1. Hormone- and antibiotic-free, free range chicken pureed with organic carrots and organic green beans.
2. A mouthful of sand, which he choked on
3. A piece of the American Express junk mail flier, which I tried to pull out of his mouth, but it was too far back, so we just got some water and swallowed that mess.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Things my child has put in his mouth...in the last week
I realize that this makes me look like a negligent parent, especially to those of you who do not have kids, but those of you who do, know that a child can get his hand to his mouth at about the speed of two atoms flying toward each other in a particle accelerator. And that their tiny fingers make for the most accurate set of tweezers. So, though all of these things have found their way into little man's mouth, none have been swallowed or choked on. I swear.
1. the open end of a sunscreen tube (sans lid)
2. a nickel
3. the cord for the record player (covered in hair)
4. the dog's squeeky bone
5. the dog's actual bone (cow femur)
6. the dog's foot
7. the dog's tongue
8. a furniture pad
9. my husband's shoe
10. two dvd cases with Brad Pitt on the cover
11. my toe
12. the legs of the coffee table
13. scooby doo
14. a brown paper bag
15. the edges of the rug
Can you tell he is army crawling everywhere?
1. the open end of a sunscreen tube (sans lid)
2. a nickel
3. the cord for the record player (covered in hair)
4. the dog's squeeky bone
5. the dog's actual bone (cow femur)
6. the dog's foot
7. the dog's tongue
8. a furniture pad
9. my husband's shoe
10. two dvd cases with Brad Pitt on the cover
11. my toe
12. the legs of the coffee table
13. scooby doo
14. a brown paper bag
15. the edges of the rug
Can you tell he is army crawling everywhere?
Monday, May 6, 2013
God Bless the Single Parent
(disclaimer-this entry is very graphic)
I am not a single parent. I have a good and kind husband. My son's delight in him shows me the incredible level of devotion between father and son. And because of that devotion, my husband works very hard to take care of us. As of late, he has begun a project at work and has been working 12-14 hour days trying to complete it. On day five of his being at work during all hours of our son's awake time, I was starting to feel the weight of "doing it all": working, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, generic gender stereotypes, etc. Add to that my son is teething.
After said day five of my temporary single parenting, I was hoping to get some things accomplished at home after work. After a ten hour day, I picked my son up at daycare and finally made it home. Home to my terrible, awful, poop-smelling home. Let me clarify, my home does not usually smell of poo, but as I walked in the door, the scent of feces was heavy in the air and my eyes fell to the dog kennel. But even before I saw it, I knew by the smell that this was not going to be an easy clean up. I found that my poor creature had been VERY sick in and outside his kennel (if that gives you any idea). There was a general splatter within a three foot radius.
I put down the car seat carrier and attempted to think through the situation, but was not having great success. That said, I opened the kennel to take my dog, Phil, outside, and he did the ol' doggie shake, flinging doo all over me and my work clothes. I managed to get him outside and tied to a tree, then headed back in for the kennel. Before entering the house, I turned to look back, hoping my make shift tie out was going to hold him. Looking back at him, he gave me a look-a look I had seen once before; three years ago, when a student I really loved was vomiting on the desks and floors of my classroom, and in between heaves, he was frantically apologizing. Of course I was not angry at the child. Nor was I angry at the dog, he clearly could not have prevented this from happening, and seeing his ears drooped against his lowered head, outside in the rain, covered in shit, I felt bad for the guy. However, the pity was not going to get my work done, so I stripped off my work clothes, put on some scrub clothes, and went outside to face the mess.
Meanwhile, every time I left my son's line of vision he started screaming. I grabbed the hose and started to wash the dog. When he was clean, I went after the kennel. Since it was 50 degrees and raining, I couldn't take my son outside with me, which meant that he was screaming outside of my line of vision, but not out of earshot. And I don't mean fussing or crying. I mean screaming, as in, sweating, flush face, sometimes holding the scream too long and doing the silent scream.
But the poop. So much poop. Must. Keep. De-pooping.
I tried to soothe him by talking to him, but was not having it. Since I knew he was recently fed and had a dry diaper, I dredged on. I scrubbed the beshatted floor hands-and-knees style to get the grout all scrubbed out. And the with the distance between the stink and my nose reaching more than friendly distances, my stomach started to turn, and my son's screaming was starting to weigh down my brain. In that moment I felt a twinge of something similar to desperation, but instantly, even in all that mess and noise, I knew that I had it good. I have a baby. I have a dog. I have house for both those things to poo in. Tomorrow, my husband will be home. The two of us can face tomorrow's disasters together. But some people have to clean up the dog poop and the baby poop on their own, and those people are deserving of gold medals and a good night's sleep. So to all the parents who are doing it alone, God bless ya.
I thought of doing that public shaming of dogs with written signs to explain their bad behaviors thing, but it didn't seem fair, he clearly wasn't trying to be a menace. However, here are some very ashamed dogs that other people have posted to the interwebs and last one isn't too far off.
Also, I had wine and oreos for dinner.
I am not a single parent. I have a good and kind husband. My son's delight in him shows me the incredible level of devotion between father and son. And because of that devotion, my husband works very hard to take care of us. As of late, he has begun a project at work and has been working 12-14 hour days trying to complete it. On day five of his being at work during all hours of our son's awake time, I was starting to feel the weight of "doing it all": working, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, generic gender stereotypes, etc. Add to that my son is teething.
After said day five of my temporary single parenting, I was hoping to get some things accomplished at home after work. After a ten hour day, I picked my son up at daycare and finally made it home. Home to my terrible, awful, poop-smelling home. Let me clarify, my home does not usually smell of poo, but as I walked in the door, the scent of feces was heavy in the air and my eyes fell to the dog kennel. But even before I saw it, I knew by the smell that this was not going to be an easy clean up. I found that my poor creature had been VERY sick in and outside his kennel (if that gives you any idea). There was a general splatter within a three foot radius.
I put down the car seat carrier and attempted to think through the situation, but was not having great success. That said, I opened the kennel to take my dog, Phil, outside, and he did the ol' doggie shake, flinging doo all over me and my work clothes. I managed to get him outside and tied to a tree, then headed back in for the kennel. Before entering the house, I turned to look back, hoping my make shift tie out was going to hold him. Looking back at him, he gave me a look-a look I had seen once before; three years ago, when a student I really loved was vomiting on the desks and floors of my classroom, and in between heaves, he was frantically apologizing. Of course I was not angry at the child. Nor was I angry at the dog, he clearly could not have prevented this from happening, and seeing his ears drooped against his lowered head, outside in the rain, covered in shit, I felt bad for the guy. However, the pity was not going to get my work done, so I stripped off my work clothes, put on some scrub clothes, and went outside to face the mess.
Meanwhile, every time I left my son's line of vision he started screaming. I grabbed the hose and started to wash the dog. When he was clean, I went after the kennel. Since it was 50 degrees and raining, I couldn't take my son outside with me, which meant that he was screaming outside of my line of vision, but not out of earshot. And I don't mean fussing or crying. I mean screaming, as in, sweating, flush face, sometimes holding the scream too long and doing the silent scream.
But the poop. So much poop. Must. Keep. De-pooping.
I tried to soothe him by talking to him, but was not having it. Since I knew he was recently fed and had a dry diaper, I dredged on. I scrubbed the beshatted floor hands-and-knees style to get the grout all scrubbed out. And the with the distance between the stink and my nose reaching more than friendly distances, my stomach started to turn, and my son's screaming was starting to weigh down my brain. In that moment I felt a twinge of something similar to desperation, but instantly, even in all that mess and noise, I knew that I had it good. I have a baby. I have a dog. I have house for both those things to poo in. Tomorrow, my husband will be home. The two of us can face tomorrow's disasters together. But some people have to clean up the dog poop and the baby poop on their own, and those people are deserving of gold medals and a good night's sleep. So to all the parents who are doing it alone, God bless ya.
I thought of doing that public shaming of dogs with written signs to explain their bad behaviors thing, but it didn't seem fair, he clearly wasn't trying to be a menace. However, here are some very ashamed dogs that other people have posted to the interwebs and last one isn't too far off.
Also, I had wine and oreos for dinner.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
The Amazing Adventures of the Super-Uncoordinated Mom!
 |
| "Please catch it. Please catch it." |
I am not a coordinated person. I drop 75% of the things I pick up. My baby being the exception (some how my subconscious knows to try harder when holding that cargo). I trip over things more often than I would like to admit, but, don't worry, I always play it cool. "No, it's okay, I wanted to get a closer look at that tile!"
So needless to say, the other day I had a quite an amazing adventure.
My husband loves to play baseball, so sometimes on Sundays, he fills in on a friend's softball team when they are short on players. I am not much of a sports fan myself, but I can enjoy a live game of anything. So when our friend called asking for a fill-in, we packed up the car and headed to field, delighted to be spending the afternoon lounging outside. When we arrived, one minute before game time, my husband ran out onto the field (wearing a grey shirt and playing for the red team). I laid out an old hospital blanket on the ground and kicked off my shoes.
The first hour of the game was great. My son rolled around and grabbed at the grass. He watched several leashed dogs go by and communicated with them in their native tongue. It was super. Then at one hour and one minute, he started to totally lose his cool.
He notoriously starts this fake crying thing when he is tired. He pretty much just yells. It is so pathetic because he doesn't cry tears, he just makes this loud, drone of irritation. And the only cure is sleep. So, naturally, I let him carry on like this for 10 minutes while he laid on the blanket and I didn't try to soothe him. I got a few turned heads with looks like, "Geez lady, have you no heart?" I looked back with a look like, "Stop sending me messages with your head turn."
Within 15 minutes, he was zonked out(as I knew he would be), as peaceful and as calm as a baby on a blanket, in the park, in the spring, with a light a breeze, at a softball game. With him a-snoozing, I leaned back on my elbows to see which corner of the outfield they had stuffed my husband in (he is a really good baseball player, but apparently a fill-in cannot play a base position). I finally spotted his beard blowing in the wind far out in right field. I turned my attention to the batter, when a ball flew by on my left. As I turned to look at where the rogue ball had come from, I "shit you not" time slowed down. I saw the tacky highlighter-yellow-green-oversized ball heading our way. I reached my left arm out, over my sleeping son's belly, and the ball smacked into my wrist. Leaving purple stitch marks on the bone. I looked down at my kiddo, still lost in a dream, totally unaware that he almost got hit with a ball.
Most of the time, I can't catch a ball when I am trying. Especially when my husband doesn't throw it directly into my outstretched glove. So, to turn, see, and stop a ball in no seconds, and the experience the emergency-situation-super-human-mom-strength was a truly amazing adventure.
Friday, March 8, 2013
How being a mom has made me a better person.
Nobody wants to say it out loud. We all might think it, but it is so not-classy/egotistical to say it. However, I said I would be honest here. So, ahem..."I, anonymous writer of this blog, think I am a good person".
I live pretty responsibly. I car-pool. I have manners. I give my money to United Way. I give my blood to the Red Cross. I am a law abiding citizen(speeding home from work aside). I work hard at a job with no possibility of bonuses, promotions, or accolades because I believe that it helps others. I generally try to good things. I feel like I am not a Scrooge.
But then I became a mom.
I never truly understood how much I was living for myself until I was face-to-face with a human that depended on me in order to live. Suddenly, the generous person I thought was, was being taxed and torn by a tiny, crying, drooling little creature.
I used to pride myself on my efficiency. Don't get me wrong, I can be as lazy as anyone else, but I can also throw it into overdrive and accomplish a months worth of tasks and chores before lunch. (If you knew my mother, this would make sense.) I have been known to wake up Saturday and cleaned the house and left to run errands before my husband has woken up for the day. But recently, that has all changed. Except for the part about all that stuff needing to still be done. Oy.
In the last six months, my level of efficiency at home and personal grooming has become something like that of Homer Simpson's. I watch TV, burned out from the day of work and love on my baby from five to nine pm. The dishes pile up-beyond the sink and onto the counter. The recycling can becomes a mountain of paper and catalogs that I never signed up for. Every day I think about taking care of it and every few days I actually do something about it, though it really does bother me everyday to have a mess in the kitchen, I have learned that there are other more important things in need of my attention. And those important things are not daily showers or hair fixin'.
I am also reminded of this every morning, after hearing the alarm go off before 5:30. Even the temptation of sleep. Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside. Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside and it is winter, and I know that the floor will be cold when I step on it, is now trumped by the thought that my baby needs me. I am reminded that he needs me more than I need sleep, sunlight, and warm feet and so I groggily walk to his bedside. As soon as I see him laying the wrong direction in his crib, rolled onto his belly, forehead shoved up against the slats, I know I made the right decision.
I am not complaining. Please don't read it that way. I am just realizing that before I had a kid, I was living a life dedicated to my own whimsies. Now, I spend a large part of my day wiping poop off a little white hiney. But I have a joy like I have never known.
I live pretty responsibly. I car-pool. I have manners. I give my money to United Way. I give my blood to the Red Cross. I am a law abiding citizen(speeding home from work aside). I work hard at a job with no possibility of bonuses, promotions, or accolades because I believe that it helps others. I generally try to good things. I feel like I am not a Scrooge.
But then I became a mom.
I never truly understood how much I was living for myself until I was face-to-face with a human that depended on me in order to live. Suddenly, the generous person I thought was, was being taxed and torn by a tiny, crying, drooling little creature.
I used to pride myself on my efficiency. Don't get me wrong, I can be as lazy as anyone else, but I can also throw it into overdrive and accomplish a months worth of tasks and chores before lunch. (If you knew my mother, this would make sense.) I have been known to wake up Saturday and cleaned the house and left to run errands before my husband has woken up for the day. But recently, that has all changed. Except for the part about all that stuff needing to still be done. Oy.
In the last six months, my level of efficiency at home and personal grooming has become something like that of Homer Simpson's. I watch TV, burned out from the day of work and love on my baby from five to nine pm. The dishes pile up-beyond the sink and onto the counter. The recycling can becomes a mountain of paper and catalogs that I never signed up for. Every day I think about taking care of it and every few days I actually do something about it, though it really does bother me everyday to have a mess in the kitchen, I have learned that there are other more important things in need of my attention. And those important things are not daily showers or hair fixin'.
I am also reminded of this every morning, after hearing the alarm go off before 5:30. Even the temptation of sleep. Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside. Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside and it is winter, and I know that the floor will be cold when I step on it, is now trumped by the thought that my baby needs me. I am reminded that he needs me more than I need sleep, sunlight, and warm feet and so I groggily walk to his bedside. As soon as I see him laying the wrong direction in his crib, rolled onto his belly, forehead shoved up against the slats, I know I made the right decision.
I am not complaining. Please don't read it that way. I am just realizing that before I had a kid, I was living a life dedicated to my own whimsies. Now, I spend a large part of my day wiping poop off a little white hiney. But I have a joy like I have never known.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
28 things to do in the last 28 days
I am sharing with you a list of 28 things to do in the last 28 days of pregnancy. I was inspired to write it after finding the few weeks leading up to delivery to be: long, emotional, and in-need-of-distraction-y. I have shared it with my sister and my cousin, with good response. Use it if you find yourself in my shoes or give it to someone you know to motivate and encourage them.
The list
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The list
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Find,
buy, and watch your favorite kid's movie. Some day you will get to share
it with your little one, why not have it on hand? The Wal-mart $5.00 bin
is a great place to look.
Pick
out your pediatrician and call them. If don't have someone in mind, ask
for recommendations from other parents or look them up online. If you
don't know the doctor personally, you can call their office and schedule a time
to meet them and ask them some questions. If you aren't sure what to ask,
here is a good list of topics:
Remember-you
are potentially dealing with this person for the next 18 years, make sure you
really like them!
Go
to
http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/pregnancy-survey and take the survey about
your pregnancy. Write down the questions and answers on paper and put it
in your baby book.
Practice
swaddling. Watch a youtube video, read a how-to blog post, or ask someone
who knows.
Figure
out how to use your stroller. Also figure out how to use your baby
carrier or wrap if you have one.
Pack
your hospital bag. Two things I thought were useful: chapstick for all
the huffing and puffing, and pillows from home- the hospital ones were
terrible!
Get
a stack of thank you cards and stamps. People love to send gifts and cards
when the baby comes.
Double
your dinner recipe and freeze half. Having pre-made food after the baby
comes is awesome, because finding the time or energy to cook is hard. I
made simple things like spaghetti, meatballs, and soup and froze them.
Make
a family tree for your baby.
Make
a labor or postpartum playlist. Pick out songs that make you happy and
feel calm, just remember to pack your ipod or computer and charger.
Write
out a birth plan. When trying to process all the possibilities of labor
it helps to nail down what is really important to you (even if it changes at
the last minute) like specifying who you want in the room, if you want to have
pain meds available, if you don't want interns involved, etc.
Make
a list of who you want contacted and assign that job to someone. Decide
if you want to call, text, or email your friends and family to let them know
the good news. You can even type up a draft email or text and then you
can just fill in the details and hit send!
Start
a timer and drive to the hospital, park, and walk to the right floor.
Then you will know what to expect during show time. While you are there, you can go in and look at
the babies in the nursery, and stop for a frosty on the way home.
Buy
one post-pregnancy thing for yourself. Not something that will take
several months to get into, but something that you can be happy to put on after
the baby comes. My sister bought me this sweet nightgown that is super
soft and pretty, which is nice to wear especially when I feel so un-used to my
body being just mine.
Spend
extra time loving on your pets. You will always love them, but it is hard
to give them a lot of attention after having a baby. It takes time to
work out a new routine as a family and get back to bonding with your animals,
so love them up now. Also pick up a few toys or treats and keep them
stashed away for when you are feeling guilty.
Transition
your closet and drawers by pulling out maternity things and putting your old
clothes back. It might take a while to get back into them, but having
your old clothes can help you get back to feeling more like yourself. I
can't explain why, but throwing on my old ratty Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt
was really comforting.
Watch
a movie about having a baby. I highly recommend Baby Mama, other good
choices are Junior, Away We Go, and Juno. I do not recommend Look Who's
Talking-that movie gives me the creeps.
Clean
like crazy! I know you are probably really tired and your house is
already clean, but think about it as a clean-pay-it-forward kind of
thing. If you scrub already clean toilets and sinks, the cleanyness will
last for a while after the baby comes.
Go
buy plenty of pads for yourself (the Always Infinity were definitely worth the
extra few dollars), and rubbing alcohol wipes for baby's umbilical cord.
Do
something with your feet. They will be up in the air, and well, they might as
well look decent. I know they are hard to reach, but give them a few
minutes of attention, or get someone else to do it.
Make
sure you have baby medical stuff at home. It seems babies only need
something like that at a really inconvenient time and then someone is going to
the 24 hours Walgreens in the dead of night. Things to check for might
be: thermometer, gas drops, baby tylenol, etc.
Put
together a few baskets of baby stuff. We have a changing station in our
bedroom, but I find myself changing little man on the couch/floor/pack-n-play
quite often, instead of taking him back there every time. Throw some
diapers and what not into a few baskets and stash them in different rooms,
especially those that you spend a lot of time in.
Do
something that you won't do for a while after the baby comes, like go to the
movies or a small, crowded, baby-unfriendly restaurant.
Find a baby picture of
you and your husband. Throw them
into the hospital bag or have them handy when you get home. It is fun to see what features get
passed along.
Check your bills and
bank accounts. I got so distracted
when little man was born, that I let one of our accounts get a negative
balance. I just wasn’t thinking
about it. If there is anything you
can do, like set up automatic payments or transfers, do it ahead of time.
Get a good water
bottle. If they let you drink
during labor, it is nice to have your own bottle and watch how much you
drink. After the baby comes, you
will have to drink a lot of fluids and breastfeeding can make you feel really
thirsty. Splurge for something
fun.
Bake something. You will have a lifetime of making
birthday cakes and holiday cookies ahead of you. Start sharpening your skills and enjoy some tasty
treats.
Take a picture of your
belly in a way that you can recreate it with your baby once they arrive. Wrapping your hands around the bottom
and holding it up, lay the baby’s coming home outfit on your belly, etc… then
just substitute a baby for the belly for an after picture.
Take a bath. Doctors recommend you don’t take
one for a long while after the baby is born, since your body is trying to rid
itself of un-useful material and don’t want to risk infection. Make it a good long one and bring a
book.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Supply and Demand: The Economics of Breastfeeding in a Modern Civilization
I am not talking about economics like dollars and cents, because in the endless battle of breast vs. bottle, people often make the case that breastfeeding is fiscally responsible, stating that it is free, but anyone who has ever tried it knows that it is not. It means long hours, hard work, and if returning to work, a several hundred dollar pump.
I am talking about economics as in the cause and effect of production and consumption.
Starting with supply. Everyone is jealous of everyone else. I do not make enough milk to exclusively breastfeed my son. On an average week day, I spend 2-3 hours a day hooked to a pump and 2-3 hours nursing my kid (sometimes doing both at the same time). All that, and I still need to supplement with one or two formula bottles a day to get by. My friend (and reader of this blog) has 700 ounces of frozen milk in her freezer but has fought the battle of the plugged duct nearly a dozen times. I have another friend who visited several lactation consultants, purchased a high quality pump and supplies, sought help in support groups, had mastitis, and never was able to produce more than an ounce at a time. So basically, low-supply mommas wish they had more. Over-supply mommas wish they had less. No-supply mommas wish they had some. If there is a mom out there who had just the right amount, for the right amount of time, without any issues-please respond, so I can send you a gold medal.
The concept of supply was heavy on my mind over the recent holiday. At 4 am the day before Christmas, I got sick. Not from partying hard but from the cursed 24-hour-clean-you-out-I-don't-care-that-it-is-a-holiday-and-that-you-traveled-550-miles-with-a-baby-and-a-dog-to-be-here-to-celebrate-flu. For the entire day I was sweating (but freezing), in the bathroom, or asleep. These kind of flus do not care that another human being is depending on you in order to survive. My husband made up bottles of formula, and I managed to nurse a few times, and we got through it. Then nightfall came. I passed out hard after the days festivities, and found myself 14 hours without pumping or nursing. (The baby was fed bottles-no worries). Swollen and sore, I hooked up the pump and watched as little more than three ounces appeared. 14 hours and three ounces! My eyes welled up with tears, fearing that this was it. I was all dried up. Like the a grape in the sun. Wrinkled, deflated, and not nearly as good. Seriously, who likes raisins more than grapes?
I felt sick, tired, sad, and useless. It was not a good day. I pushed through the majority of a 2-liter of ginger ale and some orange gatorade, and kept trying to nurse my son. He had several formula bottles and some how seemed content. The next day things were pretty much back to normal. I couldn't believe it. Crazy supply laws.
Which leads to demand. And boy-howdy is there a demand. Sometimes as often as 12 times a day during those first few weeks. The demand comes at all hours of the night. The demand can be for more than is present. The demand shows no mercy.
Demand is good, though. It keeps up supply. And as any high school graduate can tell you, "as demand goes up, it will drive up the value". Breastmilk is gold. It is hard to understand it becoming more valuable, but as a grown woman who recently dropped a four ounce bottle of milk on the floor and cried real tears over it, I am telling you that this rule is true. I may have been extra emotional because while rinsing out the towel I was using to clean it up, my dog licked a large amount of it from the floor.
Oh, demand. I mentioned before that it can come at any time. I recently found myself caving to the demand in the most unusual way. My husband, baby, dog, and I were on our way back from said 550 mile trip last week, when our little man decided he was done with the whole car riding experience. Our normal nine hour trek, was quickly evolving into a ten, ten and a half, eleven...hour drive. I sat in the back seat singing, playing, and talking to little man and that worked for a while, then it was back to the crying. He would stop as soon as we pulled over and he got out of the seat, but at this point we just had to get home. Demanding that he either get out or get boob, I surrendered my modesty and leaned up over the car seat. For 40 miles, there I was half dressed, unseatbelted, "hanging out" in the car seat. It was the most I ever felt like a cow. I did not like it. But that is the thing about demand. It must be met. At ANY cost.
I am talking about economics as in the cause and effect of production and consumption.
Starting with supply. Everyone is jealous of everyone else. I do not make enough milk to exclusively breastfeed my son. On an average week day, I spend 2-3 hours a day hooked to a pump and 2-3 hours nursing my kid (sometimes doing both at the same time). All that, and I still need to supplement with one or two formula bottles a day to get by. My friend (and reader of this blog) has 700 ounces of frozen milk in her freezer but has fought the battle of the plugged duct nearly a dozen times. I have another friend who visited several lactation consultants, purchased a high quality pump and supplies, sought help in support groups, had mastitis, and never was able to produce more than an ounce at a time. So basically, low-supply mommas wish they had more. Over-supply mommas wish they had less. No-supply mommas wish they had some. If there is a mom out there who had just the right amount, for the right amount of time, without any issues-please respond, so I can send you a gold medal.
The concept of supply was heavy on my mind over the recent holiday. At 4 am the day before Christmas, I got sick. Not from partying hard but from the cursed 24-hour-clean-you-out-I-don't-care-that-it-is-a-holiday-and-that-you-traveled-550-miles-with-a-baby-and-a-dog-to-be-here-to-celebrate-flu. For the entire day I was sweating (but freezing), in the bathroom, or asleep. These kind of flus do not care that another human being is depending on you in order to survive. My husband made up bottles of formula, and I managed to nurse a few times, and we got through it. Then nightfall came. I passed out hard after the days festivities, and found myself 14 hours without pumping or nursing. (The baby was fed bottles-no worries). Swollen and sore, I hooked up the pump and watched as little more than three ounces appeared. 14 hours and three ounces! My eyes welled up with tears, fearing that this was it. I was all dried up. Like the a grape in the sun. Wrinkled, deflated, and not nearly as good. Seriously, who likes raisins more than grapes?
I felt sick, tired, sad, and useless. It was not a good day. I pushed through the majority of a 2-liter of ginger ale and some orange gatorade, and kept trying to nurse my son. He had several formula bottles and some how seemed content. The next day things were pretty much back to normal. I couldn't believe it. Crazy supply laws.
Which leads to demand. And boy-howdy is there a demand. Sometimes as often as 12 times a day during those first few weeks. The demand comes at all hours of the night. The demand can be for more than is present. The demand shows no mercy.
Demand is good, though. It keeps up supply. And as any high school graduate can tell you, "as demand goes up, it will drive up the value". Breastmilk is gold. It is hard to understand it becoming more valuable, but as a grown woman who recently dropped a four ounce bottle of milk on the floor and cried real tears over it, I am telling you that this rule is true. I may have been extra emotional because while rinsing out the towel I was using to clean it up, my dog licked a large amount of it from the floor.
Oh, demand. I mentioned before that it can come at any time. I recently found myself caving to the demand in the most unusual way. My husband, baby, dog, and I were on our way back from said 550 mile trip last week, when our little man decided he was done with the whole car riding experience. Our normal nine hour trek, was quickly evolving into a ten, ten and a half, eleven...hour drive. I sat in the back seat singing, playing, and talking to little man and that worked for a while, then it was back to the crying. He would stop as soon as we pulled over and he got out of the seat, but at this point we just had to get home. Demanding that he either get out or get boob, I surrendered my modesty and leaned up over the car seat. For 40 miles, there I was half dressed, unseatbelted, "hanging out" in the car seat. It was the most I ever felt like a cow. I did not like it. But that is the thing about demand. It must be met. At ANY cost.
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