Week 34 Update

I've been terrible about blogging this pregnancy.

The truth is, my existing kid has kept me busy. The whole pregnancy has been sort of back burner as the 3.5 year old has demanded attention.

Without getting into details, Preschooler L has required a lot of focus this summer and fall, and as a result, I was pretty preoccupied getting him what he needed and needs. Now that things have calmed down with him (and the weather has cooled down), he has actually started asking about when the new baby is coming, and how he is excited to play with him/her.

In the meantime, my scheduled c-section date is for Dec. 6, just five mere weeks away from today.

Not that that means anything--I had a bit of a scare this past Friday night when I thought my water broke, prematurely, at 34 weeks and 6 days. I went to the hospital and after several tests, was told that no, my amniotic fluid was intact.

I was just (continuing to) pee on myself.

Awesome.

Urinary incontinence has been a hallmark of this pregnancy, along with some other common but frankly totally annoying below the belt issues. "It's what happens when you have a basketball sitting on your nether regions," was a paraphrase of the insight from my SuperAwesome OB.

While I did NOT want to welcome a newborn just before 34 weeks, and while I hope this kid will remain in place until the c-section at week 39, I will say that I cannot wait to have my bladder and other parts back where they belong and functioning properly (as is, within my control.)

Speaking of control, the diabetes numbers have been up and down. I'm told this is common with a subsequent pregnancy, and that it's just that much harder to reach target numbers when you are also telling someone for the umpteenth time to get his shoes on and to say "excuse me" instead of giggle when he passes gas.

But my A1cs have all been stellar, and since I'm now up to weekly fetal monitoring (hello, week 34!), I am told repeatedly that the baby looks fine, measures fine, and that for whatever reason, my daily highs haven't seemed to pack weight on to the baby's frame.

Of course, I am now mainlining insulin, but that's all par for the course.

In the beginning months, I sweated every high number, and overtreated lows, and just worried more. Now, I feel like, it is what it is. I've done the best I can. I've eaten the best I could. My older kid can put his own shoes on now, my bladder leaks every so often, and the next kid is on its way.

All I can do is wait for the arrival.

Where'd My "Get Up And Go" Go?

May 7, 2010

I don’t know if it’s all in my head, or because of my old ladyness, or what, but I just haven’t felt motivated the way I did two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago I went to New York, my former homeland, and spoke about the book and saw a ton of pals and went to the terrific ASJA writing conference. While there, I was excited, psyched, bubbling with ideas for new writing opportunities, and, of course, pumped to see old pals and meet new ones at the book event.

I came home with laryngitis, a sore throat, and three days after I got home, my right eye began tearing. It was effing annoying, all of it. We also had our first kid birthday for Preschooler L, complete with a rented gym and pizza and birthday cake, party favors, the whole shebang. Less than 24 hours after I drove myself home from New York.

Did I also mention I’d been up til 5am for the two nights before I went to New York, just because I had deadlines I needed to meet before I left town?

So for two weeks since, I’ve been completely unmotivated to follow up on most of the editors or story ideas I came up with at the conference. I haven’t felt like de-cluttering the many corners of our house that need it. For a day or two, I’ve just flopped on the couch and caught up on a lot of DVR’d television.

I never do this. During the week, when Preschooler L is in school, I consider it terrific and precious crucal time to Get. Stuff. Done.

I will say that the week we got back, we had to bring Preschooler L in for an EEG for some weird moments when he seemed to be off somewhere else. The episodes haven’t happened again, and the EEG came back entirely normal, but we had to keep him up late one night and then wake him up early the next day (sleep deprivation is a crucial part of the EEG) and honestly, who do you think helped deprive him? Which only added to my own feeling of health deprivation.

Almost two weeks later, my eye finally stopped tearing up and itching, which means it is no longer swollen. It also means I can stop wondering if a good antihistamine would help me feel better, even though the eye doc says “I’d skip it during pregnancy.” Oy, pregnancy.

And my voice is basically OK now, and I finally don’t have a trace of a sore throat. The laryngitis business used to happen every time I went back to college after a semester’s break. I’d get excited to see people, I’d talk up a storm, and sure enough, I’d lose my voice.

But these days, it’s really annoying to be sick, with a kid, with another one on the way (eight weeks and five days today) and not be able to network at a conference or do a phone interview or even follow up on things via phone (email doesn’t work for everyone) because my voice is shot and my throat is sore and my damn eye is leaking all over the place.

Ugh.

Hooray for being past that whole mess. I always think people who write about how sick they are are being completely boring, and I find the question “how are you?” to be a mere pleasantry, not a real probe on the state of anyone’s health, but damn, it is annoying to be sick.

Happy Birthday

April 9, 2010

Today is my son’s third birthday. It’s also the day my publisher starts shipping copies of my book to people who have pre-ordered them.

It’s also the day I am four weeks and five days pregnant.

I had another blood test yesterday to see if my HCG levels are doubling. This is a common way to know if the pregnancy is sticking and your body is doing what it is supposed to do while nurturing an embryo. Once again, I drove myself to my infertility clinic and dragged myself into the waiting room. The place has excellent wireless Internet access, so I always bring my laptop and fire it up while I’m sitting there. When the phlebotomist called my name, she smiled.

“You are always working while you’re here,” she noted.

I have had this woman draw my blood countless times over the last year or so. Having done two fresh IVF cycles, as well as other tests to try to figure out why those cycles weren’t successful, this woman knows my face, if not my entire story.

As she swabbed the crook of my arm with alcohol, she told me I should make a recommendation to the staff of the infertility clinic that they should set up study carrels in the lobby. For people like me, as well as for all the husbands and partners who sit there and wait while their wives or girlfriends are in some lab having blood drawn.

They should listen to me—I’ve been there enough times to have my own parking space. (Even though the parking in this particular clinic is free, thanks to the joy of a suburban location).

Because who am I if not always working? If I’m not trying to get something done so I can bill the time and meet a client’s deadline, I am always wondering where my blood sugar is, what time I last ate, and calculating what I ate and how many carbs was in it. Yesterday was no exception.

I’ve started to keep daily logs of what I eat and how much insulin I take, despite having a CGM. My overnight sugars, while steady, are consistently above where they should be. I bolus correction factors all night long, and nothing budges. I’ve noticed this for three days and changed the correction factor so that I get more insulin, but no dice. I need to email my doc and ask her WTF? And instead of writing this up at 5am, I am supposed to be on the elliptical we have at our house so I can jumpstart my sluggish blood sugar to start dropping back to where it should be. The slowness of insulin is one of my biggest complaints: If I am high now, why should I have to wait two hours before I start coming down? Knowing I am high and that a correction insulin hit will take a few hours before I am down, annoys me.

(Just checked the CGM, and apparently the hit of insulin I took 30 minutes ago is starting to work. So do I still go on the elliptical, even though I might come down quicker, but them bottom out? Should I try it for ten minutes?) Usually, if I eat and go straight up before an hour after a meal (the joys of a CGM with the trend arrows), I can go on the elliptical and, after about 20-30 minutes, reverse the sharp increase. Now that I am apparently trending downward, slowly, would a burst of exercise help me trend down a little faster?

Let’s see—will be right back. Ten minutes is all I’ll do, promise!

Okay, I’m back. My CGM says I’m still trending down gently. In the meantime, I watched the local news and just got angry about some dumbass flasher in the kids’ room of the library where I grew up—a place I happened to visit this week to return a book. What is the matter with people?!

Focus, focus.

So yesterday, I got the call in the afternoon about the results of my blood work:

HCG level was 556, more than double my result on Monday.

Progesterone was greater than 40, which is good.

My TSH level, something that had been low when I saw my endo about a month ago, has jumped up into the normal range, at 0.579.

Since the HCG level was so strong, I asked if I could be carrying twins. The nurse said I had to wait until the first ultrasound, but that a high number didn’t necessarily mean multiples. But wouldn’t that be the ultimate irony, huh?

But the HCG levels of my last two fresh cycles have always started out low or near normal but never doubled right. So the fact that this round had a strong starting number (comparable to what it was when I conceived Toddler L, who, let’s face it, should now be called Preschooler L) and has more than doubled makes me hopeful.

Now if I could only wrangle these overnight blood sugars down.

We’re off to celebrate my son’s birthday today: annual family portrait, a trip to the local kids’ museum to see Curious George, and tonight, dinner at an Italian restaurant near the Boy’s daycare program. Every morning when we drive by, Preschooler L asks if we can go to the restaurant and get “a kids’ menu.”

“Dude, we just finished breakfast,” I tell him. “Plus, the restaurant isn’t open this early.”

“I want to go to the (NAME OF THE RESTAURANT REDACTED) and get a kid’s menu!” he insists. He doesn’t want a hot dog or grilled cheese at that hour. He only wants to look at the menu that is all his own. Just before the preschool dropoff, though, I can usually divert his attention once we pull into school parking lot.

But tonight, my son shall have the kid’s menu of his dreams. Happy 3rd Birthday, Fabulous Boy!

Checks

Oh, how I have fallen off the blogging bandwagon.

I was reading some of my old posts last night and marveled at how frequently I wrote and how long the posts were. Clearly, those were my pre-child and pre-book days.

Things are the usual over here. Our son is two and totally keeps us hopping. He is a total chatterbox, loves to go to the ATM (which he calls the AEM). Every time we drive or walk by an ATM, or he sees the Bank of America logo somewhere, he shouts "AEM! Checks! Deposit!"

It's a big treat for him to walk with me to the ATM and watch me deposit a check. I wish I got as many as he seems to think I have.

Next week he starts two days of a local summer camp to go along with the three days of daycare he's already in. This is so I can have solid time every day to work on my diabetes and pregnancy book. It's moving along, but my deadline is fast approaching, and currently, I'm not writing fast enough to meet it. August is going to totally suck.

The book, when I finally sign off on a chapter, feels great. However, there's always something else I can be doing, and I always have something hanging over my head. Sort of like diabetes itself, I suppose.

Along those lines, I had a bit of a freakout last week when Baby L (who should really be called Toddler L now) slept really late one morning (I mean, 'til 9:30 am, which is unheard of). His diaper, no surpise, was soaked. Since I had such a great specimen, as it were, I took out a Ketostix and pressed it into the diaper.

The result was Trace.

Oy vey.

I immediately called his pediatrician's office and asked to speak to a nurse or a doctor about it. I explained my history, my reasoning for why I even have a bottle of Ketostix by my son's diaper changing area, and was promptly put on hold.

I did a quick Google search on Trace Ketones in Toddlers, but didn't get much back. Instead, the hold went on and on and I hung up. Toddler L was clamoring to watch Sesame Street on my laptop, his latest favorite thing. I set him up with Elmo and Abby Cadabby, changed the lancet out of my kit and gave everything a good swipe with alcohol.

I didn't want to do it, but I figured I could find things out quicker on my own.

I pricked his finger and tested his blood sugar. He cried and said "No More!" when the lancet went into his finger. I felt bad.

5

4

3

2

1

His result was 78.

I was thrilled.

I kissed his head and immediately called back the doctor's office and finally got a nurse on the phone. She assured me, as this office has in the past, that he didn't seem to be showing major signs of diabetes, and actually had the nerve to say the Ketostix for home use aren't always accurate. (But they're accurate enough for pregnant diabetic women to pee on them every morning, but I digress.) As long as his blood sugar was 78, the trace ketones could be explained away because he slept for so long, he hadn't eaten in a long while and ketones sometimes appear that way.

It seemed reasonable to me. But I will absolutely continue to check his urine if it's easy to do so.

Just as I'll keep writing with my eye on the deadline down the road. And with any luck, people who don't know me will actually buy this book.

And hopefully that will bring me some more checks so my son and I can entertain ourself depositing them at the AEM.

Insomnia Rulez

Baby L woke up screaming at 4am.

We're on the last day of a ten day family vacation and you'd think he's figured out how to sleep through the night in a rented crib.

Not.

I brought him into bed with me and the Mister. Not recommended.

I changed a wet diaper that shouldn't have been the cause of any commotion.

I read him a story in the dark. Talented, I know.

I finally put him back in the crib and waited til his screams quieted down 15 minutes later. I'm sorry, neighbors in the condo complex where we are staying. We're out of here tomorrow.

And for the past four hours, I've been wide awake and online.

I just figured out how Twitter works, months after signing up and wondering what all the buzz is about. Now I know--it's yet another way for me to park my ass in front of the computer.

Just what I needed.

The Ping Is A Go, Sunscreen, and Doc VIsits

I met with the Animas rep yesterday and played with the Ping.

I also spent too much time yesterday researching the ingredients in two kids' sunscreens and wondering why I can get so caught up in research about something like sunscreen, but don't intend to do something similar with the pump.

Research is what I know how to do. But I tend to get bogged down and therefore, stuck.

(I ended up just buying both sunscreens online and figured I'll just use one, then the other, and then decide which one to return to.)

But with the pump, I'm just going to move forward. I'm about to sign the paperwork to get things moving to get myself an Animas Ping system.

I know it will likely take me weeks, if not longer, to figure out how the pump works. I am used to bolusing without thinking with my 508. I can do set changes while feeding my son.

Back when I first went on the pump, though, it took me a half hour to do a set change. I carried the pump user's guide with me forever until I knew which buttons to push to get what I needed.

So I know what I'm in for--a period of figuring out how the pump works.

In other news, I saw my Kind Endo and Eye Doc on Friday.

The lowdown is that my thyroid level is still too high, so we're continuing to tweak the amount of Synthroid I take. My A1c went up to 6.6, but I'd figured it'd be much higher due to my wayward eating habits. My eyes look the same as ever, and I'll need another round of laser treatment if I get pregnant again. I have another Endo visit scheduled in four weeks.

This is all fine with me right now--I'm not upset about the delay in actively trying to conceive. It's more like a vacation before the grind of going back to school. With my history, I don't consider trying to conceive particularly enjoyable--it's more like work. And if we have to do an IVF round, it wouldn't be for a few months yet. I am fine with this. It gives me more time to focus on less life-changing things, like ordering a new insulin pump after my current one is four years out of warranty.

Or obsessing about the chemicals in my son's sunscreen.

Daycare and Diabetes

Baby L isn't a baby anymore. He just turned 18 months, and by golly, he is going to daycare next week.

I am so thrilled about this. I can't get any work done anymore when he's awake and eager to do something. He's too mobile, too into things, too toddler for me to focus on work stuff. He'll go for two days so I can finally have some concentrated work time that is during daylight hours. (And working during his nap won't be a coveted luxury anymore). 

But I do wonder about the likely increase in illnesses for him and whether it might trigger something in him that might make him develop type 1 diabetes.

Am I crazy? 

Sure, as far as I know, it's unclear exactly WHAT causes someone to develop type 1, just that some people are genetically inclined to do so. And that some sickness might stress your system so that the insulin-producing elements in the pancreas are overwhelmed and stop working. 

(I know this isn't a technical, scientific way to explain things. This blog's never been about the technical or scientific. If someone wants to enlighten me in the comments, feel free).

There are researchers doing genetic tests locally where I could sign Baby L up to determine if he's likely to develop diabetes in his lifetime. When I first heard about them, I was like, "where do we sign up?"

Then I considered that while it would be a huge relief to find out he didn't carry the gene, what if he did?

Would I worry about his diet and whether he ate birthday cake at someone's party, even if he hadn't been diagnosed with anything?

Would I subject him to random blood tests, poking his fingers and causing him pain and annoyance just so I could calm myself that his blood sugar levels were in range?

Would it be like he was already a diabetic, even if he only had the gene to become one? And is that really fair for him? To be saddled with a regimen before a diagnosis? Even if the diagnosis never happens? Or happens when he's say, 20? Or 50?

So I haven't had him tested (yet?).

But I think about this every time he gets another cold or ear infection. And he's only going to get more once he's in daycare. (And keeping him from daycare isn't the answer. He's gotten a few colds and ear infections already.)

Have you had your kid tested to find out if they have a gene to develop diabetes? Would you? 

High Points and Low

Some days, there are just great highs and great lows. And for once, I'm not even talking about my blood sugars.

I was all set to blog about the fact that I cleaned out my closet today and for the first time in a few years, I fit into clothes I last wore before I was pregnant. Work ensembles fit me well. These great red and green and brown pants... all fit like a glove.

(And to be clear, I'm talking about three *separate* pairs of pants. Not one multicolored one).

So Woohoo! for losing the baby weight a mere 18 months after the kid came out. As I've said before, some women just nurse and their baby fat slips away. I have to train for a couple of triathlons to get pounds moving. Whatever works, right? 

Rock on.

I even thought about fashion philosophy as I tried on clothes this morning. How I've never been into fashion in the way that women's magazines showcase the topic, all because I've never been the size or shape that these magazines cater to. Plus, I tend to shop at TJMaxx and Ann Taylor Loft, rather than Burberry or Saks or Marc Jacobs (three stores that figured prominently in the fashion pages of the last magazine I worked at). But going through these clothes in my closet made me realize that it's not just skinny rich people who can enjoy style. Us larger gals who don't spend triple digits on one pair of pants are just as capable as dressing well and looking good. 

Then I wondered how long would this clothing euphoria last, anyway, if I'm trying to get pregnant and if history is any sign, I will likely balloon right out of those green pants a week or two after a positive pregnancy test? And how many years will it be before I can shoehorn my ass back into these clothes, anyway?

(Though can I just say how excited I was that I *did not* need a shoehorn to get into these pants this morning? Last fall, I did. Today, ne shoehorn pas.)

And then I thought, who am I kidding? It took me a year to get pregnant before. Who says it won't take a year, or longer, or never, to get there again?

While I last wrote about the Mister and I going to the doc's to get the go ahead to try conceiving again, there's already been a red flag. Apparently my thyroid meds aren't working hard enough, and my TSH levels are way out of line. Conceiving at this time wouldn't be good. So now I've upped my dose and need to wait another five weeks or so to see if they kick the TSH levels back to where they should be.

(And hello, what else is new? Something isn't working right in the body of Lyrehca. Ho hum. Is this even worth mentioning? But at least this particular ailment should be easily remedied.)

And this isn't even the low I was talking about earlier on. The low point of the day today was getting thrown up on. 

For the second time. 

Out of the mouths of babes. Or in particular, my Baby L. Who isn't even a baby anymore, but will be a year and half later this week. The kid has picked up some sort of stomach bug. Just a week after he finished taking penicillin for an ear infection. And just a week before the Mister and I planned to set him up with two days of day care so I can get some solid work done during the day. 

(And in my neurotic state, I have thought about how kids in day care tend to get sick more. Which makes me wonder if Baby L will get something bad that will stress his immune system, and have him develop Type 1. Which I don't even know if he's genetically inclined to get. Because I could find that information out, but if he is genetically inclined toward Type 1 diabetes, what am I going to do with that information, other than think about it all the time? And aren't I already doing something like that if I'm thinking that daycare may trigger a type 1 diagnosis?)

It's not like diabetes doesn't already permeate Baby L's life, in a way. He's never had a sip of juice, but he looks at me quizzically when I suck down a juice box to treat a low. ("It's Mama's medicine," I explain.) I keep a bottle of Ketostix by his changing table to try to see if he's ever spilling sugar in his urine (though every time I try to get some of his pee from a particularly full diaper onto one of those strips, I usually fail and the strip remains pretty dry.) And while maybe you know Metro Station's catchy "Shake It," I bet I'm the only person who sings it while waving the Ketostix bottle at her son to distract him during a diaper change. Baby L is at the point where he would rather squirm on the diaper pad than lie serenely as I work a Pamper onto his tush. So I grab the bottle and sing "Shake, shake, shake, shake the Ketostix!" 

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But I always manage to get the diaper fastened.

Now if I could only figure out what to sing and shake so my Boy doesn't ralph all over me again. 

What Comes Next?

My tri high has calmed down a bit. 

So what did I do? I just signed up to do another sprint triathlon in early September. The coach who trained the team I joined for the first tri is doing another six week training session. 

After that, though, I think I may have to call it a season, even though there are events that last into the fall.

Why?

It's probably time to think about trying for kid number two.

I adore Baby L. He's chill, happy most of the time, healthy, and a total delight. 

I fear jinxing things by trying to have a second child. 

When I was single, and then when I was in the height of infertility treatment, I wondered if going through life child-free would be all that bad. I enjoyed my life the way it was. But I also knew I'd always wanted to try to have my own kid. 

And with Baby L, I'm so thankful and blessed that my own kid became a reality.

Growing up as one of two kids, I always figured I'd have two of my own. The Mister is also one of two. Two kids would be great, we think.

Given the mix of my current age, that age plus nine or so months, the fact that we stored frozen embryos nearly two years ago, and were lucky enough to get pregnant on the first IVF try using one transferred embryo only, makes me think that it doesn't make sense to hold off on the babytrying for that much longer.

I'd emailed my Kind Endo about something this week and she told me if we want to start the whole trying process (in more ways than one) again in the fall, it makes sense to do a preconception visit in August. 

Like, whoa, this month.

Getting pregnant was a fuckload of work for me. Being pregnant was the same. Focusing on exercising and heart rates and scheduling child care so I can go run, bike or swim has been a lot more enjoyable. 

But if there's a chance that I can have another fabulous kid, one that is as good natured and smiley and healthy as my boy Baby L, I'm getting close to the point where I need to get back on the bandwagon again. To go through what I need to go through to get what I (and Mr. L.) desire.

Just after I train for and complete my next sprint triathlon in September.

Facing That Coaster Again?

My son is 14 months old. He sleeps (usually) through the night. He grasps a sippy cup with ease. He eats the same breakfast I do: a flaxseed waffle and a veggie sausage. The only difference is our beverage of milk. Mine is skim and his is whole.

This week, I was asked, not for the first time, if and when I would start trying for another child. My endocrinologist asked me back when Baby L was about six months old. My mother ran into my ob-gyn nurse at the manicurist around the same time. The nurse seemed surprised she hadn't seen me back in her office, either getting my blood sugars approved before jumping back on the trying to conceive merry-go-round or being congratulated for already hopping on and clinging to one of the painted horses.

I know of at least one or two people who are pregnant again after they had their first children around the same time as me. And a woman I met in a Mommy & Me class last year, whose son was born the same week as mine, openly admitted to wanting to get pregnant as soon as possible, as she wants two children and was close to 40. She did IVF with her first child, and, not wanting to waste time, did her first round of her second IVF when her son was eight months old and is expecting her second child in September. If all goes well, she will be 40 and will have two children under age two by the year's end.

As much as my age dictates it, I am just not ready right now to try to get pregnant again this season. There's that triathlon I'm training for. The money in our bank account that we'd rather have go toward savings instead of doctor visit copays and the possibility of paying for infertility treatment again. The idea that while I am eating healthy for the tri training, I can guzzle diet Coke and not worry about the effects of the chemicals on my unborn child. The blood sugar testing only six times, rather than 16 times, a day.

Plus, it's frankly a joy to sit and watch my toddler son feed himself. Or cruise along the furniture and try to walk. Or look up, with a toothly smile, and say things that sound like "Banana!" and "Yeah!" and "'Night!" To return to the days of nursing and round-the-clock pumping and little sleep and explosive diapers seems.... like a lot of mental and physical effort right now.

To start trying for another would mean diverting a lot of that time and effort to someone else. And right now, I just want to soak my Boy in with undivided attention. And if it means that waiting another six months might mean a potentially sharp decline in my already shaky fertility, it's a chance I'm willing to take.

It's February Already?

I used to be a great blogger--back when I was in the throes of infertility and pregnancy.

But things are afoot over in the land of Lyrecha. To wit:

1. Baby L is ten months old. Where'd the time go? He crawls backwards. He's starting to tolerate solid foods. He smiles like a sunrise. He is chatty in that baby jibberish way. ("Bah bah BAH," he explains. "Guh. Khuh.")

He is super awesome.

2. My book proposal for my book about type 1 and pregnancy, written from the perspective of actual type 1 women and not medical professionals, IS FINALLY DONE.

Did you ever make a list of goals that you wanted to do in your lifetime and actually feel the exhilaration of checking one off?

That's how I felt last week when I read the thing for the last time and hit SEND.

It's literally out of my hands now. I'll keep you posted should something big transpire. In the meantime, if you want to be interviewed about type 1 and pregnancy, if the book actually becomes a reality, shoot me an email (Lyrehca AT gmail DOT com) and I'll keep your info on file.

3. After doing postpartum Weight Watchers since June, today I learned that I have officially lost ten pounds. While taking this long to lose weight is not ideal, I frankly blew it off much of that time. Since the new year, though, I've paid far more attention to eating and exercising than I have in awhile. I actually make time to walk for an hour on certain days of the week, and I can see it's paying off. Last week, when it was super grey and snowy, I got myself and Baby L over to a local mall in my town and traipsed the place for an hour. It was good... except when the Apple store beckoned. But at least I lost weight this week.

4. To celebrate my ten pounds gone, I decided to buy myself a skirt. I haven't worn a decent cute skirt since before I got pregnant. (Wearing a few maternity skirts during and post-pregnancy do not count as cute.) While it is still a larger size than I would like to be wearing, and I bought it from a department I wish I didn't have to shop in, I was pleased to find one that looked good, was simple enough to be a basic, and was on sale for a glorious twelve dollars. Down from an original price of $48.

Nice.

5. Tomorrow night, Mister Lyrehca and I are hiring a babysitter for the evening (A first! Night time help!) and going out for an early Valentine's dinner. I'm definitely wearing the skirt.

6. I've heard about a number of new and not-so-new resources for the diabetic women looking for pregnancy info. There's a new group on Tu Diabetes called Oh Baby!, a new site with a pregnancy section called Diabetes Sisters, and although it's old news already, I finally got a chance to read Kelsey's pregnancy diary and it was great. It's nice to see new resources sprouting up in the past year or two, but as my book proposal urges, more are always needed.

7. Personally, I'm not slated to see my Endo for a general diabetes checkup til April, but I am so looking forward to talking to her about going on Symlin. I'd always been told to stay away from it in the past few years when I was either trying to conceive, pregnant or pumping breast milk. Now that I'm just a plain ol' type 1 again, I'm eager to see if the stuff will help me lose weight and keep the postprandial meals spikes to a dull roar.

I'm Still Around

Many times I've wondered if I should keep blogging. Infertility and pregnancy tinged with diabetes provided a great momentum and I always had sufficient material.

Motherhood has given me another batch of experiences, but I haven't wanted to chronicle them in the same public way.

I'm still working on my proposal for my book about type 1 and pregnancy, which was the original reason I started blogging -- to build a platform.

I miss the feedback from people who looked to my blog for information about pregnancy, about diabetes, or just for whatever it is they found when they stopped by.

So here I am after several months of quiet here at Managing the Sweetness Within.

Baby L is doing great. So great that I always feel like knocking wood, crossing my fingers and wondering when the shoe is going to drop. Yet, it's that fear of what could go wrong that makes me appreciate how terrific my son is. He'll be nine months next week.

I've thought about what it would be like if he were diagnosed with diabetes. And while I wouldn't be happy, I keep telling myself that if he were, he'd have me as an advocate, someone who could relate to how it feels to prick one's finger, to inject oneself daily, to constantly count carbs and figure out insulin ratios. We'd be in it together. And while I honestly hope that never happens, I do feel at least I can honestly understand what he'd go through if it ever does.

After 8.5 months, I finally gave up pumping breast milk. Early on, I was committed to giving him as much as I could because of my (exaggerated? maybe) fears that any formula would eventually give him diabetes and make him less intelligent. But low supply, despite doing everything I could to jack it up, meant my kid's been eating (predigested) formula from early on. At the high point, he probably ate about half breast milk, half formula, and in the final days, he was lucky to get a bottle a week. And this is despite daily regular pump sessions with whatever herbs, drugs, water, or whatever I could do to up the ante.

I've come to realize that my kid eating a lot of formula has been fine for him. He's only had a few runny noses since birth, hasn't been really sick, and is now chowing down organic stage 2 foods by the spoonful. He seems bright and smart, and seriously, after reading this post by a blogger who's perspective I find refreshing, I'm more pleased that he's super sociable. I mean, he'll certainly do well in life being social, friendly and well-liked, just in case he's not the kid with the highest IQ.

Diabetes-wise, the numbers have been up and down, and my weight has continued to be about 40 pounds away from Yummy Mummy. I've started talking to a therapist who deals with diabetic issues to find out what my deal is about food. As in, why I can't seem to just eat smaller portions and be happy with them. Instead, I eat a lot of what I like, then cover for it with more insulin, and the weight never peels off. It's the opposite of the diabulimia trend I keep reading about. I'd never do that--I value my eyesight and kidney function far more than looking thin. Instead, I just keep eating and bolusing, and the weight doesn't budge. It's not rocket science--and I'm trying to figure out if it's just basic diabetes resentment about being told what and how much to eat, or something else.

I had a trigger thumb release about a week ago. Basically, my right thumb has been frozen since the summer, along with some other major wrist pain I chalked up to picking up a baby all the time. A trip to a hand surgeon brought me a few cortisone shots, which helped some, but my thumb didn't ever move. It was basically frozen straight, so I had what the doc called a minor outpatient procedure at my local hospital (where Baby L was born) to cut into the thumb and release a part of the thumb that helps the tendons move properly. I've had other diabetic pals have every single finger done, and my surgeon brother told me he'd have the procedure done himself in a second if it was happening to him, so I had no hesitation about having it done.

I still have stitches in my thumb that will come out next week, and taking a novocaine shot in the thumb definitely hurt, but I can now move my thumb again and am glad it's behind me. Chalk up yet another surgical procedure for a treatable, likely-related-to-diabetes-but-who-knows, issue. I'm just glad it was actually treatable.

In fact, when the nurse was taking my information before the procedure, the answers to the questions about drinking, smoking, and doing drugs were quick. When she asked about prior surgeries, I was like, you might want to sit down for this one.

I guess I don't mind having such a weird list of surgeries and other medical procedures (c-section, eyes lasered, thryoid removed, odd sarcoma removed from my abdomen) so long as they've all resulted in good things. I mean, the sarcoma was found to be mostly benign and hasn't returned. My vision was unaffected by the laser treatment. My thumb works fine now. And my fabulous napping son was worth any procedure (and there were certainly plenty of them) to get to this point.

Thirty Years In

Thirty years ago today, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

It's a day I remember every year, and a day I never know how to really commemorate.

This year, it's particularly special because I have my four month son keeping me company as I write this. A son who was born without any complications during my medically-intensive, but otherwise healthy pregnancy.

In fact, the first thing I thought this morning was, "I know I'm a diabetic parent when my infant son sleeps nine hours straight for the first time ever, and I'm up at 4am treating an insulin reaction."

But what else is new?

I wrote about this anniversary last year, and others in the blogosphere have written about it.

For a moment, briefly, I thought diabetes had robbed me of the chance to give birth vaginally. For those who follow, my eyes have had retinopathic issues and docs thought a vaginal birth would be too much pressure on them. The truth is, after having a scheduled c-section and an easy recovery, and hearing about long and involved vaginal births that went on and on, that will filled with pain, or became emergency c-sections anyway, I'm happier having given birth via scheduled C. Going vaginally sounds a lot scarier than what I did. And while breastfeeding was a challenge and milk supply continues to be, my non-diabetic mother had similar issues with me and my brother, so I now suspect genetics versus diabetes for my breastfeeding woes.

I don't have anything special planned for today, other than my usual Wednesday stuff. In fact, I've given more thought to a job interview I just had earlier this week. I'm going back in for a second interview, and was asked to do an editing test (standard procedure for senior-level editorial jobs), and I'm wondering more about whether I want to go back to full-time work when Baby L is four or five months, versus staying at home and freelancing and having my son stay at home, rather than at daycare.

I'll be pondering this over the next few days, and will try to update the blog sooner rather than waiting a month to do so.

But thirty years in, I'm feeling just fine today.

Just fine.

Random Thoughts

1. I often wear nursing tank tops. The ones I bought at Target fit me much better than those made by a company called Glamourmoms. I bought the Glamourmoms ones in the hospital and wore them the first week, but Target's are much better. Cheaper, too.

2. My blood sugars are pretty shot to hell these days. When I can remember to test at all, I'm often high.

3. During pregnancy, I used to test about 12-15 times a day. I'm lucky to test 5-6 times a day these days.

4. I haven't been great about doing Weight Watchers. As a result, I haven't lost a lot of weight.

5. Just walking with my kid in the stroller isn't much of a workout for me. But I don't like the babysitting setup at my current gym. The room where Baby L would be watched in is down the hall and I can't keep an eye on him. Plus, he's so little and the room is filled with bigger-kid toys.

6. I checked out another gym nearby yesterday that has a Cardio Mom session. This means you can bring your baby into the workout room and keep him in his car seat parked next to your cardio machine while you work out.

7. This is ideal, except the time of day they do this (12-2pm) usually coincides with other things I'm already doing during the day (new mom chats, Mommy and me classes, baby-friendly movies, and such). Why don't they have these sessions in the mornings?

8. This gym is also a farther (20 minute, versus 10 minute) drive from home.

9. But I clearly need to do something more vigorous to get back into the exercise game. An hour on the elliptical or bike would do it. Several times a week.

10. I still make big to-do lists like I did pre-baby. It takes me weeks, rather than days, to complete them.

11. I actually finished a big portion of my book proposal on my type 1 pregnancy book. Now all I have to do is write up a sample Table of Contents.

12. Here's where you come in (that is, if anyone still reads this blog...). If you're type 1, what exactly would you want to know about the pregnancy experience? I have a ton of thoughts and need to organize them in a table-of-contents way. Would love to hear what others think.

13. Baby L has been sleeping alone in his crib for the past two weeks. He's doing pretty well, sleeping about 4-5 hours at a time.

14. Was too tired to pump last night at 1:30 (Baby L's last feeding), so am doing it now, typing with my left hand, and entertaining Baby L with shaking a stuffed animal that makes a rattle noise with my right hand while Baby sits in a bouncy seat on the floor. Motherhood is all about multitasking.

15. I have freelance work projects due next week and my mother has come over this week to watch the baby so I can work uninterrupted. Except the first day she came, I really just wanted to take a long nap, something I usually don't do.

16. Yesterday, however, I was alone with the baby, and he fell asleep on my chest for a delicious three-hour midaftternoon nap for both of us. No work got done, though.

17. My old boss emailed last week, telling me my replacement and another colleague worked til 1am recently during the latest deadline week at my old job.

18. I am glad it wasn't me. The magazine's biggest issue of the year comes out in August, and next week there's a huge party going on for it. Mr. L and I got invited to the party, and I'd be fine skipping it, but Mr. L wants to go and bring the baby. We'll see how this goes over.

19. Last week, Mr. L. and I went to a jewelry store (he's been promising to buy me swanky earrings in honor of Baby L's arrival) to check out possibilities. While there, I saw a woman with a Minimed pump at the same jewelry counter. We chatted (she was there scouting out swanky options to celebrate her upcoming 50th birthday). She had a later version pump than I do (who doesn't? Mine's three years out of warranty already), and we exchanged emails. I had a weird moment when I realized the business cards in my purse are out of date, but managed to write my email address on the back of one of her cards.

20. I haven't emailed her yet, but suppose I should.

21. I should also make up new business cards for myself, explaining I'm an independent editorial consultant, rather than a staffer at my last job.

22. There's one more thing for the to-do list.

The Priorities, They Are A-Changin'

Three weeks is the longest I've gone without blogging.

Didja miss me?

This new motherhood thing is work. Serious work. So serious, in fact, that I've decided not to return to my fulltime job. Instead, I'll continue to freelance for the magazines I've always freelanced for, but will focus on those instead of the full-time gig.

I still get general staff emails from my boss at the full-time gig, imploring the staff to meet their deadlines and updating people how the magazine hasn't shipped out the door on time.

I don't miss that one bit.

Because now when I'm working at midnight, it's at home feeding my son, instead of sitting at a desk, bleary-eyed, having sat there for the previous 15 hours reading or researching.

So I called and told both the HR department and the above boss that I'd be available to freelance from home, or somehow work part time, but I just could not return to the office in the full time, work-til-midnight-during-deadline-week capacity.

And because I am old (i.e., 37, not 27) and doing motherhood for the first time, I didn't feel bad at all about not returning to work in an office. As I've mentioned before, I spent my 20s and much of my 30s being Supercareer Gal, committed to inching my way up an editorial ladder.

Now that I've had the editorial jobs I've had, worked in the offices I've worked in, and had the names on my resume I have, I feel like I've done a lot of what I wanted to do in my career. Of course, I still love working as a journalist/reporter/researcher/writer/editor, which is why I'm continuing to freelance. But schlepping into an office for many hours each day, while I have my cute Baby L at home being his newborn baby self, just doesn't cut it anymore.

Ah, Baby L. So cute. So vexing. Such a baby.

He's nine weeks old this week and had his vaccinations last Friday at his two-month appointment. While not as harrowing as his Bris, I still cried when he got the three (!) shots. He screamed in bewilderment and pain and I felt bad. So bad. He was ok a few minutes later, looking at himself contentedly in the mirror in the examination room, while I was still drying my eyes. Later that night, after he slept the afternoon away, he was inconsolable again and needed his first dose of infant Tylenol.

But my time with him hasn't been all shots and tears. Far from it--I love singing to my son. "Where Is Thumbkin?" Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and when he cries while I change his diaper ("A-wah!" "A-wah!"), I tell him to hold on for me to fasten the fasteners, to hold on while I use a million wipes to clean him up, and to hold on when I segue into Richard Marx's "Hold On To The Nights."

I love cuddling with him, holding him over my shoulder to burp him and he throws his arms over one shoulder while resting his tiny face on its side. Watching him kick as he's lying in his bassinet (he's very kicky--swaddling blankets just don't work on him anymore). Watching him sleep with his arms thrown to the side or above his head. Watching him smile when I say his name, or kiss his face.

At this stage, I'm told, you don't get a lot back from infants--more personality traits, more laughter, more sleeping through the night--tends to happen around the three-four month mark.

But he's so great as a tiny infant.

We go to different Mommy and Me-type classes in my 'hood every week. With my researcher skills still sharp, I've found all sorts of these classes in different towns near me. I've found three different theaters that show movies for moms to bring their babies--the lights aren't so dim, and no one minds if your kid starts to cry during the show. I've gone for walks in my town with a group of stroller-pushing moms who are also trying to shed the baby weight (I've still got a lot to shed).

And I spend a lot of time pumping breast milk--up to six or seven times a day, twenty minutes at a time, trying to eke out whatever milk I can give my boy since breastfeeding wasn't in the cards. It's funny how my life has honed in on this activity. When I got a hands-free bra to pump, freeing my hands up to read or surf the Internet, it completely changed my life. Seriously. I got a car adapter soon after, and now I can leave the house for more than a short few hours at a time. I've pumped while parked in my car. While driving my car. I schlep a bulky black bag that isn't a snazzy sleek diaper bag because the bulky bag has a compartment to put ice packs for me to cool my expressed breast milk on the road.

I mean, really--my life and priorities have changed a thousandfold since giving birth. Which is why my full-time gig and blogging haven't been at the forefront of my mind. But I'm still around, reading a lot of your blogs and posting when I can. And I'm committed to maintaining my blog. It's just hard to know when I'll have pockets of time in between the kissing and the pumping and the doctor's visits and the smiling for my boy. My sweet Baby L.

Week Six Update

This new momhood thing takes a lot of time.

I haven't had a chance to post in more than a week now, but things have been good. I've been going to a few new mommy and me classes, and there's enough activities in my community that make me realize I could go to mom classes all week long.

Some people have complained about being bored at home with their newborns, but honestly, between the Internet, things to read, pumping breast milk and oh yeah, taking care of my kid, who's got time to be bored?

My diabetes care has been OK. I had an A1c taken at my six-week postpartum appointment last Friday, and am waiting to see how that's going, but I expect it'll be fine.

New motherhood, particularly the breastfeeding quest, reminds me a bit of what it must be like for people who are newly diagnosed with diabetes. It's a new way of living your life, it's far different than anything you've done before, and sometimes, it's an easy transition and sometimes it isn't.

I'm still writing down every time my kid eats, poops, pees, and how much he eats when he does eat. It reminds me of writing down my blood sugars and eating patterns and carb counts (except I stopped all that diabetic charting awhile back. I'm still married to charting Baby L's patterns; it's still new and novel for me.)

Baby L continues to be a great kid. He sleeps a lot (though NO, not through the night at all). In a Mommy and Me class I started today, I noted how much people talked about soothing their fussy babies, what they did at 4am last night (running the hair dryer and tuning the radio in between stations for the static) to calm their kids. My kid wakes up crying, drinks what he needs to from a bottle, gets changed, and generally nods off again. Sometimes I hold him and he calms down, and when it's the 4-to-5 am feeding, I might put him in bed with me and watch him as he goes to sleep and I sleep on my side, not so deeply, so that I can make sure a blanket doesn't cover his face or I don't roll over on him. People are divided about whether co-sleeping is bad or not, but it's pretty cozy with the baby next to me.

We have him in a bassinet next to our bed and will eventually transition him into his own crib in his own room when it seems obvious he's outgrowing the bassinet. But for now, it's nice having him nearby. It's also nice having him fall asleep on my chest, or carrying him and dancing around with him, or singing to him. (I've moved on to new baby songs, like Itsy-Bitsy Spider, as well as new songs I make up, such as "Who's The Greatest Boy In the Land? (Baby L is! Baby L is!)"

What else? I'm totally behind reading other people's blogs. I haven't thought much about my full-time job at all. I've been contacted by one or two of my freelance contacts asking when I can start working again, and I'm wondering when to start freelancing again. But so far, I've been enjoying most of my new role as a new mom and really enjoying my son when he's awake and alert.

One month old!

Only a month later, the Mister and I have pulled together some photos of Baby L to put on official announcements we're sending out. (Like the 400 emails we sent weren't "official." But I digress.)

Because I'm neurotic that way, I'm not posting any photos of our Boy online for fear of weird Internet stalkers and whatever. (You'll notice I haven't posted any photos of myself or the Mister, either).

But if you'd like to see what our Boy looks like AND I have a sense of who you are (i.e., you're a regular commenter here, or I read your blog and pretty much know you already), I'll send you a email. If, for whatever reason, you request to be on the photo list but I don't know you, I'm going to just skip sending out an email. No hard feelings, of course. But in this age of To Catch a Predator and Cyberbullying and all that, better safe than sorry.

In other news, Baby L had his one month checkup yesterday.

He's gained a terrific amount of weight, which pleases me. NOT because of my champion breastfeeding efforts, which at this point, have been retired. Due to a lack of efficiency, (still) low milk production, and frustration on both of our parts, the Boy and I have come to a mutual understanding that I will pump breastmilk for him every few hours, and I will stop attempting to solely feed him by boob alone.

As mentioned, likely over and over already, the Boy latches on, but can eat for an hour and I still have to give him a bottle of breast milk or formula. This makes feedings last for two hours or so, instead of the forty minutes a mere bottle or two would last.

And with the weather outside delightful for a change, who wants to stay inside focused on the feeding elements (bottle washing, latching and unlatching, arranging pillows to support the baby in my arms, etc. etc. etc.) when there's other things to do, like tummy time, cuddling, singing songs (Baby L likes U2, REM, Stevie Nicks and old '80s hits like "In A Big Country" and "Rio." I kid you not. Singing to my Boy is like starring in my own Kareoke festival.)

I'm still a bit nervous about stopping pumping entirely and giving the Boy formula only, with my nuttiness about assorted diseases coming and attacking him over the next fifty years. But when the pediatrician looks lovingly at our Boy and deems him "perfect" with every appointment, it eases my concerns.

At least it did yesterday.

Three Weeks In

My Boy was born three weeks ago today.

1. Breast feeding continues to kick my ass. I'm meeting with another, highly recommended group of lactation consultants tomorrow to see why the Boy can latch on to me, nurse for a damn hour, sound like he's eating and swallowing just fine, but still screams with hunger when he finally pulls off the boob.

2. As a follow up to Friday, I had the Boy weighed at the pediatrician's office after a few days of trying to wean him off formula in favor of an entirely-breast-fed diet, and he's not gaining weight as fast as he should. He should have been eight pounds on Friday, and he was only 7 pounds 12 ounces. So this breastfeeding challenge isn't just my own schtick; it's really not an effective way for the Boy to eat. (I still feel super-strongly, that breast milk is just healthier and better for him, which is why I'm continuing my efforts so far).

3. In between all my efforts (having the Boy on the boobs, then giving him supplemental bottles of both pumped breast milk and formula, for a total of three ounces of fluid per feeding, AND THEN pumping for twenty minutes after all that), the Boy sleeps a lot in between meals.

4. He's actually sleeping right now, giving me some precious free time to go online, wash dishes (because with all those bottles, I am handwashing a ton right now).

5. A friend let me borrow a tiny newborn sling so I've been wearing the Boy on my body, rather than letting him sleep in his bassinet in one room while I carry a monitor to a different part of the house to listen in on him to make sure he's OK while I'm say, in the kitchen washing dishes. The sling seems a bit earthy-crunchy and Attachment Parenting to me, two concepts I hadn't thought I subscribed to, but it's honestly nice to be blogging right now with the Boy all snuggly and warm on my body right here, instead of across the room in his bassinet.

6. Mister L went back to work full time last week, and while I thought the week would be tough on my own, it actually wasn't so bad. It's much easier to tend to the Boy and myself when no one else is here, although I did have several visitors over the week. My mother, in particular, came over often and is really helping me out. She cleaned out our refrigerator, for example, while I was trying yet again to breastfeed. Stuff like that is super-helpful.

7. Our house, and myself in particular, is generally sort of cluttered. I have been wearing the same loungewear for a few days now and I'm lucky if I can shower every two days. We had guests over last night and I've never looked worse in front of people other than my husband or own family. But frankly, I could care less (except when I see pictures and see how un-glam I look).

8. While I am tired most of the time, that insomnia I've dealt with both pre- and during pregnancy has served me well. I can get by doing things on not a lot of sleep (heck, I'm blogging right now instead of napping, aren't I?) and in the middle of the night when the Boy cries, I can pull myself out of bed and get what needs to be done done. The Mister, on the other hand, has always required a lot of sleep. A LOT of sleep.

9. While I'm doing the majority of diaper duty and feedings (I've been giving the Mister the bottle feedings when he's coherent), the Mister has done umpteen loads of laundry, entirely planned the Boy's bris two weeks ago when we had fifty people and a ton of food in our house, and goes shopping as needed when we run out of things, like cranberry juice. (Breastfeedings means you should be drinking all the time).

10. Oh yeah, the diabetes. My sugars have been OK, not great, since coming home from the hospital as a new mom. My basal rates are sort of simple, not the twelve different rates I had both pre-pregnancy and during pregnancy. My correction rate is so simple now, as is my meal ratios. The first few days, I couldn't believe I was using so little insulin and that my body was responding appropriately. We're talking daily insulin doses of 34 units, down from 120 units during pregnancy. I used to regularly take, say, 20 units of insulin for a meal. Now taking seven or eight units for a meal is considered a lot. And I'm shocked when high blood sugars go down with a 1:40 correction rate, down from the 1:10 rate I was using at the tail end of the pregnancy.
11. Sugars, of course, are typically in the triple digits (mid-100s, say) rather than flirting with the 60-90 range I saw during pregnancy. While sometimes I think it wouldn't be bad to try to regain that kind of control, particularly because I can always recognize my reactions and tested so frequently to catch any lows, the breastfeeding/feeding schedule for the Boy is generally taking up a ton of my time (especially when I try to feed him by boob first, which adds a good 45 minutes to the routine.)

12. Am in the middle of catching up on a ton of blogs, and am commenting slowly.

13. The postpartum hormones appear to have chilled out for me; I'm no longer bursting into tears over people's kindness or my own frustration (as I did the first few weeks I got home). My itchy drug-reaction rashy legs are slowly feeling better, though my calves are still swollen. The ankles seems somewhat smaller, though.

14. I signed up for a bunch of new mom classes that are offered in my town. They all start in a few weeks and it'll be interesting to actually leave the house for something recreational, rather than yet another doctor's appointment for either myself or the Boy.

Tales from the Underboob

Feeding the baby pretty much consumes much of my day.

I hear others have it easier, that their kids latch on the boob instantly, feed for ten minutes tops, then are satisfied and that's that.

Not my situation.

The breastfeeding continues to be my focus, and I'm alternating trying to feed the baby exclusively from me, pumping breast milk, and preparing bottles of formula when the baby doesn't seem to be satisfied. I don't want to jinx anything, and we're going to the pediatrician's office today for another weight check, but today seems to be slightly better than yesterday.

Baby L came home from the hospital two weeks ago today, which means he's been home twice as long as he was in the hospital. Seems hard to believe.

Found out my rashy itchy legs are not a pregnancy-related thing, but are instead a drug allergy and I just need to wait it out (since the cream I could take for it isn't great for the blood sugars or the baby.)

More later.

Two Weeks In

Well, our boy is two weeks old today.

We've been home from the hospital more than a week, and while I've been documenting as much as I can, it's really been a blur.

In short:

1. The rest of the hospital stay was fine, but constantly punctuated by doctor's visits (ob, endo, endo fellow, assorted other residents, nurses, lactation consultants) and personal visits from family and friends. I can't believe I woke up the day after the baby was born and thought "what are we going to do to fill the day?"

2. The baby lost more than ten percent of his birth weight while still in the hospital, which meant I had to supplement my breast feeding efforts with formula. This was really not what I'd wanted, as I'd really wanted to avoid any formula feeding due to my kid's potential to develop diabetes. For whatever reason, I have it in my head that because of my type 1, I want to avoid giving the baby any cow's milk formula, because it might trigger something in my boy and he may develop type 1. I've heard many mixed things about this, and my endo herself didn't have any advice about what formula to give, so we've started him on alimentum, which is an elemental formula broken down and supposed to be the best choice. I've heard that the TRIGR study, the one that is studying a potential link between what might indicate a genetic risk of type 1, is using alimentum formula for study subjects. If anyone has any insight on this, I'd love to hear it. (And as an update, since supplementing, the boy had regained his birth weight as of last Friday, and the pediatrician was pleased.)

3. As a result, I've been focused on breastfeeding the boy for the past two weeks. In short, I challenge anyone who says "breastfeeding is cheap! It's easy!" After spending plenty of money to have a lactation consultant come to my house to give me direction, money on a pump rental, new bras and a special bra so I can pump hands-free (which has been one of the highlights of my week), and spending a ton of time asking for advice in the hospital from nurses, other lactation consultants, and my friends who have managed to breast feed their kids, I have become a zealot. I feel like I just went to college and am flunking a graduate-level course on breastfeeding.

4. Why am I flunking? Because, as the high-priced lactation consultant told me, I am not producing enough milk to feed my boy solely with my milk. Not to bore anyone, but I typically pump only about an ounce or an ounce and a half at a time, and the boy is eating anywhere from 2.5 to three ounces at a meal. I just started taking an herb called fenugreek, which hasn't upped my production to where it should be. There's also a drug called Reglan that the consultant thought had bad side effects, but my OB's office is happy to prescribe, saying they put their patients on it without a problem. Of course, wouldn't you know, the OB nurse tells me that it's not uncommon for type 1 moms who are "older" (i.e., I'm 37. I'm "old.") to have milk flow problems, though frankly, I haven't had the time to research anything online.

5. As a result, feeding a newborn is a round-the-clock deal for me. I feed him every 2.5 to 4 hours, depending on whether he's had a lot of formula or a little, and I pump after every feed to maintain my supply. Feeding takes anywhere from an hour to two, since the boy takes his time actually breastfeeding, and I try to feed him until he looks obviously full (i.e., refusing to eat anything else, no longer sucking on my finger when I put it in his mouth). This takes, as I said, a lot of my day.

6. This isn't even mentioning my first week feeding the boy, where I worried about nipple confusion and the nurses taught us how to finger-feed the boy. This entails attaching a small tube to your finger and filling a large syringe with either breast milk or formula, and then slowly giving it to the baby so he doesn't get too used to a bottle. The lactation consultant told me I was being ridiculous, and that if she was urging me to give the boy a bottle, it was a good idea. I did move on to a bottle (actually, two different brands) and thankfully, it has not ruined the boy on actually latching on to the boobs. I also have developed a terrible rash all over my legs that itches like crazy. I'm told it's called PUPs, or some pregnancy-related rash, and the treatment for it will dry up my milk supply. Great.

7. Totally forgot about the Bris, which was a week ago. In short, I was a basket case. The boy did just fine. I cried all day. Hormones are totally kicking my ass. I cry at things big and small.

8. Time for another feeding, so I must depart. However, the overall truth is that our boy is actually quite beautiful, generally well-behaved and calm (knock wood!) and healthy today. The major issue is with the breastfeeding supply. I don't even mind the sleep deprivation all that much, because my prior insomniac state is serving me well here. But if anyone has any insight on the links between formula and developing type 1 diabetes, increasing milk supply, and anything else worth commenting about, I'd love to read it.