Me: At Six Weeks

Six weeks ago on Saturday, I gave birth through emergency C-section to Ben. I've composed so many blog posts in my head since that date, but I haven't managed to A: Find my freaking laptop since Zac uses it and moves it on a daily basis, B: Find the energy to compose sentences, C: Somehow process all the emotions that I've been feeling.

Here is what I do know: This is hard. No one goes into raising a newborn thinking it's going to be easy, but sometimes it's harder than others. Zac only spent three days in the NICU and I was allowed to visit him and nurse him as frequently as I could manage after my first C-section. Breast feeding wasn't easy for us, but it got easier once I visited a lactation consultant and got my first breast pump so I could handle engorgement. With Ben (and I know I shouldn't compare my experiences between my children. We're all unique snowflakes and every child is different. I know that...but still) I wasn't allowed to nurse him during his 18 day stay in NICU because of the medications I'm on. I pumped up to six times a day and stored all my expressed breast milk in my freezer. After 2+ weeks, I was beginning to think that I needed another freezer. When Ben came home, I couldn't get him back on the breast, even when I used the magic nipple shield that I had used with Zac. He screamed and arched his back when I tried to hold him close without a bottle. Then, I just got lazy about pumping. Pumping six times a day, or even four times (or hell, two times) while being the primary care giver of a newborn is difficult, unless you're willing to wake up in the middle of the night and pump. My supply started dropping off noticeably. My breasts weren't causing me pain anymore when I woke up and that seemed like a good development, until it wasn't.

I was unfortunately neglecting more than just my milk producing appendages. I think I was just in complete denial about my high blood pressure and diabetes. "Everyone says gestational diabetes will resolve itself once the baby is born. Besides, I lost my blood sugar testing supplies so I can't even see what my blood sugar levels are. I'm fine," I reasoned with myself. "I don't need to monitor my blood pressure every day. I'm fine." Again, this line of reasoning works until it doesn't.

I went to the eye doctor because I was getting persistent headaches again. I can pretty much tell when my headaches are vision related because pain relievers don't affect them in anyway. The only thing that works is to take out my contacts and lay down. So I went to the eye doctor and the first thing they did was take my blood pressure. It was 155/98. Not quite in stroke territory, but very high. So high that the sweet technician who was testing me said, "Ms. B, do you have any blood pressure medication on you currently that you could take?" I said no. I carry a lot in my purse/diaper bag combo, but I didn't have that. Then the eye doctor told me that my vision had changed again, in the wrong direction. Basically, the higher my blood sugars go, the less near sighted I am. At this rate, I won't even need glasses or contacts in a couple of years. It's like home lasic surgery. It turns out that there is a major glasses retailer that has a 90 day guarantee on their lenses and frames and I can change my prescription as many times within that time frame as I need and they will make new lenses for me. So, since my fourth month of pregnancy, I was able to buy some glasses. Here's what they look like:

That's Ben rooting on my neck and pulling down my shirt.

I had to go see a primary care physician about my blood pressure and diabetes. I had to do another fasting test (Yay! Not) so she could test everything from my hemoglobin level to my thyroid and cholesterol. Everything but my cholesterol was normal, which is incredibly frustrating. Now I have two doctors contracting themselves - again. This was the story of my entire pregnancy. Big baby and rapid vision change - diabetes. Three hour diabetes test from hell - negative.

It's also just very frustrating how fat I still am. I've lost exactly 10lbs since Ben's birth, even though I'm pumping and breast feeding. I gained a lot of weight during my pregnancy and I wasn't small to begin with. Here's me, probably only four or five months pregnant.

Jump forward to blurry 30 weeks:

 And an even blurry 32 week photo (and you would think that I don't live with a photographer given the amount of cell phone photos I take of myself in the mirror):

Although I get it that it's hard to see my actual body over the enormous belly I'm sporting. The best part of being post partum is that occasionally people ask me when the baby's due. Ha! Good times! I'm like, "Yeah, I already had the baby, but thanks for asking!

I started incorporating fruits and vegetables into my life because I was concerned about the health of all of the members of my family (and I didn't want to be embarrassed when I saw the Nutritionist about the diabetes I don't seem to have). It hasn't helped much, except I'm much more regular, so there's that. I pretty much hate my body and my self esteem is in the gutter. First person that says, "It took nine months to gain the weight and it takes nine months to lose the face," with get punched in the throat.

Here's me, with Ben 5 days after his birth, in the same shirt:

I look like I haven't slept in a couple of weeks, which I probably hadn't at that point. But look how small Ben is! With his eyes open for once in the hospital! Wearing a onesie! It was all very exciting at the time. I'll try to get a Ben: At Six Weeks post up soon.

Boobs: Part Deux

If I sound like I'm talking about my boobs a lot, it's because I am. I have a couple of different posts in the draft folder, but boobs it is today.

My breast milk was quite a cluster when Ben was in the NICU. The lactation consultant came to visit me and reviewed all the medication that I was taking that she was "concerned" could be transferred to the baby. When I told her that I was under the care of two psychiatrists and I was on all the medications that she was concerned about during my entire pregnancy, she looked fairly horrified. According to the Maternal Fetal Shrink, babies actually receive less of a medication through breast milk than they did through the placenta. None of that made any difference. The lactation consultant left the breast pump in my room and walked out with false promises of "looking into my situation"

Then the world's greasiest psychiatrist that's on staff at the hospital that I delivered at came into my room to "check into my situation". He asked for the name and number of my Maternal Fetal Psychiatrist to see if she would approve me giving breast milk to Ben. Then it came down to, "Well, B is no longer a patient at my crappy local hospital so I can't give the NICU any medical direction. Perhaps you can write a letter and fax it into the NICU." When I went to see her one week post partum, she said she would write the letter once Ben no longer had jaundice, because his liver wasn't metabolizing fast enough. Finally, we just came to the conclusion that I would nurse when he came home from the NICU.

Fast forward to Monday, when Ben was released from Baby Boot Camp. I started giving him my breast milk and trying to get him to latch on. What felt like an eternity, but was actually only two days, Ben latched on and will do so on a regular basis if I give him pep talks during nursing sessions. He's also quite partial to warm milk and will outwardly reject room temperature breast milk yet seems to gobble up the room temperature formula bottles that the hospital gave us.

Yesterday, Ben didn't poop all day and his stomach was rock hard. He was constipated, in a big way. I didn't really know what to do because I never encountered it with Zac. Like a Mom with a guilt complex and an issue processing shame, I blamed my milk (I almost wrote, "myself" because it's hard to separate myself from my milk, but I'm working on it). I didn't know if it was something I ate on the day the milk was pumped (since I've been pumping and freezing for two weeks) or something directly coming from me. All I knew was that I felt like I deserved the blame for making my child miserable, tired, and cranky.

Of course, that's just not true. Rationally, I know that. Emotionally it's a different story. I have a firm belief that parents should do whatever works for them, regardless of what parenting books, strangers, or "helpful" family members say. The basic tenet of this philosophy is don't do whatever makes you crazy - do whatever keeps you sane. If pumping and bottle feeding works for you, do that. If attachment parenting works for you, by all means, wear your kid proudly and invest in a "Snuggle Nest". You get the picture. This is a long way of saying, I'm just trying to make things work around here. Breast milk, formula, whatever makes the kid poop, I'm happy.

As for Ben, we had one of his self-proclaimed Auntie's come over last night to babysit so KGII and I could attend Zac's musical debut in the 2nd grade musical (Zac was smashing...and very dramatic, which leaves me using adjectives like "smashing"). Ben shat three times in his Aunt's arms and then slept for two hours. We came back to a sleepy, clean baby. I told his Aunt that next time Ben was constipated, that we'd be calling her first. She did this magic belly rub and all his poop came out. I was tempted to ask her to rub my belly, but I wasn't sure she would go for it.

Such a shame, though. My belly doesn't still have the umbilical cord on it.