Confidence Is Underrated

Two weeks ago I sat in a WIC class surrounded by approximately ten mothers and one mother-to-be. The leader of the class asked the mothers who were still breastfeeding.

I immediately reminisced about my first visit to that very class when I sat determined to breastfeed for a year and one mother sitting in front of me turned to me and said, “Oh, honey, if you’re like me you won’t make it past two weeks. It hurts too much! Naw, that’s not for me!” 

Honestly, I’m not still breastfeeding my daughter who weaned herself just two months prior to the class. . . but I lied. No other mothers in the room raised their hands when we were asked who was still breastfeeding and I wanted to show the mama-to-be that it is possible to have a successful breastfeeding relationship. I raised my hand and said I was still breastfeeding my 16-month-old daughter. The leader asked what I liked about breastfeeding. The question caught me off-guard and I stammered something about not having to get up in the middle of the night to prepare bottles while my daughter waited, crying. If I’d had more time to prepare, this is what I would have shared with the class.

There was certainly a learning curve, and it wasn’t always comfortable, but breastfeeding has fulfilled the lives of my daughter, me, and my husband more than I could have ever imagined.

The gifts that breastfeeding gave my daughter are obvious. Breastmilk was gentle on her stomach, unlike formula. Breastmilk comforted her when she felt poorly. Breastmilk sustained her and helped her grow. Breastmilk kept her healthy and protected her from the germs I brought home from work.

Breastfeeding gave me sweet, beautiful times to cuddle my daughter and look into her beautiful eyes. It gave me time to slow down, stop, and enjoy her company. It taught me patience and perseverance. It gave me a greater sense of purpose. It gave me something about which I could be passionate. Breastfeeding gave me a sense of accomplishment that I’d never known – after all, not only did I help my beautiful girl grow in my belly, but I also helped her grow once she met the world for the first time.

I would have never guessed that our breastfeeding relationship could have been a gift for my husband as well. After I told him the benefits of it he was on-board. He was able to see my commitment to our daughter. He was able to see a mother nurture her babe in every sense of the word. He was also able to gain his protective, father-bear instincts when it came to defending us and our choice to breastfeed.

Little did I know when I made the decision to breastfeed that it would be the best decision I’ve ever made.

More importantly?  

Breastfeeding helped me learn my body and trust it. . . and gave me confidence in myself.

Many Questions

I think we’ve become paranoid.  I hope we’ve become paranoid.

It seems like no matter where we look, there is always another reference to autism.  A boy I used to babysit is high on the autism spectrum.  There are commercials for autism awareness, charities . . . one of our favorite shows, Parenthood, portrays a couple raising a teenage daughter and an autistic son.  I’m resenting so much autism awareness. 

Does that make me terrible? 

I’m resenting autism awareness because now I look at my daughter every day and wonder if she’s showing signs.

We had thought that Tori had said two words around 11 months old, but she hasn’t said them since.  Language regression can be a major red flag.  I think, however, that Josh and I have talked about it and decided that we only thought she was saying those words.  Maybe she was just making sounds but had yet to make the connection.  Regardless, here she is at over 15 months old and she has yet to say anything.  Instead she points and grunts at everything.

To be fair, I didn’t talk until nearly two years old . . . and until I did talk, my means of communication was pointing and grunting.  So . . . maybe that can be explained away.

But she’s also making repetitive movements.  She obsessively rocks and bounces her back against the back of the couch.  I do mean obsessively.  Sometimes her rocking becomes quite intense.  I looked at some videos of autistic children stimming – and in some of them I saw the same movements my beautiful daughter makes.  That makes me more concerned than anything, I suppose. 

Last Thursday Josh and I took Tori to her 15-month appointment.  We were certainly hoping that doc would listen to our concerns and then say, “Oh, you’re fine!  Kids do that.”  Instead he furrowed his brow.  He used the words “red flags”.  He referred us to TEIS – Tennessee Early Intervention System.  We’re supposed to get a call from them sometime this week so that they can do an in-home assessment on Tori. 

For now I’m trying to remind myself that autism, a spectrum disorder, can be really mild.  There are a lot of autistic people on the lower-end that are more than high functioning – they are intelligent, wonderful, delightful people to be around.  I’m trying to remind myself that early intervention is key – that autism, when diagnosed and treated early, can be a bump in the road but nothing more.

I’m also trying to remind myself that I’m likely paranoid from all the images I’m seeing in regards to autism.

Wordless Wednesday - We Get By with a Little Help from Our Friends

Wordless Wednesday - Climbing

Wordless Wednesday - Going Places

Three Little Birds - Bob Marley

This is my favorite song to sing to Tori while she's falling asleep. Check out the lyrics:

"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you-ou-ou:")

Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you-ou-ou:"

Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."

Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right" - I won't worry!
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, oh no!
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Happy happy birthday, baby!

It's hard to believe that this time last year my little one had only been on the planet for 14 hours.

This morning when we woke up I smiled at my sweet baby girl and sang her "Happy birthday." I was able to take a little bit of an extended lunch so I could spend some extra time with her today. When I get home tonight we'll play with one of her new toys; then I'll tell her birthday story when we go to sleep tonight. It won't be long before she'll come to expect these things and more on her birthday. I can't wait until next year when I can start taking off work to spend her special day with her!

The No-Cry Sleep Solution

So what is the solution to sleep issues?

Since I'm not going the direction of the Cry It Out method, I had to do some research and find a better way to help Tori sleep away from Mama.

In all honesty, if it was just up to me, Tori and I would co-sleep until she was ready to find her own big-girl bed and sleep in it. (Yes, I understand that kids sometimes continue finding their ways back into their parents' bed well after 7 and 8 years old . . . but that's a side-effect I'd happily subscribe to. Unfortunately, I can't continue co-sleeping with Tori simply because it isn't the safest option any more. Since Tori gained mobility, I'm worried she's going to crawl (or walk!) her way off our bed. Regretfully, it is time to get Tori to sleep in her crib.

One book has been highly recommended to me time and time again. It is the "No Cry Sleep Solution" by Elizabeth Pantley. The author lists gentle ways of parenting your children to get them to fit into a better (or better for you) way of sleeping. I spent some time on her website and found extremely helpful FAQs. I didn't see the answer I was looking for in particular, so I emailed a suggestion for a question on the website. Within a couple of days, lo and behold, the author actually emailed me back to answer my question. Moreover, she included excerpts from the latest version (read: unpublished) of her books that would help me with our situation.

Seriously. That has to be the best customer service I've ever received from an author - and you'd better bet that her willingness to assist me with my issue, even when I had yet to buy her book, is going to ensure that I purchase her books to help raise Tori in a loving, gentle way.

Here's a great big thank you to Elizabeth Pantley - please visit her site. I'm sure that you'll likely find some information there that will help you with your little one, as well.

We're Not about to Cry It Out!

You’ll have to pardon my lackadaisical ways. If I were a better reporter I would have gathered all my sources, cited them, maybe even added little footnotes to the end of my blog. Unfortunately for you, you’ll just have to trust that I did a lot of research and reading before making this decision.

My arguments are these:
• When one leaves their little one to cry alone their bodies are quickly filled with hormones (stress hormone, cortisol, and with adrenaline). When these hormones continually fill the baby’s under-developed brain tissue, nerves inside the baby’s brain will not form their usual connections with other nerves and will deteriorate instead. What that translates to is permanent structural and functional change in regions of the brain.
• Children left to cry were found ten times more likely to have ADHD, show poor school performance, and display antisocial behavior.
• Infants that cried for long periods of time in the first three months of their lives showed IQ scores nine points lower than their peers at 5 years of age. Their fine motor development was also not as good as their peers who had not experienced prolonged crying. Prolonged crying in infants also resulted in increased blood pressure in the brain and decreased brain oxygenation.
• Extended periods of crying can lead to a child vomiting and, without an adult nearby to help the child, may lead to that child dying of suffocation.

To be fair, I must note here that it is unclear whether such damage is caused by allowing your child to cry it out for sleep training or if the damage is only caused by extensive crying caused by abuse and neglect.

What *is* clear is that the way a parent responds to his or her child shapes the child’s brain, particularly the areas that control the child’s emotional well-being and ability for attachment. A parent is a child’s safe haven from the world while he or she is learning his or her way around that world.

That was the scientific part of my argument. The next part of my argument stems purely from the emotional (and sometimes irrational) part of me.

I can’t help but think of this scenario: if I was two feet tall, depended entirely on another human being for every.single.need I have from feeding myself to cleaning myself, and my only form of communication is crying, I would likely want attention at night when I’m suddenly left alone. What if something happened? What if I needed something? I would probably be crying for someone to come see me as well.

Now take this a step further . . . At two feet tall I would just barely be grasping the concept of object permanence. And – if I do understand object permanence and I know my mom will be back to get me, exactly why has she not come to get me yet? If I’m crying because I’m alone and scared and just want company and no one comes to get me I’m going to feel abandoned. It wouldn’t be long before I would distrust my mother because I would stop expecting her to come to me when I needed her. My mom may think my reasons for wanting her with me are silly, but I sure don’t – I take those emotions seriously. And yes – I may eventually stop crying, but it won’t be because I’ve been able to reason that everything is ok. I will eventually stop crying because I give up and realize that no matter how much I cry, Mama’s not coming back.

The thought of Tori stopping her crying, in exhaustion, because she’s realized her mother won’t always be there for her makes my heart drop. I can’t do that to her. I want her to understand that as long as I can be, I will always be there for her, no matter what she needs.

Crying it out does not teach my daughter the lesson I want her to learn.

Besides, she’ll only be a little girl for a little while. This is a time I want to cherish.

Let me tell you why I adore my daughter.

At ten-and-a-half months old Miss Tori amazes me every day.



She's all over the place. Since she learned to crawl about a month ago she's been unstoppable. The baby gates hold her in place, but just barely. She powers through any form of baracade that her daddy and I try to make. Stack of pillows? Ha! She's through it. Using her Jeep as a baracade? Ha! She crawls under it. Even the two-parent-human-style-baracade fails sometimes. Since this little one got mobile, she's realizes she has places to go.



She also knows she has plenty to say. Her range of vocalizations and noises is all over the place. This little girl makes me smile more than I ever have simply by discovering a new sound or jarble of words she can make. When she gets wound up she doesn't stop jabbering! What's adorable is that we think she might be saying "Mamamamamamamama" at this point, but I think I'm more impressed that yesterday she started rhyming words with "duck". I'm not sure if she fully intended to say duck, either - it's hard for me to tell at this stage if she's just making noises or if she's starting to try and say something. If she is, "Dada" won't be far behind.



Her little laugh is incredibly sweet. Her daddy and I love to make her laugh and giggle. Lately she's been squealing a little higher and quite a bit louder - and we love it. She loves being chased while she's crawling around - she'll turn around, see us behind her, giggle and squeak, and then take off again.

She's started nuzzling us. From our lap or from her arms, she'll just bow her head toward ours or toward our chests and lean it against us. Each time she does Josh and I melt. I think it's as close as she can get to hugging us right now. Like Josh said, it's awesome that she's got some way to show us affection at this point.

She tries new foods like a champ and we haven't seen her turn down anything to eat yet! I love it when Tori shares my sandwich with me while I'm home on lunch. It's fantastic to be able to get that time with her in the middle of the day. Tori is always finding new ways of being too cute for her own good, and spending my lunch with her allows me to recharge my batteries in the middle of my lunch day.

This afternoon when I came home she was napping. By the time I'd made my sandwich she had woken up. I took her from Josh and brought her to my lap. She looked up at me, smiled sweetly, and then laid her head on my chest. Adorable! We gave her a teething biscuit and she started a game she's picked up in the last week or so. She'll take a bite, then give it to Daddy. He'll thank her for it, give it back to her, and then she'll hold it to my mouth to take a bite - so I pretend to munch on it until she takes it back and takes a bite. She continues to share her biscuit with us until she's bored with it.

I could already tell as a baby she is going to be a sweet girl - now as the days continue she's just proving that more and more. I couldn't be more proud of this sweet, smart, and beautiful wonder!

Favorite Breastfeeding Moment

Every part of breastfeeding has endeared me to my daughter. (Yes, even the torture of sore, cracked, bleeding nipples at the beginning brought me closer to her and enforced my desire to breastfeed.) My favorite nursing memory, however, comes at the end of a very trying 3.5 month-long nursing strike.

I was almost at the end of my rope. Every time I held my sweet six-month-old daughter at my breast, she screamed like I was trying to hold her up-side down by her toenails. It seemed the very thought of getting near the breast upset her. I didn't know what to do. I was exhausted from working a 40-hour week and keeping up a killer pumping schedule.

One night with a heavy heart and heavy eyelids I brought my beautiful daughter upstairs to call it a night. I put her on the bed and undressed (always sleeping topless so that she had an all-access pass to the breast). When I finished I picked her up and hugged her. I told her "I don't understand why you don't want Mama anymore, Puddin'" (it's near impossible to not take a nursing strike personally), "but I'm right here if you want to cuddle and nurse." As we laid down together on the bed, something great happened. Before I could even position myself on the mattress, my little girl reached out to my breast with both hands. I laid down beside her and she smiled, took it hungrily, and nursed herself softly to sleep. I thought my heart would burst!

At this point my little girl will only nurse through the night and I'm still pumping like crazy during the day to meet her needs, but that one evening was enough to lift my spirits and let me know that my little girl loves me - she just loves her independence as well.

Goodbye

On May 9th, Mother's Day, I got the call I'd been dreading. Aunt Judie had let go of her pain, her illness, her cancer - and finally was able to rest. I hated that I wasn't able to see her one last time before she took her journey, but that's not the way I wanted to remember her.

Last Labor Day, when Tori was a mere six weeks old, we took the long journey together to Mobile, Alabama. When I was pregnant with Tori I'd learned that Aunt Judie had cancer - that's when I learned she had anywhere from two months to six dependent on what treatment options she chose. I wanted to go visit her as soon as possible before the cancer took her and made her unable to meet her great-niece. Mama, Tori, and I all piled in the car one afternoon and went to go visit her. Just as soon as she saw my little one, Aunt Judie took her from my arms and held her for the longest time. She surprised Mama and I at how long she held my little baby, just sitting there playing with her little fingers and toes. She told me Tori was absolutely precious. We got to visit for a little while, but not too long - chemo was taking its toll and Aunt Judie was tired. As we left I gave Aunt Judie a long, tight hug. I knew that was the last time I would be able to see her. I knew with a brand new baby and mounting bills that I wouldn't be able to make that journey again any time soon. I knew that I was saying goodbye and that my sweet girl would never have the chance to remember meeting her Great Aunt Judie.

I had forgotten to bring the camera with us so that we could take a picture of them together. I could kick myself for that now. I would have loved to have shown that to Tori when she got a little older, so that she could know she was held by one of the greatest women I know.

For months my mother faithfully took care of her and everything she needed. Mama accompanied her sister to just about every chemo appointment, white blood-cell count, and doctor's appointment while Uncle Eddie worked to keep the medical insurance Aunt Judie needed so badly. Mama cleaned her house, cooked her meals, and talked with her on the phone every day. Mama became closer with her sister in those last several months than I believe they'd ever been - and Mama knew as time grew closer that she wouldn't quite know how to say goodbye.

When I got the call on Mother's Day, I knew I had to make that long journey again even though I hate funerals.

I hate the way death takes everything you knew about a person away. I hate the shell of a body it leaves. Makeup only emphasizes that the person isn't there in that shell anymore. I hate the smell of funeral homes - carnations mixed with embalming fluid and burnt coffee. But it's not about that . . . a funeral is about supporting your family during their loss, even if the only thing you can offer is your presence and a hand to hold.

Aunt Judie didn't look like Aunt Judie, even though everyone swore how lifelike she looked.

The saving grace? Aunt Judie was herself, right down to the funeral arrangements. She said she wanted a short visitation because, as she said in her own words, "I don't want a bunch of motherfuckers gawking at me!" Family visitation was for one-half hour, then friends could come for an hour. A few short words were said at the funeral home, then we joined the procession to the grave site. A few short words were spoken graveside by a friendly priest. I stood behind my Mama as she said her goodbyes to the sister she'd gladly cared for in her last months of life.

Now a few weeks have passed . . . the tears have dried. Yahoo has stopped showing her last status update on my news feed. Predictably, our family has turned into an episode of Jerry Springer. Our trip down to Mobile is a memory. Now Aunt Judie is a memory, too . . . a damn fine one.

Rest in peace, Judith Graham. You are loved. You will be missed.

Circus Act

I've always considered myself a strong person. I've been proud of how much I have tolerated and still managed to come out on top. (Well, not necessarily on top - but I've been able to keep my head relatively above water and make the most of any situation.) Part of the reason I never wanted to be a mother before I conceived Tori was that I knew I'd be responsible for another little human being and I was sure that would push me past my limit.

When Josh and I conceived Tori, I was petrified. Instantly. Life as I knew it was over. It was time to shed my old skin and re-emerge as someone completely different - as a mom. Sure, I had almost 10 months to prepare, but 10 months is nothing after you've been concerned with sustaining only yourself for 27 years before that.

I read everything I had time to read about motherhood. I took a childbirth class. I took three breastfeeding classes. Did I feel more prepared? Nope. I felt more terrified. I had days when I wondered, "How will I do this?" Some days I thought, "What was I thinking?" On others I simply felt amazed at what was going on within my body. Pregnancy is truly a miraculous experience. Over time I became more and more nervous about labor and delivery.

When the morning of August 2nd came and my water broke, I busied myself with laundry while Josh got his last couple hours of sleep as a non-parent. I spoke nervously to my tummy. "Do I get to meet you today, little one?" I asked as I stood in front of the washing machine and rubbed my bump tentatively. Tori didn't answer me but my heart fluttered. As it turns out, I didn't get to meet her that day but I did the next - August 3rd at 12:07 a.m., after 17 hours and 37 minutes of easy labor. Then life truly changed.

Suddenly I was no longer April - daughter, sister, college graduate, employee, wife. Suddenly I became a circus act - a juggler. I became all the things listed above, plus mom.

Now instead of going to work, paying bills, coming home, spending time with the husband, and going to bed - I'm getting up, taking care of Tori, being "moo-mie" (making milk), going to work, paying bills, making doctors' appointments, being moo-mie again, running errands, paying bills, coming home from work, and then again being moo-mie, taking care of Tori, orchestrating baths and showers, grabbing a quick bite to eat, and then settling to bed with my favorite snuggle-bug.

I sure am busy . . . but life is wonderful.

T's First Easter

It's official - my little girl has celebrated her first Easter. We didn't do a lot this year because, well, let's face it - she won't remember much. We did know she could have a great time with her basket though.

J and I picked out a few stuffed things and a couple chocolate things to put in the basket. I think the final outcome was great!




T took her time to inspect everything carefully.



She soon decided what her favorite things were!





Mean Mommy and Daddy took the chocolate bunny away from her (as well as the Reese's Eggs, shh!) but we allowed her to keep the eggs to play with. She still loves them!

Progress?

I had the Mirena removed Thursday. I didn't even know when Doc removed it - it was completely painless. I had a tad bit of cramping afterward, but nothing terrible. Now the true test comes - did that help my production?

Lately Tori has been getting between 15-20 ounces of formula on any given day. At my 9:30 a.m. pump I usually yield only 2.5 ounces of Mama milk. Saturday she only got 2 ounces of formula at at 9:30 I pumped 4 ounces of Mama milk! On Sunday she only got 5 ounces of formula at at 9:30 a.m. I pumped 3.5 ounces of Mama milk. Today I don't know how much formula she's gotten but at 9:30 a.m. I pumped 4.0 ounces of Mama milk again!

This is looking promising folks!

Foreign Entity

When I was pregnant with T, my doctor's office asked me what I had planned to use for birth control after I had her. I hadn't thought that far ahead to be honest. I started talking to a lady at work about her experiences with Mirena - they were all positive, so I brought that up at my next visit.

I let my doctor know how sensitive I am to hormonal forms of birth control. I told him how many different kinds of birth control pills I'd tried, only to have to change the prescription in just a little while. I told him about my horrid experience with the Depo-Provera shot. I asked him what he thought my success rate would be with the Mirena knowing all those things; I was especially concerned since it contains the same hormones as Depo.

Doc told me not to worry. He told me that the hormones in the Mirena were so low that I shouldn't have any problem whatsoever. That rested my mind. I planned to have Mirena inserted.

Fast-forward a couple of months. I had a few breastfeeding classes (yes, a few - I was serious) and I learned that hormonal forms of birth control can mess with milk production. I asked the doctor about that right before he was about to insert the Mirena.

Doc told me not to worry. He told me (again) that the hormones in the Mirena were so low that I shouldn't have any problem whatsoever. Again my mind was rested. I told him to go ahead.

The Mirena was inserted about the time I started working again.

When I started working again I was keeping up with the amount of milk T needed, though it meant I had to pump seven times a day. I had to deliver the milk I'd pumped in the morning when I went home for lunch and that was T's supply for the afternoon. It was difficult - but I was able to ensure T was only drinking Mama milk.

A few weeks later I noticed a little drop in my supply. I went and rented a hospital-grade pump (which had helped increase my volume previously). This time it did not help. On the night T turned three months old she had her first taste of formula. From that point she roughly had one bottle of formula every other day; the rest was Mama milk.

By the time T was four months old, it was commonplace for her to have two bottles of formula a day. By this point I had rented the hospital grade pump (again) to bring up my production with no results. I had started taking fenugreek, an herb that makes you smell like maple syrup, to boost my supply. I made sure I was well-hydrated. I was getting as much rest as I could possibly get. Nothing worked.

When T turned five months old, she was having upwards of three bottles of formula a day. I turned my focus toward her nursing habits. When my production initially decreased she went on a nursing strike and refused the breast all the time with the exception of nighttime. I knew that a baby nursing will increase production better than a pump ever will (because they're such efficient little suckers) so I decided her refusal to nurse *must* be the reason my production continued to drop. With a whole lot of patience and a lot of trial and error I got T to start nursing more often. My production didn't increase. J said, "I thought nursing was supposed to increase your production." I said, "Honey, I did, too." At that point I was praying we could last until she was six months old so that she would fill up a little more on solids and we would have to supplement less with formula.

By T's six-month birthday our initial ratios reversed themselves. By this point T was only having two to three bottles of Mama milk a day and the rest was formula. She had hit her growth spurt and even though she was getting solids for the first time, her reliance on formula didn't decrease. I cried. A lot. My first job as a mother was to nurture this little one inside my body almost 10 months. My second job as a mother is to nurture her and give her the best start I possibly could with my own breast milk . . . and I was failing. I ordered an expensive herb tincture online and tried it for one month. Other moms raved about its effectiveness. I saw no positive result.

T is now seven and a half months old. As of last Monday she was still only getting one bottle of Mama milk a day - two if she was lucky. It had gotten ridiculous. There was no way I could continue pumping for 20 minutes seven times a day to yield one to two bottles. I cried more because I wanted to give up - then I called a certified lactation consultant.

The lactation consultant told me that YES, Mirena can absolutely effect production. She told me that breastfeeding moms who have had their Mirenas removed have seen a rebound in supply. She also cautioned me - that she'd caught moms and had them remove their Mirenas when they've only had them in for upwards of two months. At this point I've had mine for five and a half.

With a heavy heart I explained everything to J. J told me "If it helps your production to remove the Mirena, I'm all for it - but more importantly, you know your body, and if you think it will help you then go do it." I made the appointment. It's today at 2:15. The funny thing is that ever since I had that conversation with J and I made the decision to remove it, my production has rebounded a tad. It's almost like my body is relieved I've made the decision to remove the foreign entity from it and it's thanking me already.

Tomorrow starts the hard work. I'll be following the rules of re-lactation which means a ton of water, a ton of pumping, nursing whenever possible, being religious about taking the production-enducing meds, and perhaps the purchase of some more of the expensive herb tincture. I'll be exhausted, but if this works I should see an increase within two weeks and I should get the full result within four weeks. If this doesn't work I'll be horribly disappointed - but at least I'll know I've tried everything I can try. If I can continue to nurture my little girl with my breasts as my mother did for me I'll be elated.

Let's see how it goes . . .

Adventures in Mommyhood

I was told that I would develop tunnel vision for my little girl once she was born. I was told I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. I was told that my priorities would change greatly just as soon as she came into the world. I was told that I would never experience a love quite as deeply as that love for my child. I can’t say that I was skeptical, I understood that there was no greater love than that between a mother and her child, but I also didn’t think that my experience would be the same. Even throughout my pregnancy I feared the true emotions I would have once she arrived.

Cue the grand entrance of Miss T . . .

Everyone was right. This little girl quickly became the light of my life.

There were, however, things that no one told me.

No one told me I would smile when I found poo on my hands. No one told me that I could survive for months on end with very broken sleep because her whimper or grunt or cry would give me the energy I needed. No one told me that my heart would almost burst with love when she looked up at me, nipple still in her mouth, and grinned a huge grin.

This little girl, at just under two feet tall, has me in the palm of her hand. And I couldn’t be happier.

A brief birthday story . . .

Since I have no idea how much I'll be able to be on or how much I'll be able to write . . .

Sunday at 6:30 a.m. my water broke. J and I headed to the hospital at roughly 4 p.m. By the time we got settled in, the contractions had gotten quite noticeable. By about 6 p.m. I'd gone into what we'll call true labor. I did really well with the breathing exercises I was taught.

At about 9 p.m. the real pain started . . . I had gotten to 6 centimeters when I was sure that I was going to end up hanging from the ceiling from my fingernails. The nurse gave me a low dose of Statol to take the edge off the contractions, so I suppose I didn't have give birth 100% naturally, but folks let me tell you . . . ALL it did was take the edge off, just barely.

J was the most excellent childbirth coach a girl could ask for. He knew exactly when to help me with my breathing, just when to back off, and he knew just when to whisper into my ear "You're doing SO well Baby, we're almost there. We're really close. You've almost done it!"

At 12:07 a.m. T came into this world. There were no complications; we just had to use a bit of caution because the cord was over her neck, but Doc unwrapped it as soon as she was born, no problemo.

She was born 6 lbs. 6 oz. and 18.5 inches long. She's perfect. =) She looks almost like a carbon copy of her dad minus her furrowed brow which is the only recognizable facial feature of mine that she's got! Go figure! She's got my fingers and toes too, though. She's being an excellent baby, only fussy when she absolutely needs something. She's also taken incredibly well to being breast fed. I'm proud of her for learning so quickly. Of course, now my nipples may be the most sore things on the face of the planet but that's ok, too.

So here she is, folks . . . thank you for all of your well-wishes, prayers, thoughts, visits, and love!

OK, here's the scoop.

T is messing with her mom.

(Before I go too much farther, here's a warning to the males reading this that I'm going into female-medical-issues, but not in TOO much detail. But consider yourselves warned.)

Friday when I went to the doctor he pronounced me 90% effaced, 1 cm, dilated, and T low in my pelvis, head down, ready to go. I didn't think too much of that until early Sunday morning when I lost my mucus plug. All day Sunday J and I went from store to store and got final things taken care of, small things picked up, and packed our bags for the hospital.

Yesterday (Monday) morning I called the doctor's office just to confirm "So hey - since I lost the plug that means I'm looking at anything from a few hours to a week or so, right?" They wanted me to go to the hospital to Labor and Delivery to get monitored just to make sure. I get to L&D and they find that I am actually contracting and that I'm just over a cm dilated so they tell me I'm in early labor and that I should go home and rest up. By the time I left the hospital, I was feeling the contractions.

I make a big deal of it at work, come home yesterday, and wait. From about 11 am to 12 midnight I experienced contractions between 6 and 10 minutes apart, consistently, but never regular. They never got to 5 minutes apart to get me to go back to the hospital. So, a very tired person, I went to bed. I woke again at 6 this morning and the contractions weren't as often as they had been. I called the doctor's office again expecting to go in and see if I'd at least progressed since yesterday before noon. Instead of bringing me in to check me real quick and give me peace of mind, she set an appointment for me for Friday and said if my water hadn't broken and that if the contractions weren't unbearable I could return to work.

So now . . . with only a couple contractions an hour . . . I have no idea if I made any real progress, if it was just Braxton Hicks (practice contractions, but I wouldn't imagine so with them going on for 24 freaking hours), if it's pre-labor, or what. Thankfully my friend C is a midwife and she's been able to inform me that it's pre-labor, not just false labor, so I feel a little less embarrassed . . . but NOW I've brought my mom up here, a 500 mile trip for her, and uprooted her from her life, I've missed a day and a half of work I can't afford, I'm tired, I'm still contracting (though not much) so I'm not comfortable, and I'm just very . . . very . . . very frustrated.

No, I'm not overly anxious for her to get here after all this, I'm just frustrated because of the uncertainty and because I honestly feel like I've been robbed of that "oh boy we've gotta rush to the hospital" moment. And . . . and . . . and . . . argh.