breastfeeding: crunchy granola

About a month ago when I went to a play group with a local mom’s group, I met a mom who had a little girl a few days younger than Kellan.

She, by the way, was the only other person who had that young of a child. Everyone else was walking…I digress…

We got to talking and turns out she went 100% natural, so I automatically assumed in my head that she was a crunchy granola mom and must also be breastfeeding.

Wrong.

She quit at five weeks because it was too hard…it just wasn’t working out.

I was kind of shocked, honestly. I mean, breastfeeding IS really hard…but a few days later I learned she wasn’t a morning person and wanted to go for a stroller walk at noon (I think I mentioned this already?).

NOON.

That pretty much ended any kind of potential friendship…even though she did text me a few days later to tell me she’d have to try to get out early and meet me one day because noon was too hot.

Umm….no duh. Hello, baby heat stroke.

Anyhow, I digress, again.

I had a really hard time with breastfeeding at first. I mean REALLY HARD.

Kellan wouldn’t latch. I didn’t know how to get him to latch. I didn’t have a single clue as to what I was doing or should be doing. All I knew was that it was my job to keep him alive and how could I do that when he wasn’t latching???

(insert crying, blubbering, hormonal meltdown)

With the help of my mom (thank God she was here the first week), I figured out that I needed to let Kellan guide me as to how he’d like to latch.

Turned out it was the exact wrong way per the Lactation Consultant at the hospital. Kellan wanted to lay flat of his back, with his head turned to my boob – and only is head.

For weeks I would have to have one hand under his head/cheek and the other holding my boob for him. Once he latched, I didn’t want to move for fear of breaking it and then having to start all over again.

Starting all over again was a long, arduous process. It would sometimes take 15 minutes or so before he figured out how to re-latch. So, breaking the latch wasn’t an option. Instead, once successful contact was made, I would sit there with him on the My Brest Friend and be uncomfortable or starving or both. It was both a lot of the time.

On too of that, my poor nipples hurt like a mother. They, obviously, were not accustomed to being utilized so frequently, and every time he *did* latch it would hurt SO BAD for a few seconds. I cringed every time, waiting on the pain…pain I knew was coming and there was nothing I could do about it but bear it.

The shower stung my nipples, too. It’s like my boobs were taking the one respite I had left and denying me relaxation. Instead of a nice, hot, ahhhhhhhh shower, my internal dialogue was more like, “Ow…ow…ow…don’t face front…ow…or sideways…owwww!”

Fortunately, that all went away after a few weeks…showers and I (me?) are BFF 4 EVAH.

Anyhow, point is, breastfeeding didn’t come naturally. In fact, it probably wouldn’t have happened at all had my mom not been there to – literally and figuratively – help me and my boob figure it all out. Before Kellan was born, I was bound and determined to breastfeed. That was 500 extra calories a day I’d burn and I’d be damned if I was missed out on that gravy train.

So, I stuck with it…through the frustration and pain and hours and hours of having a child attached to me. Tim said the other day we may as well hook up a direct line, since all Kellan wants to do right now is nurse. He’s awake? Nee! It’s time for a nap? Nee! Bedtime? Nee! Middle of the night? Nee!

Nee is the word for booby/I want to eat right now, in case you hadn’t figured the part out.

Somewhere along the breastfeeding path I decided I wanted to do so, exclusively, for six months.

Apparently, I’m in the minority when it comes to that idea. Most people throw in the bottle waaay before then…and I’m not against a bottle…we just haven’t had the need for one, yet. Others go straight from womb to formula and that’s cool if that’s your choice. Babies survive just fine on formula. That just wasn’t my choice. That wasn’t my plan.

When I make a plan, I stick to it come hell or high water, hello graduating with a four-year degree in three years.

So, I’m breastfeeding until this child hits six months…unless he gets teeth and starts to bite me. Then I’ll pump and bottle feed him. I’d like to preserve the nipplage. I haven’t asked him but I’m pretty sure Tim would prefer that, too.

After six months, we’ll start supplementing with people food (Yay! Can’t wait!). I have a feeling I’ll be in the minority with that, too, because I’m almost 100% positive I will not be starting with rice cereal or any other kind of cereal for that matter.

But more on that another day…I just got back from the pediatrician to learn that Kellan caught his first cold. He’s had gross boogers, a cough and green poo for a few days so I figured I’d rather be safe than sorry….

I feel like a bad mother…I knew it would happen eventually but, still. He has a cold! SAD FACE.

Anyhow, remind me to chat you up about the rice cereal thing and co-sleeping because I’ll probably forget otherwise and oh yes, Kellan has been sleeping next to me since birth.

I guess I’m crunchy granola like that.

I didn’t plan it that way…it just sort of happened. My mom and Tim’s mom were crunchy granola in their own way when it came to raising their children. Maybe that’s where it came from?

the seventh circle of hell

I really thought Kellan deciding to wake up every 2-3 hours was as bad as it could get.
I mean, that’s just enough time for me to fall asleep, get into a deep sleep….and then be jolted awake again. How could it possibly get worse?

It couldn’t.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG.

It can always get worse.

You should never, ever test baby sleep fate. Never.

I cannot stress that enough. NEVER.

Don’t say your child sleeps like a little angel because it’ll come back to bite you in the ass.

Mark. My. Words.

For the laaasst…week…probably more…Kellan has decided that two hours – MAX – is what he’s gonna do. Period. No amount of coaxing or coercing will sway his decision (Hello, Type A Dragon baby) (This is the Chinese year of the dragon, FYI)

He is also coming to the conclusion that the binky is not the booby and DO NOT put that terrible replica of what I really want into my mouth so help me god or I’ll scream louder.

About the sleep, though…I’m too tired to even deal with the binky issue other than to shove a boob in his mouth and try to get five minutes of sleep.

Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to wake up almost every single hour of the night?

For A WEEK?!

Lemme drag out my back hoe, run you over with it a few times and then toss in a good, robust beating with a Louisville Slugger.

I’m beyond zombie status.

Between the constant wakings, super short naps during the day, Kellan wanting to be held or constantly entertained (hello? I’m bored, mom!) and everything in between, I walked into the bathroom this morning as Tim was getting ready (because Kellan decided 5:30 was a superb time to wake up for the day), my hair looking like a pack of blue jays had made their forever home in it, and was straight faced, barely able to focus my eyes on anything all, “I NEED SOME SLEEP.”

And then promptly walked right back out.

I think this is what happens during the 12 week growth spurt combined with the 12th Wonder Week (cognitive/physical skill development stuff).

Basically, the seventh circle of hell with a baby permanently attached to my boob.

friday photo – ouch (photo tmi)

The before:

The after:

They really shouldn’t have left it all out like that….just sayin.

And yes, that giant shot went right into all areas of the perineum and hurt like a SOB. The OB was all, “it’s going to hurt like a bear for a minute…try not to tense up.”

Ummm….riiiiight. Sure. No problem………

I really don’t have anything more to say other than now I remember why a day after Kellan was born I said having another child was insane.

The local has worn off and Tylenol is doing nothing for the pain.

I’ve already got an SOS call into the OB.

Also of note: apparently if you’re super swollen post birth and need to be stitched up, it’s like sewing pudding. The OB’s words, not mine.

the second opinion vaj verdict

I rarely post anything in the afternoon…no real reason other than I’m more of a morning person, I guess?

Anyhow, for those of you following the drama (DRAM-a) of my vaj, more accurately, my perineum, I had an appointment with another OB today to get a second opinion and some help, since A&D ointment is NOT the answer.

(if you have no idea what I’m talking about, check the state of the vaj post)

(I’d link to it but I’m tired, there’s a baby on my boob and I just came back from a full on rectal exam so….yah)

Anyhow, long story short, this new OB actually spoke to me, asked questions and apologized for my experience that she wasn’t even responsible for.

Initially she was all, “Are you sure it’s not hemorrhoids?”

Um…I’m not exactly sure about anything at this point, other than something ain’t right down there.

Begin the nakedness from waist down and lots of examining places that are no fun for anybody.

To cut right to the point because I have limited time, here, the verdict is it is NOT hemorrhoids.

The part on my perineum next to my literal ass hole will. not. close. because of the obvious (read: pooing) and if we just left it alone, infection could happen and it’ll take FOR-EVAH to heal.

When she started checking, she went front to back and when she got to the back she was all, “Ohh. So THIS is what you’re talking about.”
Suffice it to say that there will be in-office re-suturing happening on Friday.

If that doesn’t work?

A visit to the hospital operating room for a full on RE-SUTURING of the entire area. Basically like a full blown episiotomy…without having a baby.

Also? The OB will be consulting with her counterparts to see if the better option IS the full blown cut and re-stitch…because if option A doesn’t work, then I have to go through both option A (in-office mini repair) AND option B: the big, painful enchilada. If I don’t get a phone call before Friday, option A it is.

I SO do not want to go through option A. At least the last time that *area* was being repaired I was high on hormones.

I don’t even want to think about option B.

Hold me.

Related: I canceled my follow up appointment at the other OB.

fri…yay!

I’m not even sure what to call Fridays anymore.

WHEW comes to mind. Two whole days with two parents in the house!!

This week has been crazy. Ca-ray-zy.

Kellan and I had play date on Tuesday with a mom I met at the play group last week. Her daughter is nine months old, though, and Kellan slept the whole time, so…..that was that. We just chatted it up for about an hour. Play date número dos is this coming Monday…at our house (instead of hers). I have some baby proofing to do. Her nine month old is walking. Walking!

(I don’t remember Monday. I have four day memory capabilities only. Apparently.)

Wednesday Kellan and Tim had their first stay-at-home-alone-without-mommy experience while I went to the dermatologist. I was (not) blessed with lots of moles, so I go twice a year to make sure nothing looks funky. This time, only two samples were taken. Yay.

When I got home, a huge truck thing was mostly blocking our driveway. A house is being built right across the street from us and the worker people don’t seem to care that others actually live here.

Long story short, Tim went out and asked them to move their truck and they are all mostly no habla inglés. Nothing against anyone, it’s just the truth.

Anyhow, they got super mad at him and claimed Tim called them a “Mexican bean.”

Tim was all, “Uhhhh….huh? A what? What does that even mean?”

I assure you, if Tim wanted to say something inappropriate and derogatory, it wouldn’t have been that. But he didn’t say anything like that. And funny enough, the contractor with the irate dudes get product from Tim’s plant.

I think we all know who received a phone call that day.

Also, anyone? Mexican bean? Does that mean something?

Thursday Kellan and I went to visit daddy at work…or a hotel near work since he had a training thing that day with a bunch of other work people. I was nervous, hoping Kellan wouldn’t have a meltdown. We got there about ten minutes early and Tim came out to tell me they weren’t finished, yet. I looked at him like, “You said come ten minutes. Early. He’s going to meltdown in a hotel lobby and I’m snot prepared for that yet and what am I supposed to do now?!”

In the end, there were no meltdowns. Kellan was an adorable, happy baby for everyone.

Yay! Reputation still intact!

Finally, in other TMI news, I think I have to take a poo today.

We all know how very, very sad this makes me.

The good news is that I have an appointment on Monday with another OB. Funny enough, I had a dream last night that I was arguing with the office manager at other place, trying to get a refund because they messed up my hoo-ha.

Then again, I also had a dream that I was abducted by aliens (for serious). Freaked me right the hell out. I woke up wanting to run to get Tim from the guest bedroom all, “Check mr for markings! Check me for markings!…..I’m still speaking English, right?! Hold me….”

Happy Fri-yay!

the state of the vaj

It’s been….entirely too long since I’ve updated anyone on my post-rocketing-a-baby-from-my-bits progress.

And he absolutely rocketed. That isn’t an exaggeration.

So, the positive…I only have about ten pounds to go before I’m back to pre-baby weight. I’ve read that some women hold onto those ten pounds until they stop breastfeeding.

I’m hoping that isn’t my body.

Oh, right. I probably forgot to mention that I gained like, forty pounds.

So much for the desired “I’m only gaining 25-35 pounds.”

Granted, ten pounds or not, my belly is still all sorts of sadface. It’s ah-mazing what almost nine months can do to your abdominal wall (read: zip. zilch. nada). Lately, I’ve been putting Kellan in his crib to talk to his stuffed animal friends while I lay on the floor in his nursery and attempt to fire off a few rounds of reverse crunches and sit-ups.

Some days he cooperates and some days my abs continue on the road to remain flabby.

I’m pretty positive my butt and my thighs are still ginormous. I made small progress the other day when Tim asked if I had lost weight because he thought both looked smaller.

Bonus points to you, dear, whether you were serious or were just trying to make me feel better.

To combat those? Walks with Kellan in the stroller.

I’ve yet to be cleared to run because…………

My ass is still broken.

More accurately, my perineum.

This is the part where it gets into TMI territory. Fair warning.

For whatever reason, the area right before my literal hole where the poop comes out isn’t healing. According to the OB….begin tangent….My OB who I currently want to kick in the teeth because she isn’t helping me. At. All.

After examining my sutures last Friday from the 3rd degree tear and telling me it was still open/not healing I looked at her all, “Well, I have no idea what to do about that.”

And then she looks at me, dead pan serious face all, “Me either.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh……………..what?

To top it all off, her nurse person who weighed me added an extra pound because I was *almost* at a higher number.

You’re supposed to subtract a number. Not add one.

For clothes.

I was not happy.

This was the second time I’d gotten a non-answer about how to deal with my issue down below. The only other words of wisdom she gave me at my six week check up were “No sex” and “No running.”

Awesome.

How about no pooping because that still hurts like a mother. I cry when I even have the slightest urge to go because I know how badly it will hurt when I actually do the deed. It’s like part of the sutures re-rip every single time, regardless of the “softness” of the poo.

(related: Colace doesn’t work for, well, you know. That is unless you’re aiming for harder poo than normal)

And then? It hurts “down there” ALL DAMN DAY.

Sitting after pooping is absolute torture. There is a semi-permanent donut on the chair at the kitchen table where I sit. I have to nurse Kellan lying down because I can’t handle sitting in any position that involves my butt cheeks touching anything.

It’s like my ass aged fifty years in one childbirth.

It’s like my perineum “trauma” – because that’s exactly what it is – has taken away my two most favorite activities: running…and pooping.

(and you thought I was going to say sex)

(you’re all liars if you say you don’t enjoy a good poop)

….end tangent. Kind of.

Point is: I’m currently looking for another OB to get a second opinion and to also switch to because I’m not driving ALL THE WAY INTO DENVER FOR YOU TO TELL ME YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO FIX IT and to come back in another month.

Because time heals all wounds, right?

Fail, OB. Massive, massive fail.

Anyway, I don’t even remember where I was going before that tangent….right. According to my OB, she has no idea why that part isn’t healing and I should just rub a whole bunch of A&D ointment on it because, obviously, diaper rash team will do the trick.

Choke me with a Cheerio. Gag me with a Fruit Loop.

I had no idea the recovery phase would take so long.

It’s extremely upsetting because I figured I’d be off and running by now. That was my fail safe weight loss ka-blam!

My perineum has taken away, or at least delayed, the ka-blam! potential.

And that is no bueno.

I’m afraid of a subsequent childbirth and third degree tearing incident. I’d rather not lose the capability to “hold it” and have poo literally falling out of my hiney.

Hiney is way more appropriate than my other option with a two month old in the house.

Just sayin.

friday photo

Another week down! I can’t believe we’re going to hit double digits this Sunday – ten weeks!!

Kellan has yet to sleep In his crib. He still sleeps with me in bed.

I know. I’m probably more of a crunchy granola mom than most. I need my sleep, though and this is how I get it.

I’ve started putting Kellan in his crib during the day, though, with his stuffed animals (his “friends”) so he gets used to it and comfortable in the room. I don’t want to just toss him in there one night and he wakes up terrified.

(also know that, yes, I’d take the animals out of the crib when he sleeps)

This was our play group outfit. I’ll have you know that we have a few different outfits with bugs on them and Kellan has pooped or peed on each and every one EVERY time he’s worn them. This one didn’t escape, either, as we had an explosion on the way home that rocketed all the way through his diaper, outfit and into the depths of his car seat.

Diaper explosion FTW!

I love going on walks with Kellan in the morning. I don’t always make it out, but when I do, this is one of my favorite routes.

Happy Friday, friends! I’m off to the OB today, again, for a follow up appointment since my “tear” still hasn’t completely healed.

I’m totally planning a recovery post…just so you’re all aware of what exactly I’ve been dealing with.

blah

Sometimes it’s hard for me to write anything because in the back of my mind, I know family members read this. Friends back home read this. Tim reads this.

Generally speaking, I say whatever I feel like saying. Not generally speaking, I hold a lot of things back because of the aforementioned readers. It isn’t like I have something bad to say…I just know if I say things like I’m about to, I’ll get emails or phone calls or someone might take the words out of context.

It’s so muddled…yet they’re only words…

So, Kellan and I went to our first play group yesterday. It was mostly pointless for him, since it was outside at a park (the older kids of the other moms had fun, though). I did meet two first time moms who I plan on getting together with outside of the “Moms Club” (that’s what it’s called…), so all was not lost. The “seasoned” moms were all, “One is EASY!”

Yah…once you know what the hell you’re doing. I’m sure you weren’t saying that during your first ride on the baby-merry-go-round. You were right here, in the trenches with me.

I also got sunburned on my chest, somehow.

Yay.

Thankfully, I kept Kellan covered up so he’s fine. He also slept the whole time, which was nice.

Anyhow, I am pretty sure I had a segue into this next part but I’m so wiped out and exhausted, I forgot what it was.

I’m so, so tired. I need a break. I need ‘me’ time. I haven’t had any since Kellan was born and though I love him to pieces, I need a minute or an hour where I don’t have to worry about changing a diaper or handling nap time or entertaining an almost ten week old.

This is so much harder than I ever thought it would be. I’d be lying if I said I never cried…if at the end of the day I couldn’t wait until he fell asleep so I could sleep myself and escape from reality in my dreams..and then hope and pray he falls back asleep when he starts waking up only a few hours after he’s fallen asleep.

The falling back asleep thing rarely happens.

He also rarely naps and if he does, I have to be laying next to humor holding him. The entire time.

It’s overwhelming, being a mom. It’s hard and utterly exhausting and I haven’t slept through the night since I don’t even remember when. Once your bladder starts getting squished by your ever growing uterus, it’s all over. Goodbye sleep.

And I loved my sleep.

I never realized how difficult it would be to have to function as a human being and entertain and care for a baby, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week while severely sleep deprived. I’m so tired sometimes that it’s beyond frustrating. I want to sleep SO BADLY but I can’t because I haven’t gotten Kellan to sleep yet or because he isn’t tired or because something needs to be done around the house or because my brain is going a million miles a minute all, “Am I doing enough?!”

Sleep comes before food. That’s where I’m at right now.

I live minute to minute. I can barely have a coherent conversation because I’ll forget what I was saying in the middle of my saying it. That and I’ll mumble. Even my tongue is exhausted. Sad.

I know it sounds like I’m being whiny….I am. If that bothers you….I’m too tired to care right now. I don’t mean that in a mean spirited way, since lately these days I have been saying things that come off as mean when I’m really just saying them…no real emotion behind them because I hadn’t even thought to put an emotion to my words – unless tired is an emotion.

I know it will get better. I know this is only a phase but WOW.

I’m struggling.

leaving him alone

Kellan has this new thing…it’s not an all the time thing or a perfect thing but it’s a new thing where he actually lets me put him down and sometimes he’ll even fall asleep or other times he’ll just lay there and stare and babble at whatever interests him.

He does all of this when I’m not there. I’ll leave the room, bring the baby monitor with me and watch him (we have a video monitor).

I almost plotzed yesterday when I put him down on the bed because I had to pee (it happens) and when I came back to check on him…he was asleep! Granted, he had his binky with him…but, still. ASLEEP! ON HIS OWN!

This was a first and is a big deal. For the child who (still) (99.9% of the time) never wants to be put down, it’s like he’s gaining a little bit of independence. It’s the thing I’ve been hoping for since I realized he and I would be attached at the hip forever because OMG. The child would not let me leave.

Except…it’s actually hard for me to leave him in a room by himself, wide awake, and not be there with him. It’s harder than I thought it would be when I begged him, albeit silently, to let me have a few minutes to myself.

Go figure.

This must be one of those mommy things no one warns you about.

The only reasoning I can muster is because he and I have – literally – been together for almost a year. He was with me everywhere I went for nine months. Then, when he came out into the world, he was still with me everywhere I went. I feel like I’m neglecting him or not stimulating him or teaching him things he needs to know when I just leave him all by himself.

And right now? He’s just hanging out upstairs on the bed, happy as can be while I’m downstairs in the computer room, watching over him on the tiny monitor.

I know it is healthy for me – and him – to be separated from time to time. I know he needs to figure the world out on his own sometimes. I mean, it’s gonna happen anyway…he’s going to be apart from me sooner or later. I guess I just had no idea how hard it would be to cut the cord – the non-literal one. All you moms out there who have a hard time letting go…I totally understand why, now. 100% get it. I have no idea how I’m going to cut my own bloody cord (ha…accidental double entendre).

But, once he gets cranky or wakes up, I am right there to comfort him. And that smile and look of recognition I get upon my return?

Worth every second I was away.

It is absolutely priceless.

marriage dynamic

It really is a good thing Tim and I waited as long as we did to have a child. Partly because I had to break Tim in…his being a bachelor for 34 years kind of definitely had him in a groove all, “I can do/buy/go what/where I want, whenever I want.” his house also stayed super, squeaky clean. Like, don’t put the towel back on the stove crooked because OMG.

What? I’m totally serious.

It all ended in a screaming match one day while we were still dating with me all, “Don’t go behind me and fix everything I do! And Tim all, “But you’re doing it wrong!”

We eventually found a happy medium where I try to make sure the towel is straight and he doesn’t fix it if it isn’t.

Actually, I don’t think either of us even care anymore about how straight the towel is, just so long as it’s there.

The whole point I’m not exactly making very well is that we had A TON of growing and maturing and compromising to do before we added a child into the mix because had we tried to pop one out the year after we got married??

Mistake. Biiiiig mistake.

Year two of marriage is a hell of a lot harder than year one. Year two was probably the most difficult year we have had to date. Year two is the year where things get real. The pre-wedding/wedding/honeymoon phase is over. OVER.

It’s just you and your honey. Day in…and day out.

Welcome to the learning curve where you have to learn the true meaning of compromise.

Bringing a baby into that mishmash of “what the hell is going on here…no one told me marriage meant THIS” would have hindered a very important step that Tim and I had to take in order to survive these first few months as a family of three.

What step?

The foundation building one.

Yes, we had a pre-marriage/friendship foundation but that’s totally different than the post wedding, can I really live the “until death do us part,” part?

Don’t make a baby until you have a real, honest answer to that question.

I mean, I guess every marriage is unique and maybe you got married and had a baby within a year or so and are still together fifty years this past June, forever and ever amen.

But, what worked for you definitely wouldn’t have worked for Tim and me.

I told Tim I was writing this and he was all, “I know. We had to learn how to fight.”

And I was all, “You realize we still have no idea what we’re doing.”

For good or bad, we are two very, very strong Type A personalities who birthed an A+.

Welcome to our crazy, anal little life that had Tim cleaning toilets while Kellan and I were napping and me vacuuming the house with a baby on my hip.

Had we tried this a few years post-wedding?

I honestly don’t know if we would have made it…and if we had, serious damage would have been done. Relationship damage, I mean. We did have to learn how to deal with each other, stubborn mules we both are. Say ‘no’ and we dig our heels in harder.

I’m not sure if we handle conflict the best way possible or if we are a shining example of a happy marriage, but we make it work, which is so important now, since that marriage we had before 2/19/12 has taken a backseat to one Kellan Bold.

I don’t know if a marriage without a foundation…without a few years to figure each other out would survive this infancy stage. It’s hard. We’re tired and stressed and snippy…did I mention tired?

I feel like I’m rambling…I probably am…I guess my whole point is that had we done the baby dance right out of the gate, I may or may not be telling you the same story right now.

Confucius say: don’t make baby without strong foundation.