What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

Jesus loves me this I know, for my baby slept during the entire composition of this entry

Holy crap, has it really been seven days since I posted here? I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates, but I always hate it when bloggers do that, like, do you think I've got nothing better to do than refresh your site? But then again, before Kara, I really didn't have anything better to do than refresh your site, and what the hell was going on in your life that you couldn't take five seconds out of your precious day to let me know you're still alive? You can appreciate the dilemma, no?

Anyway, things are going much better. In my last entry, I talked about how Kara had suddenly altered her schedule to accommodate less sleeping and more crying, to the point that her mother was crying because oh my God, if you aren't hungry and aren't wet and don't like your bouncy seat or transportable swing or the rocking chair or just bouncing around with Momma throughout the apartment, that's it, kid. There's nothing more I can do.

Now, though? I can take her restlessness in stride without taking it personally, and I've even figured out a few more things we can do together, like looking at blocks dressed in primary colors and reading picture books and paying more attention to tummy time. Don't get me wrong, half the time she fusses through those things, too, but there are moments in which I can see her actually paying attention, reaching for one of her blocks or following the duckie rattle with her eyes. She turned four weeks old yesterday, and I already feel like she's a completely different person from the one Luke and I brought home from the hospital. She's so much more expressive now, experimenting with various smirks and (gassy) smiles and working her hands together while she takes everything in. She also sleeps more predictably through the night, albeit in patches, but it's still enough that between ten and six I can hoard about five hours of sleep, which is more than enough for me to get through the day. This may sound silly, but I almost feel like the newborn stage is over, that she's already taking the appropriate steps to become her own little person and shift into some sort of routine. Time really is flying by.

Things on the pumping front are...almost nonexistent. My quality time with the Ameda is down to just once or twice a day, and I'm only producing embarrassingly tiny amounts of milk each time. I have a feeling that by the end of the week, Thelma and Louise will be all dried up and we'll be solely dependent on the makers of Similac and other formulas for Kara's nutrition. Oh, well. I'm proud that she received the benefits of breastmilk for four whole weeks and that I gave the whole boob thing my very best shot. Maybe my best wasn't as good as some of yours, but we all do what we can.

This past weekend was crazy for us, as we celebrated Kara's baptism at the Episcopal church we've been attending intermittently for the last year and my family was finally able to make it to Indianapolis and love on the baby. There was much chaos as Luke and I frantically tried to clean our apartment and get our daughter ready for her longest trip away from home. Sundy morning, we left the complex armed with individually packaged amounts of formula, two bottles of water, six diapers, two back-up outfits, a pacifier, and prayers to God that Kara would make it through the ceremony and luncheon without waking up the dead. And she did! She was a perfect angel, sleeping through almost the whole service and all of the pizza party we had afterwards. Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan, her godparents, bought her a beautiful christening dress, and as Luke and I changed her into it minutes before Mass, I couldn't help but tear up because she looked so lovely and grown up and I was so proud of her for not pooping in her pretty new clothes. Also, she's not even a full month yet and already I'm losing my baby and thank you, God for blessing us with such a wonderful gift waaaaaah hiccup sob.

But enough from me. It's picture time! Hopefully they'll hold you all over until I'm able to post here again. (At least you've got my Parents blog to tide you over, though, right? In case you haven't been keeping up, I posted my birth story there. All four parts of it. You're quite welcome.)

(Also, thank you for the birthday wishes. My January 9th introduction to the ripe old age of 28 was marked with presents from Luke, wailing from the baby, and an episode of Deal or No Deal. I swear, NBC must've aired it just for me.)

I know I'm her mother, but honestly, this child is the most photogenic baby on the planet. For real.

Kara with three of the four members of the Lost A Sock family. No, Molly, you may not take her home.

Grandma and Grandpa Ma'Ayteh checking out their first grandbaby.

Auntie Samantha, Uncle Dan with Kara in tow, Momma, and Daddy. Now would be a good time to tell you that my sister is pregnant with her own bundle of joy, who's due in August. How awesome is that?! Everyone's got the baby fevah!

Kara getting smooshed by her fabulous aunties.

"I don't care what the law says, love is not limited by gender!" (Or: Kara with Uncle Geo and Uncle Dan.)

Look! Kara and Grandma Dunscombe match! Also, if I were just two inches taller, I totally could've captured the smile she flashed at Daddy D.

The guest of honor with her grandmas and grandpas. How lucky she is that all four are around to spoil her.

Kara giving that creepy girl from The Grudge a run for her money. Atta girl, sweetheart.

I also caught my first episode of The View

In my last entry, Marriage-101 asked what a typical day is like for me and Kara, and ever since then, I've been planning to blog about just that. And I could've done it last Friday, when the baby slept between two and three hours both before and after lunch, but instead I spent the time washing dishes, disinfecting countertops, working on my birth story, and enjoying ABC's daytime line-up. Monday, I thought. Monday I'll tell the world what a great sleeper my girl is and how grateful I am for the much-needed housekeeping time.

But on Monday, everything changed. Kara was fussy all day and couldn't be put down for longer than three minutes without crying. She didn't nap for longer than an hour, and again, only in my arms, which meant I pumped just twice during the hours Luke was at work, and even then, one of those times I had to manage her with one hand and the pump with the other. During one of her feedings she spit up a fountain of formula, which somehow ended up in my armpit. Later that night she pooped so badly it seeped through her clothes. Tackling THAT bad boy was definitely a two-person job.

Tuesday, I thought. Tuesday will be better.

But it hasn't been better. Kara was just as unconsolable today. My total pumping count is a miserable three. And Luke's been sick with a 102-degree fever.

There probably isn't going to be a "typical" day for Kara and me. But I suppose it is typical for motherhood.

Pump up the volume (please)

Kara isn't even three weeks old and already I'm afraid my boob-juicing capabilities will meet a premature end.

When Luke was at home, meeting my daily pumping goal was tedious but doable: get on the machine eight to ten times a day for at least ten minutes on each side. The amount I produce isn't enough to forgo formula, but I still feel good knowing my daughter is benefitting from my antibodies, especially as we enter the coldest, germiest part of the season. Luke was around to tend to the baby while I pumped. He could wash bottles and change diapers while I suctioned cold plastic flanges to my jugulars.

Now, though, he's back at work, and I'm left to my own mothering and expressing devices. It's not been easy.

Now if Kara cries and I'm on the pump, I have choices to make. Do I put off pumping until her next nap, risking the maintenance of my already-shaky supply? Do I pump and let her cry until I've finished at least one boob? If she wakes up after I've already started, do I interrupt the session or finish that side intermittently? What usually ends up happening is a combination of all of these options, letting her fuss for a few minutes so I can clock in a few more minutes of quality time with the Ameda before breaking the suction and gathering her in my arms. I've changed dirty diapers with a leaky boob hanging out of my nursing tank; I've held her while capping off a half-drained breast; I've missed pumping sessions altogether because her feeding/changing/soothing needs couldn't wait a minute longer.

The idea of losing the precious little milk supply I have makes me sad. I want Kara to have this gift. I want to give her immune system the best start I can. But I can't do it at her expense.

I've talked about it with Luke, and we're both committed to doing what we can to keep me pumping for as long as I'm able. I've got no delusions regarding long-term goals; each day that Kara receives breastmilk from me is a day I'm not taking for granted. I spoke to her pediatrician on Monday, and he suggested that switching pumps might make a difference, but I'm not sure I want to make that investment knowing my boobs are at the mercy of Kara's schedule and it may just briefly delay the inevitable.

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. I'm not looking for advice; I've seen the Web sites, I've talked to lactation consultants. I just want to document my breastfeeding experience as honestly as I can.

In other news, this is how I managed to take a shower this morning:

What? No, that's not an ungodly pile of laundry mating underneath my bathroom sink. Might I direct you to the sweetest face you've ever seen instead?

She really is the sweetest.

Frageelay

Nice of me to post again before 2008, eh?

I wasn't lying in my last post; things are much better, but it's still overwhelming, trying to work your schedule around a tiny human being who eats and relieves herself every couple of hours and doesn't much care for being out of your arms. Plus, I don't know if it's postpartum hormones or just a natural reaction to this huge change that's happened to our lives, but I find myself weepier than ever. Kara's umbilical cord stump fell off the day after Christmas, and Luke and I were relieved to not have to manuever around it during diaper changings. Once she was cleaned up, I said to her, "That's what connected you to Mommy all those months," and the next thing you know I was crying into my hands. Suddenly it felt like things were moving too fast, she was growing up too quickly, and I was scolding myself for doing things like wiping down the toilet or attempting to update this blog when I could've been banking precious snuggle time with this little person who would one day refuse the comfort I can so easily offer her now. I had the same epiphany the following afternoon after rocking her to sleep. Luke came into her bedroom and found my eyes dripping all over my poor baby's head.

I've never felt so vulnerable or been so paranoid as I have since Kara's been born. When Ryan came to visit for Christmas, I had to be the one to transfer the baby from the bassinet to her auntie's waiting arms, even though my sister is almost twenty-two years old and perfectly capable of picking up a newborn all by herself. I forget to offer her to visitors because I'm having such a good time holding her myself. It breaks my heart to hear her cry, even if her only grievance is the too-cold touch of a diaper wipe. Hell, I'm even afraid to leave the house without her, not because I don't trust Luke wholeheartedly but because I know how much I'll miss her.

I haven't been this afraid of love for years, not since Luke and I first started dating. But this...there are no words to describe what it feels like to love your own child. You know that saying, "It's different when it's your kid"? It really, really is.

Speaking of cliches, there's a second one that's also rung true for me, and it relates specifically to my breastfeeding struggles: "You have to do what's best for your family." And for this family, the best thing has been to stop trying to breastfeed. Kara is still getting my boob juice, mind you, as I pump every two to three hours, but I haven't put her on the breast since the wee hours of Christmas Eve.

I read that last sentence and feel like I should feel like a failure. I'm well aware the initial weeks of breastfeeding are a learning period for both mom and baby, and things probably would've gotten better if I'd kept at it. Throwing in the towel after seven days doesn't seem like I gave it much of a chance, especially when I think about how passionate I was about trying to make this work.

Then I reflect on the hours I spent crying because I couldn't get Kara to latch, because she'd take my nipple just long enough to spit it back out, because her gums would bear down hard on my aerolas, and I think there were a lot of minutes in those seven days where both of us were miserable, and I'm slowly finding out that more often than not, it's the passing of each of those minutes that ends up wearing you down. Ironically, the days go by much, much faster.

Anyway, even though it's more work for me, what with having to pump and bottlefeed, this new plan overall has been much more manageable. We're still supplementing with formula because I'm only producing about an ounce and a half during each pumping session, but I feel good that she's getting all the milk I have to give. We have our two-week well-baby visit in a couple of hours, so we'll check on her weight then, but I already know we have a happy, healthy baby, and truly, that's all that matters to me now.

As we make our way into a new year, I've been struck with how content I am, despite the wild card hand of emotions I'm wrapped up in. For the first time, I have no list of improvements to work on, no major goals to accomplish. All I can think about is how lucky I am, how complete I feel, and how wrong it would be to want for anything when I've clearly been given so much already. If Luke and I never leave this apartment, if I never finish those damn photo projects, if I never get more than three hours of sleep in a row ever again, I'll still consider myself the happiest woman on Earth.

Fumbling towards ecstasy

Not that you could ever get tired of seeing photos of me in all my bedridden glory, but it's finally time to give the (very patient) Internet a quick update on life in the Frema-Useless Clutter household.

First of all, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments you've left here these last few days. As you know, it took a little bit of coaxing for my firstborn daughter to enter the world, and it wasn't until Thursday night that Luke, Kara, and I came home from the hospital. I finally had a chance to read through them yesterday, and it truly warmed my heart to see how happy everyone is for my newly expanded family.

We're doing OK. This whole week has been one big rollercoaster of emotions, thanks to my first bout with major surgery, sleep deprivation, breastfeeding snags, and postpartum hormones. Luckily, we've had access to a wonderful medical team and an electric breast pump, though Luke and I are spending one hour out of every two preparing bottles, entertaining Kara to keep her awake long enough to eat, and sneaking in a bit of sleep ourselves.

(By the way, say hello to Ameda, my new BFF. She's a bit of a loudmouth but overall quite respectful of my nipples. Definitely a plus with any girlfriend.)

(Also, please no assvice, well-meaning or not, about our decision to supplement, unless you're our pediatrician, in which case, we got our first dirty diaper last night since Wednesday, thank you so much for all the time you spent with me on the phone yesterday.)

Some of the highlights of my week--the good, the bad, and the ugly--in bullet form. You're smart enough to discern which is which.

• Enjoying a final dinner out on Sunday to bid farewell to our carefree, DINKy lives
• Thinking about the next morning's induction later that night
• Learning that my sister Samantha and Molly would be with Luke and me at the hospital
• Deciding to get the epidural. I went comfortably without for a good five hours, but hot damn, did I need that epidural
• Being told about my likeliness for a c-section
• Sobbing uncontrollably when the doctors pulled the baby out and I heard her cry
• Feeling her skin on mine and watching her face when she nursed for the first time
• Eating lunch on Tuesday after thirty hours of nothing but ice chips and Lifesavers
• Devouring seventy billion strawberry shakes courtesy of the hospital's all-hours room service, which made the best deli sandwiches I've ever had
• Trying to pee after my catheter was removed
• Learning that all of Kara's meconium had passed by Wednesday afternoon (warning: there's a picture of it on that link)
• Spending seven hours on Wednesday night trying to console a very hungry daughter with my breasts and having her repeatedly spit me out before tearfully deciding to supplement with formula
• Spending the following five hours unable to calm myself to the point where I almost couldn't breathe
• Allowing a lactation consultant to aggressively jam a handful of my boob into the baby's mouth
• Seeing Kara in her coming-home outfit
• Coming home
• Luke's changing diaper after diaper with no hint of poop
• Taking my first shower, which didn't go down until Friday morning
• WEARING NON-PREGNANT SHIRTS, OH MY GOD
• Coughing, laughing, sneezing
• Snuggling my baby in my mother's rocking chair
• Having Kara spit me out again and again late Friday night and feeling in my heart that the decrease in her wet and dirty diaper count was due to my inability to properly latch her on
• Frantically trying to work the breast pump while Luke fed Kara formula
• Mastering the pump later that morning
• Talking to our pediatrician on Saturday afternoon and not remembering what day it was
• Hearing Luke cry "Good girl!" upon finding that magical poop Saturday night
• Watching my husband in action with the baby we made together and seeing him take such good care of me
• Knowing we'd all be OK in the end

Right now, I'm in a good place, taking things one day at a time and trying not to get too ahead of myself in terms of goal setting. Kara is thriving. Kara is beautiful. Kara is so wonderful she makes my heart hurt with love. That's all that matters.

That and baby pictures.