Something I Never Thought I'd Pray For

Note: This post is not for the easily nauseated. You might find it gross...or you might find it hilarious. Read at your own risk.

Last week our son stopped having daily bowel movements. Maybe this isn't a shock to some of you or maybe the thought of him having daily bowel movements is odd to you. Well, he basically went every diaper or close to it until one day he didn't. This might not have caught my attention except we'd received a booklet from the hospital when we were discharged that said explicitly to call your doctor if your baby did not have a bowel movement for 24 hours. Therefore, we called the pediatrician's office/hospital at ten o'clock at night because that is what the booklet said. The pediatrician-on-call (not our usual doctor) told us to get infant glycerin suppositories if we were worried and left it at that. So Tyler called around looking for an open pharmacy to check whether or not said medicine was behind the counter even if it was over-the-counter. No pharmacies were open, and no one seemed to know what a glycerin suppository was, let alone where you'd find it. Finally one store knew both what it was and where to find it, so Tyler went at midnight to buy it.

While Tyler was at the store, I searched online. I could have sworn that I'd read somewhere that breastfed babies can go days without a bowel movement. Sure enough I found a couple sites that said a breastfed baby might go two or three days without one. With this knowledge we decided to wait on the suppository until at least 9 am when the doctor's office opened and we could ask our normal pediatrician instead. After all, our son didn't seem to be acting upset or constipated (And really, who wants to administer a suppository if they can help it?)

When morning rolled around, I called the doctor's office. They reaffirmed what the websites I had found said as well as telling me not to worry unless he started acting miserable.

As we moved into the second day without anything, Tyler and I started praying for something we never thought we'd pray for. We wanted our son to have that bowel movement already. We wanted to not have him be constipated. We definitely wanted to avoid giving him a suppository which could cause some bleeding as well as help the potential problem.

On the third day I called the doctor again. I had searched online another time and found a site that said that breastfed babies might go one week without a bowel movement after they've reached a month old. If this was true there was nothing to worry about, but the nurse had said during my last call to call after three days if there was still nothing. I called. I told the nurse what I'd read, that my son was five weeks old now, that he'd had no bowel movements in three days, and that he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was quite happy that morning. I received another reaffirmation of the information I'd found online. I wondered why the first lady had not told me a week as well. I decided this was all ridiculous.

Several days later, my son had his bowel movement all right. It was not something small either. He'd obviously been saving up. You see I heard it happen (infants aren't subtle), so I place him on his changing table and prepared to clean things up. Opening the diaper, I found it was nasty full...and barely managed to close the diaper in time to save myself from what continued to come! I had Tyler get the tub water running, and we washed him down with water instead of using a billion wet wipes.

Well, several more days went by, and on Monday our son had another belated bowel movement. This time, I decided it was Tyler's turn. After all, I'd nearly got sprayed with the last one. I gave Tyler the baby and nearly died laughing in the proceeding minutes. Tyler was appalled by the sheer quantity of mess our son had created. He kept loudly voicing his displeasure while our son remained content and calm on the changing table. I go in to help and discover that Tyler did not keep the diaper on just in case our son wasn't done. Well, you guessed it, he wasn't done and his feet were being held in the air when it happened. Tyler exclaimed in utter disgust, "He's an exploding mustard bottle!" and I doubled over in laughter.

Thankfully, I have a strong stomach, though I think it has gotten stronger since having a child. I found the event much more humorous than disgusting. I think I will enjoy this memory for years to come. So while the worry about bowel movements started as a strange down, it all ended in a particularly amusing up. My husband's exclamation and shock will stay fondly in my memory, and thank goodness because it really was quite gross.

The First Smile

Last week my son gave me his very first social smile! He smiled at me after his mid-morning feeding over and over, giving me four huge open-mouthed grins. My morning was made right then. He smiled at me several times the next morning too. Of course, he also made me doubt that these smiles were truly genuine for the next several days. Instead of looking into my eyes and smiling, he gave me sleepy smiles as his eyes closed and he drifted off. However, I realize they were real because every other day or so he does what he did that first morning--his eyes light up as he looks me in the eyes and opens his gummy mouth in a goofy grin.

He isn't smiling all the time now, but that makes it all the more special. The first was worth waiting for as is each successive one because each time he makes eye contact with me and smiles I know he means it. He's not throwing smiles around for just anyone. I know that that smile is meant for me at just that moment. There is no pretense or manipulation behind it. It's a sincere smile, full of appreciation and love as he understands it. I want all my smiles to be just like each of his are now.

Sleep Or the Lack Thereof

Our son is nocturnal. He sleeps wonderfully all day for two or three hour stretches. Though I try to wake him, he is rather resilient. No amount of tickling or tummy-time can keep him awake if he wants to sleep. It's amazing and awful. Why? Because he has chosen the hours between 11 pm and 4 am as his "daytime." During those hours, he is wide awake and will not sit quietly in my arms. He gets all fidgety and often wants to be rocked or walked around (generally the latter).

Thankfully, he doesn't scream except for the occasional short outburst, but sometimes I feel like screaming. This feeling is the biggest problem. It's hard to be patient when all I want to do is sleep, so I sometimes get frustrated. For example, when he acts hungry but won't latch or stay latched for more than fifteen seconds, I get frustrated. When he wants to be walked around and simultaneously bounced in my arms for over an hour, my arms feel like they'll fall off and I get frustrated. I never realized how much I depended on sleeping during those hours of the night in order to stay nice and sane.

I've found two solutions that ease my frustration. The first came as a gift from my husband. After an annoying why-do-you-act-hungry-but-refuse-to-eat session with my son, Tyler came to my rescue, took the baby, and told me to sleep. I find that the hour or two Tyler gives me by taking the baby at the beginning of his awake time allows me to stay up with the baby later that evening. Not only can I stay up then, but I can stay up, be patient, and avoid frustration. This led me to the other solution. Since our son generally enjoys a two hour nap before staying awake during the late evening and early morning, I have started to try to get some sleep then too. This way I get the sleep I need to be calm and loving from the beginning and my husband also gets some good sleep because I don't get frustrated as early or as often.

Of course, I believe our son has started to realize this tactic because he is waking up earlier each night, making it more difficult to get to bed before he wakes for his stretch of "daytime" each evening. Hopefully this trend will not continue, unless it follows the pattern it did last night. While it might just be a fluke, yesterday the baby woke up for his stretch at 9 pm and went to sleep after eating at 2:20 am (I remember because it was glorious). Twenty after two in the morning may not seem so amazing, but after 4 am the past several nights I was practically ecstatic. I do prefer the 9 pm to 2 am schedule to the 11 pm to 4 am one. I struggled to get in bed before 10:30 each night and I only got up to 30 minutes sleep when I did. Who knows maybe tonight the baby will stay up starting at 7 pm and go to sleep at midnight! A mom can dream. :)

Reflection and Recovery

One of the blessings of having a baby via vaginal delivery is the noticeable recovery. Before I had the baby I was scared of recovery. I am not going to say I was wrong to fear it because it has been one of the least pleasant experiences I've ever had. However, I said that there is at least one blessing in all this. Each day I feel better. I sting less and I am surviving without my blow-up donut (for which I still mourn since it was punctured).

I remember that after the epidural wore off and I began to feel the pain from my episiotomy and tearing, I wondered why I had wanted a child. I wondered why anyone would have more children after feeling such horrible pain. I wanted to know why no one had warned me about this! My parents later told me they could tell how severe the pain was since my smiles looked more like grimaces in the pictures.

But there is hope! The next day I felt better--it still hurt, don't get me wrong, but it was better and I started feeling less bitter. Each day since I've noticed something I can do without pain or with less pain that I couldn't have done the day before. I've actually started to think about having another child someday (albeit not for some time). This really is something--just ask my poor husband.

I don't know how other recoveries go, but the blessing of recovery from delivery (besides a beautiful baby) is the daily realization of improvement. It may not seem like much the first couple days, but when you reflect on day one and compare it to day three you realize things are better. You also realize that you're beginning to forget the pain and it's starting to blur and fade slowly (at least it did for me).

I'm still in pain today as I sit on my pillow, typing, but I walked a bit faster today than I could have done comfortably yesterday. I'm sitting on a pillow without wincing and pining over my donut (Okay, I'm pining a little.). And I haven't needed an ice pack for some time now. Maybe these don't sound like major accomplishments, but I remember what I felt like and I know I'm improving. Reflection in this area is a definite mood booster. It's always nice to notice improvement, especially from day-to-day. :)

Breastfeeding Woes

Maybe I'm the only woman who feels this way, but I sometimes feel like I have no control over my body. This is disconcerting and frustrating because of all the things I feel I should be able to control, my body is number one on the list. Unfortunately, my body doesn't do what I want it to all the time, and it can be very inconvenient. For example, getting pregnant doesn't seem like it should be such a big challenge; however, you don't know if it will take "just once" or a year to conceive. The big problem with this and how it has to do with the control issue is that your body (as a woman) is made to bear children. This should not be so difficult then, right? Similarly, your body is made to breastfeed, so why is it so hard to do?

All the books say that you and your baby are learning to breastfeed together. They say it takes practice. They talk about how to get the baby to latch on properly, different holds, all the benefits of breastfeeding for both you and your baby. So I read all this, and I was ready to breastfeed. I took multiple breastfeeding classes, and I felt like I was prepared. That is until I started bleeding and cracking and crying every time I heard the baby smack his lips.

Breastfeeding hurt. Not just a little, but a lot. All the books said breastfeeding shouldn't hurt for more than 30 to 60 seconds after latch on unless you had a bad latch. The problem here, for me, was that the nurses all said my baby had a good latch. His lips did just what they were supposed to, and he seemed to have enough tissue in his mouth.

Every feeding got worse. I dreaded them, and I finally broke down and called my doctor. Ok, so my husband made me call my doctor because he hated seeing me cry, flinch, and whimper at every feeding. My doctor told me to stop, pump, and bottle-feed until I healed. He assured me that once they did, I could go back to breastfeeding.

The days preceding and following the call were some of my hardest days. My baby wasn't even a week old, and yet I couldn't manage to feed him. We played off each other. I would get nervous and tense up as I tried to get my baby to open his mouth wide enough to get a good latch. My baby would get frustrated and tense as he pushed against me and hit me with his little fists as he tried to bring them to his mouth since latching on wasn't working. I felt like a failure as a mother, especially since I kept hearing from other women that I just needed to toughen up and that the pain would eventually subside over time. All I wanted to do was breastfeed my baby and enjoy the special bonding time I'd heard so much about. All I could do was wince and cry all over my baby every time he ate. Even when I started bottle-feeding I felt guilty. What if the flow from the bottle made it so my baby wouldn't go back to breastfeeding? Why couldn't I breastfeed without pain? What was wrong with my body? Why did breastfeeding hurt if my body was made to do it? Everything just seemed outside my control. But it wasn't.

I talked to my baby's pediatrician the next day when we took our son in for an appointment, and he offered me some advice and gave his support. I also made an appointment with a lactation specialist at the hospital. The lactation specialist helped me figure out how to help my baby latch on. She told me he had a strong suck that had ripped me up and that a nipple shield would help. She helped me feel in control, empowered, and confident. Now I've started healing and I'm enjoying the closeness of breastfeeding my son.

Know this, you don't have to just suffer through it. Talk to your OB-GYN or your infant's pediatrician. Make an appointment with a lactation specialist. Since I did those things, I've been able to breastfeed my baby with less and less pain each time. I'm still healing, but I'm not crying anymore. Instead I'm able to bond with my son and feel in control of my own body.

Emotional Rollercoaster

I'm still counting the baby's age in days. I can't imagine what it will be like to start thinking of it in terms of weeks, months, and, heaven forbid, years. Yet at the same time it crosses my mind how much easier things will be when he can open his mouth wider and nurse without a hiccup because we've got breastfeeding down to an art. Or how nice it will be when he can hold up his head reliably. But as soon as I think such things, I realize he will have to get bigger for those things to happen. He won't be so little then; he may not even want to cuddle with me. The thought of him growing up, aging just a few weeks is simultaneously terrifying and exciting.

These sorts of dueling thoughts and emotions seem to sum up most of my life right now. The childbirth class instructor, the books, and my family and friends were right when they said that your emotions seem to swing entirely from one feeling to another within seconds at times. I knew that such mood swings could happen, were even likely to happen, but that does not necessarily mean that I took that thought beyond the intellectual level. Therefore, when my emotions decided they were going to run the show without even caring to ask for my consent, I was hardly prepared.

I must confess, I was one of those women who thought mood swings related to one's hormones were more in one's head than reality. I hated the thought that someone might dismiss my behavior on the assumption that it was due to my period, for example. I was dedicated to hiding the fact that I might be on my period. If I was angry or upset it was for good reason, not because of some stupid hormones. Well, now that my postpartum hormones have decided to take over at times, I realize that not only can hormones make you feel like you've lost control of your emotional stability, but they don't need a reason to make you feel any certain way. One second I can be blissfully holding my baby thinking that I have never been happier, and the next second I am holding my baby, crying for no reason I can think of, and thinking that my entire world has ended. No triggers necessary.

All those happy new moms who live around me make me feel like these feelings are extremely rare and absolutely unacceptable. They don't do this knowingly, I don't think. They just manage to have everything look like it is under control at least to passersby. I believe this is the case because I, usually, manage to do the same as soon as a visitor drops by or someone calls. I can have been bawling, but as soon as the phone touches my ear I will sound perfectly normal. I will put on a smile and say how great my recovery is going, momentarily forgetting how I was cringing in pain from the stinging of my sutures seconds before. At least on some level this is an act and on another it is a coping mechanism. For a moment, I gain control of my emotions and choose how I will be perceived. I also hold up the image that I am superwoman, able to go from independent woman to mom without the slightest glitch. This image is so important that no one ever speaks of it; if mentioned, people act as though they don't actually expect it or joke about its irrationality. Yet at the same time, people (I) feel the need to uphold that image. To be that image to the best of my ability if not always, for at least five minutes!

Is this unreasonable? Yes. Does it sound ridiculous? Yes. However, I am convinced I am not the only one out there who does this exact same type of thing. To be honest, it is incredibly difficult to imagine posting this online and letting everyone know that sometimes I put up the facade that all is well and dandy when, in fact, it is not. After all, isn't that what I've been striving to hide all these years, first with my period and now with my postpartum experience? While it seems that way, by recognizing that things are not perfectly easy when you suddenly add an adorable, fragile infant to your life and family, I have realized that I can make the change more smoothly. I already know that by expressing my thoughts, worries, stresses, fears, and joys with my husband I've begun to feel so much more hopeful, happier, and more confident. I'm not saying that every moment is easy or that I don't have moments where all I want to do is cry, but as I've told my husband, my parents, and some others how I feel and how hard having a baby really is things have gotten better. The facade doesn't need to come up much anymore. When people ask me how I'm doing, I can say that I'm doing well without lying or exaggerating. All in all, it seems like I just needed a good purge of all the negative emotions and thoughts that came over me. Many of them melted away right after I voiced them. Sometimes you just need to say or write things down and by acknowledging them you free yourself of them. Thank goodness for loved ones who listen and don't judge. Thank goodness for the relief that comes from writing things down.

Another Experience

"They" say that every pregnancy is different--that not only does every woman experience pregnancy, labor, and delivery differently, but that every woman has a different experience with each pregnancy. This makes logical sense to me since your body is definitely different after one pregnancy besides the obvious differences in your age, expectations, and experiences the next time around. "They" might be right in this case.

Knowing that, it stands to reason that everyone experiences parenthood (in my particular case: motherhood) differently with each child. This experience would be especially true with the first child.

My newborn son is teaching me this. He is also teaching me how no matter how different our experiences raising a child are there are similarities, and learning both the similarities and differences makes life a little easier, a little more relaxed, and a little less daunting. So while my experience may or may not be typical or average (if there even is such an experience), I'll share it anyway. If nothing else, Socrates did say "The unexamined life is not worth living" and my life is worth living.