This is a long, long, long post about boobs. Namely, my boobs. So, if that topic makes you uncomfortable, look away now.
First and foremost, look how little and cute she was! I think this was taken on day 2.
My intention was always to breastfeed my kid(s). My mom did it, my sister did it, my friends have done it, and I do truly believe that it is the best nutrition for a baby. Since moms have breastfed their babies since the beginning of time, I naively assumed that it would be the most 'natural' thing in the world. We took all the pre-natal classes, including the breastfeeding one, and although all the logistics seemed pretty overwhelming at the time, I just assumed it would all come together once I actually had my girl in my arms. It didn't.
I had my girl in my arms after 48 hours of labor, 72 hours of no sleep, major abdominal surgery, and exposure to every narcotic available to me. We spent the next four nights in the hospital together with me attempting to nurse her pretty much every 15 minutes.
Unfortunately for her, there was not yet any milk. Sure, there was
colostrum (which the nurses assured me was 'liquid gold'), but there was no milk. We had to supplement her with formula in the hospital (which she wouldn't drink), and then, despite our protests, they made us come home.
And there was still no milk. And she still wouldn't drink formula. It took TEN days for my milk to come in (the average is two to three days). By that time she had lost 12% of her birth weight, was yellow from jaundice, and I was a wreck. I don't even want to think about how much we spent on urgent care co-pays those first few weeks.
(At one of many doctor's visits. Doesn't she look sad? And kind of like an Oompa Loompa?)
Unfortunately, the much anticipated arrival of said milk didn't solve all of our problems, either. We just couldn't seem to make it work. Every time I fed her it felt like someone was clamping down on my breasts with a vice grip. And when said feeding has to happen literally around the clock in those early days, that's a lot of pain. As in I was screaming the f word every, single time she latched on (I really, really don't want to know what our neighbors must have been thinking). She was hysterical, I was hysterical and BVZ could do nothing (don't worry, he tried).
So, we saw a
lactation consultant. Doesn't that sound like the ultimate in yuppie excess? I mean really. A lactation consultant? If you told me a year ago I would have even considered paying an ungodly amount of money to learn what was supposed to be the 'most natural thing in the world'.... well, we won't go there. But we were desperate to get our girl to eat and at that point we were willing to try anything. I give our amazing, awesome, incredible LC (like that yuppie acronym?) all the credit in the world for Norah not actually starving. She showed us how and why Norah's latch was all wrong (ironically, she wasn't opening her mouth wide enough, most likely as a result of her being two weeks early--apparently it can make a big difference). And my body wasn't producing what it should as a result of my stress level, exhaustion, and traumatic birth experience. She worked with us over the course of the next several weeks on the latch issue and gave me the knowledge I needed to deal with my supply issue (I have consumed in ten months more oatmeal, water,
fenugreek,
lactation cookies, and medicinal tea than any one person should--ever).
It got better. It took about six weeks for it to stop being ungodly painful, and many, many more weeks for me to be confident that I could actually supply what she needed. While it got better, it never got easy. We never had an
Angelina Jolie on the cover of W magazine, moment. Norah was a thrasher. She would latch on and pull off--sometimes up to 20 times in a single feeding session (I called it her 'sharking' me). She never would eat consistently and it was difficult for me to tell when she was actually hungry because she rarely cried or fussed. Some people would curse me for complaining about a baby who didn't cry or fuss much, but it really made it difficult to know what she needed and when she needed it.
You all have seen pictures of the scale and read about my obsessive weighing tendencies. It kept me up many, many nights.
Norah has always been an incredibly alert baby. She looked around intensely from the day she was born and has always been much more interested in the world around her than her food supply. Some babies can't get enough of it. Norah has always just eaten enough to get by (oh, how I wish I had that problem). I could never discretely feed her in public with one of those nursing covers because she would just knock it away. At four months it became absolutely impossible to feed her anywhere but home. And at home it became impossible to feed her except while laying down with her in our bed. Even at her most calm, she was never content to just lay there and eat. She preferred instead to shove her hands in my mouth, or twist my eyelid, or pinch my neck, or.... you get the picture. As you can imagine, that really sucked for me. In an attempt to give me a break, I pumped every night and we would give her that milk in bottles. If we caught her in the right mood she would take a bottle, but more often than not she would hold out for me. And she could hold out for HOURS.
At a little over five months she started to eat solid food and that took a lot of the pressure off. No longer was I and I alone 100% responsible for providing 100% of her food.
She was and still is a good solid food eater. Which actually opened up a whole new realm of difficulties because sometimes I fear she likes solid food a little TOO much. Until they are a year old, a baby's primary nutrition still has to be milk or formula and she tends to want to fill up on real food, which leaves little room in her tiny belly for milk.
At right about seven months I kind-of went back to work. [For those who may not be totally up to speed on our lives, we had Norah in a nanny share that ended up not working out. Instead of finding an alternative child care arrangement at the time, I ended up extending my leave for a full year and I am home with her until July. I know, lucky me.] Anyway, during the three weeks that Norah was with the nanny she refused to drink milk during the day. I killed myself to pump milk to send with her every day and every day it came back basically untouched. Because she was not eating during the day she wanted to eat all night long. Seriously, all night long. Apparently there is a word for this--it's called
reverse cycling. Even though I have been home full time with her again for months and months now she has still been reverse cycling. I think it became more habit that anything to her. This combined with the fact that she can't be bothered to eat during the day (too busy crawling, pulling up, eating electrical cords, etc.), and there have been lots of sleepless nights for all of us.
As if all of this nonsense wasn't bad enough, slowly but surely my flesh eating bacteria has begun to rear its ugly head again.
Pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy (PUPPPS) basically ruined my life for May and June 2008. It was the worst physical and psychological pain I have ever been in and to this day I am furious that my body could betray me that way. Want to see what it looked like? I don't have any pictures of it when it was at it's worst, but BVZ took a bunch as it was healing. The reason? He says that when Norah is a teenager we'll show her the pictures and tell her, "LOOK WHAT CAN HAPPEN IF YOU HAVE SEX." I think it's a brilliant idea. This is what 85% of my body looked like. I warn you, it's gross.
Really, it's gross.
Okay, I warned you.
(That's my foot. I know, it is hard to tell. Told you it was gross.)
Don't worry, it is no where near now what it was, but the histamine levels in my body are apparently still completely out of whack. The practical effect on that is that any time any part of my skin is scratched even slightly it explodes in a painful patch of hives. Kind of a problem when you have a kid who wants to manhandle you. Constantly. My crack team of dermatologists thinks it can be easily controlled with a daily antihistamine. While safe for me to nurse while taking it, it can really kill a milk supply.
So, even though I would have loved to breastfeed for an entire year, once Norah hit the 9 month mark we decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to wean her to formula. Easy enough, right? Well, remember this is Norah we are talking about. For almost three weeks we tried just about every formula, bottle, and sippy cup (and combination thereof) on the market. I pestered my amazing friends incessantly for advice and moral support (thanks, guys!). Norah would either flatly refuse the bottle, or take a pull and then spit it out. Most times she would just give me a look of 'you've got to be kidding me, lady,' open her mouth and let the formula fall out. After a lot of trial and error,
Megan turned us on to the
purple Good Start and the
Green Sprouts bottle. She doesn't love it and still fights me quite a bit, but she's taking it.
We dropped the daytime feeds first, and then the first thing in the morning one, and now she nurses only before bed. She has stopped waking up in the middle of the night to eat and for the most part is sleeping all night (there's quite a disclaimer there--she sleeps all night but only if she's sleeping with me. The weaning has caused major separation anxiety and sleep regression and apparently the crib is the devil again). It's a work in progress. She only has to drink formula for two more months though (is it possible I almost have a ONE year old???), so we'll deal.
Given all of our trials and tribulations, I was surprised by how emotional I was at the prospect of being done with this aspect of our relationship. Although I was (and kind of still am) ready to wean her completely, we have decided to keep the before bed nursing session indefinitely. As long as she needs/wants it, I am game. I know it is ridiculous, but I think she actually looks forward to it. She's peaceful and calm and it is some of our very best snuggle time all day (thankfully, she seems to be keeping the beatings to a minimum).
Despite how tough it was/is, I am so glad we stuck with it. Dare I say, I am actually really proud of myself. Of course if we ever have another kid I would do a couple of things differently. I would be much more consistent with the bottle, early on. I would introduce formula (maybe just a couple of ounces a day) around six months. I would work harder to establish a more predictable routine (easier said than done, I know). Despite all of our difficulties she is strong and smart and agile and beautiful.
More than anything, I would trust my body and my instincts.
And drink more.
