I go back to work today. Minimally, only 3 to 6 pm. I feel ready, actually. Owen has been a totally new baby these last few days, it's amazing.
We met with a lactation consultant last week, I had been having nipple pain and also wanted advice about pumping for my going back to work, and advice also on bottles - Owen is such a super-sucker that even the slow slow flow bottles can flood him with milk and he sputters and gags. The LC was so amazingly helpful - turns out I have very high milk supply even though I don't get engorged, and poor babyboy was getting flooded with milk - causing a lot of his coughing/gagging/reflux issues. We worked out a plan for my nursing him to try to address those issues and in a matter of days he's become so much better. The bottle issue still remains a bit of a mystery, we'll see how he does with it today.
We also met on Saturday with a woman who used to work in the NICU as a respiratory specialist (and also worked on med flights for babies) to help assuage my fears about Owen's breathing, and my incompetence as a new mom (!)... She owns a resource center for moms that has classes, moms groups, etc. and we went up there and spent the afternoon with her. We have now termed her the Baby Whisperer (nothing to do with the book or the method, just that she totally keyed into Owen and us and helped us so phenomenally it's like we brought home a different baby.) She told us Owen is perfectly healthy and normal and gave us some excellent strategies to help him sleep out of our arms, to soothe him, to calm us. It has truly been amazing. Owen has slept in his bassinet the last three nights, and it's been remarkably peaceful and easy. He naps during the day in his pack n play. During the day, when he's awake, he's happy and giggly, cooing and chatting away with us. Then he gets tired, and then he sleeps. He's nursing calmly and happily, no sputtering or gagging or choking for the last week. I'm sure the reflux meds are helping, of course, too. I feel like I might get through this year after all.
I'm also sure some of this has to do with him maturing, he is now 10 weeks (though 5 1/2 weeks adjusted?). We saw the doctor yesterday for his two month appointment. I left the room for his vaccinations, wisely. E told me I will never be allowed to be in the room for them! Owen handled them like a total champ though. Only a little bit of additional fussiness last night and now he seems fine. Laughing and smiling in the gymini this morning even!
When we met with the lactation consultant, and we were talking about my milk supply, she mentioned that I'm blessed in that Owen has a great latch and I have plenty of milk for him. We discussed that I had been afraid, having a c-section, that it could've affected my milk supply. She mentioned that oversupply is often a problem that second time mothers have to deal with...and then paused, and said, "And you are a second time mother, this is the second time your body has made milk for a baby, Sarah. Your body knew what to do, because of Otis."
I just started crying and crying. I thought about my first O, my Otis, looking over us, and helping to make sure I have enough milk for my second O, his little brother.
Yesterday when I walked outside there was a huge, glorious, beautiful dandelion puffball, its seeds ready to blow in the wind. Next to it, a bright yellow dandelion blooming. There they are, my two boys. I feel Otis here with me more than ever these days.
I received a card from a very sweet BLM yesterday, and in it, she wrote, "May Otis live in your heart as Owen grows in your arms..." I couldn't ask for anything more.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
Smiles
My baby boy is smiling, finally. Today he and I hung out all morning and he smiled and cooed, "just like a normal baby!" I remarked...and he napped in his bassinet...and I feel like a normal human being again. Well, maybe not a normal human being, but a normal babyloss mother to an almost 2 month old rainbow baby. I know this too will pass, but this has been a lovely bit of breathing room that I so desperately needed.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Time flying
Let me preface this by saying that I am totally and utterly ashamed to be publishing this post, for a bunch of reasons. I feel like a bad, bad, bad mommy to be feeling so utterly hopeless. And I feel like a whiny bitch to be putting words to a lot of this. And I feel like a failure to admit how bad it is here. But I want to get it out there, as well, I need to speak my truth (or at least the truth as I'm feeling it today...)
Owen will be 8 weeks tomorrow.
These have been difficult weeks. Nothing like what I imagined. And I suspect to the BLMs who have not gone on to have a subsequent child, and perhaps even to those of you who have as well, I sound like an ingrate. I remember reading of women complaining about lack of sleep and thinking "Oh cry me a fucking river...."
Well, I've cried that river, and then some, in the last 8 weeks.
I need to remember that Owen came 5 weeks early, and his milestones are different than that of full term babies. It sometimes helps if I think of him as a 3 1/2 week old baby, rather than an eight week baby, because he just doesn't do "what 8 week old babies do" (or at least according to my observations of other families with 8 week olds.)
We started him on reflux meds last week, which I never thought I'd do (kinda like how before Otis I thought I'd never have an elective cesarean...), and they do seem to be making a difference, but he's still young, and in general just seems unhappy to be out of the womb most of the time. Please don't link me to the npr article about reflux meds being overprescribed - it's been sent to me twelve times over. The meds seem to be helping my son. That is all I need to know.
Perhaps because of the meds, perhaps because he's just growing up, this is the first week we've even had a glimpse of "baby." Up until this point, we have pretty much just known crying, screaming, pooping, sleeping, fussing. No smiles. Little eye contact. Barely any awake time. And he cries or screams unless he's held, for the most part. We get about 30 minutes, maybe an hour, two if we are SUPER LUCKY, in the morning now where he can hang out in my arms, or be in a swing or his pack n play just cooing and chattering and generally happy to be around - but this is a new development as of the last four days. Today was the first time I've even been able to attempt "tummy time" with him, because he was awake, alert, not screaming. He's only had a handful of real baths in his short life because they cause a crapton of distress for both him and for us. (When I have the stamina, I'll write up the story of the day we tried to give him a bath and the glass bathroom sconce fell off the wall and shattered on the sink right next to him, sending shards of glass all over him but not drawing a drop of blood or cutting him at all (but taking a huge chunk out of my finger... and causing me to have a full blown, serious, breathe-into-a-paper-bag anxiety attack...))
At night, he'll sleep one shift, usually for an hour, in his cradle. Other than that, he needs to be held to sleep. I've camped out in a big chair in the bedroom and have him there, on my chest, usually from about 3 am to 8 am. The early shift, Owen is on E's chest, usually in the rocking chair in the living room. I get a decent few hours of sleep from about 11 pm to 2 am, then I feed O, then he kindasortabutnotreally sleeps in his bassinet next to the bed for an hour, then he wakes himself up all fussy, and we go to the chair and sleep there for the rest of the night. He fusses, but it's easier to soothe him when he's right there on my chest.
Nursing a reflux baby, especially when you have an overactive let-down and too much milk, is not always easy. He has his "I forgot to breathe, mama, sorry!" moments. He chokes and sputters and coughs and gasps. He freezes up, eyes popped out, staring at me, and I wonder if he'll start to breathe again. (So far, he obviously always has.) Night nursing especially is challenging, and I find that most nights I have a mini panic attack of sorts prior to nursing. The stop-breathing moments seem to be lessening now that he's on meds, but they still happen and they still freak me out. He still does his gaspy, shrieking breathing thing sometimes and it terrifies me. I sit and tremble as he sounds like he can't breathe. The moments pass, but not without wearing very thin on my already frayed nerves. And I don't even know how much of this is real and how much of this I exaggerate in my frayed frantic freaked out mind.
He hates the moby, almost always. Sometimes he'll allow himself to be held in it for a half hour while we walk the dogs. He tolerates the ergo but it doesn't work so well on me, his head burrows into my chest and then I get nervous about smothering him. (I can sit at the computer with him in the ergo, as I'm doing now, because it kind of leans him back away from me a bit but still cradles him close to my body so he's cozy but his face rests back; but I'm also sitting on a bouncing ball so he gets that gentle motion to keep him sleeping.)
It breaks my heart to see my son so uncomfortable, so much of the time. We joked that he's got to be kicking himself, my little Made on Maui miracle baby - we say maybe when he "chose" to join us in my uterus, since we were on Maui when I got pregnant, he was erroneous in thinking that he was choosing a family that lived on Maui. Poor little guy, living in a small home in a big, cold city that is falling apart at the seams with earthquakes and occupiers...this is decidedly NOT Maui. Would he be happier there? (Or, better question, would we? If there were any way to finagle it financially, I'd move. Though that would mean we'd be away from my mother, who has been a lifesaver these last two months...)
I love him with every cell of my being. It hurts so incredibly much to hear him crying, screaming, and to be trying every single thing with every single part of me to make it better.
And I can't figure out how much of my emotional stuff is fatigue and how much is hormonal ppd type stuff and how much is the fact that I am just completely fucked from having gone through the year that we went through last year. But I see other BLMs with their rainbows having a seemingly much easier time, so I know this isn't just residual grief causing panic and anxiety. Owen is a challenging baby. And that feels like a really fucking unfair hand to be dealt after having lost Otis. And I feel like a fucking failure, pretty much about 90% of the time.
And like I said, I also feel like a total ingrate. I should be cherishing every peep out of his mouth, including the blood curdling shrieks at 4 am. The shoulds are killing me. We should be happier. He should be sleeping better. I should be able to get out of the house to join that mommy's group. He should be smiling more. I should be ready to go back to work. I should be able to figure all this out. We should just count our blessings that he's here, he's alive, and it appears that he might actually get to stay...
And I can't help but wonder - would Otis have been challenging like this? He was such a big baby, and hung out until 40 1/2 weeks in utero, and was always so chill in the womb, I feel like he would've been different. And then I think this kind of thinking further kills me. The comparing. The wishing Owen was someone different. It makes me cry even to type those words, because I love him so much, how could I possibly wish he were any different than exactly as he is? I worry that he doesn't know how loved he is, because so often I'm just so run down by him.
We went last week to the pediatrician and Owen was weighed. At 7 1/2 weeks, he weighed Otis's birth weight. This is what Otis's body would've felt like squirming in my arms, I think to myself. Would Otis have done that thing with his lip the way Owen does? I wonder. Would I have felt so overwhelmed, so sad, so desperate, with Otis? I realized as I folded clothes the other day that I no longer associate really any of the outfits as being Otis's outfits - they all belong to Owen now - with the exception of the dandelion onesie that my bff gave Otis, and the monkey butt pants. I can't wear my Otis necklace because Owen yanks on it while he nurses and I'm afraid of the chain snapping. E lost his Otis necklace at some point while we were at the hospital. The symbolism of these two things makes me want to scream and sob. Otis, you are here, always, right at the forefront of my heart. The space you occupy is always yours. Uniquely and unequivocally yours.
And then I sit here, and I glance down at this beautiful little boy strapped onto my chest, and tears fill my eyes, because he is so gorgeous, so amazing, so miraculous. Because I love him so much. It's so damn confusing. So damn confusing. I read back over my words here and I am so sad because I feel like they don't convey the truth in my heart, that I love this little man so much I would gladly lay down in front of a tank or a bus for him, in a heartbeat. I look at him, recognize how hard these days are, and my heart hurts, I feel like it's somehow blasphemous or contradicts that love to admit how hard a time I'm having.
I miss Otis.
I grieve that we didn't get to do "newborn" with Otis.
I grieve that these first 8 weeks have been so drastically different than what I hoped for, what I imagined for us, what I dreamt of.
I miss me, I miss the pre-Otis me, I miss the post-Otis me. I miss what semblance of "solid ground" I felt like I was standing on, even in the precariousness of being pregnant with Owen. I miss taking deep grounding breaths, I miss feeling like I knew what I was doing, I miss feeling competent. I miss being able to type emails to my friends (yes, especially you, B), I miss being able to answer a phone call, I miss having clothes that I feel comfortable and presentable in.
And I read those words and I am embarrassed and disgusted by myself. Because I have my baby, my living, screaming, breathing, healthy baby. He's here. He's healthy. He's alive. He's ours.
And yet it all still feels so fucking hard, in some agonizingly familiar old ways and some brand new and terrifying ways...
But...when it comes down to it, Steven Tyler still captures the song that's been in my head throughout these last 8 weeks...
Owen will be 8 weeks tomorrow.
These have been difficult weeks. Nothing like what I imagined. And I suspect to the BLMs who have not gone on to have a subsequent child, and perhaps even to those of you who have as well, I sound like an ingrate. I remember reading of women complaining about lack of sleep and thinking "Oh cry me a fucking river...."
Well, I've cried that river, and then some, in the last 8 weeks.
I need to remember that Owen came 5 weeks early, and his milestones are different than that of full term babies. It sometimes helps if I think of him as a 3 1/2 week old baby, rather than an eight week baby, because he just doesn't do "what 8 week old babies do" (or at least according to my observations of other families with 8 week olds.)
We started him on reflux meds last week, which I never thought I'd do (kinda like how before Otis I thought I'd never have an elective cesarean...), and they do seem to be making a difference, but he's still young, and in general just seems unhappy to be out of the womb most of the time. Please don't link me to the npr article about reflux meds being overprescribed - it's been sent to me twelve times over. The meds seem to be helping my son. That is all I need to know.
Perhaps because of the meds, perhaps because he's just growing up, this is the first week we've even had a glimpse of "baby." Up until this point, we have pretty much just known crying, screaming, pooping, sleeping, fussing. No smiles. Little eye contact. Barely any awake time. And he cries or screams unless he's held, for the most part. We get about 30 minutes, maybe an hour, two if we are SUPER LUCKY, in the morning now where he can hang out in my arms, or be in a swing or his pack n play just cooing and chattering and generally happy to be around - but this is a new development as of the last four days. Today was the first time I've even been able to attempt "tummy time" with him, because he was awake, alert, not screaming. He's only had a handful of real baths in his short life because they cause a crapton of distress for both him and for us. (When I have the stamina, I'll write up the story of the day we tried to give him a bath and the glass bathroom sconce fell off the wall and shattered on the sink right next to him, sending shards of glass all over him but not drawing a drop of blood or cutting him at all (but taking a huge chunk out of my finger... and causing me to have a full blown, serious, breathe-into-a-paper-bag anxiety attack...))
At night, he'll sleep one shift, usually for an hour, in his cradle. Other than that, he needs to be held to sleep. I've camped out in a big chair in the bedroom and have him there, on my chest, usually from about 3 am to 8 am. The early shift, Owen is on E's chest, usually in the rocking chair in the living room. I get a decent few hours of sleep from about 11 pm to 2 am, then I feed O, then he kindasortabutnotreally sleeps in his bassinet next to the bed for an hour, then he wakes himself up all fussy, and we go to the chair and sleep there for the rest of the night. He fusses, but it's easier to soothe him when he's right there on my chest.
Nursing a reflux baby, especially when you have an overactive let-down and too much milk, is not always easy. He has his "I forgot to breathe, mama, sorry!" moments. He chokes and sputters and coughs and gasps. He freezes up, eyes popped out, staring at me, and I wonder if he'll start to breathe again. (So far, he obviously always has.) Night nursing especially is challenging, and I find that most nights I have a mini panic attack of sorts prior to nursing. The stop-breathing moments seem to be lessening now that he's on meds, but they still happen and they still freak me out. He still does his gaspy, shrieking breathing thing sometimes and it terrifies me. I sit and tremble as he sounds like he can't breathe. The moments pass, but not without wearing very thin on my already frayed nerves. And I don't even know how much of this is real and how much of this I exaggerate in my frayed frantic freaked out mind.
He hates the moby, almost always. Sometimes he'll allow himself to be held in it for a half hour while we walk the dogs. He tolerates the ergo but it doesn't work so well on me, his head burrows into my chest and then I get nervous about smothering him. (I can sit at the computer with him in the ergo, as I'm doing now, because it kind of leans him back away from me a bit but still cradles him close to my body so he's cozy but his face rests back; but I'm also sitting on a bouncing ball so he gets that gentle motion to keep him sleeping.)
It breaks my heart to see my son so uncomfortable, so much of the time. We joked that he's got to be kicking himself, my little Made on Maui miracle baby - we say maybe when he "chose" to join us in my uterus, since we were on Maui when I got pregnant, he was erroneous in thinking that he was choosing a family that lived on Maui. Poor little guy, living in a small home in a big, cold city that is falling apart at the seams with earthquakes and occupiers...this is decidedly NOT Maui. Would he be happier there? (Or, better question, would we? If there were any way to finagle it financially, I'd move. Though that would mean we'd be away from my mother, who has been a lifesaver these last two months...)
I love him with every cell of my being. It hurts so incredibly much to hear him crying, screaming, and to be trying every single thing with every single part of me to make it better.
And I can't figure out how much of my emotional stuff is fatigue and how much is hormonal ppd type stuff and how much is the fact that I am just completely fucked from having gone through the year that we went through last year. But I see other BLMs with their rainbows having a seemingly much easier time, so I know this isn't just residual grief causing panic and anxiety. Owen is a challenging baby. And that feels like a really fucking unfair hand to be dealt after having lost Otis. And I feel like a fucking failure, pretty much about 90% of the time.
And like I said, I also feel like a total ingrate. I should be cherishing every peep out of his mouth, including the blood curdling shrieks at 4 am. The shoulds are killing me. We should be happier. He should be sleeping better. I should be able to get out of the house to join that mommy's group. He should be smiling more. I should be ready to go back to work. I should be able to figure all this out. We should just count our blessings that he's here, he's alive, and it appears that he might actually get to stay...
And I can't help but wonder - would Otis have been challenging like this? He was such a big baby, and hung out until 40 1/2 weeks in utero, and was always so chill in the womb, I feel like he would've been different. And then I think this kind of thinking further kills me. The comparing. The wishing Owen was someone different. It makes me cry even to type those words, because I love him so much, how could I possibly wish he were any different than exactly as he is? I worry that he doesn't know how loved he is, because so often I'm just so run down by him.
We went last week to the pediatrician and Owen was weighed. At 7 1/2 weeks, he weighed Otis's birth weight. This is what Otis's body would've felt like squirming in my arms, I think to myself. Would Otis have done that thing with his lip the way Owen does? I wonder. Would I have felt so overwhelmed, so sad, so desperate, with Otis? I realized as I folded clothes the other day that I no longer associate really any of the outfits as being Otis's outfits - they all belong to Owen now - with the exception of the dandelion onesie that my bff gave Otis, and the monkey butt pants. I can't wear my Otis necklace because Owen yanks on it while he nurses and I'm afraid of the chain snapping. E lost his Otis necklace at some point while we were at the hospital. The symbolism of these two things makes me want to scream and sob. Otis, you are here, always, right at the forefront of my heart. The space you occupy is always yours. Uniquely and unequivocally yours.
And then I sit here, and I glance down at this beautiful little boy strapped onto my chest, and tears fill my eyes, because he is so gorgeous, so amazing, so miraculous. Because I love him so much. It's so damn confusing. So damn confusing. I read back over my words here and I am so sad because I feel like they don't convey the truth in my heart, that I love this little man so much I would gladly lay down in front of a tank or a bus for him, in a heartbeat. I look at him, recognize how hard these days are, and my heart hurts, I feel like it's somehow blasphemous or contradicts that love to admit how hard a time I'm having.
I miss Otis.
I grieve that we didn't get to do "newborn" with Otis.
I grieve that these first 8 weeks have been so drastically different than what I hoped for, what I imagined for us, what I dreamt of.
I miss me, I miss the pre-Otis me, I miss the post-Otis me. I miss what semblance of "solid ground" I felt like I was standing on, even in the precariousness of being pregnant with Owen. I miss taking deep grounding breaths, I miss feeling like I knew what I was doing, I miss feeling competent. I miss being able to type emails to my friends (yes, especially you, B), I miss being able to answer a phone call, I miss having clothes that I feel comfortable and presentable in.
And I read those words and I am embarrassed and disgusted by myself. Because I have my baby, my living, screaming, breathing, healthy baby. He's here. He's healthy. He's alive. He's ours.
And yet it all still feels so fucking hard, in some agonizingly familiar old ways and some brand new and terrifying ways...
But...when it comes down to it, Steven Tyler still captures the song that's been in my head throughout these last 8 weeks...
Friday, October 28, 2011
10.28.11
I don't want to jinx it but we've had a good couple of days. And I only mean "a couple" in the truest sense of the word: at most, 2 days. But...I feel like I'm getting to know Owen better and learning what makes him tick and learning his cries, his needs, his sounds and expressions...as well as learning my own ways and how they help and hinder me when he's having a tough time. I also am amazed at what a little sleep can do - even if it's only in 2 1/2 hour spurts, but if I chain three or four of those spurts together it makes me a whole lot saner. Owen seems to be settling into a bit of a night time pattern too, (well, do two or three nights make a pattern?) so that's been helpful for me since I'm so neurotic about predictability and patterns and routines.
I cut cow's milk dairy out of my diet and he's been so much less gassy/burpy/farty/agonizing/screaming that I really do think it makes a difference. I *hope* it makes a difference - it would be really nice to have a concrete idea of "this helps" rather than just trying everything at random. His rash/acne/eczema has also started to clear since I cut the dairy out as well, so I think he really may be sensitive to it.
Yesterday I went for my 6 week postpartum visit (still a bit early, I'm only 5 1/2 weeks pp) and the doctor gave me a clean bill of health - my incision has healed well, yadda yadda. When we were leaving the building, there was a truck parked outside the office that said OTIS along the side of it and I swear their logo looked SO MUCH like a dandelion. It made me smile, big.
In other news, my bff (or one of them) told me yesterday that her husband has a tumor in his jaw. He had testicular cancer about 8 years ago so we are all really hoping and praying that this is not a recurrence. He goes for a biopsy next week, please keep your fingers crossed. It also helps to explain why she's been pretty absent from helping with Owen this month, as they've been caught in CT scans and MRIs and a whole lot of scariness. I'm really ready to have a few months in a row where I stop shaking my fists at the heavens and shouting about how crappy life can be sometimes, by the way.
I have to start making plans to go back to work. I can't believe it. I so wish we could swing it otherwise but it's just not in our cards. It looks like the week before Thanksgiving will be my first week back (very part time) and we'll take it from there (the kids all have the week of Thanksgiving off, so that week I will be home as well). I don't know how it's going to work but I have to have some faith that it will somehow.
OK, baby is calling. Thanks for all the love and support. I really am around and reading your blogs and I apologize for not commenting, it's just hard to type a comment on my phone with one hand.
I cut cow's milk dairy out of my diet and he's been so much less gassy/burpy/farty/agonizing/screaming that I really do think it makes a difference. I *hope* it makes a difference - it would be really nice to have a concrete idea of "this helps" rather than just trying everything at random. His rash/acne/eczema has also started to clear since I cut the dairy out as well, so I think he really may be sensitive to it.
Yesterday I went for my 6 week postpartum visit (still a bit early, I'm only 5 1/2 weeks pp) and the doctor gave me a clean bill of health - my incision has healed well, yadda yadda. When we were leaving the building, there was a truck parked outside the office that said OTIS along the side of it and I swear their logo looked SO MUCH like a dandelion. It made me smile, big.
In other news, my bff (or one of them) told me yesterday that her husband has a tumor in his jaw. He had testicular cancer about 8 years ago so we are all really hoping and praying that this is not a recurrence. He goes for a biopsy next week, please keep your fingers crossed. It also helps to explain why she's been pretty absent from helping with Owen this month, as they've been caught in CT scans and MRIs and a whole lot of scariness. I'm really ready to have a few months in a row where I stop shaking my fists at the heavens and shouting about how crappy life can be sometimes, by the way.
I have to start making plans to go back to work. I can't believe it. I so wish we could swing it otherwise but it's just not in our cards. It looks like the week before Thanksgiving will be my first week back (very part time) and we'll take it from there (the kids all have the week of Thanksgiving off, so that week I will be home as well). I don't know how it's going to work but I have to have some faith that it will somehow.
OK, baby is calling. Thanks for all the love and support. I really am around and reading your blogs and I apologize for not commenting, it's just hard to type a comment on my phone with one hand.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Briefly 10.22.11
I went to a support group on Tuesday for postpartum anxiety and depression. The woman sitting next to me was there because she was breastfeeding her daughter two weeks ago and when she stopped nursing, she looked down and her baby was blue. Her husband did CPR and brought the baby back and she lived, but the mama is having horrible anxiety (obviously.) They are saying it was a "pre-SIDS event" and that it was a result of "silent reflux" - ummm....not the best fodder for my own anxiety, eh? I didn't exactly leave the group feeling supported...just more anxious.
Owen is a fussy baby. Colicky, perhaps, the doctors tell us. Though what is colic, other than the medical definition of "3 hours of crying 3 days a week for over 3 weeks"? Sounds just like parameters, not a diagnosis that is treatable. Yes, we are doing all the 5 S's, yes we are trying to eliminate foods from my diet, yes, yes, and yes - we are trying almost everything that has been suggested. With limited success. Some days are great, some are impossibly challenging. And, yeah, silent reflux is a possibility. Everyone keeps telling me "this baby is here to stay" and I try to believe them but sometimes my anxiety gets the best of me.
In spite of all this, I'm doing okay, believe it or not, still sleeping in two to three hour spurts but it is beginning to be more manageable. I am not quite as paralyzed or crippled as I was a week ago, but I still feel like I'm *still* climbing a mountain that puts Kilimanjaro stacked on top of Everest look like a molehill.
We've had four earthquakes in the last two days here, and our house is no more than 4 miles from the epicenter. They've scared the crap out of me. One of them, in the midst of Owen's 8 hour crying jag on Thursday, caused a bonafide panic attack that made E call in reinforcements (my brother came over, bounced O on the bouncy ball while I spoke to the advice nurse about colic...) I've been through two really nasty earthquakes in my life (89 SF, 94 LA) and I totally have residual trauma memories from them. I hate the way they come out of nowhere and make you literally question the ground you stand upon. Kind of like babyloss. Totally unpredictable, knocks you on your ass and sends you reeling in a way you never thought was possible.
Oof.
Owen is a fussy baby. Colicky, perhaps, the doctors tell us. Though what is colic, other than the medical definition of "3 hours of crying 3 days a week for over 3 weeks"? Sounds just like parameters, not a diagnosis that is treatable. Yes, we are doing all the 5 S's, yes we are trying to eliminate foods from my diet, yes, yes, and yes - we are trying almost everything that has been suggested. With limited success. Some days are great, some are impossibly challenging. And, yeah, silent reflux is a possibility. Everyone keeps telling me "this baby is here to stay" and I try to believe them but sometimes my anxiety gets the best of me.
In spite of all this, I'm doing okay, believe it or not, still sleeping in two to three hour spurts but it is beginning to be more manageable. I am not quite as paralyzed or crippled as I was a week ago, but I still feel like I'm *still* climbing a mountain that puts Kilimanjaro stacked on top of Everest look like a molehill.
We've had four earthquakes in the last two days here, and our house is no more than 4 miles from the epicenter. They've scared the crap out of me. One of them, in the midst of Owen's 8 hour crying jag on Thursday, caused a bonafide panic attack that made E call in reinforcements (my brother came over, bounced O on the bouncy ball while I spoke to the advice nurse about colic...) I've been through two really nasty earthquakes in my life (89 SF, 94 LA) and I totally have residual trauma memories from them. I hate the way they come out of nowhere and make you literally question the ground you stand upon. Kind of like babyloss. Totally unpredictable, knocks you on your ass and sends you reeling in a way you never thought was possible.
Oof.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Monsoon 10.16.11
--A bit scared to hit "publish" on this post, but figured I need to come clean with the nitty gritty and down and dirty of my parenting after loss experience.--
I am totally and completely overwhelmed.
With love for this little peanut that entered our life four weeks ago today.
And with sadness for my little big man who left our world one year and five weeks ago today.
And with fatigue, with confusion, with feeling like a total and complete and utter failure - I was talking with a friend today and agreed with her when she said she feels like every mother deserves a HUGE FUCKING MEDAL for making it through the first weeks (months? years?) with a newborn. I don't know how so many of you have done it/are doing it - competently even - I am barely keeping my head above water.
(This is not an exaggeration. The extent of my "successes" for the day were: calling my therapist and getting an appointment to see her on Wednesday (haven't seen her since two weeks before Owen was born); calling my doctor and getting in to go to a peripartum depression group and a consult appointment for possible meds evaluation; calling our health insurance and trying to deal with adding Owen to our coverage (why is that not automatic, seriously, paperwork with my level of brain fog is excruciating); getting my tortoise to finally eat (he's been on a hunger strike for like a week or two?), feeding myself a burrito at 4:30 pm (my first meal of the day), changing a zillion diapers and nursing a very fussy baby a zillion and two times. I am still in yesterday's yoga pants, I can't tell you when I last showered (Saturday?), my neighbors can probably smell me at this point. I haven't slept more than an hour or two in our bed in days (Owen seems to only sleep if he's held, so it's the big easy chair in our bedroom for the two of us every night lately.))
Anyhow, lest any of this be seen as complaining, it's not. I know how lucky I am to have this little beautiful being here at home and in my arms. I stare at him and marvel at how amazing he is. And yet, I can't seem to pull it together to leave the house, to get dressed, to find a way to sleep, to take care of basic self-care right now. I cry a lot. A LOT. I become anxious about doing anything new with the baby - I worry he's going to suffocate in his moby wrap. I worry he's dressed too warmly, too coldly. I worry that he's got a fever. I worry that he's eating too much, or not enough. Same with sleep. He's got a bad case of baby acne, but I keep worrying "what if it's not baby acne but actually some rare disease that's going to kill him?" I see how exasperated everyone is with me and my anxiety - I see how paralyzed I am - but I'm not sure how to break myself of it. (That's why I enlisted help today, calling the doctors and my therapist, btw. Pay someone who is makes a profession out of helping women in my shoes to help me.) I know what a treasure I have here with me right now - I just can't quite access the joy that I think I'm supposed to be feeling about all of it.
I feel so overwhelmed, like such a phony, like an impostor who doesn't really deserve to have a living baby here at home with her, and who is failing miserably at this parenting after loss gig. At it's worst, which it was the other night, I sobbed to E, "I feel like maybe Otis knew what he was doing, deciding to leave us..."
(Note to those of you panicking about me: I know Otis didn't "choose" to leave us. I also am safe, I am not interested in harming myself or the baby (yes, I was asked this question a few times today by a few different professionals) and I know I will survive this.)
I am totally and completely overwhelmed.
With love for this little peanut that entered our life four weeks ago today.
And with sadness for my little big man who left our world one year and five weeks ago today.
And with fatigue, with confusion, with feeling like a total and complete and utter failure - I was talking with a friend today and agreed with her when she said she feels like every mother deserves a HUGE FUCKING MEDAL for making it through the first weeks (months? years?) with a newborn. I don't know how so many of you have done it/are doing it - competently even - I am barely keeping my head above water.
(This is not an exaggeration. The extent of my "successes" for the day were: calling my therapist and getting an appointment to see her on Wednesday (haven't seen her since two weeks before Owen was born); calling my doctor and getting in to go to a peripartum depression group and a consult appointment for possible meds evaluation; calling our health insurance and trying to deal with adding Owen to our coverage (why is that not automatic, seriously, paperwork with my level of brain fog is excruciating); getting my tortoise to finally eat (he's been on a hunger strike for like a week or two?), feeding myself a burrito at 4:30 pm (my first meal of the day), changing a zillion diapers and nursing a very fussy baby a zillion and two times. I am still in yesterday's yoga pants, I can't tell you when I last showered (Saturday?), my neighbors can probably smell me at this point. I haven't slept more than an hour or two in our bed in days (Owen seems to only sleep if he's held, so it's the big easy chair in our bedroom for the two of us every night lately.))
Anyhow, lest any of this be seen as complaining, it's not. I know how lucky I am to have this little beautiful being here at home and in my arms. I stare at him and marvel at how amazing he is. And yet, I can't seem to pull it together to leave the house, to get dressed, to find a way to sleep, to take care of basic self-care right now. I cry a lot. A LOT. I become anxious about doing anything new with the baby - I worry he's going to suffocate in his moby wrap. I worry he's dressed too warmly, too coldly. I worry that he's got a fever. I worry that he's eating too much, or not enough. Same with sleep. He's got a bad case of baby acne, but I keep worrying "what if it's not baby acne but actually some rare disease that's going to kill him?" I see how exasperated everyone is with me and my anxiety - I see how paralyzed I am - but I'm not sure how to break myself of it. (That's why I enlisted help today, calling the doctors and my therapist, btw. Pay someone who is makes a profession out of helping women in my shoes to help me.) I know what a treasure I have here with me right now - I just can't quite access the joy that I think I'm supposed to be feeling about all of it.
I feel so overwhelmed, like such a phony, like an impostor who doesn't really deserve to have a living baby here at home with her, and who is failing miserably at this parenting after loss gig. At it's worst, which it was the other night, I sobbed to E, "I feel like maybe Otis knew what he was doing, deciding to leave us..."
(Note to those of you panicking about me: I know Otis didn't "choose" to leave us. I also am safe, I am not interested in harming myself or the baby (yes, I was asked this question a few times today by a few different professionals) and I know I will survive this.)
Thursday, October 6, 2011
10.6.11
Time flies.
Babyboy is growing fast, and the days and nights blur past us. This is HARD work, much harder than I ever anticipated. Both the grieving for what we lost with Otis, and the learning curve with raising this little guy...I am so swamped, so much of the time. Doing my best to keep my head above water, but it's not easy. We've had help lined up (family and friends) and like 90% of them seem to have gotten sick the day before they were scheduled to help out, so we end up fending without them. Plus, this baby came a month early. We had NOTHING, literally, NOTHING, set up for him. I hadn't let myself even think through the "what if he gets to come home with us?" questions yet. Needless to say, there's a lot to set up, a lot to learn, and I've got a huge incision across my belly and was in a fair amount of discomfort for at least the first week in my recovery that prevented me from doing much other than nursing and sleeping.
Not to mention (TMI, sorry) we had quite a scare on Sunday night when my bleeding picked up significantly and then I passed a large piece of "retained tissue." You'd think with a c-section they'd get all that out easily - not so much. Apparently with preterm babies it can be more common that a chunk of membranes/placenta gets left behind. Ewww. Not to mention super scary. I'm fine now, just a little rattled by the whole thing.
When does this get easier, by the way?
I'm madly in love with this little boy, I stare at his lips and his nose and lose myself for hours...I still can't believe he's here. I also miss being pregnant. I feel cheated in many ways of those last few weeks, though I also know I was also probably lucky to not have had to endure the anxiety of the last weeks of a pregnancy. I'm so thankful he was born healthy even at 35 1/2 weeks, that his jaundice cleared rapidly and he's growing like a champ. We still have to deal with a few "preterm" concerns and are maybe more cautious than we would be if he were born at term, but for the most part, we're super lucky that he's as healthy as he is.
From my bed, I can see a photograph of Otis. I lie there, nursing Owen, and my gaze goes between my two sons. They have so many similar features, there are times when Owen is asleep that I panic because I get a flash of Otis, of our last moments with him. But Otis was such a big boy, and Owen is so tiny still. I still can't grasp how my sturdy man, my big strong baby boy with a head full of hair, isn't here with us - I know I never will. I miss him so much, every day. Putting Owen's clothes away into Otis's dresser was probably one of the hardest moments so far. "I was JUST DOING THIS, JUST DOING THIS..." I kept crying and repeating. It seems like just yesterday, there I was, eagerly awaiting Otis's arrival, tidying and readying for him, picturing him in all the outfits, dreaming dreams for our family...and now I do the same for his brother, and yet with a constant tinge of fear, anxiety, sadness that I wouldn't wish on any new mother. Oh Otis, I miss you. I wish you were here with us.
I'm reading along with your blogs still, just unable to write much because I'm usually one or no-handed. Thanks for abiding. xo
Babyboy is growing fast, and the days and nights blur past us. This is HARD work, much harder than I ever anticipated. Both the grieving for what we lost with Otis, and the learning curve with raising this little guy...I am so swamped, so much of the time. Doing my best to keep my head above water, but it's not easy. We've had help lined up (family and friends) and like 90% of them seem to have gotten sick the day before they were scheduled to help out, so we end up fending without them. Plus, this baby came a month early. We had NOTHING, literally, NOTHING, set up for him. I hadn't let myself even think through the "what if he gets to come home with us?" questions yet. Needless to say, there's a lot to set up, a lot to learn, and I've got a huge incision across my belly and was in a fair amount of discomfort for at least the first week in my recovery that prevented me from doing much other than nursing and sleeping.
Not to mention (TMI, sorry) we had quite a scare on Sunday night when my bleeding picked up significantly and then I passed a large piece of "retained tissue." You'd think with a c-section they'd get all that out easily - not so much. Apparently with preterm babies it can be more common that a chunk of membranes/placenta gets left behind. Ewww. Not to mention super scary. I'm fine now, just a little rattled by the whole thing.
When does this get easier, by the way?
I'm madly in love with this little boy, I stare at his lips and his nose and lose myself for hours...I still can't believe he's here. I also miss being pregnant. I feel cheated in many ways of those last few weeks, though I also know I was also probably lucky to not have had to endure the anxiety of the last weeks of a pregnancy. I'm so thankful he was born healthy even at 35 1/2 weeks, that his jaundice cleared rapidly and he's growing like a champ. We still have to deal with a few "preterm" concerns and are maybe more cautious than we would be if he were born at term, but for the most part, we're super lucky that he's as healthy as he is.
From my bed, I can see a photograph of Otis. I lie there, nursing Owen, and my gaze goes between my two sons. They have so many similar features, there are times when Owen is asleep that I panic because I get a flash of Otis, of our last moments with him. But Otis was such a big boy, and Owen is so tiny still. I still can't grasp how my sturdy man, my big strong baby boy with a head full of hair, isn't here with us - I know I never will. I miss him so much, every day. Putting Owen's clothes away into Otis's dresser was probably one of the hardest moments so far. "I was JUST DOING THIS, JUST DOING THIS..." I kept crying and repeating. It seems like just yesterday, there I was, eagerly awaiting Otis's arrival, tidying and readying for him, picturing him in all the outfits, dreaming dreams for our family...and now I do the same for his brother, and yet with a constant tinge of fear, anxiety, sadness that I wouldn't wish on any new mother. Oh Otis, I miss you. I wish you were here with us.
I'm reading along with your blogs still, just unable to write much because I'm usually one or no-handed. Thanks for abiding. xo
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