I should definitely be asleep right now. It's 11pm on the night before I rise early and head back to the job that I've had for 14 years now. Back to school is always bitter- sweet come late August, but it's not usual painful. It's not usually making me sob like a baby into my comforter while I try to use the silly Kardashians as a distraction, and my sweet family sleeps. It's not usually something that terrifies me. And it's definitely never been something that has made me incredibly sad.
Tomorrow I will go to work for the first time in seven months, and as I revealed in a previous entry, I never thought I would wrangle so much with the idea of leaving SAHM- hood. I have shocked myself with how much I have loved being home with my babies. I want to make time stand still.
Since I can't do that, and I also can't stay up all night crying (though I may have zero control over that), I thought blogging would help. Rather than feel terrible, I thought I'd try to practice an "attitude of gratitude." And so, I wish to compose a thank you letter to my maternity leave-- my messy, stressful, life- altering, beautiful seven months with my children.
Dear Leave:
Thank you for sessions of sitting in bed together on rainy days, watching Caillou and Dora and Sesame and deciding that it was okay to go until noon in our jammies. Thank you for bananas and strawberries and "wice cakes" and "seeral with milk." For Dottie's first bites of mangos. For Mabel's obsession with chocolate ice cream, and her drippy chin, and the many clothes she ruined with desserts, even though I pissed and moaned about the stains. Thank you for the jubilation she found in eating that ice cream as messily as she wanted, at Dairy Queen while we talked about the different cars whizzing by, or at Black Cow when Mabel took so much pride in picking our table. Or at Spruce Pond when we all sat on the bench and let the refulgent summer sun hit our faces.
Thank you for giving me the need and then the courage to seek two Mom's Groups, and for the wonderful women I met. For Mabel's delight in playing with Kai and Cece and Julie and Lily and Avery, and for getting so tuckered out she nearly fell asleep in the car on the way home each time. Thank you for letting me see how stay- at- home- moms do it, and for letting me appreciate their work and plight. How great it was to know new people and drive around in one mom's parents' farm tractor, while Mabel lit up and couldn't stop remarking about how "MANY TREES THERE ARE!" Thank you for getting me to my first indoor kids' playspace and making me see they're not so bad, and that if your kids are having a blast, you'll hang out just about anywhere.
And then there were our zoo trips-- to Capron and Southwick. I have never seen a more perfect sight than Mabel's excitement over feeding animals. Thank you for giving us sunshine. And thank you for bringing us to playgrounds and letting Mabel discover monkey bars and Dottie light up swinging for the very first time. Thank you for Mabel's telling me, "Mom, BIGGER! Make the pushes BIGGER!" What a brave and fun-loving little girl she is-- slides, swings, poles, ladders, ropes--- she explored it all.
Thank you for the changing interactions between Dottie and Mabel-- from Mabel's being unsure of how to act around a teeny baby, to understanding it at a level I never thought possible. Nothing compares to seeing them bond as sisters. Thank you for Dottie's gorgeous smile when her sister approaches, and for the change to a big, ecstatic laugh, just because Mabel is there. Thank you for letting me watch Dottie simply stare in awe at Mabel. And thank you for showing me how Mabel "reads to" her sister, and talks to her on the phone (Hull-oh? Oh, hi! What ya doin'?), and says her name with the sweetest accent. Thank you for the way when Mabel wakes up and groggily rubs her eyes, the first thing she does is ask where Dottie is. And thank you for the way Mabel comforts Dottie when she cries; Ryan Huston sings, "Only you know me like the winter knows the rain, and only you know just how to make it all okay." This is Mabel and Dottie.
Thank you for silly bath tub splashes and tickle tortures, and funny chalk drawings. And for chasing and racing, and making Mabel think Dottie was going to get up and start walking to "geeeet her!" Thank you for dance parties to Party Hits, like "Return of the Mack," while Dottie jumped non- stop in her jumper and Mabel did the Shoulder Shimmy and Happy Feet. Thank you, even, for Mabel's telling me, "Mom, DON'T dance!" or "DON'T sing!" because she wanted the spotlight.
Thank you for cooking together, and letting Mabel organize the silverware after dishwasher runs. And for Dottie's quiet contentedness in her Bumbo chair. Thank you for both kids' excited squeals when J got home from work, as we told him excitedly what was for dinner.
And while there were some challenging moments, thank you for the tough times too. Thank you for giving me perspective, and for making me see that even after a temper tantrum, all I wanted to do was hold Mabel or Dottie. Thank you for giving me sympathy and empathy for other mothers in those hard moments, and for not losing my marbles when Mabel wouldn't leave the Providence Children's Museum or whined over and over about wanting to watch TV in the car. And for somehow not flipping out when Mabel colored walls with crayons.
Though I never valued them at the time, thank you for the extremely anxious post- partum days in Jan and Feb, for riding around with Dottie in the back seat and listening to "Magic" and crying my eyes out over how perfect she was. For the days I got to spend with just Dottie while T cared for Mabel. For the hours I spent, total, peering into Dottie's eyes as she ate or just played in my lap or smiled up at me and pulled my hair or scratched at my nose.
No matter where I am, work or home, nothing will ever change how much I love you both. I will only love you more each day. You, with your father, are my greatest gifts. I am blessed to have spent these months with you in our home or at play, near and far-- the three of us. Our conversations. Our time at the lake in Hopkinton. Our outdoor breakfasts. Our walks in the double- stroller. Our car rides to Target and Marshall's and Jamie's house. Our time chilling in Mabel's tent. Our trials and tribulations with tricycles and ride- on cars. Our snuggles while reading Pinkalicious and Little Hoot and Polar Bear, Polar Bear and Does a Kangaroo Have a Mommy Too? Each day you get up, Mabel and Dottie, you have no idea how you make everything in my life better. And while I am thanking my leave-- the time I got with you-- it was the two of you who made the months into the most precious time of my life.
I hope you can learn through me about how women can work in any career they want, and also be moms. They can find fulfillment at work and at home. They can dread going to work tomorrow yet know in some deep cavern of their hearts that going back is actually right, and will be okay. They know they would do anything to provide in the best way possible for their kids. I love you both... How much? As we always say, "This much? Nope. Thiiiiis much? Nope. INFINITY amount. That means no limit, no end. I love you that much."
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
Time in a Foreign Land
I suppose you could say that during the summers, I am a stay- at- home- mom (SAHM). I don't work for those ten weeks, and until this year, the two summers that I have been a mother have meant lots of rewarding alone- time with Mabel. Yet, by the end of August each time, I have been somewhat looking forward to getting us back into the usual routine. I figured I would always feel like that come August.
Dottie was born in January, which meant I started my maternity leave in the winter, and I had seven months off total. I am headed back to work next Monday, and not even an ounce of me is ready or willing.
I am stunned by my own feelings here. I've never felt that I was cut out to be a SAHM, nor that I would want to be one. And I know that deep- down I want to work. But these seven months of existing in the foreign territory of the SAHM have been eye- opening... and even a little appealing.
I keep trying to figure out what's different this time besides the obvious (that I have two kids now instead of one). I think part of my sadness about the SAHM time being over stems from my being able to see my two kids interact a lot as of late. Dottie was not much more than a cute little blob who sat there for a few months, but now she emotes, moves all around, and, most significantly, is in love with her sister.
We've developed quite a few daily rituals over these past months, and I am crestfallen to have to see them go. One is that each morning, Dottie wakes up around 6/ 6:30, and she and I hang in my bed. We "chat" and she drinks her bottle and coos and plays with my face, and rolls around and stretches. After about an hour, the poor thing is tuckered out again and needs a short nap. Somewhere around there is when Mabel gets out of bed and runs into my room, chanting, "Hi, Mommy! I'm awake! I'm not tired! Hi!" She then climbs up into the bed and we watch Caillou until we hear Dottie cry for us. At that point, Mabel insists on going to see her first. She tells me, "Mommy, DON'T come!" and then goes to get her "shtep- shool," and plants it in front of Dottie's bed. That's when I usually creep in and adore what I see.
Mabel sticks her little head down into Dottie's crib and proclaims, "Hi, baby sister!" She then tries to hug her and always asks me, 'Take it out?" I laugh daily that Mabel hasn't mastered those pronouns yet and calls her sister an "it," but I comply and lift Dottie up. I hold her from her underneath area and make it like she's standing in the crib. The two then hug, and Mabel goes absolutely crazy for the whole thing. I can't imagine that anything else could make her as happy as she is when Dottie is awake, which for weeks she called "abake." And the feeling appears mutual; Dottie never smiles so openly and exuberantly as she does when Mabel is around. The moment Mabel walks into any room, Dottie stares and smiles like a romantic kid with a crush. If Mabel cries, Dottie cries because she fears Mabel is not okay. It is incredible to me how siblings sense their bond from the literal beginning.
We then do diaper changes and head downstairs for our breakfast. We sit together, as Mabel insists on being near both me and Dottie in a "grown- up" chair while Dottie chills in the high- chair. Over breakfast, we chat and sing and play songs with our drumming hands on the table. At that point, even if I already have a plan for us, I ask Mabel what she wants to do that day. Sometimes it's something I can make happen. Other times, I love to surprise her with news of a playdate or time at the zoo.
I could go on and on and describe our days in this fashion, as there are so many fun rituals we have created. But it doesn't matter much WHAT the rituals are-- it's that we have them, and both M and D (and I!) have gotten used to them and have found comfort in them. I am terrified to have that security blanket leave us.
In my time at home creating these memories, I have also met some permanent SAHMs. I've made many observations and it's been enlightening to hang with people whose lives are so different from mine. More on that to come in a part 2...
Dottie was born in January, which meant I started my maternity leave in the winter, and I had seven months off total. I am headed back to work next Monday, and not even an ounce of me is ready or willing.
I am stunned by my own feelings here. I've never felt that I was cut out to be a SAHM, nor that I would want to be one. And I know that deep- down I want to work. But these seven months of existing in the foreign territory of the SAHM have been eye- opening... and even a little appealing.
I keep trying to figure out what's different this time besides the obvious (that I have two kids now instead of one). I think part of my sadness about the SAHM time being over stems from my being able to see my two kids interact a lot as of late. Dottie was not much more than a cute little blob who sat there for a few months, but now she emotes, moves all around, and, most significantly, is in love with her sister.
We've developed quite a few daily rituals over these past months, and I am crestfallen to have to see them go. One is that each morning, Dottie wakes up around 6/ 6:30, and she and I hang in my bed. We "chat" and she drinks her bottle and coos and plays with my face, and rolls around and stretches. After about an hour, the poor thing is tuckered out again and needs a short nap. Somewhere around there is when Mabel gets out of bed and runs into my room, chanting, "Hi, Mommy! I'm awake! I'm not tired! Hi!" She then climbs up into the bed and we watch Caillou until we hear Dottie cry for us. At that point, Mabel insists on going to see her first. She tells me, "Mommy, DON'T come!" and then goes to get her "shtep- shool," and plants it in front of Dottie's bed. That's when I usually creep in and adore what I see.
Mabel sticks her little head down into Dottie's crib and proclaims, "Hi, baby sister!" She then tries to hug her and always asks me, 'Take it out?" I laugh daily that Mabel hasn't mastered those pronouns yet and calls her sister an "it," but I comply and lift Dottie up. I hold her from her underneath area and make it like she's standing in the crib. The two then hug, and Mabel goes absolutely crazy for the whole thing. I can't imagine that anything else could make her as happy as she is when Dottie is awake, which for weeks she called "abake." And the feeling appears mutual; Dottie never smiles so openly and exuberantly as she does when Mabel is around. The moment Mabel walks into any room, Dottie stares and smiles like a romantic kid with a crush. If Mabel cries, Dottie cries because she fears Mabel is not okay. It is incredible to me how siblings sense their bond from the literal beginning.
We then do diaper changes and head downstairs for our breakfast. We sit together, as Mabel insists on being near both me and Dottie in a "grown- up" chair while Dottie chills in the high- chair. Over breakfast, we chat and sing and play songs with our drumming hands on the table. At that point, even if I already have a plan for us, I ask Mabel what she wants to do that day. Sometimes it's something I can make happen. Other times, I love to surprise her with news of a playdate or time at the zoo.
I could go on and on and describe our days in this fashion, as there are so many fun rituals we have created. But it doesn't matter much WHAT the rituals are-- it's that we have them, and both M and D (and I!) have gotten used to them and have found comfort in them. I am terrified to have that security blanket leave us.
In my time at home creating these memories, I have also met some permanent SAHMs. I've made many observations and it's been enlightening to hang with people whose lives are so different from mine. More on that to come in a part 2...
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
The Beast of the Breast-- Part 2
I'm back. One kid is playing with a toy in the bouncer chair, and the other is eating a snack while watching Caillou. We will see how this goes...
So, back to the breastfeeding trials...
As I indicated, I really, really wanted to make boob- feeding work this time around. I ordered that pricy pump and said, "I learned a lot the first time. I have to eat and drink a LOT. And I have to pump a lot to get milk. Maybe this baby will just be an easier breastfeeder-- a better latcher-- and maybe I will be better too."
When she arrived, Dottie was of course hungry, as they all are. The nurse had asked me beforehand if I would be formula or breastfeeding, so when Dottie emerged they knew to put her to my breast minutes after. My kind nurse reminded me of the method: wait for the gape, close down, hold. If it hurts, it's wrong; if you feel pressure, it's right. Try the cross- cradle, and if not, the football hold.
In the elation of just having given birth, I was convinced all was good in the land of feeding. Dottie fed from each boob and seemed satisfied. Of course, in those early days, it's the early milk-- the colostrum, or the "liquid gold" that I am apparently supposed to be very grateful my kids both had. Dottie had a good first day and night-- the nurses brought her in to feed, and just as with Mabel, they helped me get her onto breast well. The second night, she seemed very hungry, very often. One of my favorite nurses decided I should pump since I wasn't producing enough to fill her; the theory is that milk begets milk, so pump and feed, pump and feed, and you'll be able to pump and feed.
That nurse came back, though, and told me they were out of pump tubes. "Let's just try to feed her at breast again," she suggested. I was still on cloud nine, and still willing to do whatever. The summary is that we left the hospital with Dottie thriving.
I remember getting to my parents' house after leaving the hospital, as we had to pick up Mabel, and I fed Dottie on their couch for a while. She was clearly sucking, and I don't think making the clicking noise. Good, I thought. This is already going better. My nipple was starting to look like a used lipstick, which I knew it was not supposed to post- feeds, but we were going with it.
A few days later, when Dottie was about a week old, I set up the pump. My boobs were sore-- one of them being scarily full and not diminishing. Lo and behold, the pump helped. And thus began my regiment of "the machine," as Mabel called it. I had my little pumping station set up by the fire place. Mabel would help me with the cups and it became even a little fun. I alternated feeding Dottie at breast and via pumped milk. Her weight looked fine at her first couple appointments, and I met with the lactation consultant at one of them. I told her about the chapped and sore nipples, and the fact that I still wasn't sure whether I was feeling pain or pressure. She recommended that I buy a nipple ointment available only at old- fashioned apothecaries, as Lanolin "would not work" to heal them. Huh? Do we even have an apothecary nearby? I am just gonna have to suck the pain up.
Meanwhile, we were going through some horrible digestion issues with Dottie. Her gas was so bad that she would scream when pushing gas or a poop out. She began pooping so often that she got the worst diaper rash I have ever seen in my life. She was pooping literally every 30 minutes. And when she would feed, she would often writhe in pain, and arch her back to the heavens. The pedi felt she had a case of acid reflux, and that we could wait it out or decide to treat it. The misery of all this, and my hating to see her feel sick, caused us to add formula-- but we had not yet given up on breastfeeding. I kept at the boob and the pump all the while. She was drinking about 60 percent boob milk and 40 percent formula.
And then came the night of the red... I was waking myself to pump in the night, or else my boobs were in such pain that I wanted to cut them off. I also wanted to keep up a good supply. And so, on this one night, I woke at 3 to pump. I was in the dim living room with only the light of the TV to guide me. My left nipple was beyond pained at this point, and the boob became engorged because I was scared to feed from that side. I pumped for a few minutes and could hear the cup filling, but I couldn't see the white of the milk. Hmm, that's curious. I brought the cup to the TV for light, and there it was-- 2 ounces of blood, with a tinge of milk. I nearly vomited. Somehow I was courageous enough to pump the other side; I got straight- up milk there and went to bed for a few.
The next day on the phone, the lactation nurse told me that I SHOULD FEED DOTTIE THE BLOOD TINGED WITH MILK. Nope, you can't make this shiz up. She told me it was healthy, and she would not be harmed. I promptly told this nutbag that I had discarded the blood- milk, and at this point was truly worried about myself and my breasts. She said it sounded like the chappedness of the nipple gave, and that's why it bled. Or, the engorgement may have been to blame, But that in a couple days time, I should be back to bloodless milk. Ho. Ly. Crap.
When I thought of quitting, there was that damned, dogged guilt. I was chock- full of post- partum anxiety again, and the tears just streamed and streamed. In the midst of all this, J was taking two evening classes, leaving me home alone with a toddler and newborn every Monday and Wednesday night. During the day, I had Mabel and Dottie home with me on Tuesdays and Fridays. Utter tiredness was simply kicking in. I was a mess, but I didn't want to give up, despite the reassurances from several friends, and even the pediatrician.
Once again, the pedi supported me in whatever decision I made. She told me, again, that the important thing would be for the baby to thrive, and for me to be a happy and attentive mom. I continued to pump-- feeding was too painful and wasn't yielding much milk. The pumping went on for another week after that point. My original goal was to give Dottie boob milk for two months. I knew, though, that to tend to my family properly, take care of my anxiety and fatigue, and heal my freaking boob, I would need to relent. Dottie would ultimately get boob milk for over a month, but I wouldn't meet my original two- month goal.
When I felt that I was ready to stop, I chatted with two friends who never boob- fed at all, and two friends who had very briefly tried it but had problems and stopped. Their support was overwhelming. And I know all their kids, who are just fine despite the formula- food.
The funny thing is that this time, despite the determination, I felt better about quitting than I did with Mabel. Maybe it was because I knew I had given it all I had. Maybe it was because I knew Dottie's stomach issues were so much better on a sensitive formula. Maybe it was because we were all sleeping a little more. Maybe it was because I didn't feel as depressed and anxious. Maybe I just had a gut feeling that I had to do what I had to do.
Dottie's stomach issues were far from over. We went through four different formulas-- and even tried thickening via cereal. We were very close to going to Prilosec. Around 3 months, her feeding issues improved noticeably, and by 5 months they were all but gone.
And so here I am, being, for the most part, a formula feeder for my two kids. I still go through pangs of guilt and worry. I become nervous that there's some essential what- have- you that they didn't get enough of. I worry that something is wrong with ME that I couldn't get this to work well. But then I stop myself and remind myself that I COULD have kept going. It's not that I was ill- suited for the job, as I have felt from time to time. I am not lacking a mother gene. When I stopped this time around, I was confident. I knew in my heart of hearts I had done what I could, and since Dottie's health is the most important thing to me in all this, I had done what would honor that importance.
More and more, I hear of people who have chosen not to b- feed or have struggled with it. I do think it comes more naturally to some people than others. I 100 -percent believe that some of us suffer with post- partum depression/ anxiety more than others, and this constant feeding business becomes too much. Not to mention, the strain on the body can be catastrophic. Right now, my Dottie is bouncing away in her Exersaucer after having downed a bottle of "poison," as some would have you believe. Hard to believe she's suffering when I hear her squealing for joy and throwing her toys up.
I also don't mean to sound haughty about bottle- feeding, either, though. How to feed your baby is the most personal choice you make when it comes to a newborn. Let people choose and enjoy, Live and let be. I have to tell myself this mantra if the guilt seeps in. The good news is, as opposed to the Mabel days, that dang guilt is rare.
So, back to the breastfeeding trials...
As I indicated, I really, really wanted to make boob- feeding work this time around. I ordered that pricy pump and said, "I learned a lot the first time. I have to eat and drink a LOT. And I have to pump a lot to get milk. Maybe this baby will just be an easier breastfeeder-- a better latcher-- and maybe I will be better too."
When she arrived, Dottie was of course hungry, as they all are. The nurse had asked me beforehand if I would be formula or breastfeeding, so when Dottie emerged they knew to put her to my breast minutes after. My kind nurse reminded me of the method: wait for the gape, close down, hold. If it hurts, it's wrong; if you feel pressure, it's right. Try the cross- cradle, and if not, the football hold.
In the elation of just having given birth, I was convinced all was good in the land of feeding. Dottie fed from each boob and seemed satisfied. Of course, in those early days, it's the early milk-- the colostrum, or the "liquid gold" that I am apparently supposed to be very grateful my kids both had. Dottie had a good first day and night-- the nurses brought her in to feed, and just as with Mabel, they helped me get her onto breast well. The second night, she seemed very hungry, very often. One of my favorite nurses decided I should pump since I wasn't producing enough to fill her; the theory is that milk begets milk, so pump and feed, pump and feed, and you'll be able to pump and feed.
That nurse came back, though, and told me they were out of pump tubes. "Let's just try to feed her at breast again," she suggested. I was still on cloud nine, and still willing to do whatever. The summary is that we left the hospital with Dottie thriving.
I remember getting to my parents' house after leaving the hospital, as we had to pick up Mabel, and I fed Dottie on their couch for a while. She was clearly sucking, and I don't think making the clicking noise. Good, I thought. This is already going better. My nipple was starting to look like a used lipstick, which I knew it was not supposed to post- feeds, but we were going with it.
A few days later, when Dottie was about a week old, I set up the pump. My boobs were sore-- one of them being scarily full and not diminishing. Lo and behold, the pump helped. And thus began my regiment of "the machine," as Mabel called it. I had my little pumping station set up by the fire place. Mabel would help me with the cups and it became even a little fun. I alternated feeding Dottie at breast and via pumped milk. Her weight looked fine at her first couple appointments, and I met with the lactation consultant at one of them. I told her about the chapped and sore nipples, and the fact that I still wasn't sure whether I was feeling pain or pressure. She recommended that I buy a nipple ointment available only at old- fashioned apothecaries, as Lanolin "would not work" to heal them. Huh? Do we even have an apothecary nearby? I am just gonna have to suck the pain up.
Meanwhile, we were going through some horrible digestion issues with Dottie. Her gas was so bad that she would scream when pushing gas or a poop out. She began pooping so often that she got the worst diaper rash I have ever seen in my life. She was pooping literally every 30 minutes. And when she would feed, she would often writhe in pain, and arch her back to the heavens. The pedi felt she had a case of acid reflux, and that we could wait it out or decide to treat it. The misery of all this, and my hating to see her feel sick, caused us to add formula-- but we had not yet given up on breastfeeding. I kept at the boob and the pump all the while. She was drinking about 60 percent boob milk and 40 percent formula.
And then came the night of the red... I was waking myself to pump in the night, or else my boobs were in such pain that I wanted to cut them off. I also wanted to keep up a good supply. And so, on this one night, I woke at 3 to pump. I was in the dim living room with only the light of the TV to guide me. My left nipple was beyond pained at this point, and the boob became engorged because I was scared to feed from that side. I pumped for a few minutes and could hear the cup filling, but I couldn't see the white of the milk. Hmm, that's curious. I brought the cup to the TV for light, and there it was-- 2 ounces of blood, with a tinge of milk. I nearly vomited. Somehow I was courageous enough to pump the other side; I got straight- up milk there and went to bed for a few.
The next day on the phone, the lactation nurse told me that I SHOULD FEED DOTTIE THE BLOOD TINGED WITH MILK. Nope, you can't make this shiz up. She told me it was healthy, and she would not be harmed. I promptly told this nutbag that I had discarded the blood- milk, and at this point was truly worried about myself and my breasts. She said it sounded like the chappedness of the nipple gave, and that's why it bled. Or, the engorgement may have been to blame, But that in a couple days time, I should be back to bloodless milk. Ho. Ly. Crap.
When I thought of quitting, there was that damned, dogged guilt. I was chock- full of post- partum anxiety again, and the tears just streamed and streamed. In the midst of all this, J was taking two evening classes, leaving me home alone with a toddler and newborn every Monday and Wednesday night. During the day, I had Mabel and Dottie home with me on Tuesdays and Fridays. Utter tiredness was simply kicking in. I was a mess, but I didn't want to give up, despite the reassurances from several friends, and even the pediatrician.
Once again, the pedi supported me in whatever decision I made. She told me, again, that the important thing would be for the baby to thrive, and for me to be a happy and attentive mom. I continued to pump-- feeding was too painful and wasn't yielding much milk. The pumping went on for another week after that point. My original goal was to give Dottie boob milk for two months. I knew, though, that to tend to my family properly, take care of my anxiety and fatigue, and heal my freaking boob, I would need to relent. Dottie would ultimately get boob milk for over a month, but I wouldn't meet my original two- month goal.
When I felt that I was ready to stop, I chatted with two friends who never boob- fed at all, and two friends who had very briefly tried it but had problems and stopped. Their support was overwhelming. And I know all their kids, who are just fine despite the formula- food.
The funny thing is that this time, despite the determination, I felt better about quitting than I did with Mabel. Maybe it was because I knew I had given it all I had. Maybe it was because I knew Dottie's stomach issues were so much better on a sensitive formula. Maybe it was because we were all sleeping a little more. Maybe it was because I didn't feel as depressed and anxious. Maybe I just had a gut feeling that I had to do what I had to do.
Dottie's stomach issues were far from over. We went through four different formulas-- and even tried thickening via cereal. We were very close to going to Prilosec. Around 3 months, her feeding issues improved noticeably, and by 5 months they were all but gone.
And so here I am, being, for the most part, a formula feeder for my two kids. I still go through pangs of guilt and worry. I become nervous that there's some essential what- have- you that they didn't get enough of. I worry that something is wrong with ME that I couldn't get this to work well. But then I stop myself and remind myself that I COULD have kept going. It's not that I was ill- suited for the job, as I have felt from time to time. I am not lacking a mother gene. When I stopped this time around, I was confident. I knew in my heart of hearts I had done what I could, and since Dottie's health is the most important thing to me in all this, I had done what would honor that importance.
More and more, I hear of people who have chosen not to b- feed or have struggled with it. I do think it comes more naturally to some people than others. I 100 -percent believe that some of us suffer with post- partum depression/ anxiety more than others, and this constant feeding business becomes too much. Not to mention, the strain on the body can be catastrophic. Right now, my Dottie is bouncing away in her Exersaucer after having downed a bottle of "poison," as some would have you believe. Hard to believe she's suffering when I hear her squealing for joy and throwing her toys up.
I also don't mean to sound haughty about bottle- feeding, either, though. How to feed your baby is the most personal choice you make when it comes to a newborn. Let people choose and enjoy, Live and let be. I have to tell myself this mantra if the guilt seeps in. The good news is, as opposed to the Mabel days, that dang guilt is rare.
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