So the MeMe did spark some blogging life! However, it’s just another entry of me complaining about being a parent. Or whining about how much I lack as a parent. Well, really about how much breastfeeding is just trying every ounce of patience I have. And I wasn’t born with any patience. None.
Being a Mom has really been everything I’ve ever wanted it to be. I enjoy every minute with my daughter. Even the ones where she’s just being an absolute pill. I know it won’t be like this forever so I try to cherish every moment. I knowing I won’t always be able to scoop her up and hug her when she’s sad.
I try not to do this. I try not to have Pity Parties for myself. At least not in a public forum**. I’m more likely to just take a long shower and cry my eyes out where I know no one can see. That tough exterior stays pretty tough most of the time. But today is going to be different. And this post is going to be different. And I’m about to let loose on all the things that have I’ve been holding back since the night my baby was born. Because I just can’t make it stop.
I honestly feel like I’ve gotten the short end of the stick with a lot of this. That I’ve been asked to “just deal” and “well, be thankful she’s healthy” and “just remember how badly you wanted her” and quite honestly, I’m sick of trying to do all of those things. Because there’s a big part of me, that no matter how much I try to shove it, is really Goddammed PISSED OFF.
First is was the pitocin and epidural(s). Two thing I didn’t want to do as quickly as I did. Two things that made me feel like I gave in WAY to early and the “If’s” and “Maybe’s” that have spawned from there like – Maybe if I didn’t go down that road so quickly, my labor wouldn’t have stalled.
Then it was the c-section. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t get the baby out? Why did I end up with major surgery when I knew people had delivered the same size and larger babies without it? Why did I go through over 30 hours of labor ONLY to have a c-section when if it was so probable that I would’ve needed it, I could’ve saved myself all that trouble?
Then it was the yeast infection in my ducts. The pain I endured nursing because of it. That awful, miserable feeling of dreading feeding her but being so determined to make it work that I fought through the tears. What kind of mother doesn’t WANT to feed her baby.
And the colic/acid reflux that followed. Five hours of screaming. Knowing she was in pain. Unable to comfort her. Sitting in a dark room, both of us looking at each other crying our eyes out. Me thinking she deserved a better mother. Wondering why I couldn’t make it stop. Wanting so badly to make her feel better and being completely helpless. A 30-year old woman, a MOTHER, who couldn’t stop her own helpless infant from being in pain.
Then I got my period (!). Yes! That thing that exclusively nursing women aren’t supposed to get until either they start supplementing with formula or the baby starts eating solids OR she STOPS NURSING. WHAT THE MOTHER FUCK!?
But I dealt with it all and things improved. I found friends right here inside my computer. You guys were/are so awesome to me. I sought other resources – my liberal pediatrician and a lactation consultant. I stuck with it all. My determination was high. I wanted so badly to be everything to her. I still do, but I’ve reached another obstacle and I don’t know how the hell I’m going to deal with what is slowly becoming my next reality.
The kid is hungry. She’s hungry a lot more than I’m capable of feeding her on breastmilk alone. It’s been most evident in the last few days. She’s been gnawing on her fists. Screaming just 30 minutes after nursing. Getting extraordinarily frustrated while nursing – suck, suck, suck, SCREAM. Getting thrashy and generally pissed off at the boob. She hasn’t slept well during the day and won’t go more than 4 hours at night. She will wake up screaming after only being asleep for 20 minutes and be inconsolable until I nurse her or she drinks some pumped milk from a bottle and then passes out cold. When this happens, I’m immediately faced with the fact that I was starving her. I’m starving my kid.
My supply has really decreased since I got my period. Before that I would wake up in the middle of the night while she slept (5-6 hours at a time) and be SO full and uncomfortable that I’d need to pump. And thank GOD for those nights as they allowed me to have a few bags of frozen milk on hand. Ones I was hoping to save for times when I could escape for more than an hour at a time and leave her with a sitter or even her own father – who for the record, would welcome that opportunity with open arms.
So she must be having a growth spurt. Or my milk supply is really sucking. And when she woke up yesterday morning after 10 hours since a diaper change and was completely dry, I panicked. I called the pediatrician and the LC. The pediatrician said to count the wet diapers from that point forward. The LC said to pump after each feeding. Pump even the side she nursed on. Try to trick my body into thinking I had twins (For the LOVE of GOD let’s hope that never happens).
She had five wet diapers from 8am yesterday morning to 8am today. And I think she peed in the tub so that would’ve been six. Six was our goal so she isn’t dehydrated (phew). But that combined with the fussy-at-the-boob routine and the lack of continual sleep is leading the consensus to be that she’s not getting enough to eat.
The morning went okay today. I nursed her and pumped enough that until about 4pm, she was happy. And then all hell broke loose. I was pumping when she was napping and naturally she woke up right before I was done. So the boobs were empty and I had only pumped a couple ounces total. I had to defrost a bag of milk. Since I had used one frozen bag this weekend during our long car ride and one yesterday when I was starting to figure this whole thing out, I only had three left in there. Subtract, add, carry the 1, and there’s only two left as I type. And she hasn’t taken more than a 30-minute nap all afternoon. Reason? Everyone (being the two people who influence me most) seems to think it’s because she’s starving.
So all of this is leading up to the fact that I may have to give her formula. And I’m so not against formula feeding. I was a formula baby. I know plenty of babies that get formula and are totally fine. It’s just that we’ve gone through SO much. Stuck with the nursing through SO much CRAP and didn’t give up. We’ve finally gotten her belly issues under control between my diet and the Zantac dosage. I do NOT want to give her formula, have her react to it, and spend the next week dealing with uncontrollable screaming for 3-5 hours every night until we find the right formula. NOT TO MENTION that we’re a single income family right now and a I really don’t want to have to introduce another weekly expense when I should be able to FUCKING FEED MY KID!
And while we’re being honest, let’s just talk about the peer pressure. What’s wrong with me? Why can all my friends nurse their babies, some of them for more than a year, without any issue? Without having to give them formula? Pump 20 ounces a day without blinking? Have so much frozen milk that they need a second freezer? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?
I hate this. I hate feeling like this. I hate whining about this. I hate feeling like I’m in high school and having to keep up with the Cool Breastfeeding Crowd. Hate, hate, hate.
And I know, I KNOW, that I just need to be thankful that my kid is perfectly healthy. That there are children in this world with far more and worse issues than mine and parents and families in much more horrendous situations. And that supplementing with formula is not the end of the world. I know all of this. But it doesn’t stop me from being PISSED OFF.
So I’m just going to sit here and feel bad for myself. And resist opening one of those 12 cans of freebie formula in the cupboard for as long as physically possible. And when that last bag of breastmilk is defrosted and boobs are STILL not cooperating, I’ll be the one hiding in the shower crying until I can come out and just pretend this is just another one of those things that I’m okay with and tell myself, and anyone else that asks, through gritted teeth, that at least my kid is healthy.
**I’ve re-read this about five times and I can’t believe I’m about to push Publish. To admit that I’m this upset about all of this is REALLY hard. So before you roll your eyes and say something like, “she has nothing to bitch about” or “at least she HAS a baby. Like does she even know how many people can’t even get pregnant?” know that I’ve thought about all of those things. And it still pains me to post this, but if I don’t, I never will. And I guess it wouldn’t really be me if I didn’t.
