some thoughts on nursing

I hope you see the humor in this picture with this post. This cow lives right around the corner from us and as I was looking for a fitting image I decided to picture her with this post instead of me or my children. :)

Well the title should be enough of a heads up for anyone not interested in this topic just to skip this post. But I want to write about this...and have wanted to since Elsie was one week old. And then last night I was with a great group of women at my sister's house and the topic came up again and confirmed that I want to throw my experience out there.

When my cousin Kathy's baby was just a week and a half old, I went to visit. And I said something like, "isn't breastfeeding the most amazing, beautiful and wonderful gift? I loved every second with Ivar."

I meant what I said. And I still feel this way with my whole heart. But then when I had Elsie I had a lot of trouble during that first week. And the words I had spoken to Kathy haunted me with every attempt to feed my baby. It wasn't feeling amazing, beautiful or wonderful. It felt more like ten million razor blades attacking me in one very sensitive spot all at once. It hurt so bad.

And I was awkward. I hadn't counted on having to relearn how to breastfeed with baby number two. I think I assumed I'd be well seasoned after ten months with baby number one. But Elsie was a new baby, and we had to learn everything again together.

My time feeding Elsie in the hospital went fairly well. Usually there was a nurse nearby who could help us get started. But even before we went home I felt less than confident. I had the lactation specialist come by and help. And that was sort of helpful, but I left the hospital concerned.

And as it played out the next 48 hours were really, really tough. Physically, it hurt like crazies. Can't even put it into words. Her latch was little, and I was exhausted.

But emotionally it was killing me. Elsie cried hard because she was hungry. And I knew I was the only one who could feed her. It was my job. And it wasn't working. So as she cried, I did too. It made me sad not to be able to do the thing that would help calm her down and fill her up.

Rory called the lactation specialist from the hospital and had me talk to her again. And we also called an independent lactation specialist we found through google who would do home visits. One was very helpful and the other just told stories of her own kids. Which was frustrating.

But before we had the woman come to our home, my milk came in and somehow Elsie and I started to figure out how to work together to get the job done. I wish I could say, "and then we tried... and it saved the day..." But it wasn't any one thing. I think everything just sort of clicked for us. (Though belly to belly is key. And I had to get rid of the boppy...it brought Elsie up too high. And I started taking deep breaths and dropping my shoulders right before I brought her to my chest.)

In the end, we figured it out. But not without a whole lot of tears from both mom and baby. It was a really hard way to start out our days together.

However, now, five weeks later, I can confidently say it was all worth it. Of course it was. Nursing is such a treasured time. I love that every three hours I have to stop, put my feet up and adore my baby. And I love the miracle that happens every time I walk into her nursery half-dead in the middle of the night, and how when I see her I am instantly overcome with love and affection and happiness. I still fall asleep in the glider rocker as soon as she is latched on, but for that sweet moment when we see each other, it actually feels like love sweeps over the room.

That's what I was trying to tell Kathy that day. But I also should have told her that it can also feel like ten million razor blades too.

Two closing thoughts:

I was talking to my sister about this last night after everyone left her house. Annika tried for a very long time to get her first born to latch on. But nothing worked. She had lots of consultants help, tried the little tiny cup, but in the end Annika pumped every four hours for six months (!!!) and fed her with a bottle. And that worked too. It wasn't her first choice, but I remember being so proud of her and the stamina it took to pump six times a day and bottle feed every three hours and wash all of the equipment for the next pump. It was a true commitment. And then her next two babies latched on right away.

And finally, this is my personal story with breastfeeding, but I make no judgements on moms, no matter how they feed their baby. I am fully aware that there are tons of factors unique to each mom and baby that determine the best plan for feeding that little kiddo. And whether it was breastfeeding or bottle fed, there is no greater sound than a big juicy burp that lets you know this baby is well fed.

a case of the mondays

 

Rory put my sweatshirt on Ivar and sent him into the kitchen to show me. At first Ivar was laughing, but in the time it took for me to get my camera, the sleeves fell down and Ivar lost his hands and freaked out. Which made for a great picture.

I wrote about one trying Monday here. For some reason Mondays are always a bit hairy. Which is funny to me as a stay-at-home mom. You'd think Monday would feel no different than any other day of the week when you're home and keeping nap schedules and feeding tiny mouths. But somehow everyone knows it's the start of a new week and it takes a day to get back into the groove.

Last Monday Rory came up to me, gave me a hug and said, "if you want to get all new make up, we could make that happen." I thought he was trying to cheer me up, help me feel a bit prettier with this baby weight, or was simply acknowledging how hard I'm working.

Later in the day I walked into the bathroom and spotted all of my makeup in the trash. I picked up my (wet) powder brush and yelled to Rory, "why is my make up in the garbage?"

He replied very quickly, "Don't touch it! I found it all in the toilet!"

And that is why I am getting all new makeup.

Alison's Garden

 

Our next door neighbor in Minneapolis is a master gardener. Her whole lawn is flower beds and to live next door was amazing...glorious flowers to look at all summer long. These pictures are from her back yard the day before we moved.

When I was in the hospital delivering Elsie, Alison was in the same hospital trying to figure out the pain she constantly deals with in her back and legs. Now she is waiting for surgery that she'll have next week to try to bring her some comfort.

She never got to meet Elsie before we moved, so we made a trip so that Ivar could see is pal, "Alsin" and so Alison could meet Elsie. When we walked in the building, two workers were walking out and they said, "Oh you must be Alison's family! She has been telling us all about you." And that felt right: Alison's family.

the time I got stuck on a waterslide...

This dino slide is awesome. It's a foot and a half long and lands you on a cushy pad in six inches of water. I should know. I braved this slide all by myself.

I was trying to coax Ivar on it, hoping he'd sit in my lap. But he wasn't interested. At all.

So there I sat, with my dry swim suit, apparently blocking that little water nozzle by Josie's hand with my leg. And let's be honest. I was a bit wider than the slide. And at this point completely dry on the slide with bare legs.

This wouldn't have been a huge deal, I mean I wasn't stuck stuck. Just sticky stuck.

But what made it really awkward was when the life guards started blowing their whistles and walking towards me yelling at me, "Mam, that slide is for the children. You cannot be on that slide."

Well yes, I can imagine that is the case. Obviously.

"You need to get off the slide."

I agree. I'm just trying to pivot onto my left hip. Give me a minute....

And then I traveled down the foot and a half and splashed into the six inches of water and then made sure the lifeguards understood that I was definitely not trying to be defiant.

Josie and Maddie thought it was quite entertaining. And Ivar still didn't go down the slide.

mom brain

                                                                                                 Sara made that cake!
Last Thursday morning I said to Rory, "tonight when the kids go to bed I need to go to Target to get Kirby and Josie's birthday presents for their party tomorrow."

So all day long I worked on my Target List: more milk, cream, cereal, baby wipes..."

When I got to Target I looked at my list and wondered why I didn't just send Rory to get this stuff. I got it quickly, and came home.

Friday morning I woke up and it hit me. I had gone to Target to get birthday presents for Kirby and Josie. But I hadn't written that on the list, and therefore I was giftless.

I called Lisa and asked what Josie wanted and she bailed me out and said she had an hour glass for Josie that could be from us. I could pay her $10 at the party and she'd throw it in a gift bag for me.

Then I called Sara and asked what Kirby still needed on his list. And she mentioned that she was going to Half Price Books next and would get him a reading light from us and I could give her $10 at the party.

Ah, Grace. It's such a good thing.

I told them both how I had actually gone to Target to get them their gifts. And that the effort should count for something. They agreed and I was so grateful for awesome sister-in-laws.

And so then at the birthday party, Kyle and Lisa watched our kids so Rory and I could go down the water slides a few times and putz in the lazy river. It was awesome. At the end of the night Sara came back to the lawn chairs with her teeth chattering saying she was going down each water slide one more time with Kirby and Toby and did anyone want to join her? It was cold and no one took her up on her offer. But she was doing it for her boys.

I told Rory, "Sara deserves the Mother of the Ward Ayear."

"The what?" he said.

"The Mother of the Ward Ayear."

And then I heard myself. Mom brain. "The Mother of the Year Award!"