Mr. Lyrehca, Preschooler L and I are thrilled to tell you that our daughter, Little Lady, was born on Monday November 22 at 12:47 pm. She weighed six pounds, ten ounces, came out screaming and feisty, and calmed down when she heard her Mama's voice just after delivery. She is also partial to the ABCs and has a full head of dark hair.
As mentioned previously, I'd been leaking fluid for a few weeks, but my docs weren't able to determine it was amniotic fluid until that Monday morning. After the Mister dropped Preschooler L off at school, the Mister then met me at the hospital. I'd packed a bag because my OB was like "there's a small chance your baby could arrive today," but I thought that it might be another false alarm. It turns out that I had a slow but intermittent leak of amniotic fluid for at least two weeks, and on that Monday, the fluid FINALLY proved it was amnio and not pee. (For those that are following along, I did not have the "blue dye amnio" test my doc had scheduled me for, but instead, just got a fluid sample onto a slide. Under a microscope, the fluid showed a pattern like ferns, which is a sign of leaking amnio fluid.
"Your baby's coming today," our OB said.
Because of this small possibility, I'd fasted that morning and therefore, was physically ready for my scheduled c-section two weeks ahead of schedule. Mentally, though, we still wanted to figure out what was going on. The Mister and I immediately asked a ton of questions, like why today and not two weeks prior? (Not sure why the fluid two weeks ago didn't look like amnio fluid.) What were the chances of having problems because the baby was just at 37 weeks and two days? (Slim, we were told. Thirty-seven weeks is considered full term, whereas 35 weeks, where I was when I first noticed major fluid leakage, would have necessitated a full NICU stay). Why not just keep the baby inside despite the leakage? (This increases the possibility of infection, which isn't healthy for me or the baby, but thankfully, there had been no sign of infection so far.)
The next hour was spent meeting many docs (anesthesiologists, endocrinologists, and the fellows working with my OB) and nurses (who put in two IV drips, and answered additional questions). The Mister and I also made a ton of calls to cancel appointments for later that week, figuring out who would pick our son up from school that afternoon, and, because I am an Internet addict, updating this blog and making a Facebook status update ("Baby has a mind of its own and is coming today. Stay tuned!").
My blood sugars were pretty steady at this point--I was in the low 100s and my OB insisted that I not go any lower. By now, I was connected to an insulin drip (standard operating procedure at this hospital, and fine by me to disconnect from my pump). I kept comparing things to how they were when Preschooler L was born, and this time, the tech who inserted my IV lines was much better (got them on the first attempt), but the person inserting the spinal was NOT as good--that person stuck me a few times and I kept saying "I can feel that and it feels weird!" FINALLY, the spinal was inserted properly, and Mr. L. came into the operating room. I noticed that while I was getting the spinal inserted, my OB sat off to the side, checking her smartphone.
The whole C section began later than it had with Preschooler L, and while I felt odd ("Try to move your feet! You can't, right?" asked the OB), I felt otherwise OK, both physically and mentally. The docs put up a blue drape in front of me so I couldn't see a thing, and Mister L., being queasy, didn't peek. I felt no pain at all, just some odd pressure here and there. After a bit, my OB announced that we were "five minutes to baby!" Around the same time, she commented that the umbilical cord was "gorgeous," with lots of loops, which signified the baby had been active in utero. (Something I could attest to. At one ultrasound, the baby moved 90 times in 20 minutes). I also heard that my left kidney looked beautiful, my fallopian tubes were great, and that my ovaries maybe had some small cysts on them (which maybe explained why I conceived this time while on metformin).
And then Little Lady came out, loud and yelling the whole time. Mister L. held her next to me, and I began talking and she calmed down at the sound of my voice. I also sang the alphabet a few times, which she seemed to enjoy.
I never felt nauseous or otherwise yucky during the stitching up, and when back in the recovery area, I insisted on breastfeeding the baby as soon as I could. While her Apgars were great at 9 and 9, her blood sugar at birth was 38, which was a bit low and attributed to her early arrival and not my blood sugars during the c-section. (The cutoff for normal is 40, I was told.) Little Lady had to go to the NICU because of the low blood sugar but also to get a few tests because she arrived so early (37 weeks and two days) and because she may have been exposed to something with the leaking fluid. Happily, her sugars rose to the 60s just by my nursing her, and she never required any formula or anything else while in the NICU. (Plus, she came back to the nursery in a few hours, around the time I was brought to my room on the maternity floor.)
The rest of the hospital stay went really well. Because it was the week of Thanksgiving, and because LL's arrival was so early, I actually had very few visitors the time I was there, and the Mister was home with Preschooler L a lot of the time. (With the c-section, I had a four-day stay in the hospital). This gave me a lot of time to focus on breastfeeding and trying to stay on top of it (i.e., nursing every three hours and not letting it slip to four or five hours if the baby was napping) to avoid the low milk supply issues I battled with when Preschooler L was a baby. I told every nurse, every lactation consultant, and just about anyone who came to my room while I was in the hospital that I was trying to breastfeed the baby and feed her mostly if not all breastmilk, and I got every nurse's advice and insight about how to do it. Despite one late-night session where I was in total pain and full of gas from having drunk one can of diet ginger ale at dinner (I haven't drunk any soda since), nursing has surprisingly gone much better this time around.
LL's weight dropped, though, and she battled jaundice bad enough that I had to supplement her nursing sessions with either pumped breast milk or a tiny amount of formula. Once again, I insisted on hydrolized (broken-down) cow's protein formula, and a recent study has proven that I was on the right track when feeding Preschooler L only this kind of formula when he was an infant. Little Lady gained some weight, and had to stay in the hospital an extra day to go under special lights to help her fight the yellow, but today, two weeks later, she is doing great.
As of yesterday, she has more than gained back her birthweight (she's now six pounds and 14 ounces), her jaundice is finally on the way out, and she still nurses like a champ. She is tiny but mighty, I like to say.
Knock wood, she hasn't been much of a fussy baby and pretty much gets annoyed when she has a dirty or wet diaper, or needs to eat. Balancing the two kids has been OK so far: it entails a lot of planning ahead to make sure that I have everything I need whenever I leave the house (because life certainly doesn't stop just because there's a new baby at home, which is sort of different from when the first baby arrived), and I have been able to function on very little sleep. Photos of me aren't so hot these days, as you can clearly see I look exhausted in the more recent photos. (While I look really well-rested in the photos taken the day LL arrived.) And Preschooler L has, so far, been very sweet to his new baby sister: he likes to kiss her head as I am nursing her, and he has been telling people that he's a new big brother.
Thanks to everyone who checked in on my last post, or who has commented or read this blog as I've tried to chronicle this second full-term pregnancy. I will definitely continue to post updates, but need to think about what new direction this blog might take as I am pretty much done with writing about my own pregnancies. I have a few other percolating writing projects/ideas that may influence the focus of this blog, and need to consider my kids' privacy as I never intended to become a Mommy Blogger. But please stay in touch even if things go quiet here for awhile--I'm an active Facebooker and emailer and love to hear from people who have followed the blog at any time, or are interested in my book, or just want to stay in touch.
Showing posts with label Breastfeeding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Breastfeeding. Show all posts
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Things must be returning to normal...
.. because here I am with insomnia again.
Ah yes, it's like being pregnant. Wide awake at 3 am.
Except I just had to do a night feeding, a diaper change, a putting-back-to-bed and a (breastmilk) pump session. Who can sleep after all that activity?
"So how's your blog," my mother asked me over the phone yesterday.
"I haven't had time to update it," I admitted. "But I'm working on the book proposal."
For those who haven't read my archives from day one (and why not? Go ahead, I'll wait...), I started this blog as a way to get an audience for my book idea about being pregnant and living with type 1 diabetes. Along the way, I dealt with infertility, IVF, pregnancy, birth of Baby L and now new motherhood is taking up a lot of my time. I recently quit my full time gig in order to freelance, and I'm committed to finishing this proposal that's been mostly written and hanging over my head for far too long.
Since I'm awake but not committed to working on the proposal at this hour, blog updating wins out.
In other news, the Boy was three months on Monday and oy! is he a CutieHead.
I've actually been more busy as a mom than I ever was as a non-mom working full time. Besides the obvious stuff (the feedings, the diapers, the clothing changes, the bathing, the visits, the outings), I've gotten into going to new mom groups and bonding with women who had babies around the same time as I did. There are also several mom moviehouses in my area where there are weekly films that cater to new moms. It's great--I get to see the arthouse flicks my husband hates ("Were there any phasers?" is a common question.), and if Baby L is loud or squirmy or in need of a fresh diaper, no one blinks an eye.
(And I haven't really missed working at my full time job at all. The hour commute on public transportation and the politics of the personalities at said job? Don't miss those.one.bit. I have been doing some freelance writing/research gigs from home and while my salary hasn't exploded, I love working in my own office, in my own house, making my own calls and doing my own research and being my own boss.)
I've learned how awesome a multitasker I am. I can easily hook myself up to pump breast milk, position Baby L so I can feed him a bottle with one hand, and use the other hand to surf the Internet. Mr. Lyrehca, in comparison, is not as much of a juggler. In chatting with other mom-friends, I am told that men are actually less capable of focusing on more than one thing at a time, and while I used to think that was just some excuse, I'm actually seeing that concept in action. (Or inaction).
Baby L is doing well. He's getting bigger each week, and when we met a friend who had a new baby about two weeks ago, I was astounded to see just how much he's thrived and grown. He's not my newborn anymore. As much as I loved cuddling with his tiny baby self, his skills are blossoming: neck control, extreme kicking (I see the film possibilities: "Bend It Like Baby L"), and a gorgeous muppet smile that's gummy, gooey and great. He lights right up whenever I coo at him. ("Babaloo!" I say. **Grin**)
And my expertise in things continues to grow. Much like how infertility introduced me to the concept of having two endocrinologists (one for the diabetes, one for the reproduction), motherhood has introduced me to the idea of two pumps, the insulin one (*so* old school, already) and the breast one.
I've become what they call an EP, or an Exclusive Pumper, of breast milk. As opposed to actually nursing. Because of a low milk supply (something ELSE I can pin on the diabetes, I'm told.), I gave up trying to feed the Boy from the boobs and just pump out what I can. To maintain the meager supply, I try to do it every 3-5 hours, without fail.
(Have I already blogged about the specifics of this? I feel like this is my new career, pumping breast milk.)
I've been at it for two months now. I pump while I'm in the car. I pump while reading your blogs. I pump while trying to entertain the baby. At 20 minutes at a time, 5-7 times a day, it adds up to a lot of time.
But with the health benefits of breast milk being what they are, I continue to slog ahead. No idea how long I'll keep doing it for, but I'm in it for the time being.
(If you somehow have found this blog by doing a search on "pumping breast milk" or somesuch, I urge you to sign up with the Pump Moms group on Yahoo. I've learned a bunch from these people.)
Another sign that I'm not pregnant anymore--my hair is falling out in droves. In the shower drain. All over my clothes. All over Baby L. I found one of my hairs in his diaper the other day and I just hope he didn't swallow it (though I suppose it's as natural as anything else he's eating from me these days).
And finally, I rejoined Weight Watchers and am trying to get back to doing some decent exercise every day. Despite losing nearly 30 pounds of pregnancy body without really trying, the remaining fifty that separate me from Postpartum Chick and Yummy Mummy need to be addressed.
I'm five pounds down so far, though I suspect most of that is hair.
Ah yes, it's like being pregnant. Wide awake at 3 am.
Except I just had to do a night feeding, a diaper change, a putting-back-to-bed and a (breastmilk) pump session. Who can sleep after all that activity?
"So how's your blog," my mother asked me over the phone yesterday.
"I haven't had time to update it," I admitted. "But I'm working on the book proposal."
For those who haven't read my archives from day one (and why not? Go ahead, I'll wait...), I started this blog as a way to get an audience for my book idea about being pregnant and living with type 1 diabetes. Along the way, I dealt with infertility, IVF, pregnancy, birth of Baby L and now new motherhood is taking up a lot of my time. I recently quit my full time gig in order to freelance, and I'm committed to finishing this proposal that's been mostly written and hanging over my head for far too long.
Since I'm awake but not committed to working on the proposal at this hour, blog updating wins out.
In other news, the Boy was three months on Monday and oy! is he a CutieHead.
I've actually been more busy as a mom than I ever was as a non-mom working full time. Besides the obvious stuff (the feedings, the diapers, the clothing changes, the bathing, the visits, the outings), I've gotten into going to new mom groups and bonding with women who had babies around the same time as I did. There are also several mom moviehouses in my area where there are weekly films that cater to new moms. It's great--I get to see the arthouse flicks my husband hates ("Were there any phasers?" is a common question.), and if Baby L is loud or squirmy or in need of a fresh diaper, no one blinks an eye.
(And I haven't really missed working at my full time job at all. The hour commute on public transportation and the politics of the personalities at said job? Don't miss those.one.bit. I have been doing some freelance writing/research gigs from home and while my salary hasn't exploded, I love working in my own office, in my own house, making my own calls and doing my own research and being my own boss.)
I've learned how awesome a multitasker I am. I can easily hook myself up to pump breast milk, position Baby L so I can feed him a bottle with one hand, and use the other hand to surf the Internet. Mr. Lyrehca, in comparison, is not as much of a juggler. In chatting with other mom-friends, I am told that men are actually less capable of focusing on more than one thing at a time, and while I used to think that was just some excuse, I'm actually seeing that concept in action. (Or inaction).
Baby L is doing well. He's getting bigger each week, and when we met a friend who had a new baby about two weeks ago, I was astounded to see just how much he's thrived and grown. He's not my newborn anymore. As much as I loved cuddling with his tiny baby self, his skills are blossoming: neck control, extreme kicking (I see the film possibilities: "Bend It Like Baby L"), and a gorgeous muppet smile that's gummy, gooey and great. He lights right up whenever I coo at him. ("Babaloo!" I say. **Grin**)
And my expertise in things continues to grow. Much like how infertility introduced me to the concept of having two endocrinologists (one for the diabetes, one for the reproduction), motherhood has introduced me to the idea of two pumps, the insulin one (*so* old school, already) and the breast one.
I've become what they call an EP, or an Exclusive Pumper, of breast milk. As opposed to actually nursing. Because of a low milk supply (something ELSE I can pin on the diabetes, I'm told.), I gave up trying to feed the Boy from the boobs and just pump out what I can. To maintain the meager supply, I try to do it every 3-5 hours, without fail.
(Have I already blogged about the specifics of this? I feel like this is my new career, pumping breast milk.)
I've been at it for two months now. I pump while I'm in the car. I pump while reading your blogs. I pump while trying to entertain the baby. At 20 minutes at a time, 5-7 times a day, it adds up to a lot of time.
But with the health benefits of breast milk being what they are, I continue to slog ahead. No idea how long I'll keep doing it for, but I'm in it for the time being.
(If you somehow have found this blog by doing a search on "pumping breast milk" or somesuch, I urge you to sign up with the Pump Moms group on Yahoo. I've learned a bunch from these people.)
Another sign that I'm not pregnant anymore--my hair is falling out in droves. In the shower drain. All over my clothes. All over Baby L. I found one of my hairs in his diaper the other day and I just hope he didn't swallow it (though I suppose it's as natural as anything else he's eating from me these days).
And finally, I rejoined Weight Watchers and am trying to get back to doing some decent exercise every day. Despite losing nearly 30 pounds of pregnancy body without really trying, the remaining fifty that separate me from Postpartum Chick and Yummy Mummy need to be addressed.
I'm five pounds down so far, though I suspect most of that is hair.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, April 30, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, April 27, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, April 23, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Birth Day
Good God, where to begin?
Baby L is ten days old, counting his birth day as day zero (as the hospital did) and we've been home since late last week.
I have barely had time to think, let alone blog or read other people's blogs. I'll make short statements about what's been going on.
1. The c-section birth went well. I walked confidently into the OR and asked if anyone ever walked out. "It'd be a miracle if anyone could walk out after the spinal/epidural," I was told. Getting a spinal/epidural injection in the back freaked me out in theory, but the reality was that I barely felt it going in, I did not know/see how long the needle was, and although I'd been warned about "the worst headache of your life" if the spinal didn't go well, that was thankfully not my issue. My legs and lower body felt really numb, really fast. So fast, that I felt like perhaps I was having a low blood sugar during the section, but I'd brought my meter into the operating room, had Mr. L. help me test, and I was 116, up from a steady 87-95 range all morning as we waited to be admitted to the OR.
2. Felt nauseous twice during the c-section, and both times the anesthesiologist waved an alcohol swab under my nose, which took the feeling away. The second time I felt like I would throw up, I asked "Can I get more alcohol over here?" My OB laughed (from the other side of the sheet that was held up by my chest so I didn't have to watch my own c-section occur) and said that was the first time she'd heard a patient ask for alcohol during a section.
3. Mr. L was in scrubs at my side during the whole thing, and brought a camera into the OR. I could feel pushing and pressing on my lower half during the section, and smelled something being cauterized, but when a nurse asked if I wanted to know what was being pushed, pulled, or cauterized during the procedure, I declined. Not typical for me, but I didn't need that much detail right then. However, the OB announced that I had "beautiful Fallopian tubes."
4. At one point, the OB yelled out "I see a head!" and I asked "Then why don't I hear any crying?" Within moments, we heard Baby L crying out loud. Healthy lungs, he has.
5. Someone held the baby up and showed the Mr. and I, but we'd requested that the baby be cleaned off before being handed over to Mr. L. The baby was weighed and measured, and given Apgar scores of 8 and 9. This made me proud. My boy did well on his Apgars! He's going to totally rock his SATs. You just watch.
6. Mr. L. held the baby and I took pictures as the OB reconstructed my nether regions ("We're putting the uterus back where it belongs!"). Near the end, two people in the OR (there were something like six or seven people in the room during the section) rolled me around and onto the bed that wheeled me out of the OR. Still felt numbness in my legs, but otherwise, I felt fine and lucid and good.
7. Looking at the baby, I saw immediately that he has my chin, big lips (that kid is going to be a great maker-outer, I said) and other characteristics that made me realize he looks a lot like me. I stopped worrying about whether I'd been carrying the wrong embryo post-IVF transfer at that point.
7. I don't want to say having a c-section was a piece of cake, but with morphine, torredol, two IVs and plenty of percoset and motrin afterwards, this procedure went (knock wood) fine for me. Having had a more extensive abodominal operation in the past gives me something to compare it to, and believe me, the section went very well.
8. In the recovery room, I called my mother from the bed as Mr. L called his mother and sister (all of whom were waiting in the hospital's lobby) and we simultaneously told our family about our newest arrival. My mother couldn't believe I was calling immediately after the section and started crying. She was very relieved that both the baby and I were doing just fine.
9. The baby was put under a warmer next to my bed because his temperature was a bit low, and I got to hold him on my chest and tried to breastfeed him (he latched but didn't get the hang of sucking. Much more on this to come in a future post). This is called skin-to-skin contact and it's really good for bonding with mom and baby. It's pretty fun--the baby chilling out on my skin is something I really enjoy.
10. Eventually, I was wheeled up to my hospital room, the Mister's parents and sister came to visit, and my parents visited after my mother went and bought many outfits for our newest arrival. My brother, who lives several states away, called all afternoon and at the end of the day, knocked and walked into my hospital room with a huge bouquet of flowers, having decided to make the four-hour drive to meet his new nephew. I was thrilled we had all this family around to meet our new boy.
11. Kept trying with the breast feeding thing. I'm still trying. In fact, feeding this kid has become my latest focus. Honestly, in the last week and a half, I feel like I've gone to college and become a scholar on the different techniques and tricks of feeding a newborn. One who needs to be supplemented because of too much weight loss. One who has a mother who overthinks and researches links between cow's milk and diabetes and wonders about nipple confusion and finger feeding and number of hours (minutes?) since the last feeding. Oh, and breast pumps. I've honestly never spent so much time topless as I have in the past ten days.
More to come, I promise.
Baby L is ten days old, counting his birth day as day zero (as the hospital did) and we've been home since late last week.
I have barely had time to think, let alone blog or read other people's blogs. I'll make short statements about what's been going on.
1. The c-section birth went well. I walked confidently into the OR and asked if anyone ever walked out. "It'd be a miracle if anyone could walk out after the spinal/epidural," I was told. Getting a spinal/epidural injection in the back freaked me out in theory, but the reality was that I barely felt it going in, I did not know/see how long the needle was, and although I'd been warned about "the worst headache of your life" if the spinal didn't go well, that was thankfully not my issue. My legs and lower body felt really numb, really fast. So fast, that I felt like perhaps I was having a low blood sugar during the section, but I'd brought my meter into the operating room, had Mr. L. help me test, and I was 116, up from a steady 87-95 range all morning as we waited to be admitted to the OR.
2. Felt nauseous twice during the c-section, and both times the anesthesiologist waved an alcohol swab under my nose, which took the feeling away. The second time I felt like I would throw up, I asked "Can I get more alcohol over here?" My OB laughed (from the other side of the sheet that was held up by my chest so I didn't have to watch my own c-section occur) and said that was the first time she'd heard a patient ask for alcohol during a section.
3. Mr. L was in scrubs at my side during the whole thing, and brought a camera into the OR. I could feel pushing and pressing on my lower half during the section, and smelled something being cauterized, but when a nurse asked if I wanted to know what was being pushed, pulled, or cauterized during the procedure, I declined. Not typical for me, but I didn't need that much detail right then. However, the OB announced that I had "beautiful Fallopian tubes."
4. At one point, the OB yelled out "I see a head!" and I asked "Then why don't I hear any crying?" Within moments, we heard Baby L crying out loud. Healthy lungs, he has.
5. Someone held the baby up and showed the Mr. and I, but we'd requested that the baby be cleaned off before being handed over to Mr. L. The baby was weighed and measured, and given Apgar scores of 8 and 9. This made me proud. My boy did well on his Apgars! He's going to totally rock his SATs. You just watch.
6. Mr. L. held the baby and I took pictures as the OB reconstructed my nether regions ("We're putting the uterus back where it belongs!"). Near the end, two people in the OR (there were something like six or seven people in the room during the section) rolled me around and onto the bed that wheeled me out of the OR. Still felt numbness in my legs, but otherwise, I felt fine and lucid and good.
7. Looking at the baby, I saw immediately that he has my chin, big lips (that kid is going to be a great maker-outer, I said) and other characteristics that made me realize he looks a lot like me. I stopped worrying about whether I'd been carrying the wrong embryo post-IVF transfer at that point.
7. I don't want to say having a c-section was a piece of cake, but with morphine, torredol, two IVs and plenty of percoset and motrin afterwards, this procedure went (knock wood) fine for me. Having had a more extensive abodominal operation in the past gives me something to compare it to, and believe me, the section went very well.
8. In the recovery room, I called my mother from the bed as Mr. L called his mother and sister (all of whom were waiting in the hospital's lobby) and we simultaneously told our family about our newest arrival. My mother couldn't believe I was calling immediately after the section and started crying. She was very relieved that both the baby and I were doing just fine.
9. The baby was put under a warmer next to my bed because his temperature was a bit low, and I got to hold him on my chest and tried to breastfeed him (he latched but didn't get the hang of sucking. Much more on this to come in a future post). This is called skin-to-skin contact and it's really good for bonding with mom and baby. It's pretty fun--the baby chilling out on my skin is something I really enjoy.
10. Eventually, I was wheeled up to my hospital room, the Mister's parents and sister came to visit, and my parents visited after my mother went and bought many outfits for our newest arrival. My brother, who lives several states away, called all afternoon and at the end of the day, knocked and walked into my hospital room with a huge bouquet of flowers, having decided to make the four-hour drive to meet his new nephew. I was thrilled we had all this family around to meet our new boy.
11. Kept trying with the breast feeding thing. I'm still trying. In fact, feeding this kid has become my latest focus. Honestly, in the last week and a half, I feel like I've gone to college and become a scholar on the different techniques and tricks of feeding a newborn. One who needs to be supplemented because of too much weight loss. One who has a mother who overthinks and researches links between cow's milk and diabetes and wonders about nipple confusion and finger feeding and number of hours (minutes?) since the last feeding. Oh, and breast pumps. I've honestly never spent so much time topless as I have in the past ten days.
More to come, I promise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)