Weaning and Woes

I have a confession to make. I've basically given up breastfeeding.

I don't think I've had any doubt more overwhelming with either of my children than "am I feeding them right?" Even now with PDG eating full meals and telling me if he's hungry and thirsty, there's so much to doubt. More organics? Juice vs water vs milk. Happy meals? Candy? But none of it tops the doubts of breastfeeding the first year.

Now, I love breastfeeding. I love the bond it creates. I love knowing that my body can nourish another. I love the way my bras fit. I love burning calories. I love not making bottles at 2am. I love feeling like I AM WOMAN.  I love how quickly I can resolve tears - any kind of tears. I love how their gulps slow and slow until the latch gives way and the milk coma sets in. It can be wonderful and empowering and comfortable.

But, truth be told, I kinda hated breastfeeding too. I hated how much it hurt those first weeks. I hated feeling like only I could feed the babies, not J-Man - at least, not without planning and pumping. I hated wondering how much he'd eaten and did he need the other side too or would he just throw it up all over me. I hated when I finally realized that he actually wasn't getting enough and instead of feeling awesome started feeling I AM NOT WOMAN ENOUGH.

Ugh.

Why do I do that? Why do so many of us do that? I should be thinking for the last eight months I've nourished and raised this infant into a crawling, laughing, learning machine. He is beautiful and strong and developing just right. Be proud. But, because I love beating myself up, I'm battling the thought I have failed him.  

Perhaps what is worse is that, because I didn't have this problem with PDG, it feels like I am particularly neglecting MDG.  I keep trying to figure out why my supply didn't keep up. Perhaps because I had to go back to work at 7 weeks because I didn't choose to be a SAHM because it wasn't for me? Is that how I failed him? Or because I'm on birth control this go-around because while I love my two boys I don't want any more. Is that how I failed him? Maybe I didn't drink enough water. Or I didn't remember to take my vitamins some days. Plus I took one night off a week so that I could sleep - obviously selfish.

Probably, though, it's a little bit of all of it. All of it, except of course, the calling it 'failing' part.

Logically, I know I didn't fail. Even now that he's almost exclusively on formula, he's being well fed. He's getting nourishment. I still hold him and love him and feed him.  

I wish I had the right words of encouragement for people who ask me about breastfeeding. Has it been a crazy journey that ended up with two healthy boys? - yes. Would I do it again? - yes. Was it easy and pleasant? - sometimes. Was it awful and hard? - sometimes. 

But regardless of what I'm doing right or wrong and how much I judge myself, for the first time in three years I'm pretty much back to eating for one again.  No pregnancy, and only one nursing session. (Yeah, I didn't give up the 5am feeding. Let's face it, I will always love sleep more than walking to the kitchen to make a bottle. Always.)

I just realized, and decided, that a happy mother matters so much more than the detail of where the milk came from. So for the past ten days I've weaned from five feedings to just one. That one I'll keep for as long as it feels right.  

I'm just trying to follow my favorite advice I received: Do what feels right; nothing is a problem until it's a problem, and then you fix it.

Here goes nothing.

MDG at 8 Months

On a more uplifting note.... MDG is eight months old!

So, what is he up to, you ask? Way too much. He can pull himself up on anything, and stand while holding on with just one hand. He claps when you clap and sometimes waves when you wave. And, as always, smiles nonstop.

He cut his first tooth during our trip to see Big Sis and is working on #2 as we speak.

His sleep went in reverse right at 7 months, and he's back to waking once or twice for a paci. He's also sharing a room with PDG now, so we haven't been letting him cry much. Not sure if we'll keep that no-cry strategy up during this month or not. Those early wake-up calls are just around the corner again.

He eats pretty much everything now except the common allergens. He downs a pack of baby food at every meal plus usually some cheerios or puffs and any bites of our food that he can manage.  We're looking forward to sharing more and more finger foods next month and moving away from purees.

Somewhat related, his nursing appetite has outmatched my output, so he takes a small bottle of formula at nighttime too.  This switchover will keep happening throughout the month as we have decided to wean fully before going back to school.  I'm sure I'll write more on that later.

Still no babbling, but given how much PDG is talking these days, maybe he just doesn't know how to interrupt!  Just lots of heavy excited breathing, wiggling his wrists, and smiling when he wants to say he's excited.

Such a happy, happy boy.

Seven Months of MDG

During this past month of insufficient blogging and school year ending and heat waves and me time and June and all, our baby MDG grew up some more. It just keeps happening!

Seven months old.

So, what is he up to? Well, for one, he learned to crawl in June. Way earlier than PDG did. He started rolling one day and then doing a roll-sit-roll combo a couple days later and then wham-o, he had it all figured out. And by the 7-month marker he even figured out how to pull up to standing on certain objects and do a little bear-crawl too. Time to re-baby-proof everything.

 

He started getting the hang of solids more and more. He's added in some non-purees like bananas and sweet potatoes as well as the Gerber puffs and yogurt bites and fruits in that pacifier-mesh-thing. Not as excited about veggies, but you can usually trick him by mixing in some sweet fruits, or alternating bites so he doesn't know what's coming next.

His sleep continues to follow an algorithm even the greatest mathematicians couldn't break. Some nights 7-4 then back down for more sleep. Some 7 to 12 or 1, frantic screaming until nursed, then back down til 5:45 then up for the day. Some nights other random awakenings just to find the paci. I've given up figuring it out. We do give an extra two ounces of milk from a bottle after I nurse at night now, just to make sure his belly is full enough to make it through the night. I can't tell if my body is adequately keeping up with him, but that's another whole post about breastfeeding and self-doubt of its own.

His hair is coming in more and more, and even starting to curl!

He now sits in the tub with PDG for bathtime without any sort of support.  Usually it's a lot of giggles before a quick shift to I'm-tired-get-me-out-of-here cries.

The best part about this month has been just how much the boys have started interacting with each other.  They make each other laugh and melt my heart.  MDG watches PDG's every move, mimics what he can, laughs when he can't, and lights up whenever he enters the room.  Sure it's annoying that PDG now wakes up earlier because he hears MDG get up somewhere in the 6am range, but what better way to start a summer morning than to see one boy in his bed, the other in his crib, and both giggling and wiggling as they watch each other?

Go to Sleep, MDG

When people ask me what the hardest thing about being a mom is, I usually answer with one word.

Sleep.

I'm a nine-hours-a-night gal.  I like my sleep.  Correction, I love  my sleep.  In fact, I have trouble surviving without it. Just ask J-Man.

No, don't.  Please.  He might be too honest and I can tell you that me without sleep is even worse than me without food.

So before MDG was born I tried to brace myself.  I remembered that with PDG we pretty much suffered for four straight months.  When he would wake, the only way to get him back to sleep was nursing.  On nights when he'd wake four or five times, that was a whole lot of nursing.  And a super sleepy mama.

With MDG I figured it'd be the same.  He'd wake a bunch.  I'd nurse him a bunch.  He'd fall back asleep.  And at four months he'd figure it out by crying some and life would be a dream.

Well.  Not quite.

First of all, MDG didn't fall back asleep.  He just didn't.  And he didn't necessarily wake because he was hungry.  It has all been very confusing.  When you're operating on minimal sleep, 2am confusion is pretty infuriating.

We've tried everything.  The bassinet, the pack-n-play, the swing, the carseat, the couch, our bed, swaddled, unswaddled, short naps, long naps.  They all would work.... sometimes.  And they all didn't work with any consistency.  Maddening. Belly-sleeping seemed the best bet once he got neck control, but even that was ruined by his learning to roll over only one direction.

Eventually we got to the week of MDG's four month birthday and decided it was time for some crying.  Let me preface this by saying that if you are against your baby crying and you can function as a family with resolving every whimper through the night, I fully respect your decision.  I couldn't.  My family couldn't.  So we buckled down for a little loudness in the hopes of "short term pain, long term gain."  And no, I don't like hearing my baby cry.  I just wasn't functioning.

We didn't let him go more than a half hour at a time, but he figured out bedtime right away.  That was easy for him.  Give him a paci, plop him on his belly, give him 3-5 minutes of squirming and a little fussing and he was out.

But, then came an hour and a half later and he'd be rolled onto his back screaming.  Then two hours after that. Then another hour and time to eat.  Then another hour.  Then maybe two more and time to eat.  Then another hour and I might as well get up and start my day.  Try teaching classes of 30 teenagers after that night.  Again and again. 

By the end of the week I was starting to think that crying it out was way worse than the rocking and nursing routine we'd had before.   How could that be?  With PDG it had worked like a charm. I had resisted, but the doctor had been right and he really started sleeping.  But MDG, not quite.

So when finally on the sixth night he woke once at 10 for a paci and then once at 3 to nurse and that was it, I nearly jumped out of bed with a song when my alarm sounded.  I bounced around my classroom.  I felt good. No, great.

Of course, it's been about six weeks since we started this venture and it's been two steps forward one step back the whole way.  He's weaned himself down to no feedings at night, but still clings to the rolling over and losing the paci troubles.  And that darn stomach bug threw a wrench in everything back in April.

I just keep telling myself he'll learn to sleep some day.  Or he'll be like his dad and eventually discover mindless charms like Aqua Teen Hunger Force or nerdy NPR podcasts to lull him to sleep each time he wakes at night.

And one day, I know because it happened with PDG, I will wish he still needed me at 2am.  I'll lie in bed with the silence of the sleeping house surrounding me, remembering when he fit in the curve of my arms, with no words to convey his wants, only eyes too bright for the hour of the evening and the satisfied smile of having every need met in a gentle sway.  I'll laugh at myself for missing this.  And then hopefully I'll reread these notes and get the nostalgia I need to take off my rose-tinted glasses and go back to bed myself.

Baby Stomach Bug Times Two - and Jerky

The Scene:
3pm on a Wednesday.  MDG and PDG have both recently awoken from naps.  PDG is on the couch strangely disinterested in goldfish crackers, a typical favorite. I am changing MDG's diaper in the nursery and checking to be sure he doesn't have a fever to accompany the morning's vomiting (the reason we're home in the first place on a Wednesday at 3pm)

Me: Ok, MDG, no fever. Let's grab a diaper.

PDG (arriving at the top of the stairs): Belly hurts

Me: Thats right, MDG's belly does hurt. That's why...

(I look down to see MDG pooping all over the changing table, his outfit, the clean diaper I just grabbed and my hand)

Me: Yuck!

PDG: Mommy, belly hurt!

Me: Just a second sweetie, MDG is going poop-poop everywhere.  Oh, and it just keeps coming!

PDG: Mommy! (insert intense vomiting noises here) (now insert terrified toddler crying) (some more vomit noises as toddler is quickly shuffled to the toilet that he manages to miss) (more confused crying)(a mother's exasperated when-will-it-end sigh)(a little more vomit)(a shoulder shrug from a confused toddler before much more crying)

Me: Ok, everybody, clothes off.  Let's take a bubble bath.

PDG: Bath?

MDG: (adorable baby giggles before one last runny mustard poop)

End Scene

Been there?  If you have 2+ kids or 2+ siblings then quite likely.  Grrr-oss!!

As for the backstory, here goes.  Tuesday night is J-Man's night to feed MDG.  It gives me a break once a week to get slightly less interrupted sleep.  It's been going great, but with our new allowance of some crying (with hopes of self-soothing), it was more disjointed than usual this week.  MDG woke more than he has been and even PDG woke once at 1am, an extreme rarity.  He usually embraces sleep even better than I do.

After MDG's 5am wake up feed he threw up a good bit on me.  It was a little alarming, but I figured he just was a little piggy and ate too much since I was engorged from having taken the night off.  I still got him dressed for daycare, finished dressing myself, got PDG dressed and headed out.  I told Miss S that he'd thrown up more than usual but also gave my diagnosis.  She said to keep my phone handy but he was probably fine.

Clearly, he wasn't.  He threw up his whole 8:30 bottle.  Everywhere. So by 9:30 I was finding coverage for my classes, plopping in The Lion King in Spanish and rushing to pick up my boys.

The doctor wasn't too concerned since there was no fever and another daycare toddler was out that day having thrown up the night before.  Probably just a bug.  I was told to nurse often and watch for signs of dehydration.

Not that any of that stopped my crazy-anxious brain from diagnosing my son with a rare banana allergy that manifested itself in delayed and incomplete symptoms.  Then, oh the guilt I felt for starting him on solids at the beginning end of the recommended 4-6 month range.   Was I a terrible mom?  Did MDG have something scary and complicated wrong with him?

After spending the afternoon nursing nearly every 30 minutes and taking mini catnaps during PDG's nap we arrived at the scene above.  A projectile stomach flu explosion. A cleanup nightmare.

So how did we solve it?

Frozen.

For me as much as for them.

Luckily, there was a little more silver lining to the day.  Thanks to my good friend M, back from her honeymoon, we were able to send J-Man a special Jerky delivery that looked like this.

And the best news of all, knock on wood, is that both J-Man and I managed to avoid this particular illness.  So far.

MDG at Two Months

It's been a rough go of things here lately.  Hence the month-long hiatus.  But, as it has been pointed out to me recently, writing is good for me when life is throwing lemons, so here goes.

Rather than elaborating on how I haven't been so happy and why, let's talk about MDG.

He had his two month check up recently and weighed in at a whopping 13lb 4oz - nearly double birth weight!  That puts him at 75th percentile. His pediatrician was pleased and suggested that we start to wean from those night feedings so that by 3 months, by which time he'll certainly be 14lbs (her magic number) he will sleep 10 hours straight.  We've been working on dropping that first feeding and can now sometimes get from 9pm-5:30am with one nursing session.  But he is still waking at least once more for some love and attention too.  I know there are a billion theories on baby sleep.  I have no clue which ones really apply to this baby.  So, given the sadness going on, we're prioritizing mama's sleep and just making it work until he's more like 4 months and can handle self-soothing and crying it out.  So yeah, he does still sleep in the swing more often than I'd care to actually admit.

these swaddle sacks save my life

He was more average for height at 23" and has started wearing some 6month sleepers already.  I'm trying to get him as many wears in his adorable 0-3 month outfits as possible, but along with moving into size 2 diapers last week, he's outgrowing these clothes too.

Not that two month olds do much, he does the normal things.  Follows us with his eyes. Coos plenty.  And unlike his big brother at this age, gives away smiles for free. Just smiling at him can get a huge one back in response.  It's really quite fabulous.

minutes before his appt and shots

We had a brief anxiety-inducing issue when he started daycare and refused bottles, but he's doing pretty well with them again now.  I think he was just stubbornly waiting for the real deal before realizing eight hours on just four or five ounces wouldn't make anybody happy.  Now it's more like 12-16oz, a manageable number I can pump without dipping into the freezer just yet.

Oh, and he takes a paci with no trouble now.  Crazy, right?  He's been congested with some germs that PDG likely hacked all over him, but besides when the snot blocks his breathing easily, he really likes the soothing pacifiers.

Overall, he's healthy and happy.  Just not a sleeper.  And given how he looks like his daddy, there's a good chance that this poor sleeping thing might also be a link the two of them share.  If so, pray for us all.  Seriously :)

One Month of MDG

Holy cow it's been a month!

Not gonna lie, some of these days have been eternities, but some have actually flown by.

one week 

All in all I think early December was a pretty great time to have a baby.  Not only does Christmas break minimize my days-without-pay portion of my leave, but it has also meant more days with J-Man and an extra reason to get to see Big Sis and her family, as well as facetime a bunch with Big Bro and his. Plus, so many cheesy holiday movies on TV all day and night and a general positive spirit in everybody. Yeah.  December was pretty great.

also one week

Of course, it's January now.  Things, they are a-changing.  J-Man is back at work, I go back in a little over two weeks, it's all getting to be quite real.

I may or may not post again about my broader thoughts on the New Year, resolutions and whatnot, but let's reflect on lil MDG for a moment.

three weeks

At birth MDG was 7lbs even and 19 inches, and four days later he had lost a few ounces and regained them to be at 7lbs 1oz and 19.5 in.  By his two week appointment, which was actually day 16 not 14, he was up to 8lbs7oz and 20.5in.  Growing like a weed.  Which, thankfully, makes breastfeeding feel worthwhile since once again, it's not so pleasant.  Not as bad as with PDG, perhaps because I know it gets better? or because PDG already scarred me?, but still not roses and daisies and sunshine.  At least it's working, though, and MDG is getting everything he needs to fill in those cheeks and thighs and add extra creases to keep bathtime a challenge.

four weeks

His sleep is still rough.  Despite the fact that with PDG I had strong opinions on letting him sleep in my arms/bed at night - we're in survival mode.  So, yes, MDG does all his naps in the swing or my arms, and at night has also had stints in the swing, carseat, crook of my arm, and on our luckier nights, his bassinet.  He seems to like the swaddle blankets, and perhaps we'll throw in some white noise to see if that helps anything.  We're just too nervous to make the switch to crib like we did with PDG at 3 weeks.  Especially since PDG sleeps amazingly now and loves bedtime, the thought of messing that up seems unwise (they'll share a room...).

I'm hopeful that January will bring us smiles and more coos (he's just started some non-fussy noises!) and more batting at toys hanging in his face. But no matter what, we're along for the ride.

Happy One Month, MDG, and to everyone else, Happy New Year.

Welcome MDG

There are a million things to say about the last two weeks, so I'll start at the very beginning.

I woke up in a foul mood.  Perhaps it was the rocky sleep from the night before.  Most likely it was everything on my mind that I mentioned in the last post.

J-Man, Mama H and I headed out early for my 6:30 induction.  Of course, because no birth story can be without surprises, we arrived to find that there were no empty beds. In retrospect, I took the news pretty well.  I simply wouldn't accept that the baby wasn't coming that day.  Period.  So as they hooked me up to some monitors in triage and did all the question-asking, I stayed calm.

By 10:30 I was in my own room and had been told that I was barely at a one, despite what the doctor the week before had told me (maybe she had tiny fingers?) so they wouldn't start pitocin until they started some other gel first.  It started with a p, or maybe a d?  Anyway, it got things moving.  J-Man and Mama H stayed by my side as the contractions picked up.

At 2pm Dr. M (who delivered PDG) came in to break my water.  I was more nervous this time since I hadn't yet gotten my epidural.  To my surprise, it wasn't so bad.  I might've taken it a bit too well though, since when I asked my nurse about 15 minutes later if I could get my epidural yet, the doctor responded to her "not yet."

The next two hours were pretty awful.  Sure it had taken me 3.5 hours to get from 1cm to 3cm but with the way those contractions were coming - faster and faster and stronger and stronger - I knew progress was happening unlike before.  I practically had to beg to eventually get the epidural.  Was it just that Dr. M. wanted me to know what the whole can't-walk-or-talk-through contraction felt like?  Because I learned.  And my body kept teaching me every 2-3 minutes.

At 3:51 I signed for my epidural and after what felt like an eternity (but probably wasn't) a questionable anesthesiologist administered it.  She also told me I might have mild scoliosis.  Ok.  Sure.  Maybe.  But is now the time to tell me?  Weird.

When that experience was over my nurse, Carlee (who was great) added the pitocin and the contraction-o-meter started to go off the charts.  Which would've been fine, if, just maybe, the epidural had kicked in right away.  But, next surprise, it hadn't.  So despite getting a cute tingle in my legs, my abdomen still felt every single tightening for the next long while.

Carlee had checked me around 4:30 and told me I was at an 8, but by 5:15 or so I was pretty sure I had to be complete.  She fiddled with a catheter and did some things on my chart as I finally started to get a little pain relief.  Maybe that's why I wasn't more annoyed that yet again it felt like no one was listening.

I told her I wanted to push so at 5:40 she checked again and said, "oh, yeah, his head is right here." So much for a catheter

J-Man asked, "so this baby should come in the next couple hours?" remembering the 2.5 hour pushing marathon from PDG's delivery.

"He might be here by 6" she answered, and stuff got real.

Despite the annoyances of the morning and early afternoon, I was finally in less pain and able to focus on the beautiful task at hand.  With J-Man on one side, Mama H on the other, and Carlee giving me encouragement, I started pushing just before 6pm.  Unlike before, I could feel what my body was doing each step of the way.  I was fully aware when my doctor - now Dr. S due to a shift change - came in and began suiting up.  I noticed when the other nurses entered.  I could listen and adapt as Dr. S told me to hold or push again.  And in a few slow motion moments I was able to witness as this tiny son of mine entered the world.  First his small, squished, perfect head, suctioned and crying, then his neck and shoulders, wrapped once by his umbilical cord, and finally the rest of his purple, wiggly, perfect body.

I was focused as they lay his precious body right on top of mine, and as my J-Man once again cut the cord.

I felt his tiny hands, his tiny feet, and thanked God that I was once again an agent in a miracle.

I don't think I've ever felt as empowered and meant to do something as I did during those 25 minutes of pushing.  Just the night before I had doubted my body.  But right then, as our Malcolm Davis came into the world, I couldn't have felt more proud of it.

Eventually they took him to the other side of the room to quickly measure and weigh him - 7lbs even 19inches - but quickly they returned him to my chest to nurse and snuggle with his mama.

Since then, MDG has proven to be very little like his big brother aside from looks.  He has us guessing every day, and night, but one thing is for sure: he is absolutely who is supposed to be in our family.  He belongs here. Right here. With his Mama G, his Papa G, and his big brother PDG.

We couldn't feel more complete.  I couldn't feel more in love.

Me and my three G boys.  Let the adventures as a family of four begin

Ending an Era

Every once in a while PDG still falls asleep nursing.  It's so rare I almost don't know what to do.  We've decided that I'm going to stop nursing all together in April, after our spring break trip out west that will certainly confuse his eating, sleeping, and generally behaving habits.  Stopping before that might be way to much change all at once.

So there are only a few weeks left of this sweet experience.

Now, I know, I don't HAVE to stop.  I know that I could keep going for years.  I'd rather not be the mom nursing a kindergartener, but I'm also not someone who places some specific age on when it is suddenly wrong/gross/selfish/whatever to keep breastfeeding.  I say do it however long you'd like.  However long feels right.

And just like I think women have the right to choose all sorts of things (aka everything) about their work and body, I think I get to choose about this.  I'm ready to stop.  I'm ready to have my body back, even if (hopefully) not for long before nurturing another baby.  I'm ready to keep providing him with comfort and food, just not in the same way.  I'm ready to let go of breastfeeding.

Someday I might read this and think "why did you stop right after a year you silly goose?"  Or maybe I'll think "why did you go on so long when it started to feel like a burden?"  But hopefully I'll think "man breastfeeding was a crazy, painful, sweet, complicated, loving journey you shared with PDG.  You did good, little mama."

Until then, I'm going to cherish the moments I can give my baby everything he needs, and help him feel so loved and comfortable that he can doze into that deep slumber that only babies (and husbands) can really know.

Pump Today Gone Tomorrow

Why is mom guilt so heavy?  Why?  Even when logic tells me that I'm doing right by PDG, or even more than just ok - sometimes pretty darn great - I can convince myself that I'm failing.

I could point my finger in a few different directions, but regardless the reason, I feel guilty about how much I dislike pumping.

In the mornings PDG eats while I pump.  No biggie on weekdays, but we do it on weekends too to make up for what I don't make during the week.  So when we're up on Saturday morning, we're really truly up.  Plugged in, lights on, ready to roll.  Then, on weekdays, I have a 25 minute lunch.  That includes rushing the kids out the door on their way to the cafeteria, locking up behind them, walking to the lounge, getting my pump, going to the Mommy Room, plugging in, eating a snack, guzzling a drink, unplugging, cleaning up, getting the milk to the fridge, and getting back to the classroom.  On "even days" when I have planning during 6th, I can sometimes postpone the pumping til then, but only if I'm not too uncomfortable.

After school I do the same process, less stressful on days without department meetings, co-planning, or student stuy sessions to work around.  So, yeah, usually just as stressful to fit in.

Now, I do it because I love PDG.  I do it because that phrase "breast is best" got stuck in my head somewhere along the way.  I do it because I said I would until he's one.  I do it because my mom breastfed all of us kids.  I do it because it sounded too selfish to stop.

But you know what?  I decided not to do it anymore.  In 2013 I won't pump during the day and PDG will take two bottles of formula.  We'll still nurse the twice in the evening and once in the morning for a few more months, (provided he stays interested and my supply remains) but the other two I'm giving up.

Today, to start the weaning, he took one bottle of formula, and in a couple days we'll give him the second one.  Despite me wondering if I'm doing something wrong, or if I'll regret this, or if I'm just a crazy person, he drank that milk like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

So I'm going to try to treat myself the way I've treated everyone I know who has used formula all along.  I'm going to give myself a break and remember that in some circumstances, formula is actually best. That a happy, less-stressed mom is important. That this decision is neither the most influential, nor the last, decision I'll make as a mother.

So why do I still feel a little guilty?  I'm not sure.  It isn't logical.  And I'm going to have to get over it.

Half A Year

Last week PDG turned 6 months and this tired mama didn't take a moment to give the updates.

He is now a rolling scooting machine.  He's discovered computer cords and sometimes gets close to the tv area, so child proofing is about to be reality.

He sits for longer and longer now, but inevitably either face plants or just slumps to the side

He went through a phase this month when he would look at a new person and just laugh.  For some this was cute, but I saw others find this a little awkward.  Oh well.

There was no notable 6-month growth spurt, but he does still eat every 2-2.5 hours.  At daycare he started crying after bottles and whenever the other kids got their snacks, so since then we've been happily sending along finger foods and purees to supplement the milk

He started sleeping through the night with more consistency (which then was fully interrupted right after the 6-month birthday by his first cold, but whatever, there's hope for a comeback)

 He weighed in at only 17lbs this time, meaning he dropped off his curve.  Doc wasn't concerned, but just said that if he is ever acting hungry we can consider supplementing with formula.  Since I wasn't at the appointment and J-Man delivered this suggestion to me after an exhausting day, there was a lot of crying and feeling of inadequacy.  That's passed now, I think.  Mostly I just want him to be growing ok, and he's continuing in the 50-60% range so still perfectly healthy.  Just no more 90+% for height.

Overall he's a champ, and he and pops made it through the appointment just fine.  J-Man handled daycare drop off for the first time and we entered into this new month of solids and scoots and colds and teeth that all technically fall into next month's updates.

Yeah, that was a lot.  It's ok if you're yawning too.  Here's hoping sleep returns this week and runny noses go away so I can get back to writing a little more.

Pump It Up

Now that PDG is in daycare he has to take a bottle.  I was nervous about how that would all go.  I mean, he has taken them on occasion before, but not with any consistent pattern. I had heard that some babies transition better than others or might try to hold out for the real deal all day long.  That and the whole fear of "nipple confusion."

Quick aside: I don't think babies are ever really 'confused.'  I mean, maybe they get angry that bottles can flow faster than their mama's hoohas and yet provide less skin-to-skin comfort, but I'm pretty sure they know one from the other.

Back to the bottles though, I really didn't know how much to send.  The all-knowing internet gave me some equations and I guessed 16 ounces for the 9 hours he'd be gone.  I dug some out of the freezer stash, got the bottles all labeled with name and date and hoped he'd be cool about it all.

Turns out, not only does he like the bottle, he insists on holding it so that no one takes it, even when he's done.  Crazy boy.  Sometimes he even will cry when he's done.  That is, until he's distracted by anything shiny, crinkly, or hanging in his face.  Typical boy...

So since he is such a good eater I have had to turn into a pumping machine.  If this is TMI, sorry.  Earlier this year we invested in an electric pump with the hopes of me needing it while working.  My school even has a large storage closet that has been converted into the "mommy room."  The four of us pumping teachers all have keys and there is a special sign that we put out when we're in there that says "Mom at Work."  Inside is a comfy chair and big table, plus it's right by the bathroom for any sanitizing we might need.

That is, until this week.  Now there is a partition in the room so that two people can pump at once.  It's crazy awesome.  It's also really weird.  Friday I was in there eating my lunch the first time I shared the room.  I heard someone else come in, and while I ate my sandwich, hooked up to my little machine, and looked at my 400 photos on my phone of PDG I heard her machine turn on too.  I suddenly felt like a cow in some milk factory and very self conscious.  I knew who it was because she had announced herself when she came in, but otherwise we said nothing.  There was just the wha-shoo-wha-shoo of our pumps disguised as tote bags.

I don't know if I'll honestly be able to keep this up all the way until March, but it's good to know I'm in a school that supports it if I want to.  Maybe as PDG starts eating more solids he won't need as much milk during the day?  Or maybe it will get easier for me to relax and drink enough fluids?  Or maybe I'll get pregnant again before then and not be able to continue? (that's another topic for another post on another day).

At any rate, for now, PDG and I are hitting a routine together.  And at 5:45 on any weekday morning, you can see the amazing balancing act of PDG on one side and the pump on the other.  If there is any confusion going on in this house, it takes place when he stares at the attachment and wonders why it must make such a loud noise while stealing his milk.

The 4-month Check-Up

What is it that I don't like about the doctor?  Any doctor.  I actually need to call a doctor about something for myself, and keep putting it off and putting it off.  They might help cure my body, but somehow they don't really make me feel good....

I've liked the pediatrician's office so far.  The doctors rotate so you meet them all, and I've been impressed with each one.  Until Monday.

Knowing my appointment time, I crafted PDG's schedule for eating and sleeping that morning so he would be awake and well-fed at the office, and fall asleep on the car ride home.  Usually I lean more on the "on-demand" side of parenting, but on a day where shots were involved, I wanted to be a little more prepared.

So tell me why the doctor was running 45 minutes late?!  I know, I know.  Healthcare is complex.  Doctors have to see a lot of patients.  Things come up. Yeah, yeah, that's all logical and fine when there isn't a very tired baby you have to keep entertained in a quiet waiting room.  Especially one with lungs like PDG.  Good thing they didn't take my vitals too, as I'm sure my blood pressure was through the roof when we were finally seen.

The nurse was apologetic and quickly did the measurements.  He's 16lb 4oz (67%) and 26.5in (94%). So long and relatively slim.  Shocker :)

The doctor, however, was less concerned by her tardiness.  In fact, she seemed bothered by me having a whole list of questions.  It's not like I was trying to make her any later, but I still deserve to be answered.  Each thing I was worried about seemed trivial to her, yet the fact that I hadn't realized his eczema was eczema was met with a stare that felt like daggers.  I was told more tummy time (we do lots), don't nurse less in order to feed solids (like he'd let me nurse less!), stop nursing him to sleep, and other things that are probably standard but somehow just came out a little harsh.

Now, I'm not going to get into the whole Cry It Out debate on here, because every family is different, every kid is different, and baby researchers include a lot of crazies on both sides, but the topic did come up in the G house.  How can we cut out all these night wakings when he isn't hungry?  Sure, sometimes he's hungry, but not every 1.5 hours.  No way.  And if he is hungry, for the record, I do feed him.  I'm not trying to get him to stop eating.  Just to stop thinking he must eat to sleep. Or that eating will make his upset tummy better instead of worse. I'm fully prepared to continue nourishing him as much as he needs, even if it does come at the cost of my sleep.  It's just, does he need nourishment or nurturing when he's waking up?  How do you know?  What if we're wrong?

So we G's talked it through, did what we felt was best, and for three nights have had 8-11 hours of cry-less sleep.  Will it last?  Who knows.  Is PDG happier?  I think so.  Do I have any clue what I'm doing?  No more than ever. But on the night that was 8 hours, he cried just enough for me to know it was for real, ate, and fell back asleep on his own. That's a win, right?

So perhaps not everything the doctor suggested was a pointed attack on my capacity as a mother.  Maybe none of it actually was.  But for three nights I've slept.  And if/when this new approach stops working, I'll go to google, my fear-inducing but non-judgmental friend, to tide me over until I have to go back to the doc.  A different doc.  Who will hopefully be on time, and as friendly as the ones before were.

Feeding Frenzy

I've been wanting to write a long-winded post on the topic of breastfeeding, but every time I get started, I'm immediately exhausted.

Where to begin?

I could start first with all the people who think it's gross.  Or creepy.  Or shameful. There are a lot of folks, men and women, who think our breasts are meant for many things, but feeding isn't one.

Or there are the people who think it's all well and good, but please hide yourself because perverts are going to think it's attractive.  Or perhaps people who aren't perverts will feel like perverts because they might see the edge of, gasp, a nipple.

Or, like, can you do it in the bathroom?  Or a storage closet?  Maybe in your car, if your windows are tinted? I mean clearly that's where any other child would eat.

There's the age debate too.  How old is too old?  Does it matter if the child is in the US or in a less developed country without adequate nutritious options?  What about that three year old on the cover of Time?

Then there's the other side.  Those who choose to breastfeed and go about all holier than thou judging others who choose (or have) to use formula.  I mean, look around, can you tell which of your friends were formula fed?  Are their moms bad people?

Goodness gracious, so much to debate.  So much condescension.

Personally, I decided to breastfeed and give it my best shot.  I had heard that it hurt some, but either I wasn't told explicitly, or I just didn't listen, that it hurts like H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

If I'd known, yes, I would've still done it, but I probably wouldn't have felt so alone through it all.  I would've approached it like labor.  I would've learned what my options would be, and what back-up plans I might want to consider.  I wouldn't have felt guilty when I needed the ibuprofen more for my top half than my bottom half those first days.  Er, weeks.

The darn lactation consultants make you think that if it hurts, you're clearly doing something wrong.  Maybe I did at the beginning.  But either way, my kid was gaining weight like a champ, clearly born with a more consistent appetite than his parents, and every time he turned to me, mouth wide, slamming his head into my arm or chest, I cringed at the thought of giving him his necessary sustenance.

I wouldn't have admitted that aloud a few weeks ago.

I remember telling myself to wait until the milk came in.  Then wait until two weeks.  Then wait a month.  Thank heavens somewhere between one month and two, everything started to click.

Yes.

Between weeks four and eight.

That is a long, long time when he eats every two hours during the day like clockwork, and each time feels like a swarm of bees stinging one of the most sensitive surfaces of your body.

Those weeks were an eternity.

Why stick with it?  Why not switch to formula?  I mean, I did say I have zero judgment for those who choose that very path.  I wish I knew.  I guess, for me, it was something instinctual.  It was the feeling of satisfaction of feeding him.  It was the fulfillment knowing my body was leading to his successful growth.  And, on a totally unrelated note, I just plain didn't want to quit.  Call it pride, I guess.

Now, three months in, we've got this eating thing down.  And while I don't plan on being the mom with a preschooler still nursing, I'm not in any rush for the day when he won't need me at all.  In fact, in the way that I'm often preemptively nostalgic for experiences not yet past, I know I'll miss it.

So to anyone who wants to nurse, here's what I say: give it a go.  Know it might be super painful and that that pain might last a while.  Know you might absolutely love it. Know that if it doesn't work, you aren't a failure.  And know that a ridiculous number of people are going to judge you regardless, so trust your mom gut, and feed that kid the best way you can.

Twelve Weeks of PDG

The time has finally arrived.  Much like with pregnancy, twelve weeks signals a certain change.  This time, rather than hoping for an end to nausea (which, unfortunately, didn't actually end at 12 weeks last time), it is time to start measuring PDG in months.  The weekly count is done.  No more will I watch as others convert weeks to months in their heads to figure out just how old this kid is.  Next week he will be three months, and I'll just call him that for a whole month!

Before making this silly mental milestone though, let's look back at how much my little chunker has grown and grown and grown.

That first week was long, and rough, and painful.  But every second was a miracle and the sleep deprivation was still "cute." Oh, and he was already up from 7lb 9oz to 8lb 2oz - way to return and surpass birthweight!

 Two weeks meant Mama H headed home (though she continues to return as a weekly visitor) and it was time to start figuring out this mom thing on my own a little. And growing like a weed he measured 22in and 8lb 15oz.

By three weeks I'd discovered that the best time to take his picture was right after a feeding (which still hurt.  A lot.).  I remember googling the phrase "three weeks and only cries when awake." That sums up how I felt that week....

 Four weeks meant he was chilling out a little on the crying, but not as much as I would've hoped.  By now we had purchased the Snuggabunny swing and naps could last longer and keep our arms free.

 Five weeks and finally the H genes started to take over.  Bathtime was becoming a welcome and anticipated experience for both mama and kiddo and we were settling into a reliable 4-5 hour stretch of sleep each night (after seemingly endless nursing first.  Worth it.)

Six weeks and our favorite outfit, courtesy of someone at church.  We were so glad for chilly weather (and not knowing our heat had been turned back on) so that we could put him in this fuzzy suit twice and pinch those cheeks!

 By seven weeks we started seeing a glimpse of emotion and a smile.  Nothing we could count on, but man did it lift my spirits.

 Eight weeks and he had survived Apple Blossom, complete with overstimulation, fireworks, parades, and so many different people's arms to rock him.  What a champ!  He now weighed a whopping 13lb 4oz and measured 24 inches.  Way to hit above the 90th percentile for height.  Time to pull out the 6 month sleepers for night time.

Nine weeks and maybe it was a little warm for this, but oh well.  By now all that wiggling and nursing had started the funny balding pattern on the sides of his head.  Smiles started popping up more and more and more and I decided if I am home from work for a while with him, it might not be the worst thing.

Ten weeks and neck muscles were starting to really take off.  Occasional times in his bumbo and overall curiosity started him looking all around, all the time.  Sometimes sleeping as much as eight hours made mornings the best time of the day.

 Eleven weeks was celebrated in Vegas, as noted before, and he survived it in style.  Best way to get him to smile? Lay him on his activity mat with the mobile and music turned on. Or just touch his nose and say "boop"!

Twelve weeks and PDG was blessed by his (Grand)Papa H in church.  He screamed all the way through, but seems to be in another growth spurt.  At least that's what we'll call this return to no predictable sleep pattern.

Now it's time to see what happens at three months and beyond.  Thanks for joining us on our journey

Chimpanzee

I like to read articles about motherhood.  I read that when babies are this little they can sleep through just about anything, including movies.  I also read that a theater is a great place to practice nursing in public.

Put those two together and I had a pretty fabulous outing when PDG was 7 weeks old.  After dropping off his West Coast Grandma at the airport, we strolled around the Reston Town Center by J-Man's work.  The stores weren't our style, but the weather was, and who could pass up a chance to have lunch as a family?  We fit right in with other SAHMs with strollers meeting sharp-looking men in ties.

The nearby theater boasted $6 admission on Tuesdays and had a 1pm showing of Chimpanzee.

I'm not really a nature girl, and despite my good friend having just completed a major graduate project on an orangutan, I still don't know the difference between monkeys and apes.  But Jane Goodall had caught my attention, the movie would be short, and I had nothing else on the books for the day.

The theater was under construction so we had to maneuver through a work zone to get to the elevator, only to find a theater full of five senior citizens.  Yep, just those five and us.

Nursing publicly was a breeze in the dark without fear of accidentally flashing anyone.  To be honest, with that crowd, I'm not sure their vision would have seen much even without the dimmed lighting.  The noise only got to be too much during the heated territory battles, and otherwise PDG was perfectly content to sleep and eat his way through the film, much as he does through life.

The only time it was apparent I was a brand new mom was when my hormones (that I thought would've been calmer by seven weeks) made me cry like my pregnant self as Oscar searched hopelessly for his fallen mother.  Where could she be?  How could he go on without her?  What is life without one's mother when you need her just to eat and survive?

How would my PDG fare if that happened to me?  Would he search endlessly?  Would there be a constant hole, even if an alpha male was there to let him ride on his back and crack open his dinner in the nut grove?

Yes, I definitely cried.  I held my PDG close and said a silent prayer that by the time I leave my baby behind, he won't be a baby anymore and he will be strong and able.

My tears aside, it was a great film.  And a great experience.  And maybe when he's old enough to have a clue what is happening on screens, I'll show it to him again, and tell him stories about when he needed me like Oscar needed his mama.