Hunger Games

I placed Wyatt in the icy cold, steel scale cushioned by only a thin, one-ply paper towel expecting for him to have gained back the 4oz. of original birth weight he lost plus maybe one or two extra ounces. He weighed 7lbs 8oz at his last visit to the doctor the day after we were discharged from the hospital. On this visit, much to my surprise, the nurse announced that he weighed 8lbs and 7oz! So much for my doubts as to whether or not he is getting enough nourishment from breastfeeding. After all my breasts, unfortunately, do not feature units of measurement inscribed in red on their sides, the proverbial measuring cup that a paranoid first-time breastfeeding mother demands in order to peacefully sleep at night. Wyatt's weight achievement was a rich and embarrassing source of Vitamin Glee for me as I clapped and said "Yay!" upon hearing the news like an overzealous soccer mom having just finished watching her child make the winning goal. The nurse offered a big smile of congratulations as she was probably thinking I was skipping along the spectrum of insanity.


While we're on the topic of weight, I have just finished making yet another meal that it turns out I do not want. Since having the baby my appetite has dwindled to almost nothing. I never ate huge portions before I was pregnant, but now I just never seem to be hungry. The strange thing is that everything I craved or ate regularly while pregnant I have lost all desire for. I still make meals for myself and then just pick at them or eat a few bites. Tonight's cuisine was spaghetti and not just any spaghetti but my coveted Guiseppe's, an entirely homemade gourmet spaghetti, noodles and all, that I buy twice a year at a huge local arts and crafts event, the Bizarre Bazaar. After a few forced bites, I ended up nestling my parmasan cheese-topped pile of spaghetti into some plastic tupperware and then into the fridge for safe keeping before settling on eating the spinach herb noodles with butter, a lighter choice that my stomach welcomed. Sure, having already lost nearly 25lbs of my pregnancy weight is good, great even, especially for Mommy's buns which had grown to the approximate size of Montana, although not good for Mommy or baby if the method of losing weight is a diminished appetite. My concerns for Wyatt receiving enough nourishment from my breast milk mainly stemmed from my diet, or lack thereof. I was assured by my lactation consultant that as long as I am at least continuing to snack throughout the day, drink plenty of water, and taking my prenatal vitamins that he should be getting everything he needs and now with the knowledge of his weight increase I'm not so worried anymore. He seems to be doing great.

Precious Time

"Baby makes days shorter, nights longer, home happier, love stronger..." True. The author, anonymous and brilliant.


People complain about the mundane. That daily routine where all sense of oneself gets lost, wrapped in a cozy warm blanket of the incessant. With Wyatt, I have been lucky to be able to replace my own mundane routine with one revolving around him that's still incessant albeit incredibly rewarding and englightening. Most mornings begin between the hours of 7am and 9am. We wake with a diaper change and a feeding. Wyatt then gets some time in his vibrating bouncy chair as his nature sounds giraffe serenades him with songs of the babbling brook while Mommy enjoys a steaming bowl-with-a-handle cup of coffee. Usually Wyatt dozes off for a morning nap that lasts about an hour or two during which I will have breakfast and then engage in a bit of cleaning or laundry, grace the book of Face; I might flip through the latest issue of Good Housekeeping, or read a few pages out of my book club's pick of the month all the while staring at Wyatt and how blessed I am to have him.

If we don't have any appointments or errands to go to the afternoon usually brings with it some time for the munchkin under his activity gym although his interest in it is short-lived with him still being so little. He prefers to be held while he looks around or to lay on the couch next to me while I talk to him and play with his little hands and feet. A few diaper changes. Feedings. Naps.



Having Wyatt forces me to move a bit slower and to make each moment count. No longer can I get ready for a scheduled appointment on my time, a mere hour before leaving the house. I must start getting ready 2 and even 3 hours in advance to make sure we're both able to eat and get changed, that I don't forget to pack all the necessities into his diaper bag, and still have time for a change of clothes following a bout of spit up, an unexpected feeding and/or diaper change, all the while not being rushed.

I keep the house quiet for the most part for the exception of the nature sounds and the daily scripted dog barks midday when the mailman stops by. I think this is why the munchkin is not much of a cryer because the house remains peaceful, tranquil, for the benefit of us both. It's amazing the clarity you find when you are silent, still, when you just sit and be. I keep trying to school the hubs on this as there never seems a moment when either his cell phone or the computer--sometimes both--aren't attached to his hand, even when he is holding the baby. Wyatt fusses quite a bit when he has him and he attributes it to his being hungry (even if I've recently fed him). I pick Wyatt up and almost immediately he is soothed. I try to explain to Lewis that the baby just wants some attention, to close the laptop, put down the phone, enjoy his son. I haven't gotten through to him yet. I'm hoping that I can convince him soon because tomorrow is Wyatt's 2-week birthday; he won't be a baby for very long. This time with him is precious and every second must be savored.

Afterbird

Afterbird. A term created by Abraham Verghese, author of "Cutting For Stone" that described a woman's afterbirth as identified by the main character who was about 5 years old at the time. Afterbird pains. Something no one, not even your doctor foreworns you about. Definition: Excruciatingly sharp contractions you experience as your uterus attempts to return to its normal size. Initially I thought something was wrong. Did I not deliver the entire afterbird? Did something else happen when the cord wrapped around little Wyatt's neck? I mentioned these pains, which nearly had me in tears, to my overly upbeat nurse who responded nonchalantly that these were to be expected and only get worse during breastfeeding and also increase in pain with every child I have (yes, we were thinking one more). Think labor. But without your sweet and compassionate friend, the epidural. There were times I came so close to lightly pushing Wyatt's head away during a feeding and transitioning him to the bottle right then and there, it was just that unbearable, even with the hospital-grade Ibuprofen and Percocet cocktail they were feverishly serving me. Imagine this addition to the existing frustration and discouragement that a new breastfeeding mother is already feeling as she tries to establish this almost always initially flawed feeding relationship with her baby. Some kind of warning would have been nice, welcome even, despite the bad news this warning bears. So here it is, ladies, afterbird pains, your fair warning, what your doctor won't tell you. Let's unpack this frightening suitcase a little further...

I honestly agonized over whether or not to breastfeed. With my first, I had actually not planned to however if I had I wouldn't have been given the opportunity. Caleb was premature and his sucking reflex had not yet developed so they were feeding him through a tube that ran through his nose and down into his stomach. I was certain that given my previous experience that Wyatt would also come early. Despite a hospitalized close call at the end of January, he made it to full term, leaving the decision to breastfeed entirely up to me. Originally, I thought that breastfeeding wasn't for me. Let's face it, up until this point, my breasts had only been employed by the hubs and now I was looking to get them another full-time job. My main concern was that I wouldn't be able to mentally separate the two and that it would be wierd. I started informally interviewing people from my family to my friends, even my boss. Most of the reports I collected had genuinely negative undertones: "I felt like I was living without a shirt on." "It hurt really bad." "I resented my husband because I was always up feeding and he couldn't help." I carefully considered these real-life "horror" stories and allowed them to rule out breastfeeding for me.

What should you expect while expecting? This book became my bible as the 12 years between my pregnancies had caused quite the understandable lapse in memory. I consulted this manual for everything and while I was flipping through it one day I came across a hefty chunk dedicated to breastfeeding. The pro's heavily outnumbered the con's and I became captivated. I soaked up all of the information that I could down to positions and techniques and let it simmer for a while.

My doctor had been probing me--no pun intended--about my intentions for breastfeeding so that she could safely prescribe a method of birth control following my delivery. Following my enlightening reading session, I informed her that I was thinking about trying to breastfeed. I had convinced myself that I would attempt it, even if only once, to see how things went and if I didn't enjoy it then I could stick to bottle feeding and at the very least say that I tried.

So I did. I was surprised that it didn't feel wierd at all but more organic than anything. The skin-to-skin contact with my baby as I was able to feed him in a way that no one ever could as he looked up at me was priceless. Those afterbird pains, while excruciating, were worth enduring for the 3 or 4 days and I'm so happy and even proud of myself for not giving up on breastfeeding because of them. The hospital lactation consultant answered all of my questions--quite a few, in fact--from whether or not my baby was getting enough nourishment even though my milk had yet to come in to how long I should expect him to feed at each breast or why it was more important to allow him to "drain" one entire breast as opposed to feeding a few minutes on each one. Whatever you do, take advantage of the free lactation consultant that your hospital will provide. Not only do they typically charge when you make appointments outside of your hospital stay but they provide a wealth of invaluable information, including hands-on demonstrations, regarding breastfeeding that truly cannot be replaced by simply reading a book.


I understand that not everyone has the same breastfeeding experience but I suppose I say all of this in case there are those of you out there who, like me, were skeptical and really agonized over the decision. Check out the photo of Wyatt at the top; that's right after a feeding and he couldn't possibly be happier! Despite all of the stories you may hear and the pains that may accompany breastfeeding, its really a decision you should make after trying it once for yourself. You might be pleasantly surprised :)

Welcome

After 9 long months, Wyatt Alexander finally made his way into the world on March 15th, 2011 at 9:56pm weighing in at 7lbs. 12oz. and 20 inches long.

The journey for him was a slow one. I entered the hospital around 5:30am at 3 centimeters dialated and the doctor broke my water at 7am. Twelve hours later, I was only a centimeter further dialated than I had been that morning. Plans were in the making that a C-section may be in order as the doctor started thinking that perhaps my pelvis was too small to pass the baby's head. She did another exam and manipulated his head a little bit and within an hour I was dialated the remaining 6 centimeters and ready to push. Twenty minutes later, Wyatt's tiny head emerged with the umbilical cord doubly wrapped around it. The doctor was able to quickly cut it away and attribute it to the reason he had been so slow to descend. Thankfully, aside from causing him to rock the labor casbah a little slower than expected, no permanent damage occurred.


He is absolute perfection.