Unwellness

the name post

His first name does indeed come from Samuel Beckett. Somewhere between philosophy (Wes) and literature (me) comes "Waiting for Godot," which is probably my favorite piece of theatre. We like the absurdist existentialist connotations. My family keeps talking about baseball, so apparently this name also crosses over into non-intellectual pursuits, as well. We did not know this, but it seems to make them happy so oh well. When we chose this name, the 2006 Social Security list wasn't out yet. You can imagine Wes' horror at finding this name on the list for the first time ever. By then he was well and truly named, though.

This is the portrait of Samuel Beckett in the National Portrait Gallery in London. It is another reason I fell in love with the playwright and the name. I have had a postcard print of this above my desk since college. I find it truly inspirational in a charmingly absurd way.

His middle name - Ace - is after a cat. Yes.

Ace was one of my mother's many cats. When she died, Ace attached himself to Melissa in a rather mystical and deep way and he eventually went to live with her.

Wes and I have very few beliefs in common when it comes to anything spirtual. Wes has almost no spiritual beliefs, period. But we both think there is something going on with cats and babies.

One of my mom's cats, Rasmussen, died when she was in labor with me.
Wes' cat Rascal died when Wes was pregnant with GMB.

When Melissa was pregnant with K and I was pregnant with the penguin, both of Melissa's cats died. One had been her husband's and one was Ace. I began to think that Ace had been the cat for my baby. I continued to think that even after the penguin's demise and as I got pregnant with Beck. One cat per baby. A protector of sorts. A companion spirit.

And that, I guarantee you, is the closest to new agey gobbledegook that you will ever hear me get.

I had always planned to use my mother's name as a middle name for a daughter. When I got a son instead, I had to figure out the best way to honor her. As crazy as it sounds, using the name of one of her pets is perfect. She was as crazy for animals as Wes is.

I think he got his red/auburn/strawberry blond/whatever-you-want-to-call-it hair from the cat.

We think his name sounds like an absurdist existentialist superhero. What could be better?

***********************
THINGS WE TRY TO MAKE HIM SLEEP UPDATE
Heating the basket - nope
$40 Secure Sleeper thing purchased in a fit of optimism yesterday - nope (but we will try again)
Carseat - bought us nearly 4 hours last night but when we tried to put him back after feeding, no go. May be a sometime solution.
Sidelying nursing - attempted again this morning and got me an extra hour, but still a little uncomfortable
Swing - sometimes signals a mellow good time to him but not sleep
Vibrate - hates it at the moment (but we know that can change)

rockstar weight gain

8 lbs 9.5oz

Which has him within a half ounce of regaining his birthweight at 12 days old.

And which means he gained 6.5 oz since Thursday.

Whew.

----------------
Just for the record,
THINGS WE'VE TRIED TO MAKE HIM SLEEP
* Miracle Blanket
* tight swaddle in other swaddlers
* white noise
* heartbeat sound
* side-lying nursing still too painful for me with c-section
* sling - he likes it fine but it's the night that is my main complaint at this point

TO TRY
* carseat sleeping
* heating Moses basket (though it's fricking hot here anyway and he sweats when swaddled - still OK?)
* the awesome Sleep Sheep stuffed animal that Aunt Patti sent that not only does heartbeat but WHALE noises. A sheep that makes whale noises. Yes.

next complaint

Feeding is going really well with the on demand thing all day. I do nothing but nurse, but I can basically accept that. His latch is good and my nipples hurt far, far less - they feel downright tough.

Now I would like him to sleep. Somewhere other than ON me.

From what I can tell after talking to friends, this infant sleep business seems to be largely a matter of personality. Other on-demand-fed babies slept perfectly in their bassinets or co-sleepers or cribs. I don't think it's something I did to him - he wanted to sleep only on me starting with night #2 in the hospital, for heaven's sake. But I do think it's something we are reinforcing slowly but surely. I try to put him in his Moses basket and he coos and sleeps and tosses about for about 10-20 minutes before screaming again. Last night was AWFUL, between the attempts to put him in there and rock him to sleep and the really endless on-demand feedings all night. If he hasn't gained weight today I will scream like he does.

I am NOT asking to sleep train a 12 day old. I am not a moron. If nothing changes, he will sleep on me for several months (though I will continue to try to put him in his basket as often as I have patience to do so) and then we will sleep train when he is old enough. But I would love any tips from people who had babies who would only sleep on a warm body. Any success stories?

Beckett Ace, 10 days old

f u bf

This pretty much sums up my feelings on breastfeeding after 9 days.

I will no longer claim that things are getting better or that we've turned a corner or that I know what the hell is going on. Each day is a totally different challenge. A few days ago, Melissa mentioned that engorgement might make the baby scream like that, and even though I didn't think my boobs were really hard and though I had tried pumping off to no avail, I considered the possibility, I started to realize that he was doing the scream after each time that I slept. I would wake up with sore upper arms and he would scream. So I tried pumping off more and it seemed to work. We thought we had figured it out.

But then there was yesterday and suddenly that wasn't working anymore. In fact, I started to think I didn't have enough milk after pumping and that even if he latched he wasn't staying on long. And then my midwife told me not to pump too much because then I would just make more and it would lead to more engorgement. This sounded wrong to me, because I am so paranoid about his weight, but I considered it.

And then he'd only gained 2 oz at the pediatrician yesterday. We have to go back on Monday. They were non-alarmist and said he looked great, but I felt like I had done a lot of work for very little result.

Last night I became the most raving lunatic yet - Wes and his mom went to walk the dog and pick up dinner and no sooner had they walked out the door than the baby started to scream and not latch. There had been no nap on my part. No sore arms. Just inexplicable boob screaming. They were gone. The pump was unplugged and involved a lot of bending to plug in. The pump parts were in the kitchen and I needed to heat up a little expressed milk in order to tide him over by dropper as I pumped. I cried and he wailed as I wandered around trying to get all this in order. Then Wes came home and I punished him by not eating my dinner. Ha.

The next feeding was going the same way. Beck screamed. Wes droppered. I pumped. I felt like I wasn't getting very much and started to feel a panic come on. I wept loud and long. Wes suggested that I not pump the other boob, that maybe it would work this time. I wanted to hit him but tried it. I wanted to hit him even more when he turned out to be right.

One of my biggest faults, I think, is that I take what happens once or twice and solidly believe that this is now how it will be. With an infant, of course, this is ludicrous.

Since then, I haven't pumped and have fully embraced 'on demand' feeding. Except I don't like to call it that. I prefer 'I'll feed you when you want IF I feel like it.'

It's a toss-up - do I prefer no sleep and constant baby-on-boob but relative peace in the home? Or a schedule (sort of) that seems to lead to random screaming and a lot of time trying to soothe the fussy. I reserve the right to change it back tomorrow. Especially because it doesn't necessarily follow that my vague schedule was creating the screaming boob beast.

I have no idea how many times I have fed him today. I only know I am typing one-handed because bouncing with Grandma on the birth ball (one of the limited number of options other than sleep or eat) is suddenly not as fun as demanding constant boob.

The latch hurts a gazillion times less. Thanks for all your help on that and everything else.

Finally, to wade out of my self-involved haze, I ask that you give some love to Asia and Jeremy who are waiting for CVS results after a scary nuchal. My thoughts are with them at all times today.

complaints/questions/brags

So, um, when exactly does the screaming nipple pain end?

I had planned to post today asking when people introduced pacifiers, because I am bound and determined not to become a human one and we were getting downright desperate. Then, of course, we went ahead and stuck one in him somewhere along the line of misery last night and I am really rather convinced this was a life-altering decision that may actually make us that little increment more sane. I didn't know what else to do when he wanted to endlessly suck, and the boobs hurt so much and I know that he and the pump have taken all the milk and I just wanted to cry when I saw that mouth gaping at me. I can't bounce or sway too much thanks to the c-section and anyway it seems like he can't handle me doing anything but boob since he knows I am the boob person. Wes can bounce for an hour or so before he starts to look like he may actually fall over. Sometimes Beckett will tolerate the swing a little. And then what? What else was there to make him not cry when not sleeping (and he just doesn't sleep for that long, our boy). Now there is sucking. Hallelujah. Sucking apparently makes all other activities acceptable, including the before-reviled diaper changes.

We went to the pediatrician and liked him because he told me I was being used. This is the type of thing that many crunchier breastfeeding moms do NOT enjoy hearing, as many feel that infants should be fed on demand no matter what. I personally need some structure as soon as possible so was hoping for ways to delay feedings just a tad if he demands to eat 10 minutes after I have fed him everything I have, for example. And the 90 minute feeding the other day seemed excessive to me, so I was happy to have someone agree with me. So we are dropper supplementing feedings that are too short or before we hope foolishly for a stretch of sleep. All breastmilk supplements at this point thanks to the pump.

Speaking of which, pumpers, that noise the Medela makes? That squeaky weird voice-like sound when you're pumping? Do other people like to try to figure out what English words it sounds like? We have settled on "Died of boooooredom died of boooooredom died of boooooredom."

Anyway, the pediatrician was also nice and non-alarmist and not forcing us to worry yet about MORE supplementing, as my milk has so newly come in. Beck is now at 8lbs 1oz (9 oz down) and we go back for a weigh-in on Thursday. If he is gaining on track by then, we are good to go. If not, well, I am working on stockpiling some breastmilk if I can. And we'll move on to bottles for them if we need to. He is definitely not dehydrated now and the jaundice is only above his chest at this point, which suggests it is getting better. So that was good.

And another thing - is it just sleepy laziness that makes him start to slide out of his latch about 10 minutes into a feeding? We latch (with screaming, of course) and things are OK after lots of deep breaths and curses. And then it suddenly starts to burn and I have to either get him off (can someone please give me a description of how to get him off the nipple with a little less agony?) or just try to bear it because I SO don't want to do the take-off and latch again. I know. I am being foolish and making it worse by not perfecting the latch. But sometimes I am delirious. You know. So what's that about and how do I keep him latched on better for a whole 20 minutes or so?

And another... what do you do with a baby who won't sleep at night on his own for anything resembling a sane stretch? The last two nights we have only accomplished sleep of more than 2 hours by holding him while we sleep. Wes had him in bed and we got 4 hours. Last night I had him on my chest while I slept on the couch and got 2 hours. I am not entirely worried about it from a spoiling point of view (though we want to be wary on this because GMB didn't get out of our bed until age 10 and we are traumatized by that) but I do worry from a SIDS angle. I know we should be sleeping with no pillows or blankets if he is with us but I totally can't do that right now. Maybe the pacifier will help this issue and he will sleep in his basket. But I also know that sometimes we just sort of dissolve into sleep while holding him. And I worry. Is this a needless worry? What about if we take into consideration the final sentences of this post?

And finally - we have directions but could someone offer further guidance on getting him into the Kangaroo pouch carrier thing? Our first attempt was laughably bad. Melissa and laGiulia used this so we will eventually call and ask them, but thought it couldn't hurt to stick it on here as well.

OK. The good stuff:

He has the most expressive arms. They are constantly moving when he is both awake and sleeping unswaddled. He appears to be conducting a complicated orchestral piece. Or performing illusions. Or sometimes counting to infinity.

He has a vaguely suspicious and grumpy face much of the time, which naturally pleases and amuses me to no end. He also frequently looks around sternly with one eye open and we call him Mad Eye Moody.

And finally...

He rolled over this morning. From stomach to back. Age 6 days. Thank you, thank you. His brilliance is absolutely overwhelming. And we are so, so screwed as far as mobility.

one handed update

He is totally asleep and I could put him down but he is so cute!

Things are already getting better. After that post, we got another 3 hour stretch and he woke at 9 like clockwork. Wes and I felt downright rested. He latched beautifully. We supplemented afterward. I pumped. He was in a cute mellow state when Asia and Jeremy arrived to meet him and brought donuts. He slept for a few hours. Woke. Nursed on one side before conking out too hardcore to take the breastmilk by dropper. I pumped. He slept more. Woke 2 hours later and did the one side thing again. I am heading off to pump. I think we may have a system here, though I know he needs a bit more than one side right now and we need to work on keeping him awake for the dropper bit.

Now we just have to start remembering to count the damn wet diapers... and if all is well with that, I will officially believe him to be well and truly fed. The morning full of poop already has me convinced that the bili levels must be getting even better by now. Pediatrician tomorrow afternoon. Breastfeeding support group at the hospital on Tuesday.

Thank you all so, so much for the assvice and advice. Much of it is already being followed and much was helpful to be reminded. Thanks Jean - I forgot I had those cold pack things! It is my opinion that my milk is coming in well and things will keep improving. The pain is getting better. The latch is getting better. The pumping yields a tiny bit more each time.

Sleep is a miraculous thing.

due date

I don't know how long I will get to type before I fall asleep at the keyboard or someone cries or something needs to be pumped or Lansinohed or peri bottled or re-padded or something. But let's get started anyway.

I am glad to be back, a bit worse for the wear, highly traumatized in the nipple and abdomen areas and a bit traumatized in the overwhelmingness of life area as well.

He is just so beautiful. And it is just so motherfucking hard. Already.

I have to say that I think the issues we have faced so far (all with feeding) would probably not be quite so hard for me to face if I didn't have a giant incision running the width of my pelvis, you know? Holy crap does it hurt and smart and burn and ache. Sometimes I feel it and can't believe I am still expected to participate in caring for this infant.

Luckily, and as any of you would guess, Wes is magnificent. He does everything. I wince, scream, "Motherfucker" when Beck latches, take deep breaths and order Wes to sing me songs of devotion while I grit my teeth and feed our son. He does. Then he takes a tiny dropper and feeds the boy formula or expressed breast milk to try to top him off. The lactation consultant trained him for this so that I could sleep. But it means we are now completely equal in our exhaustion.

Books say that the more times you nurse in the first 24 hours, something something blah blah something good. But sometimes we can't. Sometimes we have a c-section and then it takes hours and hours to get out of recovery because our blood pressure won't go down and the machine won't stop dinging and we get REALLY good drugs and Wes and sister stand around laughing at our inability to form sentences and the deep joy we feel when given a sip of cold water with a straw.

It was 2 am or so before I held my son, nearly 7 hours after he was born. I don't say this because I mourn it or am so deeply saddened or believe it will ruin our bond. Not at all. I just wonder if it isn't the reason we are having some issues now with getting enough in the giant baby.

And while we're on the topic of c-section... THANK GOD I had one! This is the part of the story I cannot celebrate enough. Well, when I am not shaking my hand at the universe over the incision pain. Really, I am so incredibly grateful that it worked out as it did. As laGiulia said, we had to wait for the O.R. so the midwife, seeing that I was having a ton of contractions, said we should just give the Cervidil a try and see if it worked. I will admit that I worried about this, because I had honestly really come back around to being cool with the c-section and was now scared of labor. But I gave it a shot because I had nothing better to do for the day and was sitting in the hospital with only HGTV to entertain me and thought maybe contractions might make it more interesting.

We napped and waited and waited and I bitched endlessly about not having anything to eat all damn day and we waited. And waited. And I contracted all day. And sometimes they got serious enough to make me unable to talk through them. But not often. I was not at all surprised when the midwife came to check me 7 hours later and said there was no change.

So it turns out another reason for giving me the Cervidil was that then my clever midwife could call this whole thing a "failed induction" and give us a legitimate reason to bump someone from the O.R.! She called the doctor who does their c-sections most of the time and he agreed to come right in. I have never been so happy that we switched to the midwives - their pull and reputation at this hospital opened many doors of kindness for us, and this was the biggest and cleverest.

I got pretty freaking scared, I will say, when things started suddenly happening. Suddenly I was having an epidural (the numbing stuff really does hurt worse than the tube, but the whole thing feels mighty, mighty strange). Suddenly the test medicine was making my legs tingle. Suddenly I was being wheeled into the room and helped onto the Jesus-died-for-your-sins crucification table (for those who haven't experienced it, your arms are strapped onto these boards at your sides for the surgery, presumably so you don't punch the surgeon or something). Suddenly I was starting to panic that they would cut before I was numb, because I could feel SO much more than I expected. Everything was tingly and I could definitely tell you when someone was touching me (at least I thought so). But then the nice nurse said they were going to test me before they cut and eventually I noticed him popping up to watch my face while something was done below the curtain. And I realized that was the test and I didn't feel it. And then they said some stuff like, "Scalpel" and I knew they had cut into me. And I had no idea. And then Wes was there and I was really excited to see if there really was a human baby in me as people kept saying, rather than, oh, a puppy or a kitten maybe. It never did start seeming normal that the little guy lived inside of me and it was therefore still a shock when they pulled him out.

He gave the most indignant grunting shriek as they pulled him out of me and Wes and I looked at each other and laughed and cried for just a second. And then everyone was saying how huge he was and how much hair he had and Wes was laughing with delight that he was right and I was wrong all these months about the hair color - I would have sworn to you that my child would be born with tons of black hair like my sister and me. Wes is so thrilled to have won this constant genetic debate. We got one that looks like me with Wes' coloring (though he calls Beckett 'strawberry blond' and I say he is really auburn and more of a redhead).

Up to this point, even with the fear, the c-section was totally fine and do-able. But once he was out and they started the repairs, I started to feel downright awful. I got that bad epidural headache for a while but the anesthesiologist gave me something that fixed it. I threw up as they said I should when the stomach acid wormed its way toward my head because they were putting so much pressure on everything below it. I felt so sick I didn't really hear all the Beckett banter when the nurses marvelled at his newborn ability to escape 2 swaddles (I just kept seeing the blankets moving of their own accord, since that's all I could see from the table, and asking, "Is he OK? What is he doing over there?" because it seemed so funny) and took bets on his weight.

The weight - good heavens! Where on earth did I get this giant baby?

And get this for a brilliant, lucky c-section - he was NOT coming out on his own. His head was somehow on top of or in front of my pelvic bone, tilted off to the right, lodged (please recall that my own mother had a c-section for the same reason - my head was stuck!). He would have had to have backed up first in order to move out of the pelvis and that was very unlikely to happen. And then of course, there was his sheer size which may have also been difficult for me to get out. Anyway, the doctor told us this as he saw it when he had me open and everyone oohed and aahed and my midwife was there agreeing that there was no way he would have gotten out. And then they also saw that the cord had been in front of his head and we almost surely would have seen it coming out of me before the head, which is a BIG scary problem that no one wants. So that would have led me to an emergency c-section almost right away. So... thanks, universe, for the preeclampsia headache that sent me in on Wednesday!

They finished the surgery and it was recovery and a room at 2 am. And meeting him and trying the breastfeeding and feeling a good latch and then sending him back to the nursery and sleeping until 6 or so. The last good stretch of sleep I got.

The feeding seemed like it was going fine, but I was so tired I know I wasn't doing it often enough. The lactation consultant helped me learn the football hold (we prefer the term, "baguette hold") and it seemed like it was working well. All day it seemed fine. But I still wasn't doing much as far as paying good attention to how often or forcing him to wake up when he fell asleep at the boob (it's just so CUTE when he does that).

Thursday night was the first killer. Beckett turned insane at 5 pm and forgot how to latch and would only scream when faced with the boob even though he was clearly hungry. After 4 hours or so, we finally got him to eat a little. When Wes had to leave at 11 or so, I sent Beckett to the nursery so I could sleep. They were to bring me the baby for the 2 and 6 am feedings. They brought him in at 1:30 and I nursed for a ridiculously short time and didn't unwrap his swaddle for fear of enraging the beast within him. It was peaceful but stupid. They brought him back an hour later because he wouldn't stop crying and breastfeeding babies have to be returned to mom in that case. And so there we were, he and I. We would fight over a latch. He would suck for a few minutes and fall asleep. I held him all night because I didn't want him to cry - I suddenly got a roommate for the first time at 3 am. And I knew that once he went into frantic mode, I couldn't feed him anyway. I tried to keep him calm and happy. I dozed slightly while I held him in my arms but was scared I would drop him or get in trouble if the nurses saw me sleeping with him in my bed. Wes arrived at 10 am and I was both thrilled to see him and hormonally pissed that he had been able to go home and sleep.

So by then, Friday morning, the pediatricians were saying that he was starting to look a little jaundiced. They said he needed more fluids and I started to feel nervous. I went to the breastfeeding class a bit frantic and the LOVELY lac. consultant spent a ton of time with me after and then taught Wes to use the dropper to give him formula. She said the biggest problem we were having was my exhaustion, that it was probably affecting my milk, and she ordered me to bed and insisted Wes deal with the baby and anything else. I tried valiantly to sleep but the roommate was there with her family (just 2 or 3 people and they weren't even loud at all - I just couldn't not hear them). And the nurses come in every 3 seconds. And there was just always something. I really didn't get more than 30 minutes of sleep all day.

We finally got a private room that night and I thought maybe this would be the answer. With Wes there to help, maybe I wouldn't have to just hold the baby all night. Well, I did get a solid gorgeous hour of sleep when he walked around the tiny room for the entire hour, bouncing the child into oblivion. But other than that, I was generally awake and trying to force my boob into the shrieking mouth. It was hellish yet again.

So when Wes was out getting a bagel yesterday morning, and the pediatrician came in and said he was now dehydrated and needed formula,  I cried. The doctor was clearly surprised at my level of insanity. I delayed him until Wes got back and then the two of us agreed to give the baby an entire bottle by dropper if we had to because why not try? So that's what we did. I fed him what I could before he went crazy and/or fell asleep and then Wes spent a long time droppering 1.5 oz of formula into the baby. He slept like the dead.

The staff was amazing and everyone was very nice but I will say that almost all of them were baffled by us with the dropper thing. Most people, they said, did both bottles and breast there. And we KNOW that it can work beautifully. And often, often does. But we also know that SOMETIMES it causes trouble. And if we were both there and willing to work at it, why not try to avoid nipple issues?

Besides, he is MY child and I have this suspicion that if he knew there was a faster, easier way to get food (ie, bottle nipples), he would never look back. I know I wouldn't.

The lac. consultant yesterday was also wonderful and grabbed my boob and squeezed and actual milk came out. This did wonders for my confidence  - I was so scared my milk wouldn't come in and we would never be able to stop droppering. But when I saw that we were probably only looking at a few days of supplementing, I did calm down a lot. She told me to start pumping like crazy and use it to supplement as well.

They redid his blood tests later in the day and his level was a little better, now borderline jaundice. So we were made to promise to feed him every 2 hours and supplement if needed and allowed to go home at 2 or so yesterday.

And that is where we have been ever since - in the HELL that is Every Two Hours.

Sometimes... or really MOST of the time, the child cannot remember that he knows how to eat. So he does the crazed screaming when approaching the nipple, even though he was rooting around. He gets frantic. We have to calm him before we can try again. Most of the time none of the tries work and we shake our heads and get the formula. I pump and we give him that, too. We try over and over. Sometimes I feel like there has never been anything in the world other than this room, this couch, this baby, these breasts, these dried out nipples, this constant, constant battle to get sustenance into our child.

Because it takes so long and has so many steps, we literally have about 20 minutes before we are supposed to start it all over again. By late last night, we had started to fall behind and get grumpy. He was definitely worse and worse at each feeding as far as the frenzied freakout. He was as exhausted and grumpy as we were. We decided to stretch the time to 2.5 hours and got a tiny bit of sleep. It helped a bit. Stretching it to three (which was actually just not setting the alarm out of sheer exhaustion and frustration), worked perfectly - we all three slept from 4 to 6 or so and I feel worlds better.

They are asleep now and I SO SO SHOULD BE. So I will leave it there for now.

I am having a tiny bit of trouble with assvice right now, already feeling vulnerable and scared and overly crazy about this, but I also need input desperately. WHY does he just become such a lunatic all of a sudden when faced with the boob? It is like a different baby. And yes, we realize he may already be too hungry or overtired or something. But what the hell? Is that it? He is so hungry he can't calm down and fricking eat, sometimes even if we begin in a calm state. So what do we do? We calm him and try again. Is this it? Is this all there is? It is awful.

But he is still wonderful.

photos to tide you over while i plug my blistered nipples back into my child

Beckett Ace, age 5 hrs