This mini post is brought to you by those who have been asking me a simple question:
Did you poo during labor?
The answer is yes and no. Yes I did poo during labor. No I did not poo during pushing.
When you're in labor, the baby is pushing down on all your internal organs, and you really have no choice but to poop. In a toilet, of course. You don't just lose all your bodily functions at once like I think my "Followers" are expecting to. And if you poop, in the toilet, during labor, you're not going to push the baby out. Although they are the same muscles.
When I started pushing, I felt this extreme "release" which I thought was poo, but it wasn't. It was just amniotic fluid and blood and whatever else. And I cannot stress enough- you're NOT going to care. There are so many bodily fluids, one more is not going to matter.
So there is your answer.
Any other questions? You know I'll answer them!
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Parting is such sweet sorrow
Sweet little Liam man is just getting more adorable by the day. It's freezing here in Central PA, and our house is no exception. With heating oil at almost $4 a gallon, we can't afford to heat our house. So we have space heaters running and the curtains pulled tight and blankets up over the door ways. It's really no place to have an infant, but I don't know what else to do. So we turn on the electric blanket and cuddle together and live in the bedroom mostly. My husband feels bad enough about it as it is. I feel we need to move, but that isn't happening at the moment.
So Liam and I cuddle up under the heated blanket and fall asleep every night. I can't put him in his bassinet knowing that Andy and I have each other to cuddle with and he's in the little plastic box beside us. We tried putting the snuggle nest between us, but he would crawl out of it and find me any way. So we ditched the nest and now just cuddle as a family. Some day he'll appreciate his mother. I just know it.
And don't judge me for sleeping with my son. I realize that there are horror stories about people rolling on their kids and blanket suffocation and whatever. But it's the exception, not the rule. We are always very certain his head is out from under the blankets. I lay on my back with him in the crook of my arm or on my chest. He's not going anywhere, I swear it. I would never do ANYTHING to compromise the health or welfare of my son.
---
I had 18 days off with Liam after he was born. Roughly 3 weeks of work. And I've been working ever since. And I need to say that it's not getting any easier.
My mom is a great care taker for him, and she does tummy time and reads to him and is a pro at all those things, and I know he's going to grow to be a fine little boy because she's spending so much one on one time with him. She reading to him every day, and she's going to teach him to read and write, and 'rithmetic...all those things. But by golly I miss my little boy during the day. I want to be the one to teach him all that stuff. I want to see all his firsts and I want to be the one who is the hero for him.
I have to take heart that he's not in day care. And all his first moments will not be missed by someone who loves him. And when I rush to disclose some fabulous thing that Liam has done, my mom just smiles and nods- because chances are she's seen it before from him. I am the first one he sees when he wakes up and the last thing he sees before he goes to bed. And it's MY arms he falls asleep in.
But. That doesn't make it any easier.
So Liam and I cuddle up under the heated blanket and fall asleep every night. I can't put him in his bassinet knowing that Andy and I have each other to cuddle with and he's in the little plastic box beside us. We tried putting the snuggle nest between us, but he would crawl out of it and find me any way. So we ditched the nest and now just cuddle as a family. Some day he'll appreciate his mother. I just know it.
And don't judge me for sleeping with my son. I realize that there are horror stories about people rolling on their kids and blanket suffocation and whatever. But it's the exception, not the rule. We are always very certain his head is out from under the blankets. I lay on my back with him in the crook of my arm or on my chest. He's not going anywhere, I swear it. I would never do ANYTHING to compromise the health or welfare of my son.
---
I had 18 days off with Liam after he was born. Roughly 3 weeks of work. And I've been working ever since. And I need to say that it's not getting any easier.
My mom is a great care taker for him, and she does tummy time and reads to him and is a pro at all those things, and I know he's going to grow to be a fine little boy because she's spending so much one on one time with him. She reading to him every day, and she's going to teach him to read and write, and 'rithmetic...all those things. But by golly I miss my little boy during the day. I want to be the one to teach him all that stuff. I want to see all his firsts and I want to be the one who is the hero for him.
I have to take heart that he's not in day care. And all his first moments will not be missed by someone who loves him. And when I rush to disclose some fabulous thing that Liam has done, my mom just smiles and nods- because chances are she's seen it before from him. I am the first one he sees when he wakes up and the last thing he sees before he goes to bed. And it's MY arms he falls asleep in.
But. That doesn't make it any easier.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
You're so vain...
I hate my body.
There. It's out there.
When I was pregnant, there was this glowing picture of this woman's stomach post twins. It looked like a road map of stretch marks. And there were these words over the picture that said something to the effect of being PROUD of the stretch marks because they were the remnants of a pregnancy that gave her the two best things a woman could have. They reminded her of every breath the baby took and how with every mark the babies grew more and more every day and how she loved her belly because that's the belly that housed her babies before her arms could....
WHO comes up with this stuff?
When I look at my stomach, I don't think about how much I love my son, I think about how many crunches I'm going to have to do to get this stomach to not topple over the waistband of my jeans? I don't think about birth or labor or pregnancy or any of that, I just feel overwhelmed with how much work I'm going to have to do to get back to the point where I love myself again.
I'm vain. I know.
And I will say to my handsome husband, "I feel fat and ugly and I hate my body." And he will say, "You just had a baby three months ago! Give yourself time."
Am I the ONLY one that thinks that's a terrible answer? Why isn't HE saying, "But that's the body that housed our son before our arms could!" I think both answers would get him to the Motel 8. Don't bother leaving the light on.
But it stems from this insecurity that the weight will never come off. That somehow my husband will forget about what I used to look like and be appalled with what I look like now. Or maybe even find someone new. I've gotten to the point where I've become like a big, green, jealous monster. I ask him stupid questions that go beyond the normal "Do I look good in this?"
None of this is attractive, and I know this. But it's real, and that's what this blog is about- the real stuff.
So I go to the gym two times a week and sometimes on Saturday mornings. I got a heavy bag for Christmas and hoping to have it hung in the garage sooner rather than later. I don't want my son to think of me as someone who is obsessed with her looks, but as someone who never quits. As someone who always keeps her chin up.
Good thing he's only 3 months old and I have time to work on all that, huh?
There. It's out there.
When I was pregnant, there was this glowing picture of this woman's stomach post twins. It looked like a road map of stretch marks. And there were these words over the picture that said something to the effect of being PROUD of the stretch marks because they were the remnants of a pregnancy that gave her the two best things a woman could have. They reminded her of every breath the baby took and how with every mark the babies grew more and more every day and how she loved her belly because that's the belly that housed her babies before her arms could....
WHO comes up with this stuff?
When I look at my stomach, I don't think about how much I love my son, I think about how many crunches I'm going to have to do to get this stomach to not topple over the waistband of my jeans? I don't think about birth or labor or pregnancy or any of that, I just feel overwhelmed with how much work I'm going to have to do to get back to the point where I love myself again.
I'm vain. I know.
And I will say to my handsome husband, "I feel fat and ugly and I hate my body." And he will say, "You just had a baby three months ago! Give yourself time."
Am I the ONLY one that thinks that's a terrible answer? Why isn't HE saying, "But that's the body that housed our son before our arms could!" I think both answers would get him to the Motel 8. Don't bother leaving the light on.
But it stems from this insecurity that the weight will never come off. That somehow my husband will forget about what I used to look like and be appalled with what I look like now. Or maybe even find someone new. I've gotten to the point where I've become like a big, green, jealous monster. I ask him stupid questions that go beyond the normal "Do I look good in this?"
None of this is attractive, and I know this. But it's real, and that's what this blog is about- the real stuff.
So I go to the gym two times a week and sometimes on Saturday mornings. I got a heavy bag for Christmas and hoping to have it hung in the garage sooner rather than later. I don't want my son to think of me as someone who is obsessed with her looks, but as someone who never quits. As someone who always keeps her chin up.
Good thing he's only 3 months old and I have time to work on all that, huh?
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
You are what you eat
Well, I did it. I drank a beer.
I'm not proud of it. I'm not sharing the experience with people. It's not going to make the Christmas card next year.
It tasted like old men and cigars.
But the long and short of it, is that I'm DESPERATE to make this breast feeding thing happen. I'm eating my oatmeal, drinking my mother milk tea, taking my supplements. And I bought ALL the ingredients for those lactation cookies. They are literally in my house right now, just yearning to be made.
Before, I mentioned that I was not sold on the whole breastfeeding thing. This isn't because I didn't believe in its power, but just that I felt awkward. Well. Forget all that. I now take great JOY in breast feeding my son if for no other reason that I CAN'T DO IT!
I put on my Rambo head band and scream like a banshee when you tell me I can't do something. I smear my war paint and work at it harder and longer. Oh, you say I can't have a baby because of my PCOS? One month to get pregnant. NAILED IT. Oh, I'm sorry, you say I can't breast feed because my pump is faulty and my supply is low? Yeah well, I'm taking my fenugreek like a boss. This is happening.
A friend of mine is a regular milk fountain. I watched her pump the other night. It was like one of those punch fountains you see at classy weddings. TWO, eight ounce bottles in 15 minutes. I wouldn't have believed it if I wouldn't have seen it with my own eyes. She's actually able to give some of her milk AWAY, she's making so much. It's a very cool thing.
The pediatrician is talking about putting Liam on some cereal next month. Now, let me tell you something. Every mom does something different when it comes to starting food with their babies. And every mom is completely correct and every OTHER mom is completely wrong. And they're not shy about telling you about it.
This is true for lots of things.
Don't get me wrong- I'm not offended. But every baby is different. And every mom is the same: they don't want to be told they're doing it wrong. We're all terrified of messing up these little humans we've been entrusted with. So I will sip my tea and strongly consider making those cookies tonight, and trust that my strapping, healthy son will some day send me a Mother's Day card thanking me for drinking beer on his behalf.
I'm not proud of it. I'm not sharing the experience with people. It's not going to make the Christmas card next year.
It tasted like old men and cigars.
But the long and short of it, is that I'm DESPERATE to make this breast feeding thing happen. I'm eating my oatmeal, drinking my mother milk tea, taking my supplements. And I bought ALL the ingredients for those lactation cookies. They are literally in my house right now, just yearning to be made.
Before, I mentioned that I was not sold on the whole breastfeeding thing. This isn't because I didn't believe in its power, but just that I felt awkward. Well. Forget all that. I now take great JOY in breast feeding my son if for no other reason that I CAN'T DO IT!
I put on my Rambo head band and scream like a banshee when you tell me I can't do something. I smear my war paint and work at it harder and longer. Oh, you say I can't have a baby because of my PCOS? One month to get pregnant. NAILED IT. Oh, I'm sorry, you say I can't breast feed because my pump is faulty and my supply is low? Yeah well, I'm taking my fenugreek like a boss. This is happening.
A friend of mine is a regular milk fountain. I watched her pump the other night. It was like one of those punch fountains you see at classy weddings. TWO, eight ounce bottles in 15 minutes. I wouldn't have believed it if I wouldn't have seen it with my own eyes. She's actually able to give some of her milk AWAY, she's making so much. It's a very cool thing.
The pediatrician is talking about putting Liam on some cereal next month. Now, let me tell you something. Every mom does something different when it comes to starting food with their babies. And every mom is completely correct and every OTHER mom is completely wrong. And they're not shy about telling you about it.
This is true for lots of things.
Don't get me wrong- I'm not offended. But every baby is different. And every mom is the same: they don't want to be told they're doing it wrong. We're all terrified of messing up these little humans we've been entrusted with. So I will sip my tea and strongly consider making those cookies tonight, and trust that my strapping, healthy son will some day send me a Mother's Day card thanking me for drinking beer on his behalf.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
A New Sensation
My precious Baby Bug turned 3 months on Sunday. We had his pictures taken at The Picture People, and he was such a love about it. The pictures turned out beautifully! He smiled and he laughed and he was a little trooper. I'd like to share them here, but the picture loader thingy isn't working on blogspot. Thanks for nothing, blogspot.
Later that night we went to a family function where for the first time I felt like the grownup. This time I was the mom. Andy was the dad. We came together- late- but we came. And we left together- early- but we left together. There's this sense of maturity that comes when for so long you were the youngest and you were looking up to all your cousins and playing with their kids on family occasions. And now they're playing with your child and suddenly you feel important. Like, like you've moved to the grownups table finally. Even though you've been sitting among them all along.
I started an herb for my milk supply, and so far so good. I do feel more full in the breast (lol, that statement made me chuckle) and Liam seems to be way happier. He's even pooping more. Now THERE is an accomplishment. And because he's pooping more, he's a happier baby. And I'm a happier mommy. I'm getting the warranty for my stupid stupid Tommee Tippee breast pump, and getting an Ameda double breast pump. This is an attempt to get my milk supply up again and to buy less formula.
I've mentioned before that breastfeeding means no period. At least it does for me. I've mentioned before that this is NOT birth control, it's just...let's call it a luxury. Because of the diminished milk supply, I have not gone back on birth control because I fear it would reduce my supply even more and then I'd have nothing. So we tried condoms and then I got a yeast infection. So we resorted to the good, old fashioned pull out method. Probably the least effective form of birth control. It ranks up there with just TALKING to my husband's man parts, "Now, don't you get me pregnant, ya hear?" But it's where we are at this point, and it is NERVE WRACKING. The good thing is, it hurts less than with the condom, so I feel like we're on our way in that respect, but it's still something that worries me. I've contemplated taking a pregnancy test every month, just to make sure. But that's expensive.
Another one of my VERY good friends is now pregnant and due in September. I don't mind saying that I'm living my pregnancy vicariously through her a second time- feeling all the excitement and nervousness for her. I feel like it's my calling.
More later!
Later that night we went to a family function where for the first time I felt like the grownup. This time I was the mom. Andy was the dad. We came together- late- but we came. And we left together- early- but we left together. There's this sense of maturity that comes when for so long you were the youngest and you were looking up to all your cousins and playing with their kids on family occasions. And now they're playing with your child and suddenly you feel important. Like, like you've moved to the grownups table finally. Even though you've been sitting among them all along.
I started an herb for my milk supply, and so far so good. I do feel more full in the breast (lol, that statement made me chuckle) and Liam seems to be way happier. He's even pooping more. Now THERE is an accomplishment. And because he's pooping more, he's a happier baby. And I'm a happier mommy. I'm getting the warranty for my stupid stupid Tommee Tippee breast pump, and getting an Ameda double breast pump. This is an attempt to get my milk supply up again and to buy less formula.
I've mentioned before that breastfeeding means no period. At least it does for me. I've mentioned before that this is NOT birth control, it's just...let's call it a luxury. Because of the diminished milk supply, I have not gone back on birth control because I fear it would reduce my supply even more and then I'd have nothing. So we tried condoms and then I got a yeast infection. So we resorted to the good, old fashioned pull out method. Probably the least effective form of birth control. It ranks up there with just TALKING to my husband's man parts, "Now, don't you get me pregnant, ya hear?" But it's where we are at this point, and it is NERVE WRACKING. The good thing is, it hurts less than with the condom, so I feel like we're on our way in that respect, but it's still something that worries me. I've contemplated taking a pregnancy test every month, just to make sure. But that's expensive.
Another one of my VERY good friends is now pregnant and due in September. I don't mind saying that I'm living my pregnancy vicariously through her a second time- feeling all the excitement and nervousness for her. I feel like it's my calling.
More later!
Thursday, January 3, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
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.
Oh this child. I love his little face so much. Those big eyes suck me in every time.
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...
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