Day 80

     Caroline turned 6 weeks old today. In that time I've had some amazing highs and some pretty dark lows. I'm in the midst of a low point and through my tears, I asked my husband to document this moment.

Shutting down isn't very beautiful

     Post partum depression/anxiety sucks. I've now experienced it three times and I'm not sure if this time is the easiest or if I just know I can get through it because I have in the past.
Just like the previous times, my anxiety has centered around weight gain (baby), sleep (me) and breastfeeding (both of us).

     All three of my children have been preemies and slow to gain weight. As I discussed in a previous post, I was having supply issues due to a variety of factors. Thankfully I've been able to resolve many of the issues and my supply has improved greatly, but Caroline still isn't growing as much as we'd like due to her inefficient sucking reflex, and reflux. I  supplement bottles to get extra milk in and spend lots of time pumping, cleaning bottles & pump parts, making/drinking nursing tea, taking supplements- never mind the act of nursing her. It's consuming, rewarding and exhausting. There are some days when I feel so proud as I feed her because I have pushed myself through the self doubt and the difficulties. Unfortunately there are days when I feel like an absolute failure. When people see her they always comment on how tiny she is. I know they mean well, I know they are simply making an observation, I know they have no clue what my day looks like or how hard this is and I know they don't realize every time I hear she's small, it feels like a punch in the gut. I smile and say something witty, but it eats away at me. I'm doing absolutely everything I can and it still feels like I'm a terrible mother.

     The lack of sleep amplifies these feelings of failure. While the baby may sleep in 3-4 hour increments overnight (with the occasional 5 hr), I'm not sleeping that full stretch. After a feeding, my mind is racing over whether she drank enough or if she is going to throw up and choke. Logically I know she won't aspirate, but when I'm filled with anxiety, the fears take over. Every single one of her squeaks jolts me awake. There are nights where I just stare at her to make sure she's ok. I do get some sleep and I do try to nap with her, but let's be honest- when in your life, other than when you're parenting a small child, is a three hour stretch of sleep considered a luxury? Sleep deprivation is a form of torture and I'm currently being tortured by that lack of sleep, as well as my own demons.

Day 79

I have so many pictures and posts in my head and I just haven't had a moment to pull them together. Until now...

You do not want to know what is going on in my lap...

It's telling that I will allow myself to sit covered in pee and write, because I just don't want to get up and do yet another load of laundry.

I'm exhausted. I'm happy, but I'm exhausted. The house is full of sick family members, the baskets are full of laundry, the sink is full of dishes and I'm full of emotions. This is hard. Yesterday I ran into bathroom, chased by a two and a half year old. I just wanted to not be touched for 30 seconds. That's all I got. Yes, I absolutely live for the affection my children show me, but I'm drained. I know we are only a month into this adventure as a family of five, but I need to work on regaining myself for longer than 30 seconds a day!

Now please excuse me while I clean the pee and spit up...

Day 78

     I had it in my mind that nursing this time around would be a breeze. Even if she was a preemie, my daughter would latch on and nurse like a champ from the first time. There would be no visits to the doctor for the dreaded weight checks, no need to supplement and no frantic phone calls to a lactation consultant.

     Well, I was very wrong.

So this is part of the reason I've been stuck in my house since returning home. 

     I know I set myself up with unrealistic expectations this time around. Mostly I wanted to believe that something about this process would be easy. I anticipated that there would be a learning curve as Caroline and I began our nursing relationship, but I did not anticipate the low supply due to a variety of health factors on my part and the sleepiness and immaturity on the part of my daughter. As a late preterm infant, Caroline still has not developed to the point of a full term and it's glaringly obvious when I compare her (I know I shouldn't!) to other babies. Her due date is next Friday and I can only wonder what our lives would look like if we had made it that far.
     For one, maybe I wouldn't be using this ridiculous looking, although helpful, contraption- a Supplemental Nursing System (SNS). Basically it is used with either breast milk or formula to supplement what she is getting at the breast. Caroline's prematurity came with under developed muscles that make her sucking inefficient and cause her to tire quickly. The additional nutrition should help her to gain weight and be more effective with her latch as she grows. However, this might be one of the most awkward things I have ever used. And I  have to pump. And I'm exhausted. And stressed. And feeling like a failure again because I didn't keep her in to full term.
     I know some of you mothers who are reading this may be thinking back to previous conversations you have had with me where I spoke with you about the difficulties of deciding how to feed your baby. I'm always the first person to say "do what you need to do to keep sane" or "the most important thing is to make sure you feed your baby". I stand by those statements and every other conversation I've had. For me personally however, I need to nurse. Maybe it's my way of controlling something about this situation. While I couldn't control the pregnancies or deliveries of my children, I could still make sure I breastfed. For some reason, I have hung onto this since Lucas was born and it stays with me today.

     The picture I shared above shows me after the lactation consultant left my house this afternoon. I was feeling positive. Caroline has gained another 1.5 ounces, although she is still not back to her delivery weight. By the end of the day, I was in tears. In fact, as I write this I'm still crying- I think there is some exhaustion playing a role right now. Clearly we are going in the right direction. Clearly I am devoted to making sure my daughter is healthy. Clearly I need to give myself some credit.

     Thank you for allowing me to share my stories of womanhood/motherhood. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by a such a supportive community. The phone calls, messages, emails and comments all mean so much to me and encourage the honesty in my writing. Now that I am the mother to a little girl, I find it all the more important to work to discover the beauty in that honesty and to take a "body positive" approach to life.

Day 77

     Is there anything more imperfectly beautiful than a deflating postpartum belly? It's the perfect example of sacrifice, growth, love and life.

That belly once held this baby

     For over seven years my body has either been pregnant, trying to get pregnant or recovering from being pregnant. And now that part of my life is over. The feelings I'm having during this postpartum period could only be described as complicated. During the last few weeks of this pregnancy I was in tears nearly everyday, wishing, praying, hoping and begging for this to end. I told myself that this was a mistake and I simply wasn't strong enough. I was filled with doubt, depression, anxiety and a real concern over my mental and physical health. My husband is my rock and somehow he kept me going despite my daily pleas for this to end. The doctors were concerned for my health and there was some discussion about delivering early for maternal distress. But it never went beyond a hypothetical because I knew in my heart that it wasn't safe. During an appointment with my psychiatrist he told me to remind myself each time it felt too hard to continue, that I was never going through this again. It helped to approach the pregnancy this way, but it also felt wrong to be counting down the days not with joyful anticipation, but with disengaged gratitude to be so close to the end.

     On March 5th, I went into the hospital for the fifth and final time with contractions that could not be tolerated at home. I never really went into detail before, but the issue in the last two months of the pregnancy was preterm contractions (prodromal labor). They were painful, constant throughout the day- everyday, and they did nothing to induce labor. The baby tolerated them well, so nothing could be done other than medication and bed rest. I was given injections in the hospital whenever the contractions were too painful to tolerate. They wouldn't stop them, but they did decrease the frequency. At home I took another medication every 4-6 hours to help, but that too never stopped them completely. I took baths, showers and tried to sleep but the pain was too much to get rest. I'd dream about being in labor and wake up to contractions. All along I didn't dilate and the baby didn't mind, so I suffered. A lot.

     Each day that the baby stayed in, was a benefit to her health, but took away from my own. It's difficult to talk about the last two months. I really struggled, and my reproductive history plagued me with guilt for feelings so negative. How could I possibly hate this pregnancy so much when I know so many others who would trade places with me in a heartbeat? I remember the torture during each struggle to conceive. Here was a blessing and I was blinded by my pain.
The last four days of the pregnancy were spent in the hospital hooked up to monitors, an IV and heavily medicated. Our goal was to make it to 37 weeks but at 36 and 4 days, Caroline decided she had enough and I was rushed in for an emergency csection. While I was prepared for the inevitable NICU stay, the surgery and subsequent delivery were probably the most frightening moments of my life. I'll spare the details, but suffice it to say that there are certain sounds that will haunt me forever. The whole time I kept reminding myself that I was never going to go through this again.
     That was the theme over the next few days. Trouble with pain management in recovery? I'll never have this again. Not able to touch/hold my newborn for almost 24 hrs? Never again. Can't nurse the baby and have to pump instead? Last time ever. Massive stretch marks that appeared during the final IV fluid filled days of torture? Done.

     But as the days passed, the hormones fluctuated and I bonded with my daughter, I began to mourn the fact that I was never going to feel the kicks of a growing baby within me again. How absurd! After all that we went through, after all the tears and struggles and doubt- I was practically in hysterics over the thought of never conceiving again! I guess this is biological instinct that has kept humans reproducing despite the difficulties that accompany the process.

     I'm happy to say that as we approach the two week mark, my emotions regarding never having another child have calmed down (emotions on other topics, not so much!). I look at our daughter and I know she was worth the sacrifices that our family had to make. I know she completes us. My body went through hell in order to bring our children to this world. I'm surprisingly content with the condition my body has been left in after this pregnancy. I have scars, stretch marks, saggy skin and an odd looking belly button. But I have a full heart and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced.

Day 76

     If you aren't sure where to find me these days, there are three places you should check- the couch, the bed or the bathtub.

I really miss the soaking tub we had in our old house

     I've reached the "get this the f*** over with" stage of pregnancy. I know this is one of the most insensitive things a pregnant woman can possibly say, especially at 32 weeks, but unfortunately it's my truth. I remember wanting to punch pregnant women who complained about discomfort and anxiety during the frustrating times when I was longing for a viable pregnancy. I literally wanted to slap them. How dare they complain about a foot kicking their ribs or their inability to sleep. Did they know how lucky they were? Obviously they were just ungrateful women and I hated them.

     Then, I experienced very difficult pregnancies that resulted in beautiful babies being handed to me. And  I realized that I was being a bitch. I apologize profusely to the women who never knew that I secretly wanted to scream at them. They had every right to complain. Pregnancy sucks. The outcome is glorious, but the process can be one of the worst experiences you will ever go through.

     I spend most of my time trying to find a way to be in the least pain possible. I don't sleep much anymore and I'm not very mobile. I was recently in the hospital for preterm labor, but luckily after multiple doses of steroids, medications and injections, they were able to slow the contractions. I'm on these new meds in addition to the weekly injections and my contractions have been fairly controlled- but they never go away, hence the no sleeping and constant pain.

Also, did I mention I now have gestational diabetes? The fun never seems to end with this one…

     We knew this would be tough, but never expected things to go this crazy. I've been on bed rest for 5 months. I am isolated, lonely, uncomfortable, exhausted and ready for this to be over. Every time my contractions get to 6 minutes apart, I not-so-secretly wish that this is the time things will get real. But, I lay down, drink my water, do my breathing and eventually after another dose of the medicine, I realize I won't be having this baby yet. And I cry.

     I've already experienced a NICU stay. I know that a baby born at 32 weeks would be more difficult. I've watched friends go through the unthinkable and I am truly grateful for every extra minute this child stays put. But I'm tired of being a vessel for this baby and not much else. I want to interact with humans. You know it's bad when start engaging in friendly conversation with the insurance folks on the phone because you just want to talk to someone.

     My husband asked me the other day if I had been blogging and I told him I just couldn't get motivated to write anything. Maybe it's because I'm tired of saying "I'm hanging in" and "the end is in sight". I need to say that this is the hardest thing I have ever done and I will never do this again. NEVER!!!!!! This child will be worth every bit of sacrifice and will complete our family, but I'd be lying if I said there was never a moment when I questioned our decision to have another child biologically. That's a really difficult thing to admit, especially having gone through so much loss to get to this point.

Day 75

     It's been almost 2 months since my last post. I needed to take some time off. The holidays are always tough for my family with the anniversaries of so many losses. That coupled with my increased depression/anxiety during bed rest, wild Christmas-crazed children, and life in general, lead me to do a lot of private soul searching and thinking. All good stuff, but I just needed to be gentle with myself and focus on the five of us. 

     With the new year upon us and insomnia in full force, I feel ready to start writing again. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

     So, does anyone know where my feet went?

     Obviously, there has been lots of growth for the baby/me during the past two months. This child is enormous (3lbs, 4oz at my 28 week appointment- average is 2.22 lbs). My other children were on the smaller size so this at least explains the pain I've been in. Contractions have been in full force and I've been stuck in bed more than I would like but the end is in sight. I have my c-section scheduled for March 25th, although my new doctor says there is absolutely no way I will make it even close to that date. Yes, new doctor. My original doctor lost his malpractice coverage for obstetrics due to his age (76 years young). There were lots of tears at our last appointment, but I'm happy with the new practice and I'm trying to move forward. I'll be forever grateful to Dr. J for bringing my first two children into this world and for his guidance, support and love to get Jim and I through some very difficult times. He is and always will be family. 

     I actually took this photo right before I went to my 28 week visit. In preparing to go to a new practice, there was a bit of...ahem, grooming…that needed to take place. After 20+ years with my first doctor, I didn't feel the need to impress, but with this new practice, I figured it would be appropriate to at least shave my legs. Kind of hard to do when you aren't really sure where they are. 

     Turns out the effort wasn't needed, but it was a good exercise in pulling myself together. With my absence from regular life, I have honestly let myself go. I rarely do my hair. Sweat pants are my norm and I hardly put on make-up or do my nails. I've had this "why put in the effort when it doesn't really matter" attitude. It probably hasn't helped my depression to resort to such a slug. I don't really have a resolution for the new year but I have made a promise to myself to put in a little more effort into caring for me, not just the baby. 

  

     We are now just weeks away from meeting our third…and hopefully weeks away from seeing my feet again, too! 

Day 74

     I think like many people in this world, I have struggled over the past week to find the words to articulate my dismay with the world around me. I still have not found them.

     My Facebook newsfeed and Twitter feed are both full of anger, disgust, and confusion. I am truly fearful for our future, and not just because of the terrorist attacks. I am also afraid of the dark hatred I have seen on display, much of which is based on bias, gross generalization and misinformation.

     How do I raise my children in a society such as this? The inquisitive 5 year old who loves his friends of various races, genders and religions. The impulsive 2 year old who gives hugs and kisses to everyone he meets. The precious baby I carry within me who is the definition of innocence. How do I explain this world to them? How can I keep them loving and accepting children, when everything around us screams "Be Afraid!!!"? 

     This post is not so much about the events of Lebanon, Afghanistan, Paris, Nigeria or the many other places around the world where terrorists have inflicted pain. Nor is it about gun control, immigration or foreign policy. Rather, I want to return to the focus of this blog- Beauty.

     It's hard to find beauty in times such as these. How can there be beauty when innocent people die? When families are torn apart? When daily life is disrupted by terror? When extremists are seen as the ambassadors of over a billion people? When people are so fearful that they are willing to watch children die? How can we ever recover? 

     I've always tried to be an optimist. I choose love over war. Kind words over hateful ones. Education over ignorance. It feels like less and less are following this path. This is what scares me. 

     I wonder what I can do to be an agent of change and peace. What can I do to combat the evil that is enveloping our world? It feels impossible to do anything of significance. Posting an article on social media won't change the opinions of those who have already made up their minds. Changing a profile picture won't bring back lost loved ones. 

     How can I live a beautiful life that I am proud of? One that my children can look back on with respect and admiration?

     I will love the people around me- my family, my students, coworkers, friends and neighbors. I will demonstrate tolerance. I will speak kind words. I will be considerate to those who are struggling. I will listen. I will make eye contact. I will smile at strangers.  I will enjoy the little things. I will engage in the world around me. I will be an agent for good. This is the way I can affect change.  This is beautiful.

     Tonight I will start my own war on terror and hatred by holding my son and singing him to sleep- by choosing love. 

Please join me.