Coming Full Circle

Tomorrow is actually a pretty special day for me.

It marks the last time I got my period.

It sticks out in my mind, because every time you go to the doctor they want to know the date of your last "menstrual cycle."  Ew.  Why do they say it like that?  Just say "period."  Don't even be cutesy with "Aunt Flow."  Just call it what it is.

Since I'm breast feeding, I don't get a period.  It's a blessing and a curse, because I still get the symptoms, but with relatively no relief.  Don't let anyone trick you into thinking this is birth control- it's not.  And I guess I'm one of the people who are allergic to the material in condoms, because I got a yeast infection using them.

Liam will be three months this weekend, which means I'm allowed to go on birth control.  They told me that the pill could dry up my milk, but they wanted to make sure my milk was established so this wouldn't happen. 

I personally feel this is actually happening now.  Without a pill.  The truth is that I've gotten lazy with breast feeding.  Because I feel it's not doing anything anymore.  He used to feed before bed, and now he just lays there and stares at me while he's sucking, like waiting for the milk to come in.  I try to pump at work and I get MAYBE an ounce or two.  I talked to the lactating consultant and she said it was my pump.  Like I have money for a new pump.  To rent one would be $60 a month with a $50 start up fee.  That's more than formula.

But the more uninterested Liam is in breast feeding, the more I die inside.  It's like I failed at something.  Something I had little to no control over.  But I know that if I didn't supplement with formula, he would have gotten really really sick.  So I go into my little room at work and try as I may, pump for 15 minutes, three times a day, willing myself to make enough milk to feed my son exclusively from the breast. 

So we'll see where this takes us.  Now that he's eating between 4-6 ounces at a single feeding, it seems like we're throwing money into formula every week.  NOT that I mind buying food for my son!!!  Please don't take it that way.  But because why would you buy produce when you're growing a garden? 

They say once a month always a mother.  While people are chowing down on sauerkraut and broccoli cheese soup and mashed cauliflower, I'm sticking with bland stuff so it doesn't hurt Liam's sensitive stomach.  Passing on the wine so it doesn't hurt Liam.  Choking down the prenatals so it doesn't hurt Liam.  It seriously never ends.

That's where I am right about now.  Waiting for the moment where I just don't have any more milk to give him.  I wanted to make it to six months, but I guess I'll be happy just making it to three.  For now.

Can I be the mom now?

Christmas was here.  And now it's gone.  We had a good time, although I think next year with a 1 year old will be better than this year with a 2.5 month old.

We were unwrapping and everything, and we looked over, and the poor thing was fast asleep.

 

My grandfather made this little wagon when he was a teen.  He made it with a harness to hitch to their family dog to haul his little sister around.  My dad brought it out to put Liam in for a sort of generations picture.  Liam was a little less than thrilled.  Maybe next year.

 

 

My tiny little bundle.

Oh this child.  I love his little face so much.  Those big eyes suck me in every time.

 

 

My biggest struggle this Christmas season was just finding my place among the grandmas.  Sometimes I think they forget that I'm the mom now and they're just...the help.  Which I'm certain to ask for if I need it.  My poor son was so overstimulated, he slept from 10PM to 10:30AM the next morning on the day after Christmas.  He  was handed from person to person and jumped and jiggled and cooed and kissed and he was very very fussy.

 

We were at my uncle's house, and I was playing with Liam and my cousins were oogling him and whatnot.  My mom took him and sat in front of the fire with him and he started to get warm.  To which she says to me, "I think he has a fever."  I told her I didn't think so, that he was probably just warm from the fire.  I asked to hold him and see him so I could feel if he was sick or not.  She said, "It's a wonder I ever raised you without your help."  I was very upset.  She then kept him for the rest of the evening.

 

Christmas Eve we had a small get together, I escaped to our bedroom to feed Liam (which is my go-to scenario.  "Can I hold him?"  oh sorry, he needs to eat.  From me.  "Can I see your baby?"  Mmm...sorry he needs breastfed.)  I couldn't find the baby.  My mom had him and was changing him.  I took him downstairs in his jammies (he was getting tired and cranky) and my MIL decided she would hold him while I ate.  And he screamed.  And screamed.  And screamed.  And I was secretly happy, because I just wanted my son.  I took him from her and he burrowed his little baby head into my neck and promptly fell asleep.

 

New Years Eve we were at my parents.  We spent the night, which was fine.  We slept with the snuggle nest between us and the little bug kept inching his way down and down the bed, out of the snuggle nest.  I think I got about two winks all night, just terrified that he was going to get lodged somewhere between the covers while he was wiggling around.

 

I think the poopy hit the fan on New Years Day.  Liam was crying and my sister was holding him.  And then she handed him TO MY MOM and said, "Here mom, he's crying."  I'm pretty sure I lost it.  I was in shock a little, but I think I lost it.  I said, "Excuse me?  I'M THE MOM."  My mom rolled her eyes and sighed, "Yes Libbie.  We all know you're the mom."  My sister just sighed as well and took the baby from my mom and handed him to me.  Where he promptly stopped crying.

 

Andy did the SAME THING.  Liam was crying.  Mom said, "I'll take him."  And he gave him to her.  And then she escaped with him once again.  And the daggers I shot through my eyes in the general direction allowed him to know he was in trouble.  "WHY would you not have given him to ME if he was crying!"  I guess Andy thought he was helping when he went BACK to my mom and said, "My wife is having baby withdrawals and she wants the baby back but can't seem to bring herself to tell you that."  My mom handed him over to Andy, thanking him for speaking to her.  And then she wouldn't speak to me the entire rest of the night. 

 

Is it so wrong that I want to be the mom?  Do they think that they're actually helping me?  When I need help, I will ask.  But don't take my son from me!  Seriously!  I have to work 40+ hours a week, if you count commuting and violin lessons, it's more like 50 hours a week.  I get him in the evening and weekends, and then really I get to just feed him and put him to sleep.  My mom gets him the majority of the time, so when I see him, I want to see him 100%.  I don't want to share. 

 

My mom has since threatened to go back to work.  "Fine," she reports.  "I'll just call Jean and get my old job back."  Really mom?  Really?  Because I want to have "custody" of my son?  It's infuriating.  Do you think I WANT to work?  Do you think this is fun for me?  My son will most likely take his first steps in front of someone else.  Say his first words.  Hit his first milestones.  All in front of someone else.  Don't take it personally when I want to hold him when I have him- because it doesn't happen often.

 

To be continued...

Oh how the years go by...

This is my friend Heidi and me at my wedding rehearsal.


This is my friend Heidi and me at my wedding.


This is my friend Heidi and me in NYC.


And here she is holding my son for the first time.



I love her with all my heart.  But she lives in Colorado.  And I.  I do NOT live in Colorado.  Every once in a blue moon she comes to PA and stays with us.  And I feel very grateful for this, because she is a hot commodity when she's here because she's just SO nice and fun to be around.  We went to school together, and she was my very first friend at Mount Calvary.  Her mom was the art teacher and we just sort of...ended up together.  When she comes to visit, we pick up where we left off, which is the best kind of friend to have.

She came in for a night yesterday and it was so amazing to see her face.  Our evening was filled with good food and laughter and reminiscing.  I got to tell her my story of Liam's birth, with Andy chiming in to tell his side of the story.  She came bearing gifts and books for Liam and Andy and me, and we had some fun stuff for her too.

But it didn't take too long to realize that a baby changes everything.  (Thanks Faith Hill.)  My first question to the hostess was if we could have a secluded table so I could feed my son.  I had missed my afternoon pumping and needed the assistance of my young one.  And then as we talked at the supper table, the topics included epidurals, car payments, water leaks and cold houses.

When we went shopping at Marshall's, our path lead us to the baby department where we oogled shoes and little blankets and tiny socks.  We made fun of all the teens clothing, commiserating on where the rest of the fabric was and how we'd have no place to wear any of the things we really liked anyway.  I chimed in with how if it didn't have a way to breastfeed, I wouldn't wear it anyway.

At home we sat and talked about how cute Liam was.  We blew up her air mattress, because our guest room is now a nursery.  At 10PM we decided that we were absolutely shot and needed to get to bed.  Which we did.  And just about that time, Liam decided to cry from his bassinet, and I needed to attend to that. 

There are many friends, single friends, that have gone since Liam was born.  Many couples sans children don't come around any more since Liam was born.  They think we're too busy or that we have bedtimes and deadlines, which we kind of are and we kind of do.  But when it comes down to it, we just want to be normal again.  Heidi helped me feel just that- normal again.

Santa Baby

Tell me he is not the most adorable child you have ever seen.  Hands down he is the most amazing thing that has happened to me, second to my husband.  Whom I love.

Liam gets cold in the middle of the night, and his little hands are freezing!  And so I pick him up and put him in bed with me and cuddle him until he gets warm and falls asleep :)  He's such a sweet little thing.  Today I made his appointment for his three month pictures to be taken.  Where is time going?

This year Andy's parents are coming down from RI, along with his brother, to spend Christmas with us.  It's going to be quite the holiday now!  I have absolutely NONE of my presents done that I was supposed to be making.  That I bought the supplies for on Black Friday.  Turns out, you can't knit and breastfeed very well.  So we'll see.

There's something very poignant about being a new mommy at Christmastime.  I alluded to this in my last blog.  I always thought I wanted to be pregnant at Christmas.  You know- to feel how Mary felt, etc.  But it turns out that having a new son at Christmas is more revealing. 

You realize how silly all the Christmas carols really are.  "Silent Night"...really?  "No crying he makes"...sure.  Oh, and my favorite it Little Drummer Boy stating, "Then he smiled at me."  Nah, if the infant Jesus was smiling at you, it was probably gas. 

I think a baby at Christmas reminds you that you won't sleep in on Christmas morning for at least another 16 years.  That every silly Christmas song is going to be new to him.  He's going to laugh at Alvin and the Chipmunks singing.  He's going to be glued to the TV while Snoopy and Linus and Lucy act out the Christmas story.  He's going to want to touch the fire at the candle lighting service on Christmas Eve.  He's going to believe in Santa, but he may not want to sit on his lap.  He's going to have a Christmas list written in crayon.

A baby at Christmas reminds you that Christ came as an infant.  That there were no camel car seats on which to transport the child away from Herod.  Mary held him.  There was no pitocin or epidurals in the stable.  There was no midwife.  There was no running water.  There were no ice packs to put on Mary's body after she birthed her son.  And the girl was not even 20 yet!  A small frame and a young mind.  In this day and age she'd be pegged as a harlot and not welcome in our churches.  Can you imagine riding a camel for days with a tear?  Maybe they had a cart she could lay on?  Did they wrap her up in old sheets or something to stop her bleeding?

If you've been following my blog, you know about the young girl I met in the hallway at the hospital.  The one with the baby girl?  She's my image of Mary this year.  Scared and small.  Limping from her incision.  If Mary was about 13, like they think she was, she wasn't even 50 yet when Jesus died.  Maybe this is why I find myself in tears so often this Christmas.  As I'm playing with his fingers and toes and making him smile, I wonder what Liam is going to see in his lifetime.

You can't help but watch the news and see the tragic pictures of the children from Sandy Hook Elem. whose little lives were cut short by senseless violence.  Of the teachers who acted as human shields to protect these vulnerable kids.  And I sit with my son and think- will you be a victim?  Will you be a hero?  Will you give your life to save many?  Will you join the military and travel the world?  Will you be a pastor and lead a flock of sheep?  What mistakes will you make?  What trials will we face together?  What will bring you joy?  What will cause you sorrow?

So much to think about at Christmas time.  But the bottom line is- I'll never get these moments back.  Neither did Mary.  I understand why Catholics hold her in such high reverence.  Maybe they grasp something we don't?  In the meantime I'll hold my little "Santa Baby" tighter and kiss him on his little round cheeks, and thank God for every moment we have together.

The After Party

Now that my son is two months old, so much has changed in my life. Liam, of course, is still amazing. He sleeps through the night now, which is just a huge treat for me. He's down around 10PM, and up at 5AM on the penny! I change him and feed him, and then I'm up for work and out the door. Am I tired...yes. Is it worth it...yes. I see him for such a short time during the evenings, I look forward to the mornings when I can see him just one more time.

Christmas is coming.  And I've put up a Christmas tree in his room, because I can.  It seems like everything about the holidays has hit me differently this year.  And it's not because I cry at Christmas songs and candlelight services.  OR when I hear about Mary laboring in a stable, and I mourn for her lack of yoga ball and jacuzzi.

 



I think the bottom line is- I don't want to share my son.  And I don't want to share his first Christmas.  I want to be greedy and keep it all to myself and Andy.  I don't want anyone to hold him.  I don't want anyone to see things before we see them.  I don't want to dress up.  I don't want the hustle and bustle.  I just want to...be.

Andy's parents are coming, and his brother.  In her hysteria when leaving us after Liam was born, Andy's mom vowed she'd be there for every holiday.  They'd never miss anything again, so make room for them!  And then Thanksgiving came and went...with excuses.  And now Christmas is here and...low and behold, more excuses!  So it's any one's guess if they're coming, but as of now all signs point to yes.

We bought very few gifts this year, with a budget of $0, we had to make the money stretch.  I've been trying to make gifts here and there, but with an infant in my arms, it's been difficult.  Now at less than two weeks away, I'm a little panicked.
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I think if I were to make my millions of dollars writing something, I'd write a book called, "What to Expect After You've Expected" because nobody seems to touch on any of the things you'll experience afterwards.  Like, not just a few weeks after, but a few months after.  And then a few years later.

In my current experience, I'm having a hard time keeping two thoughts together.  I'll be staring at something at work, and realize that I have no idea how long I've been looking at it.  My mind will just wander around like a hobo.  It happens everywhere and in every facet of my day.  It's like a baby stroke happened to me and I can't remember anything or focus anymore.

As I start back to my old routine, I'm embarrassed to go to the gym.  When I do squats in front of the mirror, my belly bulges out funny under my belly button.  When I change in the locker room, I do it in the bathroom stall so nobody can see all my stretch marks.  They're red and ugly.  My hips are bigger than before, so many of my pants have been donated based on the fact that I can't get them beyond my knees.

My hair is falling out.  My luxurious, pregnancy induced, blond, beautiful hair.  I can't leave the shower without hand fulls of it clogging my drain.  This is frustrating for the sake of vanity.  Along with all the break outs I've had in the past month.  It's literally like 16 all over again.

Perhaps the most frustrating of it all is going #2 is not #1.  If I could use one word to sum up my #2 experience it would be "ouch."  Profound, huh?  Well.  It's true.  Because you're using all the same muscles to push your child into the world, you end up sporting these hemorrhoids that make you want to sing the Star Spangled Banner every time you eat fiber.  The midwife had given me some cream stuff, but that doesn't treat the internal variety, which cause you to gush blood every time you...take the kids to the pool.  So to speak.  And I make light of it here, but it's a very real thing.  There's no prevention either so.  Just know this may be in your future.

Hormones.  What crazy characters THESE are.  They make you cry at Folgers commercials.  They make you hate your husband.  They make you cling to your baby like a life preserver.  Things that never made me bat an eye in the past are now world shattering issues because of those little things called "hormones."  They cause you to have these night sweats that put my husband's normally hot blood to shame.  I wake up drenched on a regular basis.  They cause you to have these insane dreams where you could swear they were actually happening in front of your eyes, and make you upset for the rest of the day.  Hormones.

And this is the after party.  Everyone expects their jeans not to fit, but nobody expects the rest.  And nobody wants to talk about it either.  Except for me.  Because it's my blog.

Do I know you from somewhere?

Liam is such a little man.  He's clocking in just shy of 10 lbs now, and a bunch of his clothing finally fits him.  So that's just such an incredible feeling.  Of course I dress him in little man clothing- shoes and all.

 

 

After the baby is born, there comes a moment where you realize you were not alone in all of this.  And I'm not talking about something supernatural or something religious, I'm talking about the realization that you do in fact have a husband.  Where is he?  You don't remember him leaving for any reason.  He must be here somewhere...

 

The last memories you have of your husband are the one where he was holding your left leg up so you could push your child out.  And even THAT is fuzzy.

 

You consider a missing persons report, but then you find him in your parent's kitchen on a Sunday afternoon.  And you reach up to hug him, and you realize...hey, I can touch you again.  As in, all your parts line up again.  There's no baby there anymore.  And you both share a laugh because it occurs to you simultaneously that you haven't felt this in a long time.

 

There also comes a point, after your six week post partum check up, that you realize it's been a REALLY long time since you've enjoyed the activity that got you into this in the first place.  And your husband has missed it as well- most likely MORE than you have missed it. 

 

The moment the baby leaves the snuggle nest between "his side" and "her side," and graduates to the bassinet, you bridge the gap the baby occupied.  And you find your husband there.  And his arm slips around you like old times, and everything is FAMILIAR.  And then you start to cry, because you're 1) a HUGE sap now that all your hormones are slowly going back to normal, 2) there is something very nostalgic about the three of you sharing a room- like THIS is what family is like.  And 3) you come to the realization that you love your husband very, very much. 

 

Then the baby starts to cry.  Your magic moment is now snapped back into reality.

 

However, you can't refuse your husbands advances forever.  If you have a husband who is normally tender and gentle, you should be fine.  IF not.  You need to do some talking.  Serious talking.  He needs to understand that this is not going to be a walk in the park for you, and it's going to need to be low and slow.  Without disclosing too many of the aspects of my personal experience (because many of you need to continue to be able to look me and my husband in the eyes when you see us...) I'll let you know what you need to know.

 

First off, you need to know you're more fertile now than ever.  And unless you want your children 12 months apart, you need to use extra protection.  For those of us who got pregnant on the first try, this is especially important.  Talk to your doctor at your 6 week appointment about what's best for you.  I'm not allowed to do birth control pills yet because of my low milk supply.  Instead, we've invested in condoms and spermicide to make double sure we don't have any surprises.

 

Next let's talk about that breast feeding stuff while we're talking milk supply.  While you breast feed, you will most likely NOT get a period.  This is NOT birth control.  This is a luxury, so enjoy it.  But if you're used to "doing the math" for birth control, it's not going to work because there's nowhere to start.  No period?  Can't tell if you're really pregnant.  It's not a cool feeling, so I suggest you do what it takes to be safe.

 

Lube it up, girlfriends.  Invest some money in something you can both use, and then use it.  Don't be shy.  You are naturally a little drier after giving birth, so this is totally normal.  Especially if you're using condoms- they can be irritating.  So please take my advice and astro-glide yourself up.

 

Don't expect to "arrive"...if you catch my drift.  Either one of you.  You need to build up to something that's comfortable to both of you.  Let the process be the experience.  Speak your mind before hand, and do not be afraid to say STOP if it's not working for you.  Things will be back to normal at some point, and believe it or not, your husband will survive.

 

This is all I have to say on this topic at this time.  Because I'm still living it.  Because I'm not talking in past tense, I'm talking currently.  I'm told by women who have had their children four to eight months ago tell me it gets better.  That you will be better than ever as a couple if you lay low and wait it out.  I'm looking forward to this.  Not that my Handsome Husband and I are super struggling, but I am still looking for normal.  New normal.  How can I be a wife and a mother at the same time?  I'll fill you in when I figure it out.

Back to where we started

There's something really nerve wracking about taking your infant BACK to the hospital, especially after you just got him home.

He came home on the 8th, and we took him back on the 11th.  By that time his bili levels were just so high and he was losing so much weight, he had to go under the lights.  Normally in this case they would deliver a bili blanket to your house and you would do the therapy at home.  But my insurance wouldn't cover it.  So back to the hospital we went.
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I guess what scared us the most was the manner in which they told us to come back to the hospital.

We were at the doctors that day, and they suggested we go to the lab directly to get his levels checked.  They pricked his little heel and it wasn't so bad.

My aunt and uncle came a far distance that night to see Liam, and around 8PM, during their visit, the phone rang.  It was the pediatrician.  She said they had already called the hospital and we were to take Liam there and enter through the ER.  They would send us up to the pediatrics floor where a room would be waiting for him.  They had pre-registered him, so there would be no need to do anything but just bring him in.

Doesn't that sound pretty intense?  Like, time is of the essence, intense?  My family left quickly and we restocked the hospital bags from labor that weren't even unpacked yet.  The baby started screaming.  I was (once again) just crying so hard.  And the Handsome Husband just held me.  We stopped at McDonalds on the way back to Harrisburg, and like Mary and Joseph, we made our escape to the big city with the man child.
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We were so thankful for the staff at our hospital.  We got there, walked through the creepy people in the ER, took an elevator up to the peds floor, and the nurse at the door said, "This must be Liam!  Your room is waiting for you!"  And sure enough, there was a room glowing blue just for us.  They didn't waste time stripping him down to his little diaper and putting little felt sunglasses on him and sticking him under the lights.  Except, the glasses didn't stick, so they put a little headband around his head.  Poor Liam looked like he was being interrogated by Iraqi terrorists.

 

 

The nurses woke me up every two hours to feed him, which meant no sleep for me.  They continued to take his bili levels through the night.  In the morning a team of doctors came in to see him.  They were students from Hershey Med and since Liam was the only infant on the floor, he was quite the celebrity.  The pediatrician came and gave us our walking papers and we were home before supper.

He's fine now- five weeks after the fact- and gaining weight like a pro and pooping and everything else a baby should be doing.  But in the meantime, he gave us a little "new parent" scare.  (Come to find out, every single one of my mommy friends had the same situation with their little ones).

Funny thing though.  When we were on the peds floor, we could see the Harrisburg city skyline from our room.  Standing out, amidst the roofs of apartment and office buildings and the the steam and exhaust rising from the business, was the Market Square Presbyterian Church steeple.  We attended that church for quite a while in college, so I know they pride themselves with their outstanding steeple.  Amazing how something as overlooked as a steeple can make such an impact on a frantic mother as she's praying her son isn't really really sick.  But it can.  And it does.