then we were trying to figure out when to get together with Gadget’s family, because we wanted to do it while my mom was here, for more family bonding.  We weren’t certain of the dates, so the next thing we knew, my mother’s husband was dialing the phone.  He’d called my niece, and proceeded with the grand inquisition, which probably freaked her out a bit.  It would me.  He has a tendency of taking more initiative within the family than many of us are comfortable with.  For instance, he spanked my nephew once, and I’m not sure how my SIL handled that, but my sister who witnessed it was livid, as was my BIL, and because of that, MH is not welcome to stay in their home.  Somehow, I didn’t notice that event, but I kept a bit of an eye on him while here, because I didn’t want him to be disciplining my child in such a manner.  He came close, but didn’t cross the line where I’d have had to rear up as MAMA BEAR and tell him to leave the discipline to me.
• The day for the niece dinner arrived, and we converged on my SIL’s home.  But where was the niece?  Dinner was to be around 6, and she didn’t even arrive until after 7.  She has two kids of her own, which she left at home for this trip, but surely she knew that kids can only wait so long while maintaining reasonably good behaviour.  Surely she knew that?  My SIL ended up putting together a quick kids meal to take care of the hoarde of hungry children.  Once my niece arrived, she seemed preoccupied, and went to work immediately in the kitchen, prepared a fine meal, grabbed a plate, took a bite or two at most, then left.  She left!  I don’t know….  I was disappointed because we were having this family get together that it seemed as though she didn’t even want to be a part of.  Maybe she didn’t really want it to be a big thing, and maybe she just wanted to come to my house by herself and cook dinner for just us, rather than for us, my mom and her husband, my sister, my nephew, and my SIL and her kids (half of whom are her half-siblings).  Maybe it was family overload and maybe she has a touch of social anxiety.  It runs in the family.  I just don’t know.  But I felt disappointed afterwards, and even now, thinking of it.  I’m certainly taking it personally, whether or not I should.  It feels sort of like rejection.
• The next day was the Gadget family get together.  To make it easy, we bring all the food and we drive an hour and a half to get there, so they don’t have to do anything but show up at the MIL’s house.  The rest of them live only minutes from her, so it makes it very convenient.  But do they show up?  NO!  Only one of Gadget’s sisters came, apart from the brother who already lives there.  His other sister and dad, who live less than a mile away, didn’t come, nor did the other brother.  It will be a long time before I agree to a get-together up there again.  It was especially disappointing because it seemed like it should have been a big deal, to come meet a brand new baby in the family.  Plus, with my mother and her husband making the effort to extend themselves to the other side of the family, it all seems like a slap in the face.  And more rejection.
• I’ve made the recent observation that there are several personalities within my family, that, were I not related, and should I cross paths in the course of living with people of these personalities, I wouldn’t befriend them, and probably would never even make any effort to introduce myself or interact with them at all.  At all.  This makes me sad, because these are my people.  What is it they say, that you can love someone, but not like them?  I suppose this is how it is.  And it makes me sad.  And maybe a bit ashamed.
• I find it very sobering to recognize that those traits which I find most frustrating and least appealing in my mother are traits that I quite possibly manifest myself.

…it doesn’t seem to have helped (much).  I’ve written it out, but don’t feel much better, if at all.

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.

I’m about ten pounds less than my pre-pregnancy weight, which is nice, but still nowhere near any sort of ideal range.  And when I look in the mirror, I’d think I’d be happy that I’ve lost some weight, but what I see reflected back is so shockingly unattractive.  And then I stumbled across this site, the shape of a mother, and it helps me feel better.

I was thinking about the well-intended comments from the well-intended doctors about the need to lose weight, and how irksome I find it, as though it never occurred to me that I might be heavy and that it might have health ramifications at some point in life.  No, I didn’t notice that I was obese.  I missed that one.

At least my own ob/gyn isn’t making mention of it.  He’s been my doctor for fifteen years or so, through the whole fertility challenge, the pregnancies, the miscarriages, both cases of GD and both deliveries.  He probably said something at some point, but he doesn’t keep repeating things, and I appreciate that.

Part of me has been thinking that maybe this time will be the time — that my life is in a place where all the pieces are fitting together — I have my family, two beautiful boys!  I have a good job, good health insurance coverage, good retirement/pension prospects, a stable home, and I live in a mostly decent neighborhood (apart from one set of troublesome neighbors).

This may be the time when emotionally I’m ready to tackle my self.  And possibly it won’t be that hard.  That is my hope.

I’ve been wondering about what might be the best exercise choice for me.  I still don’t have all that much energy, at this point, three weeks post-partum.  My belly still hurts and has alot of numb and tingly spots that ache much much more if/when I get constipated.  Supposedly this new pain is due to the abdominal wall as things are shrinking their way back to normal. Apparently my uterus and all things female are okay, which is goodness.

I think I’ll start doing my wii Dance Dance Revolution again.  That was fun and got me sweating nicely, so surely it must have been a reasonable amount of exercise.  I can also walk, but why is it that the thought of getting dressed and going outside seems overwhelming?  It feels so nice to be outside, once there, but the getting there is the hurdle.  I can rejoin the gym, but not for at least a couple more months, and if I do, I will want to go enroute to or from the office, so I don’t have to wrangle the kids.  That will mean that I absolutely will have to count on Gadget to be there for daycare pickup.  And here I am, only three weeks into my LB’s life, and thinking about daycare.  I ought to just be thinking of the moment, which is sleep, pump, feed, wash bottles, sleep, pump, feed, wash bottles.

This baby time is so fleeting.  I absolutely must savor every moment.  And try not to think about body image for a while.

• 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.

LB had his follow up appointment yesterday, at two weeks and two days old.  He’s eating like a champion and weighed in at 11lbs 0.5 oz, a full eleven ounces more than his birth weight, which is great, considering he lost over a full pound before leaving the hospital.

I also bit the bullet and mustered the courage and resolve to properly peel back the skin and expose his little turtle, and though he cried passionately, I persevered, and we both lived through it.  After the fact, I have to say that most of his crying was no different than the display he provides any time his diaper is changed.  He really doesn’t like having his diaper changed, or being on his back, or being naked.  Funny kid.  So many kids are completely opposite, loving to be naked and free.  Anyhow, after that initial peel-back-exposure, all has been well — no major swelling, no bleeding, no screaming at the liberal application of neosporin.  It would appear that my earlier freak out was mostly unwarranted.  Not much of a surprise there.

The pediatrician gave him flying colors all around.  Good feeding, good color, good head control, good eye tracking, good circ site, good umbilical site.  All good.  Hooray for my little champion.  My little dream boat.