I Didn't Think Weaning Would Be So Hard...

Let me get something out in the open.  Weston is almost 15 months old, and we're still breastfeeding.  As he gets older, it gets more and more difficult to say that because I am very aware of how people I know (and society in general) think about breastfeeding past a year old, like it's some sort of freakish thing that crazy moms do.  Insert Time magazine cover here:

In fact, it's something that many moms do because they desire it and so do their toddlers.  The American Academy of Pediatrics is now on record as encouraging mothers to nurse at least one year and as long after as both mother and baby desire.  The World Health Organization recommends breast feeding for the first two years.


Despite all the claims that people make about it having no nutritional value past the first year, breast milk does indeed have lots of wonderful components (source: kellymom.com):
In the second year (12-23 months), 448 mL (almost 2 cups) of breastmilk provides:

• 29% of energy requirements
• 43% of protein requirements
• 36% of calcium requirements
• 75% of vitamin A requirements
• 76% of folate requirements
• 94% of vitamin B12 requirements
• 60% of vitamin C requirements

In addition, the health value is significant:
“Antibodies are abundant in human milk throughout lactation” (Nutrition During Lactation1991; p. 134). In fact, some of the immune factors in breastmilk increase in concentration during the second year and also during the weaning process. (Lawrence & Lawrence 2011, Goldman 1983, Goldman & Goldblum 1983, Institute of Medicine 1991).


As a first time mom, I don't understand the negativity with breast feeding past the first year.  Last year, I had co-workers (females with no children) say, "Why are you still breastfeeding?  I guess it's okay, but as long as you stop when he starts asking for it."


A newborn baby asks to be fed... right?  What's the difference if my toddler now can use something more than crying to ask for something he wants?  Oh, and thank you very much for your uninvited opinion on how to feed my child.


Anyway, I'm going back to work in a few weeks, and I've reluctantly started the weaning process.  I know that I don't want to pump anymore, so I thought that going to two feedings (morning and evening) would be manageable.  Manageable?  Sure.  But getting there?  Not so much...  Let me tell you, it's been rough.  Emotionally.  Like depressing and unexplained sadness.  In fact, it reminds me a lot of the baby blues.  Quick google search revealed that yes!  This is normal!


"One of the changes that occurs with weaning is a drop in prolactin levels. Prolactin, the hormone that stimulates milk production, also brings with it a feeling of well-being, calmness and relaxation."


Oh, how I am feeling that prolactin and oxytocin drop!  The only time of day when I consistently feel that All is Right with the World is when I am nursing.  Weston digs it, too.  Three days ago, I dropped the feeding before first nap.  He wasn't happy about it and let me know in the form of crying and pulling at my shirt.  I've stuck to it though, and he's adjusting.  I know when we drop the before-second-nap feeding, I'll more than likely go through another bout of sadness.  And so will he.


I knew this when I got pregnant: I wanted to breastfeed.  I was going to try and make it to a year, and that goal changed to "six months is good enough" when things got rough.  We made it to six months, and I thought, "Not so bad...A year isn't that far off."  As this past May approached, I decided that I had pumped for nine friggin' months, so I was going to enjoy a summer sans pumping and complete on-demand breastfeeding--just me and my little nursling.  And now, I have this very strong feeling that I will stop breastfeeding when he and I are both ready.  I read that as when we are both ready, he is ready, or I am ready. Not when others think I'm ready.

One Year Ago Today...

...I was a very pregnant woman.  It was also my "official" due date for Mr. Belvedere, whatever due dates mean.


If I had known last year what I know now, I would have done several things differently.  I certainly don't have regrets about the last year; I'm just armed with experience and information.


First of all, I would have slept more after Weston was born.  Women said to me, "Sleep when the baby sleeps," and I didn't listen to that very well.  Mistake.  Sleep deprivation is an ugly thing, and it doesn't help with the postpartum emotional roller coaster.  One nap during the day doesn't cut it when dealing with a newborn.


I also think moving out of state and starting a new job four months after having a baby isn't advisable.  Having a baby is traumatic enough--no sense in adding more chaos.  However, we were going to move anyway, and it was inevitable.


I can't really speak about what happened to my body after having a baby, other than it's not the same, and I can't really expect anything other than that.  I've said it before--clothes fit differently and everywhere is "mushier."  I'd love to get a membership to the gym again and go on a consistent basis, but somehow 24 hours in a day doesn't seem to allot for that at the present moment.


It's hard to believe how my life has changed in the past year, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.  Not even a flat belly.


By the way, here's my most recent favorite boy band:

Puff the Magic Dragon

I recently selected Peter, Paul and Mary on my Pandora music station while I was feeding Weston dinner.  I thought it would give him some good music to digest his dinner.  What he wasn't expecting was for his mom to burst into tears.


Let me back up about twenty years...  My sister and I spent every weekend with my dad when we were growing up after my parents divorced.  My dad was a creature of habit and when he liked something, he tended to always go back to it.  He loved Peter, Paul and Mary and had a double cassette called In Concert that we listened to ALL. THE. TIME. in his car.  I think my sister and I could sing the entire album if given the chance.


Anyway, when the beautiful children's song Puff, the Magic Dragon would come on, my dad would oftentimes tear up.  I never really understood why, until he explained the lyrics to me.  Basically, the story is about Puff and his playmate Jackie Paper, a little boy who eventually grows up and loses interest in the imaginary adventures of childhood.  Eventually, Puff dies without Jackie Paper around to believe in him.




My dad was a sensitive guy...


Back to 2012.  I'm feeding Weston dinner and Pandora chooses to play this song, and I start singing to Weston.  Out of nowhere, I start bawling.  I'm trying to sing along, but my throat is tight and tears are rolling down my face.  I keep thinking about my dad who passed away in October of 2010 when I was 3 months pregnant with Weston, and how unfair it is that he and Weston never met.  I'm actually irate about this--resentful at the whole situation.  And I'm surprised, too, that I'm feeling this way.


I don't think about my dad all day long and continue to mourn his passing.  I do, however, think about him throughout the week at all sorts of different times, and I especially love it when I have dreams about him.  When those happen (and I wish I had more dreams about him), I try so hard to hold on to them because they fade so quickly as the day wears on.  I still am tempted from time to time to hold down the number 5 on my phone and call him to relay the latest  funny thing that Weston did...


I still haven't deleted his name and number from my phone.

Moving On...

I accepted a job in Covington, Kentucky yesterday afternoon as their ESL teacher in the middle and high school!  I'm a whole range of emotions--happy to be finally getting out of Wisconsin and on with the next phase of our lives.  Sad to know that I have to go back to work and leave my baby boy with a complete wacko--Nate.  Angry that I don't have the luxury of staying home full time with Weston.  Scared to start a completely new job with people that speak with a twang and refer to me as "ma'am."

But, with all the other adventures I've tackled in my life, I know I'll be able to get through it.  I have to say, though, that the challenge of being a mom is really overwhelming at times.  I think with all my other challenges (studying abroad in Spain, doing the bike trip last summer, traveling in India...to name a few) there was always a reasonable and manageable amount of time before it was over.  I've discovered with being a mom that there isn't an end in sight.  That's daunting.  On top of that, Weston is so unpredictable.  I never know how much he's going to sleep or if he's going to nurse really well.  Or what mood he'll be in when he wakes up.

I find myself doubting this motherhood gig quite frequently as of late.  I wonder why in the hell I got myself into this thing.  Why didn't I listen to other people say how hard this is and just have a child-free life?

Needless to say, I've been a little blue lately...  Perhaps it's just all the stuff that's going on besides having a baby.  My sister sent me this article to cheer me up a bit and to help me to keep remembering that I'm not the only mom who thinks that this is "too hard."  And when he's super cute like this, I cheer up instantly:

Grabbing the tootsies

So big!

By the way, I don't think this motherhood gig is not all it's cracked up to be everyday.  It's actually very infrequently that I think this.  I think it's been surfacing because in addition to all the craziness in my life as of late, Weston suddenly developed "baby ADD" these past few days while breastfeeding AND it seemed as though he forgot how to sleep more than 3 hours at night.  He would absolutely not nurse, or if he started to, he would pull off after a few seconds.  It was like all of a sudden he could see and hear every single thing that was going on around him.  This was incredibly frustrating (and painful!), and I didn't know what was wrong or what to do.  But, like any other breastfeeding problem we've come to, we've been able to push past it and figure out how to continue to make it work.

The Low Down on the Baby Blues

Now that I am fairly certain that my case of the Baby Blues is gone, I think I'll go ahead and write about it.  First of all, I can completely understand those news stories we hear about new mothers going AWOL for days after they give birth.  Hormones are a fascinating, but very confusing, biological compound.

When we got home from the hospital on Friday, I was doing alright.  A few tears of joy, but nothing overwhelming yet.  Saturday was a different story.  I began to feel incredibly anxious.  I was afraid I was never ever going to get sleep; afraid that this whole parenting thing was a huge mistake; wondering what the hell I had gotten myself into, etc.  On top of all that, my milk hadn't come in yet, and Weston was feeding constantly.  He wouldn't sleep that well, either, mostly because it seemed as though he just wanted to nurse.  I began to feel totally batty, like I was trapped in our tiny apartment and my life was going to amount to having a baby tethered to me at all times.

Weston had finally fallen asleep mid-afternoon that Saturday, and as I was lying there in bed trying to sleep, I was overcome with tremendous anxiety about never being able to fall asleep.  My mind was literally spinning.  What a horrible place to be in!  After a 32 hour labor with only a two hour nap in there somewhere on Wednesday, I was very, very sleep deprived (as are all new mothers).  I called to Nate, who came in the bedroom, and I started crying uncontrollably.  I said that this was too hard, that I was never going to sleep again, that this was a mistake, and that I was going crazy.  He promptly got my pink flip-flops, put a hoodie on me, and sent me outside with my phone to go take a walk around the neighborhood and then call my mom.

Just like Crazy Cat Lady, but minus the cats

Outside I went, feeling like one of those psychotic ladies that roam the streets, inappropriately dressed and muttering to themselves.  The fresh air did help, and the phone call to my mom instantly helped me feel better, mostly because she related to me her struggles with her first baby.  She told me that she cried in the hospital and didn't want to take my older brother home.

That Saturday was the worst day.  For about the next two weeks, I struggled with these feelings of anxiety, even though every woman I talked to said that it passes.  I had a hard time believing that at first, but it did get better every day, even if it was only just a little.  The hardest part was in the evening, when the day was drawing to an end.  I don't know if that's because I reflected on my day and realized I hadn't accomplished anything other than feeding the baby, changing diapers, feeding myself, and not much else.  It was made worse if I hadn't left the house, so I have made it a point to get out of the house everyday, with or without the baby.

Visitors helped my mood.  I very much looked forward to having my mom come by, and I was super excited when my sister came, even though I cried every day she was here...  I also know that I need to sleep when the baby sleeps.  Of course, I can't sleep every time he's sleeping, but I try to get in at least one good nap during the day when he's napping.

The baby blues do pass.  I felt as though they were never going to go away and that I was the only mom in the world to feel the way I was feeling.  Talking to other women about it helped to lessen their strength, and I'm grateful for all those women who shared their experiences with me.

It's Tuesday?

Woah.  I cannot believe that our little burrito is six days old already.  One week ago tonight, I went into labor.  No matter what, all babies come out when they're ready.

I've been slowly typing up our birth story.  It was a 32-hour labor, so it's going to take me some time.  There's so much that's happened since Weston's been born, and I'm trying to remember it all while going on less than optimal sleep.  I'm actually surprised at how well I'm handling life (and someone else's life) given the fact that the longest I've been able to sleep consecutively is about 3 hours.  It does get better--at least that's what I'm told.  These first few weeks are going to be hard.  And despite what everyone says ("Sleep when the baby sleeps"), that is no simple feat.  It's not like I'm running around doing housework or even cooking, but there are some things that I have to do while he's sleeping:

• Take feeding myself, for instance.  I haven't quite mastered breastfeeding so gracefully yet that I can feed Weston and myself at the same time.  I attempted it yesterday morning as we were scurrying out of the house for his first doctor's appointment.  I needed to eat something, and Weston wasn't satisfied with his breakfast from an hour before, so there I was, eating with my left hand while trying to nurse.  My mother-in-law had to scoop out the last few bites of yogurt for me.
• Self care is something else that needs to happen.  So far, I've been able to shower every day, but I need to make sure he's good and fed and asleep before I clean up from the day's events.  I think I've managed to brush my teeth twice in any 24-hour period, so that's good...  By the way, I've stopped referring to "days;" instead, everything goes in 24-hour increments for me.
• Hanging out with Nate is important to me, too.  Last night, we were able to watch a little bit of the NBA playoffs together while we ate dinner, and talk about something that had nothing to do with the baby.

By the way, I apologize for any errors in my writing right now.  I'm noticing that the red squiggly spell check line is showing up much more than I care to share as I type this post...

Anyway, things are going well.  Yes, I've got the baby blues, but they're getting better.  I'll write more about those later.  In the meantime, here are some shots of our little man:

Nursing Coma

Getting ready to go home from the hospital

Grandma Becca and Grandpa Brady came all the way from Iowa to visit

Snoozing under the warmth of Grandma Alyce's "Stinky Feet" quilt she made

Nate and Weston rocking out to Radiohead in the first Baby Bjorn experience.  He loved it!

Happy Easter

I don't really know how much bigger I can get.  Mr. Belvedere, aren't you cramped?  Aren't you just itching to get out of my belly?  Don't you want to stretch out a bit?

I've been up since 5:30 this morning, did some yoga, and cooked breakfast for myself.  Nate's still sleeping (the NBA playoffs are on, and who knows how late the game went last night), and I'm rather bored.

• I cleaned the apartment in its entirety last night.  Miraculously, I was even able to get down on my hands and knees and wash the floor.  It took me a little longer than usual, but I did it.
• I've read everything I possibly can about labor and delivery.
• Nate birthday present is wrapped (it's this Wednesday).
• I bought my mom's Mother's Day gift and card.
• The bag is packed for the hospital.
• I have email drafts saved for the big announcement.
• The laundry is done.

What else can I do???  I suppose I could go to the Pick 'n Save and do some grocery shopping.  I could cook some more meals to throw in the freezer.

Life Goes On Part 2

I really should be taking a nap right now.  I'm exhausted from the past few day's events.  My dear cousin, Tom, passed away yesterday afternoon from a terribly aggressive and rare cancer, neuroendocrine carcinoma.  His mom is my dad's sister, so this has been a very emotionally-charged year for this side of the family.  He was diagnosed two months ago on February 18 with cancer, and was given a couple of years.  Then, a couple of weeks ago, it turned into six months to a year.  Friday night, he was in liver failure, and had about a week.  My mom and I went to Chicago yesterday morning, and he was given a few hours.  He passed about an hour and a half after we got there.

I don't get life.  To be honest, I felt very awkward yesterday at the hospital as we shared my 30-year old cousin's last breaths while his siblings and my aunt and uncle sat by his side.  Perhaps the awkwardness came from the fact that I have this life growing inside of me, waiting to make its entrance into the world, while my cousin was preparing to make his exit.  It is inconceivable for me to understand what it would be like to lose a child, and I feel as though I went completely numb.  I couldn't cry, and still haven't really.

I'm reminded of this Buddhist thought that I learned in India when I was there six years ago: There is a paradox in relationships--once you meet someone, you are also preparing for the end of the relationship at some point in time.  Death is absolutely inevitable.  It just sucks when it's someone so young.

How Many People Love This Baby?

I had a conversation with Mr. Belvedere this morning about how many people are so excited to meet him or her.  It's been rather quiet as far as its movement goes these past few days, and I thought maybe it was lonely, so I gave it a pep talk.  It's got to be awfully cramped in my uterus right now because all it does is roll back and forth, kind of like how I feel when trying to sleep at night.  I mentioned that it could come out any time it wants to; we're ready for it!  I think it felt better after our talk, because then it got the hiccups.

My dear mother threw a baby shower for us yesterday afternoon at Sheridan's in Cudahy, and I am still overwhelmed at my family's generosity.  Everyone who came lives somewhere else besides the Milwaukee area, and many people drove several hours to come and celebrate this little fetus.  It was so fun to see the women that are in some way related to Mr. Belvedere.

Our apartment has completely exploded after yesterday's shower:

I cannot wrap my head around how much stuff a baby allegedly needs.  I'm sitting next to the car seat and stroller that my mom, sister-in-laws and sister got us, and it's really intimidating!  I feel like I have no clue what we're about to get ourselves into, despite the fact that I've spent a decent chunk of my life baby-sitting, working in day care centers, teaching, and being around babies.  But it's way scarier when it's my own, and no one's coming here to relieve me of my duties at the end of the day.  I feel like I did right before our bike trip last summer--nervous because I didn't really know how it was all going to unfold.  I'd never ridden my bike for 60 days straight, nor had I ever been in the wilderness that long.  I had an idea of what it might be like, but it's impossible to know what it is that I don't know.

Staying at Home

Needless to say, these past nine months have been nothing short of stressful.  Being pregnant has this way of intensifying everything else that goes on in my life.  We ended the bike trip in Colorado early last August, and I was fully expecting to go back to my former job at the elementary school I taught at just a few weeks after finishing the trip.  Unfortunately, I was involuntarily transferred to a middle school for reasons I'll never fully know.  I cried for weeks about this, which probably should have been my first clue that I was pregnant.  Then in October, my dad passed away, leaving me with this indescribable loss in the midst of something so exciting in my life.  I think about him lots, and his picture is on our fridge, right next to the ultrasound pictures of our baby.

All the while, this year at work has been the most stressful thing I've experienced yet.  Being at a new school, teaching curricula that I haven't taught since my student teaching days, and dealing with the craziness of middle school students brought on feelings of complete inadequacy.  I ended my 7th hour class on an almost daily basis feeling utterly defeated, trying hard to fight back tears and compose myself before 8th hour began. I tried everything I could think of to make my 7th hour class tolerable, and I got nowhere.  Almost the entire staff knew about the yahoos that were in that class, and they would just shake their heads in sympathy.  Administration wasn't much help, either.  I continued to try so hard to rise above it, coming home and bawling to Nate about my frustrations.  To relieve the stress, I'd follow the guidelines that were suggested: exercising, eating well, getting enough sleep, etc.

Months of this, coupled with not sleeping at night, turned into a nasty cycle...  I routinely woke up at 2 or 3 in the morning to go to the bathroom, or for no reason at all.  And then the thinking would start...  What else can I do to make work better?  I couldn't turn the thinking off, despite trying to fall back asleep.  I'd be up for a couple of hours, occasionally falling asleep right before I had to wake up to go to work.

In early March, Nate had had enough: "Why can't your turn your brain off?"  Good question--I didn't know how to answer that.  He suggested that I talk to our midwife and let her know what was going on at work.  I really didn't want to; I suppose because that meant that I wasn't tough enough.  But what was I trying to prove?  That I could make it through to the end?  I know about opinions, and I didn't want people forming one about me and my "inability" to work.

But, at the urging of Nate and my mom, I told the midwife at my last appointment (I actually started bawling even before I could say anything), and she talked to me about the risk of preterm labor for women who are stressed during their pregnancy and not sleeping enough.  She put in orders for modified bed rest, which basically means that I'm supposed to take it easy and not work.  I was off all last week, and will be until the baby comes.  And guess what?  I slept through the night after my last day of work.  I've been feeling well-rested and less anxious about the birth.  I'm calmer, which is a wonderful feeling to have.  Sure, I've had to endure some people's comments and opinions about this: "You think this is not sleeping?  Just wait, honey."  Ultimately, it's the best decision for me and the baby, and I'm glad I did it.

April Showers

Last weekend, my "family" from the elementary school I worked at for three years (before I was unexpectedly and involuntarily transferred last August) threw me a baby shower.  It was still March, so the title of this post is a bit misleading...

Anyway, it was so much fun to see the many amazing teachers that I spent most of the past three years of my life with.  They all took time out of their weekend to celebrate the fact that I'm having a baby--a baby that no one's even met yet, but is truly excited about.  Being the emotional person I am these days, I came home from the shower exhausted and weepy.

Nate: "Honey, why are you crying?"  This seems to be a standard question from him these days.


We were surrounded by onesies, toys, receiving blankets, leftover cake, and mounds of tissue paper, and I was sitting there with tears pouring down my face.  I blubbered, "This past year has been stressful being in a new building and away from the work family that I had come to know and depend upon.  I miss them!"

Sure, it's sad being away from them, but I think I just had this tremendous feeling of gratitude for the fact that even though I don't work with them anymore, they all chose to be a part of such an amazing time in my life.  Thanks, Pershing.

The Emotional Spectrum

A good friend of mine emailed me the other day after having read about the passing of my dad.  He writes: "My mom lost her mom while she was pregnant with me, and she has told me that I saved her from a lot sadness. I always thought that there was something so poetic about her simultaneous loss/gain of life."


Perhaps at some point in the future I'll be able to reflect on this experience in such a way.  However, right now, it's all so...raw.  I have been a whirlwind of emotions this past week--up and down, laughing and crying, bubbling over with sadness and then later, joy.  I think Monday's ultrasound was the most difficult.  I was exhausted from the drive back from Minnesota, nervous at the what sort of discoveries might be made at the ultrasound, and completely spent from the weekend.  I sobbed for a while while Nate held me before heading to the doctor's office.  During the procedure, my emotional state flipped to all smiles and full of amazement and joy.  After that wore off, I was with some good friends later that evening and began sobbing again as I remembered my dad.


I do find that in my times of sadness, I think about the little baby hopping around in my belly, and I ask my dad to watch over it.  I have faith that I'll make it through this loss and gain of life, but the timing of the healing is just not on my terms.  And I'm okay with that.

Crying Over Master Chef

My goodness. We were watching the finale of Master Chef last night while we ate dinner, and the producers flew one of the contestant's mom all the way from Israel so she could be there.  My eyes welled up, and a few tears leaked out.  Nate just laughed and said, "Oh honey, you're so cute."

This was tear-worthy.  Master Chef is not.

I can get emotional watching TV--like the 1996 Summer Olympics when Kerri Strug vaulted, hurt her ankle and then vaulted again and stuck the landing.  Or watching the opening sequence of the movie Up.  But Master Chef??  Come on.