Milk, it's not what's for dinner...

Isobel and I are in weaning mode. It broke my heart a little bit to do it. Actually a lot.  I probably wouldn't have done it but for the fact of a) she is a horrible eater and I think that her snacking on milk all day was not helping her appetite for food b) I am getting ready for an FET early next year and i need to get a mammogram sometime in December, and be ready to take meds in January and finally c) Isobel has seven cavities in her teeth and we are on a mission to get them taken care of and not exacerbate the problem.

When I had PPD I clung to my nursing relationship with Isobel. When my OB told me that I could consider take stronger and different meds for the depression / anxiety which would mean  stopping nursing and giving a bottle I was horrified. As a very new mother I felt that nursing was one of my only tools. It was something that I could do and do well. I was so determined not to take that away from Isobel or me. I know, I know that many of us have not been able to nurse or have chosen not to. If I had not been able to nurse I know I would have been okay eventually and I am sure Isobel would too. But I could. It was my secret weapon. It was my super bonding technique. It kept me sane and feeling useful and able to nurture. It was a big part of my connection. Between the horrible thoughts and anxieties of PPD,  nursing kept me sane. I did not change meds. I think I upped them a little with the help of my shrink. I organized round the clock attendants for when Susan had to be away from us and I gradually weaned myself off them when I felt stronger and more able to cope.

A couple of things really really irritated upset me about midwives and doctors and advice givers when I was pregnant / very new to motherhood. One was when people said that it didn't matter how the baby was born as long as she was born healthy. In saying that I felt that they were robbing me of my grief about not being able to do a nice sloshy water birth at home, or even an unmedicated birth at the hospital. Even though I really really wanted a c section after I realized how many complications there were, I did not want someone else to glibly take away my reaction to not having that experience. I wanted it acknowledged that it was a loss and something I had to say goodbye to. Now, after having Isobel and thanking my own intuition for avoiding something I don't want to even consider could have happened, I REALLY don't care how any baby is born to me.  What I mean by that is, that I really don't need a VBAC and would not consider one ever. I don't care. I don't want to wait 40 or 42 weeks for the baby to bake ( if we get lucky enough to have another). I would rather she / he comes at 37 or 38 weeks than starts to malinger in there when I will probably have GD or something else like that big fat fibroid that is in the same place it was before. I would never say to a new mom "oh, it doesn't matter how the baby comes, as long as it is healthy, " which is what I now think and believe. But I would never tell a mom she has to push if she doesn't want to. Pushing would not have got Isobel out, I believe that. Science got her in and science got her out. Wouldn't have worked 50 years ago but works now. In another life, I could have had an Ina May birth. Just not in this one. And I am fine with that.

The second issue is when people who don't even know you or your circumstances tell you that it's no big deal to give your baby formula. We agonized about giving Isobel a bottle when she was a day or so old and not pooping. We agreed to it. It was no big deal. I don't feel bad about it anymore at all.  i did for a while.  I would do it again if I had to. I know all about the mommy wars and the breast feeding and formula wars. But no one should make you feel bad for not wanting to give your baby formula if you don't have to. We had nurses pushing it on us night and day. Why? Not because they were worried about our baby's health. I don't think so, anyway. Because they wanted a quick fix to a problem that didn't exist. Shut the baby up, stop it crying. The baby is hungry. Give it a shot of vitamin Enfamil. Mama is tired, you sleep, I'll feed the baby and keep her away from you in the nursery. Don't worry mama, get some sleep. Are you kidding me? I went through all this to have a baby to love and nurture and you are talking about taking that baby away from me when I JUST MET HER?!!!! Which happened to us by the way. They kept Isobel in the nursery and gave a few pathetic excuses and she was up there by herself for about 2 or 3 hours shortly after she was born even when we kept asking for her. If there is a next time I will tell Susan to go into the nursery and demand the baby. This time we just kept asking the bossy nurse ( who wanted to feed her formula) what was going on and she kept fobbing us off. So no, please don't tell me that it's okay to feed my baby formula. I know it's ok. But you don't get to decide so you can feel better about yourself.

So here I am starting to wean Isobel. It was going to be a  very gradual thing until we found out about the cavities on Tuesday. We started with cutting down to nap-time ( or when I get home from work), bed-time and morning-time. Then we freaked out about the bed time nursing ( courtesy of cavity begetting night time milky mouth). So now we are still on that schedule but when I come to bed and Isobel gets in with us, I wake her for a teeth cleaning and do not offer her the boob. Except the other night, Susan woke me to say, "is Isobel nursing?" and I realized the clever girl had got on by stealth and was happily sucking away.

Nursing has been our constant for two years. Eating has not been a big success especially recently. So of course I worry that she is going to starve and / or I won't be able to soothe her. I have to admit she has been pretty game about it so far and not complained too bitterly or for too long when I have reminded her she can't have booby till bedtime or whenever the next scheduled suckling is. Except today when she wouldn't nap, or tonight when she had a melt down at a friends' house and I was caught parenting in public and not strong enough to endure a full tantrum so I gave in.

I want to give her the opportunity to be self directed and to make choices when she can. I also need to be in charge. It's hard for me to say no to her. Not when it's about safety or expedience ( like, getting into her car seat or crossing the road), but when it's about enjoyment or fun or comfort.
I feel ever so slight  relief as I leave for work so I don't have to be there to refuse her. I am on edge when I am home in the evenings, waiting for her to ask me for booby. The edge is getting less. I am focusing on helping her understand if she is hungry  and needs some food or if she wants comfort and can have  a hug. There is a lot of "kissing it better" for owies. And verbalizing. And reminding. And giving her things to look forward to that may or may not be to do with booby. And I will never ever call it booby to any baby number two. What was I thinking? That she would not mimic me and she would not cry booby booby booby in any public place she sees fit to?

So yes,  I am in a bit of a mourning phase. I am trying my best. I know it needs to be done. Maybe I will have to trade in my 2 extra cup sizes and 4  extra inches of width once I stop. Who knows. It is the least of my worries. That and my double chin that is here to stay.

Isobel's 2nd Birthday Picture Post

Isobel's 2nd Birthday Picture Post

Isobel at her family birthday party tonight. She did a great job of blowing out the candles and singing Happy Birthday too!

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Isobel at her party on Sunday with her auntie Lizzie and cousin Celie. It all went a lot better once the chocolate cake came out. Until then she prefered to play by herself in the foyer of the church where we held it. She almost missed her party!

24 months later - 10.17.2010 - the birth story

I know, I know. How long does it take? Apparently  a long long time.

It was a beautiful early autumn day - a Sunday. We had been out the previous, much hotter day, shopping at Kohls, and I had remarked that I could not feel the baby moving very much. This was not unusual. I never felt all the exciting kicks and karate chops that I read about on others' blogs. I felt movement, but never anything spectacular. I wrote it off as everything about my pregnancy not being normal and the placement of the placenta. But I had had a wonderful non stress test the previous Thursday and baby had got full marks for moving around. So it was a bit odd. I went to bed the night before, Saturday - in the spare room where my train-like snoring would not disturb anyone but me ( and baby!) and worried about the lack of movement. I think I used the Doppler, so I knew that she was alive and her heart was beating. That was good. But I drank cold juice  and waited for somersaults and there were none, so by Sunday morning I was beginning to be uneasy and considering calling my midwife. I tried the Doppler again, and the heart beat was fine. So again, I knew she was alive. I really didn't think that there could be any reason why she could be in danger if her heart was beating, and I had no idea about the risks of  the later stages of  pregnancy. I was of the belief that the longer she cooked, the better she would be. I don't believe that anymore.

So it was with some embarrassment that I called the midwife and told her I was not feeling so much movement. I followed up that statement with, "but I got top marks on my non-stress test on Thursday." I also told her I had heard the heartbeat that morning. She told me that I should go into labor and delivery. I think this was around 11am. I asked her if I should go now. She said, go soon.

So I had a shower, took the dog for a walk down the block, and soaked up the sunshine. I really remember that walk. Something told me that I wasn't coming home that night, and I really enjoyed being with our surviving dog, Dylan, and just enjoying the easy pull of only one leash and the slow meandering of both of us around the block. He was disabled by something growing in his lung and we would later find out he had some thing going on in his brain that caused seizures.  I was fat and swollen and pretty out of breath. I know I got a shower  because I figured it might be a while til I got another one, and then Susan made us eggs and hash browns  ( yes, I was told later by the nurse that wasn't a very diabetic friendly meal, but I enjoyed it and it was my last one before Isobel was born and I was on forced starvation for a day because of the magnesium.) We knew it was important to go to the hospital but we certainly weren't hurrying.

I don't remember for definite but I have a feeling we stopped off to get a decaf latte on the way. We were really taking our time. I am not sure when we got there. Maybe around 1pm. They were expecting us and it was a familiar scenario as we had been there when I had bleeding around 16 weeks and then just a few weeks earlier on the tour, when I had seen the one room with the bath tub in it  that you had to be lucky to get. I had made a mental note in my mind to try to call ahead to grab it if I ever went into labor. Hah!

Everyone was telling me before this (well the midwives and even the OBGYN were ) that I could very well go into labor myself and have  a "natural"birth,  - or at least I could "try" despite the huge fibroid near the birth canal (which had conveniently moved out of the way at my last ultrasound),  gestational diabetes, history of a myomectomy, advanced maternal age, etc etc. I never believed it for a minute.  I had always thought I would have a vaginal birth - I even wanted a water birth, but after all I went through to get to having Isobel and with all the complications I wanted a  live baby and as fast as possible. I understand that the risks to the mother in a C section are greater than in a vaginal birth but I just couldn't see myself pushing Isobel past my huge fibroid and I was frightened of a late term still birth. I asked for a C-section, but the OB didn't think it was warranted and said that it would be considered "elective". I couldn't afford an elective C section, so I just prayed that it would become clear as time went on that a C section was medically necessary. Later that day, when I met with the midwife, she said that she had been describing my case to the OB on call and listing the plethora of complications that I had, and  it was then that she realized that there was no way I was going to be going into labor or doing a vaginal birth. It took a while but they finally saw things my way.

When we got to the hospital and got checked in, we were in a room very similar to the one we had been in when I was 16 weeks and bleeding. I don't remember all the details, but I was put on the monitors and I could hear the heart beat on the speaker. It sounded fine. A doctor came in and did some kind of ultrasound to find out what was going on with the movement. She told me that baby was not in danger but something was not right and it would be best to get her out today. I said that I was fine with that. They talked about a C section and I was secretly thrilled and very relieved. The OB from my practice who was on call and did the C section almost apologized that she was suggesting a C section. She said, doubtfully, "well you are not dilated or effaced, but we could try to induce you and see how you do". I said er, no, thank you! I really just wanted to get Isobel out as soon as possible and with the least distress to her.

The midwife who was on call wasn't my preferred one, but she turned out to be really great and proved her mettle to me. Even though it was a C section she was there in the operating room with me the whole time, and first she held me while I got the needle in my back to start the epidural.  Susan didn't get to come in until I was lying spread eagled on a like Jesus on the cross, except I was lying flat on my back and tilted to one side - apparently to ease blood flow to the heart. I was introduced to the anesthetist who told me to let him know if I started feeling faint or nauseous. Having the epidural was so strange. I felt like my whole body was heating up and floating away. I did start to feel nauseous while the surgery was going on and he dialed down the meds which stopped me from feeling like I was going to puke. The surgery felt like lots of tugging. And pulling. I pushing. I don't remember much and I couldn't hear a lot. Susan tells the story that they had to pull her out of my pelvis as her head was stuck there. As they pulled her out they said,"Chord wrapped round the neck one, two, three, four times." Then she came flying over the top of my stomach and into the hands of the nurses who were at the ready with the warmer. Susan got to cut the chord for  the second time - the doctor cut the chord as she came out and the midwife snapped lots of pictures for us, they wrapped her up  and then I got to meet her. It felt so surreal. I didn't feel ready. I wanted her to come, but I had no clue what to expect and I felt so unprepared and quite detached from the experience.  I smiled and was glad, but I still felt weird about the whole thing.

As soon as I was stitched up and was wheeled into recovery the midwife helped me to get Isobel to latch on and try to suck some colostrum. I had no clue what I was doing. My sister came in and we realized she didn't know the name. I told her and I think she was pleased. Isobel Emily. Isobel just because we liked it and Emily because it's Susan's beloved  french grandma's name. Susan was there with us until it was time for Isobel to go up to the nursery and she went with her while I stayed down in the recovery room to wait to get transfered to the mom and baby unit.

I am not sure when I realized that Isobel had had a very narrow escape. The reduced movement was probably from the chord being wrapped around her neck. A vaginal birth would have been disastrous. No one really said much about it, except the previously preferred midwife, who said it was a good thing I listened to my intuition "or there might not have been a baby." Hmmm, not something you want to say to someone who was begging for a c-section and has just gone through major surgery and is feeling, well, tender. For the longest time afterwards I was so relieved that I had gone with my gut and reported the reduced movement, but I was also really really upset and wondering what would have happened if I had not sounded the alarm. It seemed so arbitrary and such a fluke that I had listened to my intuition and she was okay.

When I talked to the RE yesterday about plans for a future pregnancy he told me that my fibroids are large, that there could have been reduced blood flow to  the baby because fibroids act like a parasite and suck up the blood and nutrients. He also said that the placenta could have been compromised because of this and the gestational diabetes.  He said it was possible I could have not had much feeling of movement throughout the pregnancy because of the fibroids being in the way in the wall of my uterus. I feel like the OB did not take me seriously throughout the pregnancy and I am just glad that things worked out the way they did. I had no idea that if a baby's heart was beating she could be in trouble. Which is what happened to Isobel. She was tethered by her chord that was wrapped around her neck and she had nowhere to move or room to go. Thank God that she is ok. I am grateful, deeply grateful that she is ok.

Happy Birthday, little one. You are two and we are three. Love Mamas!

Next time: the first twenty four hours of being a mom: hospital room mommy-dom, magnesium and room service.

Day 30: Self portrait

I did it! I can't believe it! 30 posts in 30 days. Maybe next time I can actually do a writing blog challenge,  who knows! So I am so proud of myself. I had fun. Thanks to an Offering of Love and Insert Metaphor! I am working on a birthday post for Isobel which I hope to have done by the big day, Wednesday 17th, October. And I am celebrating by going to the RE to see if there is a way to have a sibling for Isobel. Wish me luck!

Day 29: Black and white

 

My mum and dad at a University party in the late fifties. They met at the University of Sheffield where they were both  the first generation of graduates  in their families. They were married in 1960. They look so happy and sweet. Missing them.

Day 28: Flowers

Well, more slim pickings on the photo front due to a hectic work day. This flower and arrangement is on our kitchen window sill. Yes, the flower is a fake. It was a present. I kind of like it in the vase although I would not have picked it out myself.

Day 27: From a distance

I have always worked in not for profits. Often there has been no view. Sometimes no window at all. ( We live in a garden apartment so we are already light deprived!)
In my new job I am in the corner of the corner office with windows on two sides. The view is not spectacular but the light is. We have another office in Uptown. This is the view from there facing north. Not bad, eh?