To sleep, perchance to snuggle

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the best things about feeling like myself in my body again is the ability to snuggle with the hubby again.

This really can't be overstated.  When you're pregnant, you're only supposed to sleep on your left side.  I would sleep on my right side at least a third of the time, though, because various body parts on my left side would fall asleep (and not in the way I intended/hoped to fall asleep).  Plus, sleeping on my left side meant I was always facing away from the hubby.  You can't sleep on your stomach while pregnant (obviously) and you can't sleep on your back.  Eventually, sleeping on my side was uncomfortable, but my friend Tracy gave me her body pillow:

It helped me sleep SO much . . . but as you can imagine, it pretty much created a boundary between me and the hubby.  I tried to go without the body pillow one weekend, but got such terrible sleep that I had to go back to using it.  In the scheme of things, it was more important - both for me and The Force - to be rested.  The lack of snuggling didn't take an obvious toll on us, but we both missed it and spoke about it often.

When I came home from the hospital, one of the first things I did was take the body pillow off the bed and shove it in the closet.  However, after the c-section, I could only sleep on my back.  Ironically, after months of being so sick and tired of sleeping on my side, all I wanted to do was sleep on my side - but I couldn't sleep on my sides because it felt like my insides were sliding and everything was pushing and pulling on my scar.  And even now, two and a half weeks later, I can't yet sleep on my stomach. 

But at least I could lay up against the hubby without the body pillow acting like a moat between us.  And now, I can sleep on my side and we can snuggle up together.  There's an amazing depth of feeling to this simple physicality.

The love we have in our marriage has definitely shifted and grown since Nate's arrival.  There hasn't been a day that's gone by where one of us hasn't asked, "How did we create something so adorable/amazing/beautiful?"

I always thought it was remarkably cheesy when someone explained that babies come from "when a mommy and daddy love each other very much" because, honestly, plenty of people who don't love each other create beautiful children.  But I can't think of that line as cheesy anymore because when I look at Nate, I am filled not just with the love I feel for him, but the love I feel for the hubby.  I feel like the answer to how did we create something so beautiful is that Nate is the embodiment of the love we have for each other.

During my pregnancy, I read a lot about the first year of parenthood being one of the unhappiest times in many marriages and it's something I've feared quite a bit.  And, obviously, only two and a half weeks into that first year, I can't make any assumptions about us avoiding that pitfall.  I think it's easier now, while I'm still home and it's all still brand new, than it will be six months from now when we're both working and dealing with a child care schedule and fretting about baby proofing as Nate begins to be mobile - especially if we haven't moved and are still in our postage stamp-sized apartment.

But things right now are so amazing, so wonderful, so better than ever, that I'm no longer worried about that.  From the very beginning of our relationship - from our very first date - I marveled at how the hubby and I physically fit together like two puzzle pieces.  When I curl up in bed with him, it feels more natural than sleeping alone does - and that's something I never dreamed I would find with someone.  I always thought I'd need separate beds when I got married because I could never sleep well with someone else in the bed.  But the hubby and I have got comfortable nights' sleep on a twin bed - and once we fell asleep on my parents' sofa, entangled in a way that 1 - I can't even describe and 2 - makes me wonder just how incredibly tired we were to fall asleep that way.

So part of me feeling like myself again after having Nate involves feeling like a wife again - even better than the wife I was before I got pregnant, the wife I am in my heart - the half of the puzzle.

Nate's Birth Story - Part 7 - Home - From anxiety to joy

When we came home with Nate, we were both so exhausted that I think we were functioning on adrenaline alone.  I was sore, recovering from the c-section, and struggling with breastfeeding.  The hubby had intense jaw pain from sleeping on his side on the recliner in my hospital room for three nights in a row.  The pain led to his first migraine.  So there we were, home with our baby for the first time, and the hubby had to go lie down with a pillow over his head, leaving me to sit with Nate and wonder what in the world we were thinking, having a baby.

My first four or so days at home, I had a lot of anxiety.  True anxiety - the kind that makes your heart thump and your breath short.  For some reason, nighttime made me nervous.  Around 4:30pm, I would start to feel anxious.  The darker it got, the more nervous I got and the more I wanted to just sit and cry.  Thankfully, I have an amazing, wonderful husband who I don't need to hide my tears from.  (Even when I try, he makes me tell him what's going on.)  I couldn't look at Nate and say he was a mistake.  Never.  But I felt like the decision to become parents was a mistake.  What were we thinking?  However did we think we could manage this?

The hubby reassured me that none of this was a mistake and that one of the reasons he married me was because he knew I'd be a wonderful mother one day.  I'm sure he's told me that before, but when he said it that day, it felt like the first time I was hearing it - and it felt like a band-aid on my worries.  It really helped to hear, although the anxiety wasn't over yet.

The hubby and I agreed that he would take care of Nate until 4am and I would take care of him after that.  So even if we both went to bed at 11pm, the hubby would get up for any feedings before 4am.  The problem was that Nate's crying still woke me up and then I would get up and make sure everything was going okay.  After a day or two of that, I then started to hear crying in my sleep, even when Nate wasn't crying.  This confused me at first, as I was convinced he was crying, but I'd sit up and look at him - and, nope, he was sound asleep.  After a few more times, I realized that I was basically having anxiety-induced delusions.

That continued for two nights, as did the creeping evening/nighttime anxiety... but then, finally, one day it all just stopped.  I realized at 8pm one night that I felt okay - possibly even good, possibly even happy.  I went to bed that night with absolutely no worries about the hubby watching Nate for a few hours.  I didn't get up when the hubby got up to feed Nate.  I didn't hear any phantom crying.

One of my favorite lines from the first Sex and the City movie is when Samantha asks Charlotte how often she's happy in her marriage and she says, "Every day.  Not all day, every day - but every day."  That's how I feel in my marriage - and it also describes the joy I feel about Nate.  The joy is quiet, but it's insistent.  I don't sit and cry out of happiness (okay, maybe once in a while I do) but it's like my heart has a river of joy rippling through it.

I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm proud of.  I'm proud of my degrees, the awards I've won, and all the other academic items on my CV.  When I think of my happiest moments, I remember my NYU graduation day and my wedding day.  But yesterday I realized that Nate is by far the greatest thing I've ever done.

Intellectually, it's an odd thought.  Those academic accomplishments and degrees required a lot more work and dedication than getting pregnant did . . . but those pieces of paper will never radiate joy in the way Nate does.

To me, he is just magic.  I can't imagine anything more fascinating and spellbinding.

Introducing Nathaniel Martin

Nate's Birth Story - Part 1, Delivery Day - Prep

Nate's Birth Story - Part 2, Delivery Day - The Prize!

Nate's Birth Story - Part 3, The Hospital Stay - Visitorville

Nate's Birth Story - Part 4 - The Name

Nate's Birth Story - Part 5, The Hospital Stay - When it got hard

From Breast to Bottle - My Story

Nate's Birth Story - Part 6 - The Hospital Stay - When it got scary

Nate's Birth Story - Part 6 - The Hospital Stay - When it got scary

Having a baby is terrifying.  Sure, you have nine months to prepare, but there's an instant when all the visitors leave and the initial euphoria wears off and you realize you are now entirely responsible for someone else's well-being.  In some ways, I feel like pregnancy is preparation for this - in your standard, Western, contemporary pregnancy, you spend nine months avoiding cold cuts, tuna, and aspartame.  You take your vitamins.  You try not to trip and fall.  It was like walking on eggshells around myself for months.

Suddenly, your body is your own again - but your life is not.  For me, this was scary.  I felt like my immediate main objective was to make sure Nate lived from minute-to-minute - and he seemed so fragile that this didn't seem like an easy task (even though millions of people accomplish it daily).

But then, on top of the ordinary scariness of having a newborn, we had a couple of moments that topped out our fear.

Wednesday night, I was breastfeeding Nate when he started to spit up.  No problem, right?  All babies spit up.  But do all babies' lips turn blue when they do?  No, I didn't think so - but that's what happened.  As Nate sputtered, his lips turned blue.  We sat him up and patted his back as we frantically pressed the nurses' call button.  Happily, Nate was just fine.  By the time the nurse got to the room (which was quickly), his lips were mainly rosy again with just a thin line of blue on the inner edge and the nurse explained that he was still learning how to eat and that this happens sometimes.  It happened again a few hours later, but cleared up even more quickly that time (and we didn't panic, although we were frightened out of our minds again).  It hasn't happened since and I hope it never happens again.

The following day, we were due to go home.  Hospital check-out time was 11am, right after Nate had one final check-up with the hospital's pediatrician.  I was dressed (yay, real clothes), the bag was packed, and the room was cleared of anything we wanted to take with us when the pediatrician stopped by.  She informed us that one of Nate's hips had "a click" and that they wanted to do an ultrasound on it before we left.

Best case scenario - it was nothing more than a ligament that wasn't finished settling in to where it was supposed to be because he was breech.

Worse case scenario - it was something more serious and Nate would need to wear a leg brace for the first year of his life.

In one minute I went from thinking for the hundredth time how happy I was to be out of the hospital gown to thinking about my tiny little son having to wear a cumbersome brace for the first year of his life.  My cousin's daughter had something similar and had to wear a brace when she was a baby.  It helped correct her physical health issue and I'm sure she has no memories of it, but no one wants their baby to have a rough time just starting out in life, whether they'll remember it or not.

We had to wait several hours for the ultrasound machine to become available, during which we watched TV and talked about anything other than the ultrasound.  I didn't even call my parents to tell them what was going on; that would have made it too real.

Thankfully, the ultrasound results were fine.  Nate saw his regular pediatrician this past Monday and she confirmed that he does have a click but she believes it's just ligamentitus and that it will resolve itself.  He's going to have another ultrasound at six weeks to check.

In those moments, they could have told me that if I had my head cut off, it would resolve any issues Nate had and I would have signed up and asked if removing any other body parts could help even more.  It's only been a little over a week, but I would already do absolutely anything to keep Nate safe and prevent these scary moments.

Per our pediatrician, Nate is "perfect" - and I know we're going to do everything we can to keep him that way (well, as much as is within our power to do so).  Although I have no doubt he'll always be perfect to us, regardless.

To me, that face will always be perfection.

Introducing Nathaniel Martin

Nate's Birth Story - Part 1, Delivery Day - Prep

Nate's Birth Story - Part 2, Delivery Day - The Prize!

Nate's Birth Story - Part 3, The Hospital Stay - Visitorville

Nate's Birth Story - Part 4 - The Name

Nate's Birth Story - Part 5, The Hospital Stay - When it got hard

From Breast to Bottle - My Story

Nate's Birth Story - Part 6 - The Hospital Stay - When it got scary

Nate's Birth Story - Part 7 - Home - From anxiety to joy

From Breast to Bottle - My Story

*This post is easily the hardest one I have ever written.  I've been planning to write it for days, but as it came time to post it I nearly changed my mind.  With a deep breath and hope for kind - or at least considerate - reactions, here is my story.

This is the next installment in Nate's birth story, but it's really my story because this is about what I had to decide when it seemed like breastfeeding wasn't working.

I wanted to breastfeed - so much so, that I never even learned anything about bottle feeding (beyond what I already knew from babysitting and friends who bottle feed).  I simply didn't bother.  I wanted to give breastfeeding my all and I knew that having formula as an "out" would make it more likely that I'd give up on nursing.  We got a bunch of bottles and related supplies at the baby shower, but I never even unpacked them.  I had them on hand just in case, but I didn't want to organize them because it felt like I'd be jinxing myself.  I needed to be 100% committed to nursing, especially since I had breast reduction/lift surgery five years ago and knew this might affect my ability to nurse.  As with many things in my life, I believed that sheer will could bring me through.  I've always been remarkably lucky in health matters - a quick healer who rarely gets sick in the first place.  I knew there was a possibility this wouldn't work out, but I wasn't going to allow myself to think about it.  I was giving this my all; that's all there was to it.

As mentioned in Part 2, Nate immediately had a great latch.  He latched on in the recovery room and nursed away like a little champ.  It was an odd sensation, but it felt completely natural - more natural than being pregnant ever felt.  Over the next two days, nursing continued to feel wonderful.  No matter how tired I was, I was ready to nurse when he needed me.  Every time I nursed him, I felt flooded with a natural joy.  I loved sitting there, holding him, and watching him nurse while I stroked his little head and talked to him.

But soon, being tired took on a new - and sometimes scary - meaning.  As I mentioned in Part 5, by Wednesday Nate was nursing for 60-90 minutes, snoozing for 20 minutes, and then waking up screamingly hungry and nursing for another 60 minutes.

At one point, I was so tired that I fell asleep holding him - something I consider dangerous.  I know it happens, but it's something that scares me.  Thankfully the hubby was awake and took Nate from my arms (I didn't even wake up).  Later that night, Nate was screaming again (and I do mean screaming, not crying) and the hubby was trying to wake me up to nurse.  He nudged me, nudged my face, spoke to me - and nothing.  No response.  I was THAT tired.  This scared the hubby and, later, me when he told me about it.

By 11:30pm Wednesday night, the hubby and I were at our wits' ends.  Nate was screaming all the time and crunching up like he was having stomach pain (reminding me of the same thing my nephew did when his acid reflux bothered him) and he didn't have the expected number of wet or dirty diapers, so we really felt like he may not have been getting what he needed... but the lactation consultant and nurses said he had to be fine because his blood sugar was good and his most recent wet diaper weighed enough to show he was getting enough milk.

But he was screaming.  Even while nursing, he fussed and fidgeted and expressed discomfort.  I wanted to give him formula but I couldn't say it.  The hubby knew I wanted to - because I felt we had to - but that I couldn't say it.  Finally, we called in the nurse and asked for an ounce of formula, just to see what happened.  If Nate didn't calm down, then he wasn't screaming because he was hungry.

But here's how dedicated to breastfeeding the hospital is: the nurse wouldn't give us formula! I can see how some people would be irritated by this, but I actually appreciated it (and expressed as much to the hubby at the time).  She had to send in the head baby nurse, who we had actually spoken to earlier in the evening.  She brought us 1oz of formula, of which Nate drank about 1/4oz before finally seeming happy.  He went on to sleep better and longer that night than he had in the past three days, which is to say he slept for two whole hours instead of 30 minutes.

After those two hours and throughout the next morning, we went back to on-demand nursing and Nate went back to screaming after nursing for 30 minutes at each breast.  The lactation consultant visited one last time (we were due to go home in a few hours) and we told her the whole story.  She brought me a breast pump and encouraged us to keep up with breastfeeding.  I was producing some transitional milk and she explained it would be a few more days before my mature milk came in.

So we went home and I nursed all evening and into the night.  I tried pumping, but only managed to get a little milk after fifteen minutes (barely enough to trickle into the canister of the pump).  So, together, the hubby and I decided to give Nate a bottle.  I scrambled to put one together - to sterilize the nipples I never opened, to quickly read how much water to mix with how much powder - all while crying because I hated it, the whole process.  I had some formula on hand because we had received it free in the mail (interestingly, the hospital truly is so pro-breastfeeding that their free diaper bag included no formula - not even any coupons for it - which I think is great).

Nate drank less than an ounce and quickly calmed down.  He had another bottle later in the night and I nursed him in the morning.  He was hungry again after an hour, but I was okay with that because I knew it was normal for breastfeeding.  Later I pumped, only getting about a teaspoon of milk after 30 minutes of pumping.  Nate, meanwhile, was content after each bottle.

I know they get formula faster in a bottle than they do milk from a breast.  I know it's obvious that he'd seem happier because it's "easier" for him.  But I can't ignore that he seemed not just dissatisfied but actually hungry before.  The pained, crunching over at the stomach stopped.  The screaming stopped.  Now he just cried, like a newborn.

My breasts, meanwhile, started to feel a bit heavier - lumpy in spots, although nowhere near "full."  So I pumped first thing in the morning, knowing that's when they should be fullest, but there was a teaspoon.  I tried to breastfeed one last time on Saturday but Nate wouldn't latch on.  He fussed and cried.  I won't ever know if this was because he was already used to the bottles or because I was producing so little milk, but I can guess it was both.  This was six days after the c-section.  I know breastfeeding takes longer after a c-section.  I was happy to have a pro-bf hospital that allowed lengthy skin-to-skin contact and breastfeeding in the recovery room.  But at that point on Saturday, I gave up, convinced I wasn't producing.

And I cried.  And I still cry.  I cry as I stand at the sink washing bottles.  I cry sometimes as I mix formula.  I cry as I feed Nate a bottle and wonder what now distinguishes me as his mother since anyone can feed him - and I couldn't.  I cry thinking about the decision I made five years ago to have breast surgery, remembering how I thought it was no big deal if I was ever able to breastfeed.  I clearly remember thinking, "Who cares?"

Little did I know that I'd care; I'd care a lot.  I didn't know that not breastfeeding would break my heart.

Maybe I didn't do all I could.  Maybe I assumed my breast surgery had more of an effect than it actually did.  Maybe I could have given it a few more days.  Now, I'll never know.  I do know that a friend and I have noticed, anecdotally, that women with breast reductions have a hard time nursing with their first child but often have a significantly easier time with their second.  It's as though the breastfeeding pathways rebuild themselves the first time around and function much better the next time.  I hope it's the case.

The lactation consultant from the hospital called on Monday to see how everything was going.  I told her what happened and what I was getting from the pump.  She asked, "How are your breasts?  Are they full?"  I explained that they felt heavier and lumpy in spots, but not full.  Her response?  "Oh."  She went on to make several recommendations, but the tone of that "Oh" said it all.  I wasn't crazy.  It wasn't working.

I'm not sure I'll ever feel like I did all I could, and I have to live with that.  I have to live with hating every part of bottle feeding.  I hate worrying about what's in the formula.  I hate worrying about the water.  I hate worrying whether or not I'm adequately washing all the bottle parts.  I hate that I have to pay for something I should have been able to provide for free.  I hate that I have to plan Nate's bottles when we go somewhere and that it's possible I won't have what he needs - while, if I was breastfeeding, that would never happen.

I didn't quit breastfeeding because I think bottle feeding is easier (far from it).  I didn't quit breastfeeding because I think formula is just as good (I don't).  No one encouraged me to quit - in fact, if anything, I was surprised at the amount of support I got for continuing to try.  I did months and months of research when I was pregnant.  I knew my stuff; I knew the pitfalls . . . and, yet, it all simply wasn't enough.  I don't know how long it will be until I can think or talk about this without crying.

To the end of my life, I think breastfeeding Nate will be some of my most precious memories and I'm incredibly grateful to have them.

Introducing Nathaniel Martin

Nate's Birth Story - Part 1, Delivery Day - Prep

Nate's Birth Story - Part 2, Delivery Day - The Prize!

Nate's Birth Story - Part 3, The Hospital Stay - Visitorville

Nate's Birth Story - Part 4 - The Name

Nate's Birth Story - Part 5, The Hospital Stay - When it got hard

From Breast to Bottle - My Story

Nate's Birth Story - Part 6 - The Hospital Stay - When it got scary

Nate's Birth Story - Part 7 - Home - From anxiety to joy

Nate's Birth Story - Part 5 - The Hospital Stay - When it got hard

As I mentioned in Part 3, Monday was visitor central at the hospital.  But then on Tuesday, it was mainly the hubby, me, and Nate - and the hubby had to leave for hours to take care of a bunch of things (getting the car seat in the car, packing a bag for himself for the next overnight, cleaning around the apartment).  So it ended up being just me and Nate from about 9am to 6pm.

I only got three hours of sleep the night before because Nate wanted to feed frequently.  So by Tuesday, the good pain meds had worn off, everyone was gone, and Nate still wanted to feed frequently.  By 2:30pm I was sitting in the recliner in the hospital room, holding Nate, watching TV, and crying because I was tired and everything seemed quite overwhelming.  I can deal with a lot of things, but being tired really does me in.

The great thing about Tuesday, though, was that I was allowed out of bed!  Around noon they had taken off the boots (those massaging boots that help you avoid blood clots in your legs), removed the catheder, and disconnected my IV (although they left it in my arm in case it was needed over the next two days).  But still, I was free!  I was mobile!  I finally got to change Nate's diaper!  (Since I was pretty much chained to the bed Monday, the hubby had done all the diaper changing - and, I'll note, he did an amazingly awesome job.)

So I was happy about so many things, and still just overwhelmed by looking at the face of this little person we created.  I can't be the first person to think it's the nearest thing we can do to being godlike.  We create this life and then name it.  It's so overwhelming and astounding to think about.  The beauty of the whole thing is beyond words.

But in the real life moment of it all, it was hard.  Wednesday was just like Tuesday, except Nate was feeding longer and more often.  Sometimes he'd nurse for 60-90 minutes, snooze for 20-30 minutes, and then wake up screamingly hungry and nurse for another 60 minutes.  Whenever someone texted to find out how I was and I mentioned I was tired, they said, "You have to sleep when the baby sleeps!"  But... he wasn't sleeping.  He would nap for 20 minutes and then be screaming hungry.  I barely had time to go to the bathroom or eat my own meals.

Wednesday, I'm counting down the hours until the hubby returns when he calls and tells me my car is being weird so he's turning around and going back home, even though he was already just blocks from the hospital.  Even though, just like Tuesday, I had already cried about being tired and not having more than three hours of sleep the night before and no naps because I was nursing all day, I cried again.  What else did we need?  I already spent over $5000 in repairs on my car a couple of months ago.  The money we had saved up now needed to be used to cover what pay I was losing during my maternity leave - we don't have wiggle room for another car repair.

The hubby finally returned and was concerned that things didn't seem to be going well.  Hours and hours went by.  I spoke to the lactation consultant on Tuesday and Wednesday and she was wonderful.  The hospital overall is VERY pro-breastfeeding so the staff was incredibly supportive and helpful and encouraging.  But I couldn't help but feel like something wasn't working - we both felt like something was wrong.  As encouraging as the hospital staff was, I was most happy to have the hubby's support in whatever I wanted to do and to also have him there to guide us through when I was too tired and emotional to see clearly.

So now, I was going to need his emotional support more than ever as we debated giving Nate a bottle.

Introducing Nathaniel Martin

Nate's Birth Story - Part 1, Delivery Day - Prep

Nate's Birth Story - Part 2, Delivery Day - The Prize!

Nate's Birth Story - Part 3, The Hospital Stay - Visitorville

Nate's Birth Story - Part 4 - The Name

Nate's Birth Story - Part 5, The Hospital Stay - When it got hard

From Breast to Bottle - My Story

Nate's Birth Story - Part 6 - The Hospital Stay - When it got scary

Nate's Birth Story - Part 7 - Home - From anxiety to joy