Pool Time
Friday, December 31, 2010
New Year's Eve...maybe I'll still be awake at midnight
I tried a new swaddling technique last night. Instead of the Miracle Blanket, I used a Halo SleepSack, which we inherited from a friend. It was fleece, which probably was a little warm for Brendan since he had footed jammies on, and it was the newborn size, which was short enough in length that his feet pressed against the bottom of the sack. He definitely wasn't happy when I put him in it, and he woke up crying at 2:15 (usually he wakes up gradually with a lot of squirming and squeaking, which I hear over the monitor). Usually I catch him before he actually starts crying, to prevent him from waking my husband. Not this time; he was pretty unhappy. However, after he went back to sleep following that feeding, he slept until almost 8:30. Five whole hours. He did start squirming at about 7:30, and I did hear him. But I left him alone to see if he'd go back to sleep. He did, which is great (although I lay there for the hour, listening for any sounds that I needed to respond to). I know I need to let him self-soothe, but it's hard. I need to start small, like I did this morning. Maybe eventually he'll sleep through the night...
Monday, December 27, 2010
You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger
Pretty much every night I thank God for His gift to us: the swaddling blanket.
Swaddling is a practice that has been used for thousands of years by pretty much every culture on the planet. Babies are wrapped in fabric or blankets, securing their arms and legs and making them into a cute little loaf. Some cultures secure babies to boards or baskets as well, making them exceptionally portable (take that, car seat!).
In the 18th century, swaddling started falling out of favor in western Europe. Apparently, it was associated with neglect, thanks to wet nurses who would leave children swaddled all day long (which meant they didn't clean them, change them, or have to worry about them crawling around on the floor). In the US, since we value our freedom so much, swaddling lost favor because it meant parents were restricting their children's movements when they had just escaped the oppression of the confining womb. Or something like that. People argued that children would be behind in their physical development because they hadn't had the chance to work on their coordination and strength since they were all wrapped up.
But in the last 20 years or so there has been a resurgence in western cultures with swaddling. Studies have shown that it helps keep young babies asleep longer, since they don't startle themselves awake with sudden reflex movements. Also, it seems to help reduce the occurrence of SIDS, because babies who sleep better on their backs when swaddled don't get placed on their stomachs and so don't end up rebreathing their exhalations with their faces pressed into the bedding. And studies are showing that the resistance swaddling affords to a child actually helps develop muscle strength.
Swaddling certainly has helped Brendan. The nurses swaddled him in receiving blankets at the hospital, and we continued that practice at home. However, blankets offer a bit of a challenge--if you do it wrong, the baby can get loose, which defeats the purpose, and of course the baby will eventually outgrow a blanket and need a bigger one. We received a gift after a few weeks of a Miracle Blanket from a family friend. This blanket is a contraption with a bunch of flaps and a pouch. Two small flaps hold the baby's arms down by his sides, the legs go in the pouch, and the two big flaps wrap around the baby several times. If you use the Miracle Blanket correctly the baby cannot get his arms loose and won't throw them up over his head (the "falling reflex", which tends to startle the baby awake) or rub them into his eyes. This blanket has been so great, we bought another one, so we'd have a back-up when the first one went into the wash.
However, the Miracle Blanket does have a drawback we've discovered: Brendan has figured out that he can "climb" his feet up the inside front of the pouch. Sometimes he can get a whole leg out; other times he gets his knee out and then gets stuck. Regardless, it bothers him enough to wake him up. Also, he's getting taller every day, and so we have to keep moving the blanket down farther and farther, with more and more of his chest and shoulders sticking out of the top of the blanket. Eventually he's going to be able to get his arms loose. So I'm starting to wonder how much longer to keep swaddling him, and how to wean him off of it. I've read in a few places that 4 months or so is about the right age. Brendan is only two months now. Also, they say to start out with an arm out while the other is swaddled. Not sure how to do that one with the Miracle Blanket. Be I'll have to start figuring it out, because I definitely think the time is coming...
Swaddling is a practice that has been used for thousands of years by pretty much every culture on the planet. Babies are wrapped in fabric or blankets, securing their arms and legs and making them into a cute little loaf. Some cultures secure babies to boards or baskets as well, making them exceptionally portable (take that, car seat!).
In the 18th century, swaddling started falling out of favor in western Europe. Apparently, it was associated with neglect, thanks to wet nurses who would leave children swaddled all day long (which meant they didn't clean them, change them, or have to worry about them crawling around on the floor). In the US, since we value our freedom so much, swaddling lost favor because it meant parents were restricting their children's movements when they had just escaped the oppression of the confining womb. Or something like that. People argued that children would be behind in their physical development because they hadn't had the chance to work on their coordination and strength since they were all wrapped up.
But in the last 20 years or so there has been a resurgence in western cultures with swaddling. Studies have shown that it helps keep young babies asleep longer, since they don't startle themselves awake with sudden reflex movements. Also, it seems to help reduce the occurrence of SIDS, because babies who sleep better on their backs when swaddled don't get placed on their stomachs and so don't end up rebreathing their exhalations with their faces pressed into the bedding. And studies are showing that the resistance swaddling affords to a child actually helps develop muscle strength.
Swaddling certainly has helped Brendan. The nurses swaddled him in receiving blankets at the hospital, and we continued that practice at home. However, blankets offer a bit of a challenge--if you do it wrong, the baby can get loose, which defeats the purpose, and of course the baby will eventually outgrow a blanket and need a bigger one. We received a gift after a few weeks of a Miracle Blanket from a family friend. This blanket is a contraption with a bunch of flaps and a pouch. Two small flaps hold the baby's arms down by his sides, the legs go in the pouch, and the two big flaps wrap around the baby several times. If you use the Miracle Blanket correctly the baby cannot get his arms loose and won't throw them up over his head (the "falling reflex", which tends to startle the baby awake) or rub them into his eyes. This blanket has been so great, we bought another one, so we'd have a back-up when the first one went into the wash.
However, the Miracle Blanket does have a drawback we've discovered: Brendan has figured out that he can "climb" his feet up the inside front of the pouch. Sometimes he can get a whole leg out; other times he gets his knee out and then gets stuck. Regardless, it bothers him enough to wake him up. Also, he's getting taller every day, and so we have to keep moving the blanket down farther and farther, with more and more of his chest and shoulders sticking out of the top of the blanket. Eventually he's going to be able to get his arms loose. So I'm starting to wonder how much longer to keep swaddling him, and how to wean him off of it. I've read in a few places that 4 months or so is about the right age. Brendan is only two months now. Also, they say to start out with an arm out while the other is swaddled. Not sure how to do that one with the Miracle Blanket. Be I'll have to start figuring it out, because I definitely think the time is coming...
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Hello, again, hello
OK, so it's been a little while since my last post. I had this naive idea that I would be posting regularly about my experiences as a new parent, but I've discovered that I'm too busy being a new parent to blog about it much!
Brendan is a pretty good baby. He's 8 1/2 weeks old now, almost 12 lbs and 23.5 inches long (up from 8 lbs and 22 inches at birth). While he doesn't sleep straight through the night yet, he usually wakes up just once, for about an hour and a half, generally around 2 am. Not too bad, really. Also, the feeding woes have eased up quite a bit, although I have found that I do need to keep pumping pretty regularly, if not pretty often, to help keep my supply up. Brendan's almost completely off formula, but he does get a bottle from time to time if it seems like he's still hungry after I've fed him. He's making more vocalizations, starting to smile when he sees us, and sticking his tongue out (which is really cute). So he's developing his personality, and so far it seems like he's going to be a pretty good kid. Stay tuned on that score.
He got his first vaccinations last week. Three shots and an oral medication. They were to cover something like nine different diseases. I know there's a huge debate these days on whether or not vaccinations contribute to the increase in autism, but I just don't see enough evidence to suggest a strong link. My husband and I (and our siblings) were vaccinated as kids, and we're all fine. So we'll see what happens. He's due for the next round of shots in a couple months.
But the real reason I felt an urge to post has nothing to do with my own parenting experiences, but with something horrible that happened to a former schoolmate of mine. The guy in question wasn't really a close friend or anything, more like we hung around with some of the same people. He was a year ahead of me in school. Anyway, through the magic of social networking we've become friends on Facebook, which means an occasional comment on a status or picture, and a "happy birthday" on the corresponding day. You know. So, back during the summer, as I was in the first half of my own pregnancy, I noticed posts from him about his own impending offspring. He and his wife were having a boy, fairly soon from what I could gather from his posts. I congratulated him, mentioned my own pregnancy, and didn't really think much else about it. But I noticed that he was posting things like, "No baby yet" and "Due date moved again" in his statuses. When people asked about it, he said the baby's lungs were not developed enough yet. I took note of a few of those posts, and then didn't really pay attention to anything else. I've got a lot of Facebook friends, after all (I'm a game whore, the kind of person who accepts friend requests from people I don't know for the purpose of increasing my game armies. Now I'm more of a game skank, since I only play four games instead of twelve), and my news feed is full of tons of status updates, game posts, pictures, videos, and general crap that wastes my time pretty effectively. I probably noticed an occasional status update from this guy but didn't really think anything about it. But yesterday I did catch his status, and it shocked me.
His status said something about his mother-in-law coming over and taking some of his dead son's stuff, and how it had only been a week and she was never going to come over again if he could help it. It was laced with profanity and poorly spelled (which could have been either from being posted from a mobile phone or from stress), which is probably what caught my attention. In any case, I went back and looked at previous statuses he had posted, along with other people's comments, and discovered that they had finally gotten around to inducing his wife last week, and that they had lost the baby (and discovered a tumor, which they were going to operate on). I was saddened to read such news, but a number of people were also commenting on how long she had been pregnant, and I was thinking myself that surely she had been due before me, so I went back and looked at his previous posts.
His wife's original due date was JULY 17! She was induced in DECEMBER! That means she was pregnant for 14 MONTHS! I know there was obviously some kind of drastic birth defect, for his lungs to not have developed correctly even given that much extra time. But seriously, how could her doctors have let her go that long? I would have thought that they would have either done a c-section to get the kid in the NICU as soon as possible or realized that the pregnancy was probably going to end in stillbirth and gone ahead and delivered the baby sooner to at least make it somewhat easier on the mother. I know how stressed my body was after nine months; I cannot imagine carrying a baby five months longer than that, to say nothing of being under the stress of knowing the pregnancy was going horribly wrong.
When I think of all the things that could have gone wrong in my pregnancy and delivery (and those are just the things I know about), I realized how blessed we really are. And my heart just aches for this guy and his wife, and for everyone who has lost a child or been unable to have a child.
Whew. Anyway, I will try to get a little bit better about posting updates. Also, expect some weight-loss-related posts in the new year (I've lost all but ten pounds of my baby weight, but then there's that pesky 50 lbs or so extra that I've been carrying around).
Brendan is a pretty good baby. He's 8 1/2 weeks old now, almost 12 lbs and 23.5 inches long (up from 8 lbs and 22 inches at birth). While he doesn't sleep straight through the night yet, he usually wakes up just once, for about an hour and a half, generally around 2 am. Not too bad, really. Also, the feeding woes have eased up quite a bit, although I have found that I do need to keep pumping pretty regularly, if not pretty often, to help keep my supply up. Brendan's almost completely off formula, but he does get a bottle from time to time if it seems like he's still hungry after I've fed him. He's making more vocalizations, starting to smile when he sees us, and sticking his tongue out (which is really cute). So he's developing his personality, and so far it seems like he's going to be a pretty good kid. Stay tuned on that score.
He got his first vaccinations last week. Three shots and an oral medication. They were to cover something like nine different diseases. I know there's a huge debate these days on whether or not vaccinations contribute to the increase in autism, but I just don't see enough evidence to suggest a strong link. My husband and I (and our siblings) were vaccinated as kids, and we're all fine. So we'll see what happens. He's due for the next round of shots in a couple months.
But the real reason I felt an urge to post has nothing to do with my own parenting experiences, but with something horrible that happened to a former schoolmate of mine. The guy in question wasn't really a close friend or anything, more like we hung around with some of the same people. He was a year ahead of me in school. Anyway, through the magic of social networking we've become friends on Facebook, which means an occasional comment on a status or picture, and a "happy birthday" on the corresponding day. You know. So, back during the summer, as I was in the first half of my own pregnancy, I noticed posts from him about his own impending offspring. He and his wife were having a boy, fairly soon from what I could gather from his posts. I congratulated him, mentioned my own pregnancy, and didn't really think much else about it. But I noticed that he was posting things like, "No baby yet" and "Due date moved again" in his statuses. When people asked about it, he said the baby's lungs were not developed enough yet. I took note of a few of those posts, and then didn't really pay attention to anything else. I've got a lot of Facebook friends, after all (I'm a game whore, the kind of person who accepts friend requests from people I don't know for the purpose of increasing my game armies. Now I'm more of a game skank, since I only play four games instead of twelve), and my news feed is full of tons of status updates, game posts, pictures, videos, and general crap that wastes my time pretty effectively. I probably noticed an occasional status update from this guy but didn't really think anything about it. But yesterday I did catch his status, and it shocked me.
His status said something about his mother-in-law coming over and taking some of his dead son's stuff, and how it had only been a week and she was never going to come over again if he could help it. It was laced with profanity and poorly spelled (which could have been either from being posted from a mobile phone or from stress), which is probably what caught my attention. In any case, I went back and looked at previous statuses he had posted, along with other people's comments, and discovered that they had finally gotten around to inducing his wife last week, and that they had lost the baby (and discovered a tumor, which they were going to operate on). I was saddened to read such news, but a number of people were also commenting on how long she had been pregnant, and I was thinking myself that surely she had been due before me, so I went back and looked at his previous posts.
His wife's original due date was JULY 17! She was induced in DECEMBER! That means she was pregnant for 14 MONTHS! I know there was obviously some kind of drastic birth defect, for his lungs to not have developed correctly even given that much extra time. But seriously, how could her doctors have let her go that long? I would have thought that they would have either done a c-section to get the kid in the NICU as soon as possible or realized that the pregnancy was probably going to end in stillbirth and gone ahead and delivered the baby sooner to at least make it somewhat easier on the mother. I know how stressed my body was after nine months; I cannot imagine carrying a baby five months longer than that, to say nothing of being under the stress of knowing the pregnancy was going horribly wrong.
When I think of all the things that could have gone wrong in my pregnancy and delivery (and those are just the things I know about), I realized how blessed we really are. And my heart just aches for this guy and his wife, and for everyone who has lost a child or been unable to have a child.
Whew. Anyway, I will try to get a little bit better about posting updates. Also, expect some weight-loss-related posts in the new year (I've lost all but ten pounds of my baby weight, but then there's that pesky 50 lbs or so extra that I've been carrying around).
Friday, November 12, 2010
Paying for 9 months of no periods
Man, I'm tired of bleeding. It'll be three weeks tomorrow that I had my c-section, and I'm still having a lochia flow. Lochia is the lining of the uterus that is of course no longer needed after birth. As the uterus contacts back to its original size, the lining sloughs off, basically making a flow like a period. But three weeks? Sheesh. I was very happy to not have a period for nine months, but do I really have to make up for it by having nine months' worth of periods all at once? Bleah.
Also, I had to go in to the same-day care clinic yesterday to have them look at my incision. Twice it has "leaked" a pinkish yellow fluid, and I still have some pain (sort of a burning sensation), especially if I'm moving around after being in one position for a while (like going from sitting to standing). My husband looked at it and thought it looked a little funky, so I went in to see if there was an infection. The nurse took a culture and then squeezed a few spots to drain some fluid (that was a blast, really). She felt that the fluid was probably just a by-product of the healing process rather than being pus or anything like that. They'll call me today and let me know if there actually is an infection, but just in case they gave me a prescription for Keflex. Yippee.
I'm getting the hang of things, slowly. We're still not on much of a schedule, really. The only thing that is mostly assured is that the baby generally only wakes up once in the middle of the night. He'll wake up around 2:30 or so, and be up for 1 1/2 to 2 hours based on how much he eats and how long it takes to get him to go back to sleep. Of course, we're cheating a little bit, because we're giving him formula at night along with breastfeeding. Since formula digests more slowly, it keeps his tummy feeling fuller and so he sleeps longer because he doesn't feel hungry yet. I'm sure at some point we'll wean him off of it completely (most of the time he doesn't get any formula during the day, or at least not more than an ounce or so), but it sure is nice to know that he's going to sleep most of the night. My husband is no longer getting up with me when we feed--we're mixing the formula ahead of time, and I just heat the bottles and set them next to where I'm feeding so I can reach them easily--so it's taking a little bit longer to get through a feeding than it was, but overall it isn't too bad. I'd love a little more sleep (sometimes we go back to sleep in the mornings; I didn't today, even though Brendan's been sleeping here beside me; I'm just not feeling super tired right now. Maybe I'll nap later), but I think we're really pretty lucky.
That's not to say that I don't get super-frustrated when he's fussing and I can't get him to calm down. There are whole periods during the day when I basically have to just sit there and carry him around and rock him. I'd love for him to be able to entertain himself so I could just pop him into a playpen and let him go, but it's going to be a while before that happens. I'm a little resentful of my husband, simply because he doesn't generally have to deal with the fussiest times of day. He's not home for the middle of the day fussage, and then since he's not getting up with me at night, he's basically sleeping through the attempts I'm making to get the boy back to sleep. I don't get it; the baby can be practically unconscious while feeding, but as soon as I carry him back into the bedroom he's wide awake and ready to rock and roll. It takes about half an hour of rocking to get him back to sleep. Meh.
Anyway, I haven't snapped yet or lost my mind or anything like that. And hopefully it will continue to get easier. Hopefully.
Also, I had to go in to the same-day care clinic yesterday to have them look at my incision. Twice it has "leaked" a pinkish yellow fluid, and I still have some pain (sort of a burning sensation), especially if I'm moving around after being in one position for a while (like going from sitting to standing). My husband looked at it and thought it looked a little funky, so I went in to see if there was an infection. The nurse took a culture and then squeezed a few spots to drain some fluid (that was a blast, really). She felt that the fluid was probably just a by-product of the healing process rather than being pus or anything like that. They'll call me today and let me know if there actually is an infection, but just in case they gave me a prescription for Keflex. Yippee.
I'm getting the hang of things, slowly. We're still not on much of a schedule, really. The only thing that is mostly assured is that the baby generally only wakes up once in the middle of the night. He'll wake up around 2:30 or so, and be up for 1 1/2 to 2 hours based on how much he eats and how long it takes to get him to go back to sleep. Of course, we're cheating a little bit, because we're giving him formula at night along with breastfeeding. Since formula digests more slowly, it keeps his tummy feeling fuller and so he sleeps longer because he doesn't feel hungry yet. I'm sure at some point we'll wean him off of it completely (most of the time he doesn't get any formula during the day, or at least not more than an ounce or so), but it sure is nice to know that he's going to sleep most of the night. My husband is no longer getting up with me when we feed--we're mixing the formula ahead of time, and I just heat the bottles and set them next to where I'm feeding so I can reach them easily--so it's taking a little bit longer to get through a feeding than it was, but overall it isn't too bad. I'd love a little more sleep (sometimes we go back to sleep in the mornings; I didn't today, even though Brendan's been sleeping here beside me; I'm just not feeling super tired right now. Maybe I'll nap later), but I think we're really pretty lucky.
That's not to say that I don't get super-frustrated when he's fussing and I can't get him to calm down. There are whole periods during the day when I basically have to just sit there and carry him around and rock him. I'd love for him to be able to entertain himself so I could just pop him into a playpen and let him go, but it's going to be a while before that happens. I'm a little resentful of my husband, simply because he doesn't generally have to deal with the fussiest times of day. He's not home for the middle of the day fussage, and then since he's not getting up with me at night, he's basically sleeping through the attempts I'm making to get the boy back to sleep. I don't get it; the baby can be practically unconscious while feeding, but as soon as I carry him back into the bedroom he's wide awake and ready to rock and roll. It takes about half an hour of rocking to get him back to sleep. Meh.
Anyway, I haven't snapped yet or lost my mind or anything like that. And hopefully it will continue to get easier. Hopefully.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
One step forward, two steps back
I am flying solo today. My husband went back to work at the beginning of the week, and my mother-in-law went home this morning. We're still on the multi-method feeding schedule--breastfeeding as long as possible, then bottle feeding breast milk, and then bottle feeding formula (both while I'm pumping for the next feeding). It's time-consuming enough when my husband is available to split the work with me. It was difficult the past two days, when my mother-in-law did everything else around the house (laundry, cooking, vacuuming, cleaning, making me lunch while I fed the baby, all that good stuff). It seems nearly impossible, doing it all on my own. I have to breastfeed, then have two bottles ready, handle the burping and the changing (and does this kid ever go through diapers! Holy cow!), pump breast milk for the next feeding, sooth the baby when he's crying and fussing, and deal with the dog who wants to go out and go for a walk (which of course we can't do; even if the weather were really nice, which it isn't, Brendan's only a week and a half old and not really ready to be exposed to the elements). Somewhere in the middle of all this, I'm supposed to be making sure I'm drinking lots of fluids, keeping my feet up as much as possible, eating sensibly, getting a little exercise (like walking), and getting lots of rest. When the hell am I supposed to do those things?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Adventures in breastfeeding...
...or, My new life as a dairy cow.
I had no idea that something that female mammals have been doing since God created the world would be so frickin' difficult.
Nine days after my c section, my milk still has not "come in". I am a mixture of frustrated, annoyed, and emotionally drained by all this.
While I was still in the birth center, a lactation consultant came and talked to me about feeding. The nurses had given me a plastic breast shield to help draw out my nipples, but that first consultant recommended I not use it. She said it made for "lazy nursing" on the baby's part. She told me to use sugar water or drips of formula on my nipple to keep Brendan's attention during nursing, and gave me advice on helping him latch on. Later that same day, a second, different consultant came by to see how things were going. I told her Brendan was having difficulty latching on without the shield. She said she thought I should go ahead and use the shield if it helped. She told me that once Brendan got the hang of feeding I could start "weaning" him off the shield.
I had expressed to both consultants that I was concerned that I wasn't producing any milk. At no point during my pregnancy did I ever notice any colostrum or anything. My breasts did go through changes during the pregnancy: they got very sore and sensitive, and definitely increased in size (like I needed that). Both consultants assured me that, while I might not see anything, I surely was producing colostrum, and that newborns don't need much because they still are running off the nutrition they had gotten from momma prior to birth, and that my milk would "come in" soon. Since these were the knowledgeable professionals, I did what they told me to do.
After the first few feedings, we noticed (and the nurses concurred) that Brendan got positively frantic during feedings. One of the nurses compared his attempts to latch with a dog with a chew toy. He cried, he rooted, he flailed. Several of the nurses agreed with us that he still seemed hungry after our attempted feedings, and they suggested that I supplement with formula until my supply increased.
The first night home was a disaster. Of course we were all exhausted just trying to get into a routine, but Brendan couldn't seem to breastfeed at all, and we resorted to full bottles of formula out of desperation. We went back in that next day to talk to the lactation consultant again. She spent a whole hour working with us on all the technicalities of feeding (how to hold the baby, helping him latch, etc.). She told us again to use drips of formula on my nipples to "prime the pump" and encourage him to keep feeding. She gave us a little eye dropper to use and sent us on our way. She again sort of "pooh-poohed" my concerns about my supply, and told us not to supplement with formula.
We went home and tried to stick with the plan the lactation consultant had laid out for us. But after much screaming, flailing, rooting, hand-chewing, and a great deal of crying on both our parts, I broke down and gave Brendan a bottle of formula in the middle of the night. He just seemed so HUNGRY.
The next day we had our first checkup with the pediatrician (Brendan was now four days old). To our horror, Brendan had lost almost a full pound from his birth weight (born at 8 lbs, now down to 7 lbs 1 oz). The pediatrician was extremely concerned; she said that weight loss of more than 10% could be cause to admit him to the hospital. They did a heel stick to check his bilirubin, which thankfully was in the normal limits so they didn't admit him to the hospital. But the pediatrician finally listened to my concerns about my supply. She sent us home with instructions to try to breastfeed him for as long as he'd tolerate on each side, then get on my breastpump and see what I could pump while my husband gave Brendan a couple ounces of formula. Anything I could pump would then be given in a bottle during the next feeding (after the breastfeeding and before the formula). She told us to come back the next day.
Definitely a complicated feeding plan. But I was incredibly relieved, when I got on the pump for the first time, to see that I indeed was producing something. I managed to pump a tiny bit of colostrum, only about half an ounce, but it really was there. I was so relieved, in fact, that I burst into tears. I had just been devastated by the idea that I was not able to take care of my baby's needs. So we went back to the pediatrician the next day and reported what had happened. Just with our formula supplementation, Brendan's weight was back up to 7 lbs 9 oz, after only one day. Poor baby had obviously been super dehydrated. Just in those 24 hours he produced more wet diapers than he had the entire rest of his life. How sad is that?
The pediatrician had been doing a little research. She said that hypertensive mothers (I've been treated for high blood pressure for probably seven or eight years now) often have a delay in their milk coming in. Also, women who had a c section tend to be delayed. And since I had so many anti-diuretic meds during the course of my labor and c-section, I am having major fluid retention issues (my legs, ankles, and feet are horrifically swollen), which probably is also affecting my milk production. She told us to continue our feeding routine--the pump would help Brendan access my milk regardless of how well he was latching, and it would help stimulate my milk production. She said she felt confident that we were still within the window of opportunity for me to be able to breastfeed.
So feeding has been a two-person job. While I start Brendan out on breast, my husband warms up the previous pump-job's bottle of breast milk and then mixes up the bottle of formula. When I'm done, I hand Brendan over to him and get on the pump. I still have not pumped more than an ounce total at one time, but the quality of the milk has changed (not colostrum any more; thinner and whiter), and Brendan is spending more time on each breast which means he's probably getting more from me than he was.
But everyone keeps talking about milk "coming in", and breasts getting engorged, and "letting down" and all that, and it just isn't happening for me. I would really like to be able to stop worrying about the formula (and the pumping--holy crap that thing hurts!) and just breastfeed. I'll be happy to pump enough for my husband to do some feedings himself, but this whole "pump every two hours" thing is exhausting and painful. It takes over an hour to complete the feeding process, and when we're feeding every two hours, it seems like my entire life is spent either breastfeeding or pumping. I'm tired.
Did anyone else have any problems similar to this? Do you think my milk will ever show up, or am I going to be doomed to keep up this stupid feeding schedule forever? I'm just super discouraged.
I had no idea that something that female mammals have been doing since God created the world would be so frickin' difficult.
Nine days after my c section, my milk still has not "come in". I am a mixture of frustrated, annoyed, and emotionally drained by all this.
While I was still in the birth center, a lactation consultant came and talked to me about feeding. The nurses had given me a plastic breast shield to help draw out my nipples, but that first consultant recommended I not use it. She said it made for "lazy nursing" on the baby's part. She told me to use sugar water or drips of formula on my nipple to keep Brendan's attention during nursing, and gave me advice on helping him latch on. Later that same day, a second, different consultant came by to see how things were going. I told her Brendan was having difficulty latching on without the shield. She said she thought I should go ahead and use the shield if it helped. She told me that once Brendan got the hang of feeding I could start "weaning" him off the shield.
I had expressed to both consultants that I was concerned that I wasn't producing any milk. At no point during my pregnancy did I ever notice any colostrum or anything. My breasts did go through changes during the pregnancy: they got very sore and sensitive, and definitely increased in size (like I needed that). Both consultants assured me that, while I might not see anything, I surely was producing colostrum, and that newborns don't need much because they still are running off the nutrition they had gotten from momma prior to birth, and that my milk would "come in" soon. Since these were the knowledgeable professionals, I did what they told me to do.
After the first few feedings, we noticed (and the nurses concurred) that Brendan got positively frantic during feedings. One of the nurses compared his attempts to latch with a dog with a chew toy. He cried, he rooted, he flailed. Several of the nurses agreed with us that he still seemed hungry after our attempted feedings, and they suggested that I supplement with formula until my supply increased.
The first night home was a disaster. Of course we were all exhausted just trying to get into a routine, but Brendan couldn't seem to breastfeed at all, and we resorted to full bottles of formula out of desperation. We went back in that next day to talk to the lactation consultant again. She spent a whole hour working with us on all the technicalities of feeding (how to hold the baby, helping him latch, etc.). She told us again to use drips of formula on my nipples to "prime the pump" and encourage him to keep feeding. She gave us a little eye dropper to use and sent us on our way. She again sort of "pooh-poohed" my concerns about my supply, and told us not to supplement with formula.
We went home and tried to stick with the plan the lactation consultant had laid out for us. But after much screaming, flailing, rooting, hand-chewing, and a great deal of crying on both our parts, I broke down and gave Brendan a bottle of formula in the middle of the night. He just seemed so HUNGRY.
The next day we had our first checkup with the pediatrician (Brendan was now four days old). To our horror, Brendan had lost almost a full pound from his birth weight (born at 8 lbs, now down to 7 lbs 1 oz). The pediatrician was extremely concerned; she said that weight loss of more than 10% could be cause to admit him to the hospital. They did a heel stick to check his bilirubin, which thankfully was in the normal limits so they didn't admit him to the hospital. But the pediatrician finally listened to my concerns about my supply. She sent us home with instructions to try to breastfeed him for as long as he'd tolerate on each side, then get on my breastpump and see what I could pump while my husband gave Brendan a couple ounces of formula. Anything I could pump would then be given in a bottle during the next feeding (after the breastfeeding and before the formula). She told us to come back the next day.
Definitely a complicated feeding plan. But I was incredibly relieved, when I got on the pump for the first time, to see that I indeed was producing something. I managed to pump a tiny bit of colostrum, only about half an ounce, but it really was there. I was so relieved, in fact, that I burst into tears. I had just been devastated by the idea that I was not able to take care of my baby's needs. So we went back to the pediatrician the next day and reported what had happened. Just with our formula supplementation, Brendan's weight was back up to 7 lbs 9 oz, after only one day. Poor baby had obviously been super dehydrated. Just in those 24 hours he produced more wet diapers than he had the entire rest of his life. How sad is that?
The pediatrician had been doing a little research. She said that hypertensive mothers (I've been treated for high blood pressure for probably seven or eight years now) often have a delay in their milk coming in. Also, women who had a c section tend to be delayed. And since I had so many anti-diuretic meds during the course of my labor and c-section, I am having major fluid retention issues (my legs, ankles, and feet are horrifically swollen), which probably is also affecting my milk production. She told us to continue our feeding routine--the pump would help Brendan access my milk regardless of how well he was latching, and it would help stimulate my milk production. She said she felt confident that we were still within the window of opportunity for me to be able to breastfeed.
So feeding has been a two-person job. While I start Brendan out on breast, my husband warms up the previous pump-job's bottle of breast milk and then mixes up the bottle of formula. When I'm done, I hand Brendan over to him and get on the pump. I still have not pumped more than an ounce total at one time, but the quality of the milk has changed (not colostrum any more; thinner and whiter), and Brendan is spending more time on each breast which means he's probably getting more from me than he was.
But everyone keeps talking about milk "coming in", and breasts getting engorged, and "letting down" and all that, and it just isn't happening for me. I would really like to be able to stop worrying about the formula (and the pumping--holy crap that thing hurts!) and just breastfeed. I'll be happy to pump enough for my husband to do some feedings himself, but this whole "pump every two hours" thing is exhausting and painful. It takes over an hour to complete the feeding process, and when we're feeding every two hours, it seems like my entire life is spent either breastfeeding or pumping. I'm tired.
Did anyone else have any problems similar to this? Do you think my milk will ever show up, or am I going to be doomed to keep up this stupid feeding schedule forever? I'm just super discouraged.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Rumors of my demise have been greatly appreciated
So. Significant changes to this blog. Once upon a time, it started as "Diary of a Mother-to-be-to-be", following my preparations to eventually become pregnant. It was all about weight loss and other things that needed to be done prior to my becoming a parent. Then, it became "Diary of a Mother-to-be", once I did actually become pregnant. It followed my physical and emotional changes as I went through nine months of fun and frolic.
And now, it undergoes yet another change, as I AM NOW A MOTHER. I am now the proud owner of a bouncing baby boy named Brendan, 8 lbs, 22 inches long, born at 8:13 am on Saturday, October 23.
Just last Thursday I was wondering about the signs of labor and whether or not I would actually know when I was starting labor. I mean, you hear all the time about women who end up giving birth in bathrooms and backseats because they didn't know they were in labor until they were in the later stages. I spent part of that afternoon wondering about that, because I was having intermittent lower back and lower abdominal pain throughout the afternoon. They were minor pains, so I really didn't give them much thought other than to wonder if they were somehow related to early signs of labor.
But it wasn't until later that evening that it occurred to both myself and my husband that these pains might indeed be early contractions. That realization coincided with the loss of my mucous plug. From that point (about 11 pm), we started keeping track of how frequent these contractions were and how long they were lasting. At that moment the contractions were 25-30 minutes apart, and only lasting about a minute. I employed my breathing techniques (thank you, birthing class) each time one rolled around. I was surprised to find that I did at least doze in between the contractions. I wouldn't have thought that was possible--I figured the excitement (and discomfort) would be enough to keep me awake.
By 6:30 Friday morning, I was starting to really feel the discomfort (not yet pain) of the contractions, and they were about 10 minutes apart. I called the Family Birth Center at the hospital and spoke with one of the charge nurses. She wanted me to wait to come in until I was having contractions about 2-3 minutes apart. I told her that my 39 week checkup was that same morning, so she recommended I go see my OB as planned and see what she said about my situation.
My OB did a cervical check and informed me that I was about 3 cm dilated and 60% effaced. She said she had sort of "broken through" a membrane on my cervix while doing my exam, and she figured that would probably jumpstart things. She thought I'd be at the birth center within 4-5 hours. She said she was the OB on call that evening, and that she'd see me then. This was the first time that a cervical check had produced any kind of progress in my condition, so I was pretty excited (and in a bit of pain).
I spent the middle part of Friday just hanging in there, packing our hospital bag and making sure everything was ready for the baby. The contractions were gradually increasing in strength and frequency, until they were about 2 1/2 minutes apart and about 1 1/2 minutes long. By about 3 or so in the afternoon I was pretty uncomfortable and ready for the hospital. I called the birth center and spoke to the nurse, and she said it was time to come on in. After making sure the dogs had been walked (since we didn't know when someone would be back at the house to take them out again), we loaded up two vehicles (my husband was driving me, and we were followed by his parents and my dad) and headed to the hospital.
After signing some paperwork, the nurses led me into a triage room, where they checked me once again. Between 4-5 cm this time. My OB came in and said they were definitely admitting me, and that things were looking good. They got me in my own room, got me on an IV with some pain medication, and we settled in to see how things progressed. Every hour or so someone would come in to check me again. 6 cm. My contractions were strong; they had me hooked up to monitors and my husband could see each contraction and talk me through it. I was hurting pretty bad and was pretty tired; after all, I'd been having contractions for about 24 hours. But each time they checked me, the result was the same: about 6 cm. I just wasn't getting past that.
Some time that evening, I requested an epidural. I was really hurting bad, the contractions were really strong and very close together, but since I wasn't making any progress with my cervix opening, I couldn't get out of transitional labor. I was pretty exhausted. The anesthesiologist came in and ran the line in my back for the epidural. I've gotta say, I should have gotten the epidural WAY before then. It was wonderful. I've read horror stories about people whose epidurals didn't work, or were so strong they couldn't push, or only numbed half their back, or whatever, but mine was fabulous. They started me on pitocin in my IV to get me past the 6 cm stage, but each time they checked me, I was still stalled out. They upped my pitocin dosage three different times, to no avail. I could tell how strong the contractions were because I could SEE them each time my belly tightened up, and we could see them on the monitor, but since I wasn't opening up there was just nothing I could do. The hours passed, my epidural started to wear off a bit, and I started to hurt again.
At 5 am on Saturday morning, my OB (who looked pretty worn out herself; they'd had a lot of babies that night) came in. She said, "I get the feeling you've had it; you're done. You just aren't progressing like you should be, and I can tell you are really tired. So I think we're going to do a c-section and get this baby out. There's no reason to prolong this any more than we already have." I was so relieved (and I'm sure my family was, too; in my preoccupation with my own situation I had pretty much forgotten that my in-laws and my dad had been holed up in the waiting room since Friday afternoon with only the occasional update). She said, "Well, within the hour we should have a baby for you!"
But within a few minutes, the nurses came in to tell me there would be yet another delay: another woman in labor was having complications, and they were going to do a c-section on her as well. They decided since she was having trouble and I wasn't (Brendan was never distressed or anything, and I was fine except for being tired and frustrated) that she would go first. The anesthesiologist came back in and gave me a second hit to my epidural; he said it would be a real bummer to be sitting there, waiting, and having painful contractions since my previous one was kind of wearing off. And then we waited. Again. Still.
Not sure how complicated this other woman's situation was, but it must have been a doozy, because they didn't come for me until about 7:30. They got me set up in the operating room, got my husband set up in his scrubs, and dosed me up good with more painkillers. Between those and the previous shot to my epidural site, I could barely keep my eyes open. They put the drape up across my chest so we couldn't see what was going on around my abdomen (for which my husband was thankful; he was worried about passing out, even during a regular delivery). And from that point, things went very quickly. It was probably only ten minutes or so from the first incision (not that I would know, since I couldn't really tell when the first incision was or anything like that) before they came around the corner of the drape to show off my son (who was a little gooey but otherwise pretty good-looking). He was lighter than previously estimated (only 8 lbs rather than 9+, which makes it seem unlikely that I had stalled out in my labor progress because "he wouldn't fit"), but he was long, 22 inches. They took him over to clean him up, take care of his cord, weigh him, measure him, and whatever else it is that they do, and my OB continued to do whatever it was she was doing down there.
It turns out that even if I had done a regular delivery, she might have had to go in, because my placenta was firmly attached to the top of my uterus, and she really had to work to get it delivered. It took much longer to get the placenta out than it did to get the baby out. But she did successfully get everything out and closed back up, and they got me back to my room. Brendan was right behind me, and I got to feed him for the first time (not that there was much feeding; he wasn't exactly hungry and I wasn't completely coherent, but still). And so we settled in. Nurses came in regularly to check on us, take vital signs, get me up on my feet (after the epidurals wore off, of course), get me cleaned up, and all those fun things. Brendan had a bunch of tests he had to go through (heel sticks and such), a circumcision to endure (the nurse asked if either my husband or I would like to go watch--she didn't even have the question out of her mouth when my husband said, "No, that's OK"), and get his hearing checked.
It was difficult to get much sleep either night we were in the birth center. The nurses kept coming in to check on the both of us. Of course Brendan didn't have any kind of routine either; he woke up when he felt like it. Since he wasn't eating much, it was hard to figure out how to soothe him. And neither my husband on the pullout sofa nor I on my slightly reclined hospital bed was particularly comfortable. We were happy on Monday evening to be discharged so we could come home and at least sleep in our own bed.
The days since we came home have been interesting, to say the least. I'm just glad my husband was given the week off so we could get the hang of things together, before he has to start getting up in the mornings to get to work. And I'm glad my in-laws have been here. My mother-in-law especially has been a huge blessing--she's cooking for us, filling our freezer for when she goes home, cleaning up the house, and watching the baby for us so we can go take an occasional badly needed nap. I'm glad my father got to be here to see his first grandchild. He seemed really excited about the whole thing. And I'm glad that, as long and exhausting as the birth process was, things went as smoothly as they did. My pregnancy was easy, my blood pressure and age never became issues, and a week after I had what amounts to major abdominal surgery, I'm healing pretty well (I just wish the swelling in my legs and feet would go down). If there's one thing I would change about this whole thing, it would be to have my mom here. Especially since all this took place over what would have been her 67th birthday, her presence was sorely missed. I know she was looking down on us and was with me the whole time, but I sure wish I could have been able to put him in her arms and see her face looking down at his.
And now, it undergoes yet another change, as I AM NOW A MOTHER. I am now the proud owner of a bouncing baby boy named Brendan, 8 lbs, 22 inches long, born at 8:13 am on Saturday, October 23.
Just last Thursday I was wondering about the signs of labor and whether or not I would actually know when I was starting labor. I mean, you hear all the time about women who end up giving birth in bathrooms and backseats because they didn't know they were in labor until they were in the later stages. I spent part of that afternoon wondering about that, because I was having intermittent lower back and lower abdominal pain throughout the afternoon. They were minor pains, so I really didn't give them much thought other than to wonder if they were somehow related to early signs of labor.
But it wasn't until later that evening that it occurred to both myself and my husband that these pains might indeed be early contractions. That realization coincided with the loss of my mucous plug. From that point (about 11 pm), we started keeping track of how frequent these contractions were and how long they were lasting. At that moment the contractions were 25-30 minutes apart, and only lasting about a minute. I employed my breathing techniques (thank you, birthing class) each time one rolled around. I was surprised to find that I did at least doze in between the contractions. I wouldn't have thought that was possible--I figured the excitement (and discomfort) would be enough to keep me awake.
By 6:30 Friday morning, I was starting to really feel the discomfort (not yet pain) of the contractions, and they were about 10 minutes apart. I called the Family Birth Center at the hospital and spoke with one of the charge nurses. She wanted me to wait to come in until I was having contractions about 2-3 minutes apart. I told her that my 39 week checkup was that same morning, so she recommended I go see my OB as planned and see what she said about my situation.
My OB did a cervical check and informed me that I was about 3 cm dilated and 60% effaced. She said she had sort of "broken through" a membrane on my cervix while doing my exam, and she figured that would probably jumpstart things. She thought I'd be at the birth center within 4-5 hours. She said she was the OB on call that evening, and that she'd see me then. This was the first time that a cervical check had produced any kind of progress in my condition, so I was pretty excited (and in a bit of pain).
I spent the middle part of Friday just hanging in there, packing our hospital bag and making sure everything was ready for the baby. The contractions were gradually increasing in strength and frequency, until they were about 2 1/2 minutes apart and about 1 1/2 minutes long. By about 3 or so in the afternoon I was pretty uncomfortable and ready for the hospital. I called the birth center and spoke to the nurse, and she said it was time to come on in. After making sure the dogs had been walked (since we didn't know when someone would be back at the house to take them out again), we loaded up two vehicles (my husband was driving me, and we were followed by his parents and my dad) and headed to the hospital.
After signing some paperwork, the nurses led me into a triage room, where they checked me once again. Between 4-5 cm this time. My OB came in and said they were definitely admitting me, and that things were looking good. They got me in my own room, got me on an IV with some pain medication, and we settled in to see how things progressed. Every hour or so someone would come in to check me again. 6 cm. My contractions were strong; they had me hooked up to monitors and my husband could see each contraction and talk me through it. I was hurting pretty bad and was pretty tired; after all, I'd been having contractions for about 24 hours. But each time they checked me, the result was the same: about 6 cm. I just wasn't getting past that.
Some time that evening, I requested an epidural. I was really hurting bad, the contractions were really strong and very close together, but since I wasn't making any progress with my cervix opening, I couldn't get out of transitional labor. I was pretty exhausted. The anesthesiologist came in and ran the line in my back for the epidural. I've gotta say, I should have gotten the epidural WAY before then. It was wonderful. I've read horror stories about people whose epidurals didn't work, or were so strong they couldn't push, or only numbed half their back, or whatever, but mine was fabulous. They started me on pitocin in my IV to get me past the 6 cm stage, but each time they checked me, I was still stalled out. They upped my pitocin dosage three different times, to no avail. I could tell how strong the contractions were because I could SEE them each time my belly tightened up, and we could see them on the monitor, but since I wasn't opening up there was just nothing I could do. The hours passed, my epidural started to wear off a bit, and I started to hurt again.
At 5 am on Saturday morning, my OB (who looked pretty worn out herself; they'd had a lot of babies that night) came in. She said, "I get the feeling you've had it; you're done. You just aren't progressing like you should be, and I can tell you are really tired. So I think we're going to do a c-section and get this baby out. There's no reason to prolong this any more than we already have." I was so relieved (and I'm sure my family was, too; in my preoccupation with my own situation I had pretty much forgotten that my in-laws and my dad had been holed up in the waiting room since Friday afternoon with only the occasional update). She said, "Well, within the hour we should have a baby for you!"
But within a few minutes, the nurses came in to tell me there would be yet another delay: another woman in labor was having complications, and they were going to do a c-section on her as well. They decided since she was having trouble and I wasn't (Brendan was never distressed or anything, and I was fine except for being tired and frustrated) that she would go first. The anesthesiologist came back in and gave me a second hit to my epidural; he said it would be a real bummer to be sitting there, waiting, and having painful contractions since my previous one was kind of wearing off. And then we waited. Again. Still.
Not sure how complicated this other woman's situation was, but it must have been a doozy, because they didn't come for me until about 7:30. They got me set up in the operating room, got my husband set up in his scrubs, and dosed me up good with more painkillers. Between those and the previous shot to my epidural site, I could barely keep my eyes open. They put the drape up across my chest so we couldn't see what was going on around my abdomen (for which my husband was thankful; he was worried about passing out, even during a regular delivery). And from that point, things went very quickly. It was probably only ten minutes or so from the first incision (not that I would know, since I couldn't really tell when the first incision was or anything like that) before they came around the corner of the drape to show off my son (who was a little gooey but otherwise pretty good-looking). He was lighter than previously estimated (only 8 lbs rather than 9+, which makes it seem unlikely that I had stalled out in my labor progress because "he wouldn't fit"), but he was long, 22 inches. They took him over to clean him up, take care of his cord, weigh him, measure him, and whatever else it is that they do, and my OB continued to do whatever it was she was doing down there.
It turns out that even if I had done a regular delivery, she might have had to go in, because my placenta was firmly attached to the top of my uterus, and she really had to work to get it delivered. It took much longer to get the placenta out than it did to get the baby out. But she did successfully get everything out and closed back up, and they got me back to my room. Brendan was right behind me, and I got to feed him for the first time (not that there was much feeding; he wasn't exactly hungry and I wasn't completely coherent, but still). And so we settled in. Nurses came in regularly to check on us, take vital signs, get me up on my feet (after the epidurals wore off, of course), get me cleaned up, and all those fun things. Brendan had a bunch of tests he had to go through (heel sticks and such), a circumcision to endure (the nurse asked if either my husband or I would like to go watch--she didn't even have the question out of her mouth when my husband said, "No, that's OK"), and get his hearing checked.
It was difficult to get much sleep either night we were in the birth center. The nurses kept coming in to check on the both of us. Of course Brendan didn't have any kind of routine either; he woke up when he felt like it. Since he wasn't eating much, it was hard to figure out how to soothe him. And neither my husband on the pullout sofa nor I on my slightly reclined hospital bed was particularly comfortable. We were happy on Monday evening to be discharged so we could come home and at least sleep in our own bed.
The days since we came home have been interesting, to say the least. I'm just glad my husband was given the week off so we could get the hang of things together, before he has to start getting up in the mornings to get to work. And I'm glad my in-laws have been here. My mother-in-law especially has been a huge blessing--she's cooking for us, filling our freezer for when she goes home, cleaning up the house, and watching the baby for us so we can go take an occasional badly needed nap. I'm glad my father got to be here to see his first grandchild. He seemed really excited about the whole thing. And I'm glad that, as long and exhausting as the birth process was, things went as smoothly as they did. My pregnancy was easy, my blood pressure and age never became issues, and a week after I had what amounts to major abdominal surgery, I'm healing pretty well (I just wish the swelling in my legs and feet would go down). If there's one thing I would change about this whole thing, it would be to have my mom here. Especially since all this took place over what would have been her 67th birthday, her presence was sorely missed. I know she was looking down on us and was with me the whole time, but I sure wish I could have been able to put him in her arms and see her face looking down at his.
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