Day 83

     Today is the day I have realized that I must accept things for what they are right now. Or maybe it's the day I admitted defeat. I guess it all depends on perspective.

Enjoying a shared meal with my daughter

     Over the past few weeks I've been fairly quiet on the blog and in life. Postpartum depression & anxiety have continued to be a part of my life, but I am managing them. Unfortunately, they are ever-present and something I need to tackle each day. I keep pushing through, though it takes a tremendous amount of energy to believe in myself- sometimes more energy than I have on a particular day. Still, I congratulate myself on all the little things, no matter how mundane they may be. 

     

     That being said, it's been hard to congratulate myself on finally being able to say I'm exclusively breastfeeding my child. To think that during the previous two infant stages I faced such personal guilt over the need to use a bottle or formula. I would be thrilled if I could at this point. The decision to be the sole provider of nutrition for my daughter was not a choice for me to make- that decision was made for us. 

     

     I used to be so envious of women who touted that they never needed formula or never gave their child a bottle. I want to hug every single one of those women now. I want to take them out for a night away from their nursling and get them drunk. I want them to eat any type of food that they crave and not have to worry about whether their child might react to hidden soy or butter. I want them to feel the freedom of independence from holding and comforting a miserable infant. Because now I realize how much of a sacrifice this can truly be, and how difficult it is when it wasn't your choice to make.

 

     My daughter is allergic to something in my milk. I've removed all dairy and soy from my diet, yet she is still not tolerating the milk well. But at least she will nurse. If we give her a bottle of formula, she will projectile vomit. And they specialty formula she needs is THE WORST smelling thing ever on it's own, let alone partially digested. Give her a bottle of expressed milk and she will push it away. She wants the real thing. She wants the comfort of mom. Because if the milk will make her uncomfortable, at least mom will hold her tight, skin-to-skin, and soothe her aching belly. It's inspiring that my presence truly means that much to her, that I am more than just a food source. However, it's also taken exhaustion to a new level. 

     Tonight as my husband and sons sat at the dinner table chatting about the weekend and enjoying their burgers, I sat in the other room nursing my daughter after failed attempts to use a medicine dropper to feed her additional formula. Eventually after the boys went upstairs for bath and bed, I got up and used my one free hand to put together my plate. I returned to my chair (I'm pretty much always in this chair now) and fed the two of us. In some ways I felt alone, in other ways I could sense how much of a force I am in this world for my family. 

     I reminded myself that the days are long, but the years are short and just as it did for my two sons, this will all be a cloudy memory in the not too distant future. But the thing is, I don't want this to be a cloudy memory. I want to clearly remember looking into her beautiful eyes (as I dropped particles of food on her when I attempted to shove the burger in my mouth). I want to remember her long thin fingers grasping onto my shirt and skin. I want to remember the cries and wiggles that indicated a huge burp was about to take place and the smile she gave me after it was released. I want to remember her sighs as she drifted off into a satisfied sleep. 

    I want to remember how simple this time is, because I know there will be a day when she won't look me in the eye or hold my hand. There will be a time when her troubles will be far worse than gas and GI pains, and I won't be able to stop them from happening with an elimination diet. 

    

     So for now, this is where we are.

Day 82

We mothers are struggling.

Flowers I bought myself because I deserve them.

     I'm overwhelmed by and grateful for the messages of support and encouragement I received after my last post. So many of you shared similar experiences and it absolutely breaks my heart that so many of us struggle in silence because we think this is just the way motherhood is supposed to be.
     And it's not one particular demographic. Younger moms, older moms, stay-at-home moms, work-outside-the-home moms, single moms, married moms, wealthy moms, middle class moms, paycheck-to-paycheck moms. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. So many of us are in constant fear that we are somehow failing at motherhood and nothing could be further from the truth.
     We basically are thrown into one of the most important roles in the history of the world with little or no training. There are thousands of "experts" who have written books or run websites about motherhood, but the truth is that no one is an expert at each mother/child relationship. We all have very different personalities, as do our children. Each family situation is unique, which means all the well meaning advice in the world might not necessarily apply. We do the best we can with the circumstances and resources we are presented with. Why is it so hard to give ourselves credit for what we accomplish as parents?

     As I navigate my experience, I am so thankful to have a community of supportive women around me. Some of them I've known my entire life, others I've only just met this month. Some I see practically every day and others I've only communicated with online. However they came into my life, each one of them offers me a perspective on motherhood/womanhood that I incorporate into my life to be the best I can. Some days I'm an attentive and energized mother and other days I struggle to get out of bed. Even on my worst day, I'm still trying and I know you all are too.

     Thank you to all the wonderful women (and men) who are sharing this journey with me. Your presence means the world.

Day 81

     After the last post almost two week ago, things got really bad really fast. Depression for me can sometimes feel like draining a bathtub. Energy and emotions leave my body and I try not to get sucked down into the darkness.

 I felt nothing. I struggled to talk to my own children. I could barely make eye contact with my husband. I knew I needed to see my doctor.

I haven't washed my face or brushed my teeth & hair, but I'm going to be OK. 

     I got into the car last Monday morning with my daughter dressed and in a clean diaper. She was strapped into her carseat, which was safely in place. I had clothes on. We both had eaten breakfast. My car had gas and I was stable enough to drive. On difficult days, these are successes that I need to celebrate.

     I got to my doctor's office and I had a very strong feeling of nostalgia. What an awful thing to feel nostalgic about- longing for the days when I was struggling with only one child. Now I have three to wrangle and hopefully not scar for life. I don't want them to remember their mother crying on the kitchen floor, unable to articulate what made her so sad.

     I talked through the things I was feeling and we made a game plan for changes to make to my routine so I could find time to care for myself. I think that's one of the biggest changes in me since becoming a mother. I no longer give myself permission to be cared for. I focus on the needs of others and it leaves me drained just like that bathtub. I need to find ways to fill myself again with purpose and energy. 

     I'm working on scheduling time for writing, showers, exercise, coffee with friends and other activities that make me feel alive. I will not lose myself this time. 

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.