Information Overload

My sweet daughter came into this world at 41 weeks gestation- enough time to have been thoroughly cooked.  However, she arrived with some surprises that made the ability to eat challenging.*

Nursing was hard from the start. The lactation consultant came to the hospital room on the day she was born and told us that we were both capable of breastfeeding and that it would come together soon.  She didn't sound alarmed.  Then we went home at 30 hours post-partum.

At home, she screamed at me in an effort to latch on, sometimes taking up 15 minutes a side to get on the boob.  We powered through, with my expectation that she was just on the verge of figuring it out.  "She is able to eat and make wet diapers, so she is ok, it's just me having a hard time." I thought this every feeding, so 8-10 times a day for days.

In my delirium of new baby/raising a toddler/lack of sleep I let this go on for two weeks before loading up in the car and going to the lactation clinic, after first getting a prescription for such a service from my OB so that this visit wouldn't cost a million dollars.

This one visit turned into weekly visits, which turned into suck-training with a pacifier, which turned into pumping, which turned into supplementing using a special needs feeder, which turned into surgery to correct her tongue tie and lip tie, which turned into using a nipple shield, which turned into weaning off the nipple shield, which turned into a return to the familiar painful nursing we started out with along with supplemental feedings of pumped milk.

Meanwhile, baby girl was weighed weekly and I did everything in my power to fatten her up, regardless of her poor ability to suck, high palate, and ability to spit up the entire contents of her stomach three times a day.  At six weeks she had gained a whole pound since birth and I celebrated.  (I got chik-fil-a drive thru and sat in the parking lot listening to my audiobook for 30 glorious minutes)

We are making progress! So why the cynicism oozing from this post?  Its because at some point it all became just too much.  Too much talking about it.  Too much pumping.  Too much stress.  Too much time occupying my mind.  Too much information.

Here are just SOME of the titles of the handouts given to me from the ladies at lactation:
Need to Increase Your Milk Supply?
Let's Talk About Galactogogues
Relaxation for the Baby Who Arches
The Calma (propriety bottle nipple information guide)
Baby-Led Bottle-Feeding
Breastfeeding Tips for Babies with Muscle Issues
Posterior Tongue
Suck Training Exercises

Now these nice ladies are wholly invested in the health and well being of mothers and babies.  It is a noble job and an under promoted profession.  My feelings of irritation are not with these women, but with this idea that the right thing to do is to struggle.

One thousand times I have wanted to crack open the container of formula that sits smartly on the counter.  But I want permission.  I still can't seem to grant it to myself.  The approval of friends and loved-ones still hasn't convinced me. Mom guilt is incredibly powerful.  I don't even know where it is coming from, but that doesn't make it any easier to reckon.  I used formula to supplement my first child, then exclusively formula fed for months. I was formula fed starting at six weeks.  My issue is not with formula.  It is my stupid inability to admit to defeat, as long as I can continue to make forward progress with my daughter, regardless of how much anguish it causes me, I can't seem to let it go.  I can't seem to say out loud, "I need a break."

I gain nothing by being stubborn.  I gain nothing by allowing my spirit to become weakened by fatigue and failure.  I gain nothing by denying modern advances in baby care.  I know this.  I know this full well.

And so, anonymous stranger that sits in a library in Tallahassee perusing pintrest and happens upon this post, or beloved devoted reader, or whoever lands here and needs to hear it:

"You have done an amazing thing.  (You have kept a human alive.)  You have earned the right and privilege to let go of whatever that thing is that you keep mulling over in your mind.  Let's do it together."

*My daughter was born with the mildest of issues. I feel absolute gratitude for her health and functioning body.  My heart goes out to all babies and mamas that face life-threatening challenges.

UPDATE:  In writing this I freed myself.  I opened that carton of formula a day later.

And Then There Were Two

 It seems like you wait forever to meet your sweet babe, then suddenly they arrive and when your head finally clears the fog, you look up to see that weeks have passed.  At least that how it is for me.

I have not written for quite sometime due to equal parts busyness and inadequate words to describe the fullness of my life right now.

Last month we welcomed the arrival of a darling baby girl.  Her gender was unknown to us, but from the first time I visualized her little life, she was a girl.  So when my doctor announced that SHE had arrived there was a brief moment of surprise, followed immediately by the feeling of "of course".

Her labor is worthy of a post on it's own, so that will have to come later.

So what makes me pick up my decrepit old macbook after such a long hiatus?  The last two hours of my evening do.

My daughter was born tongue-tied and lip-tied making nursing a challenge.  Weeks of lactation consulting have resulted in endless nursing, pumping, and bottle-feeding sessions.  One "meal" for this kid is at least an hour long event.  With a solid hour hard to come by as a mom of two, breaks are taken to make sure that big brother gets what he needs, too. 

After an episode of Daniel Tiger, I interrupt the nursing session to get him into bed.  He requests and extra hug, then a kiss.  A few minutes later the door opens to request a song and yet when it is over and the door shuts, he cries "Mama" several times into his Darth Vader blanket.

Then it is back to the couch to resume the meal time routine for little sister.  This part is the worst-she cries in the boppy next to me while I pump for 15 minutes.  When I am done with that, I quick wash the pump parts for next time, the proceed to feed her a bottle.  This process is also slow in an effort to get her to keep the food down.

I just finish feeding her, when her brother's door swings open. "I think so, I pee the floor," says the teary voice at the end of the hall.  I lay the baby on my bed and go to investigate.  A mostly eyes-closed version of my son is standing by the door in a half gallon of pee.  I debate moving him to the bathroom, but reason kicks in and I realize I would have a long trail of pee to clean instead of a single puddle.  I watch the urine cascade down the crooked old floor and pool in the corner near the trash can.  

In a state of tiredness and confusion, the little guy is struggling to get his socks off in the clothes changing process.  He starts to fall over, so with pee-soaked hands, he grabs a hold of my shirt for balance.  I finally get him into dry pjs, get his hands washed and get him back into bed.  I clean the floor perfunctorily as it is after 10:00 pm and pee is sterile and I don't really feel like dealing with this now and pull the door shut.

Tired from the day and the added adventure of this evening, I wash up and head to bed.  The same bed where I laid my newborn.  I arrive to find her laying in a large pool of spit up on the down comforter.  I swaddle her and decide that I will just flip the comforter over tomorrow and call it good.

The evening was messy, tiring, and completely normal.  This is the pace of things right now.  Everything always has a little bit of body fluid on it and the laundry is my arch nemesis.  The days are slipping by faster than I could have ever imagined.  Everyday my kids are bigger, brighter, and more themselves than the day before.  It is my greatest gift to see them grow.   

These days of dampness, stickiness, and smell will pass, but for now, I am here.  I am in it.  And I am grateful.

Catharts on Parade

The first time I was pregnant, I had so much to process.  Everything was happening for the first time and I was the first one going through it in my circle of friends and similar aged family.  I found myself pregnant with thought. Pun intended.

I have been quieter the second time around.  This time, I have reflected more and generally piped down.  Also I was busy-like really busy and something else happened.  I started to receive praise, both from people I know and people I have never met.  Seemingly kind and encouraging remarks made me shut my mouth about how I really felt, put my head down, and keep going.

In the first few months, I was frequently doted on about my size.  "You're so small!"  "You have no belly at all!"  "I hope I look like you when I am four months pregnant!"  And what do you say to that?  Well I sure couldn't say, "Actually, I am fucking terrified.  I keep losing weight.  I feel discouraged because when I look at my body I can't see the baby that I am carrying.  I feel like it could slip away and no one would ever know it was there.  Standing up makes me feel so tired that I feel like a strong wind could turn me into sand and I'll blow away, lost in the breeze forever."  But that is what I desperately wanted to cry out to them.  Instead, I smiled awkwardly and tried to change the subject.

As months passed and my body grew, people shifted their words of affirmation to the way I was getting by.  "You have it all together."  "You are so calm." "I don't know how you balance work, grad school, parenting, etc.."  And again.  I would smile, thank them and squish the screaming thoughts in my head.  "TOGETHER!?  TOGETHER!?  I am literally alive because of Jimmy Dean frozen breakfast sandwiches.  I have stretchmarks, hemorrhoids, varicose veins, and heartburn.  There is a human shoved so tight in my ribs that I haven't had a deep breath since October. My nose bleeds.  My gums bleed.  And sometimes I pass gas involuntarily because a baby squashes my intestines."

Each time I would begin to let the levee break, I would think of my friend with MS who had the rockiest pregnancy I have ever witnessed.  I would think of my friend who has carried multiple children that she will not meet in this lifetime.  I would think of my grandma milking cows hours after her water broke.  These are the kind of people I know-women of incredible strength and courage. And yet I know that I could have said something at anytime to these brave ladies and they would have listened, but I couldn't.  I still don't feel like I have the right. (see multiple posts about stupid anxiety disorder...)

So what happens then?  My husband finds me sobbing in the bathtub two days before my due date.  On this occasion, the house was unusually messy, which stressed me out and gave me a nice gateway to CryTown.  Once I cried about the crusty crockpot that I would deal with later, I looked at the 2/3 of body that was sticking out of the water and I let myself think all the things I had been stifling.  When my husband came in, I blathered about my weird body, about trying to finish my research to graduate in May, about my job, about the unready nursery, and about a bazillion other things.  When I finally said all the things I could think of and stopped to blow my nose (still in the tub), I felt the breath of release.  My husband picked up my gushing face and confirmed that we would fine, that we love each other, and that this baby will be here soon.  And today I believe each of those statements, I just wish I hadn't waited 40 weeks to hear them.

Dear Baby Number Two

Dear Baby Two,

I have yet to take a picture of my growing belly with you inside. I have yet to peruse the aisles of Target imaging all the things you and I might need.  I have yet to begin work on your bedroom, although your time in utero is half way through.  

I am sorry about the two weeks I didn't take prenatal vitamins because I ran out of them and forgot to go the store. Every single day I forgot.  For two weeks. I am sorry that I have fallen twice and surely scared you with the surges of cortisol and adrenaline.  I am sorry that raw vegetables have disgusted me since May and you have gotten none of their benefits.  

I wanted to give you all the grace and goodness I could muster, but I fear I have not.  

But as I sit here in the early morning, your brother still asleep, I daydream about you.  I wonder about the way your voice will sound. I wonder about the color of your hair.  You ride silently with me all day, even when our schools days are 12 hours long.  You are my ally.  When I lay down at night you wake up.  Your elbows and knees are a welcome feeling in my belly.  Your dad can't feel your movements yet, so each jump is just between you and me.  I am happy that you are my child. 

 I may not get all the things accomplished that I should before you arrive, but I am so excited for that day. The lack of preparedness is not be confused with a lack of readiness. I have arms you can sleep in and the anatomy to feed you.  This time around I know that beyond all the niceties of nurseries and pinterest-inspired crafts, that this house of love made by your dad, brother, and I are enough.  You, Sundance, are so loved.

Always,
Mom

5 Things That Happened During my Second Pregnancy That No One Warned Me About

This time everything is different.

People told me so many things about carrying a second baby.  Some of their stories were good and some were awful.  I was optimistic that my next go round would liken itself to my first pregnancy, which was pretty good. I have not had a terrible pregnancy, I know people who have it had it so much worse, but a few things have happened to me this time that were unpleasant, new, and even scary because I was not informed about the possibility that these things could happen.

1.  Morning sickness.  It is only ever talked about as the nausea that steamrolls you in the morning and often leads to vomiting.  Through my own experience I can tell you that that is not always true.  Sometimes that wave of nausea causes you to empty the contents of your core in a different, more gross way.  And that can happen every day.  For a month.  Oh, and sometimes the nausea can be significantly worse in the evening than the morning.

2. Instant Monster.  As a generally calm person, the desire to bite off heads was new to me.  There were times that I was feeling sick and moody, where in my first pregnancy, I might have laid down in bed or taken up residence on the couch.  When those waves of inner and outer sourness hit me during this pregnancy, I would again try retiring to my bed or the couch, but there were always the knees and elbows of a toddler jamming into me, whilst being used as jungle gym.  In those moments, I felt like I would explode.  My skin hurt. My senses were immediately overwhelmed. And I was instantly a monster.  I would pick up my kid, give him some fruit snacks and sit down on the closed toilet seat to try to get my hackels down.

3. Small belly.  EVERYONE told me variations of "You will get huge fast!", "You will pop by like 10 weeks!", "Fat you gonna be."  So I got a little excited to have some outward evidence of my little bean.  I feel like I have begun to stretch out, but I look rather unnpregnant to the people not living inside my body.  I have heard some of the craziest things from women when I told them I am pregnant. "For real? You can't even tell!" Well, you know what all this did for me? It gave me a complex that there is something wrong with this kid or with me because I don't look as expected.  Seriously, I had to talk to my therapist about it.  It was a constant thought.  Yet, as I always knew in the back of my mind, that this baby and I are fine, I was reassured when I heard his/her heartbeat yesterday.

4. Fainting/dizziness/lossofmusclecontrol.  This one scared me the most.  I was in the kitchen and suddenly I could not feel my legs.  It was like they turned to hot metal- warming up, going soft, and giving in.  I fell onto my butt, shattered the glass in my hand, and terrified my husband and son all at once.  I shook for most of the day, waves of dizziness swept over me, strange sensations in my body kept me constantly on edge.  Turns out, fainting (what happened to me qualifies as fainting), is not that uncommon during pregnancy.  It can be brought on by about a million factors, blood sugar falls, dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, lack of iron in the blood, etc.

5.  Nose bleeds with added bonuses.  I knew that nosebleeds were common and I had had a few the first time I was pregnant.  While my body decided to add to that unique experience by passing large and gross blood clots from my nose.  This one was a true surprise and had both my husband and myself appalled.  (It is not good when no one is able to keep a level head in a new situation)


The point of exposing myself as a gross, shaky, neutrotic person, whose nose has betrayed her, is to let you know that these things can happen, and if they happen to you-you are not alone!

The Parade Returns!

I have been away a long time.  My last post was in April.  In beginning of May, this happened...

Anyone else recognize the dollar store test?

Yep.  Up the spout again.  Another bun in the oven.  Back in the saddle.  Going to be a mom of two.

My cup runneth over.

The Taming of the Child (through a profuse usage of exclamation points)

 

 On Thursday after my students boarded their buses for spring holiday, I sat down to call some families.  I was making a list in my head all week of students who were doing a great job as of late.  I made three phone calls, each showing success in different areas:

• A boy who was failing due to talking, playing, and general tomfoolery had been more focused and engaged in his work this week
• A girl who is prone to emotional outbursts made it through the week without a tantrum 
• A boy who often gets angry and confrontational with kids made it through the week without threatening anyone

I called the guardians (an uncle, a mom, and an older sister) and spoke positively about their student's positive behavior improvements.  The guardians were pleased by the report and I was able to make a connection with the adults at home-letting them know I was invested in their student and that they were having success at school.

After I hung up the phone, I left the building in route to pick up my own kid and perhaps if I wasn't sitting in traffic for thirty minutes I wouldn't have had time to have an existential crisis on the matter.  Yet, as I sat squished between cars in the 5:00 standstill, I scanned the radio twice before settling on silence and began to mull over the conversations.  I put myself in the role of the parent of one of my students.  Thinking about the type of call I just made and I felt it hit me.  Like a ton of freaking bricks.

We tame our children. 

We turn them into versions of people that we think will have some likelihood of surviving in the environment around us. 

We (teachers) try ceaselessly to help all the kids who walk through our door find academic, social, and emotional success.  So our kids who are wildly emotional (passionate), our kids who are loud and silly (humoristic), and our kids who are hostile (distrusting until proven otherwise) are molded into schoolable kids.  Do they become less passionate as a result?  Does some part of them disappear?  Does their sense of carefree wonder get stifled by our projections of what success look like? 

I am a human who conditions other humans to fit in a sort of box!  (At this point I am freaking out in the car). Forget test scores, reading levels, knowledge of science, or math, or history-I shape 10-year-olds into who they are as people!  WHAT MAKES ME QUALIFIED?!

As my heart started to pound in my chest, I remembered, I am their teacher!  I am their advocate!  I am there to be there for them!

And suddenly I remembered how I feel when the other kids shy away from these passionate, verbose, and high-strung kids.  
I remembered how I feel when these kids are reluctant to trust me. 
I remembered how much I care about them.

My heart settles on a thought-I don't think I could or would do anything different.

Then I started thinking about my kid.

I tame my child. 

I attempt to turn him into a version of person that I think will have some likelihood of surviving in the environment around me. 

I (parent) try ceaselessly to balance my child's natural wildness and the social norms of society on him from the start.  I know how I feel when my kid is knuckle deep in his nose at church and screams like a banshee when I try to intervene.  And I also know how I feel when I see him tromping most triumphantly through the over grown weeds, wielding a stick, and giving loud commands to his imaginary crew of followers.  

I feel the weight of all of this. I want my child to be free in his mind and free in his spirit.  I want my kid to have healthy relationships with other people.  I want my child to know how to navigate different situations with ease.

I want him to be happy.



Really, I just want to not screw him up.




For more on my teaching adventure see:
Reflections on my first year of teaching at an urban school