I won't miss you

Prior to my son’s birth, I had made a commitment to myself that I would give my son breast milk for at least the first year. I had no idea how that commitment would be tested. I knew with my return to work that pumping would be necessary but I had envisioned that I would nurse otherwise. Then…life happened.

After birth, as I patiently waited for my milk to come in, my son lost 12 ounces in weight (11% of his birth weight). For his Day 3 doctor’s visit, it was recommended that we supplement with formula. Given his weight, I was happy to oblige. He nursed first, followed by a bottle. The dry nursing resulted in horrible sores and a frustrated baby. Day 5 came and finally so did the milk. So much so, that it backed up into my armpit! Didn’t know that could happen! I figured, “Great, now we can settle into a routine”. Unfortunately, Cole’s latch never quite worked and both of us struggled with thrush for weeks despite multiple treatments and no relief. I distinctly remember dreading every feeding and crying because of the pain of nursing. Certainly not what I had envisioned for my first two months of motherhood.

Finally, I decided to pump instead of nurse because I was desperate for a resolution and my nursing consultant suggested that the baby and I may be trading the infection back and forth between us during nursing. What I witnessed thereafter was a baby that was happier after meals because the bottle gave him more milk with fewer struggles. He slept very well, which allowed me to “catch up” by extra pumping while he was asleep. With this solution, I settled on becoming what I have read is called an “EPer” (exclusive pumper).

            What followed was ten months of hauling a small black backpack with me everywhere I went. I never really gained a healthy supply of milk so had to pump often in order to keep up with demand. After a while, I truly began to despise that machine. Not only did I constantly worry about supply (since I could measure every ounce), it came with such anxiety about when and where I would pump. I found myself jealous of nursing mothers who got the convenience of a simple cover up and can sit comfortably in any chair. Other than at home, I found myself hiding in bathrooms hoping no one could hear the motor running. Having to make sure I was somewhere convenient every few hours or so made for limited social contact. A recent trip for a family funeral had me pumping in the back row of my in-laws SUV and thanking God for tinted windows. In short, it was a LONG ten months. But that commitment stayed true and my boy received all of the benefits of breast milk (minus the breast) for an entire year.

Now that birthdays and parties have passed, I get to say good-bye to my little black backpack. I needed you but never liked you. You were both convenient and a horrible inconvenience. Although it reminds me that my baby is now eating “big boy food”, I still could not be happier to see you go.

Good riddance.

By the way, anyone wanna buy a breast pump? J  

Lest we forget...

After significant events, we tell the story of what happened many times over, to anyone who will listen. But after a while, we move on and the story can remain untold for some time. Because untold stories tend to change over time and I want to remember this one just the way it happened, here’s what I experienced this time last year. 

It was Monday. I had been off work for 7 days due to back pain. A 3pm massage appointment had me comfortable and relaxed. The therapist had asked if I wanted her to work on pressure points that might induce labor. Given the pain I was in and that I was already full-term, I was ready. So she did. It was only four hours later that a tiny but noticeably different contraction occurred. Followed by another every 25 minutes or so for the rest of the evening. I told my husband, who smiled calmly, “It’s happening soon”, he said. “Not tonight”, I replied. 

It was 2:30am when I woke to go to the bathroom. It was a nightly routine at that point so no need for alarm. A full 15 minutes past as I analyzed, “Was that water?” “What about that?” It was just a trickle. “That couldn’t be it, right”, I thought to myself. 

“Are you alright?” I hear from behind the closed door. After some discussion and a call to the hospital, it was determined that we should go in. A calm was in the house. We both showered, packed, got on comfortable clothes, and prepared for a day of unknown. It was 4am by the time Dan dropped me off at the door to go park the car. “Okay, THAT was water!” I realize as I wait for him at the door VERY wet. There goes wearing my nice comfy pants.

Check in. More water. Walk to the observation room. More water. “Are you kidding me? How much is in there?” Despite the soaked pad on the bed, they still found it necessary to run a test to see if my water broke.  “It’s baby day!” the nurse exclaimed too cheerily for 4am. 

It’s baby day.

I turned in my birth plan and struggled a bit with the nurse about the necessity of an IV. I didn’t want to be tied to the bed so she placed it but didn’t hook me up right away.  My contractions were getting steadier but nothing I couldn’t handle. Dan and I found ourselves making several laps around the ward, which made for nice chats. Around 7am, we decided that calls could be made to family. My mom arrived shortly after, ready to stay for the day.  My stepmom, who works in the hospital, stopped by for a check in. The most recent update was cervix dilated to 3, contractions 1 minute apart. “Dad, will be coming up, soon”, she said and we promised to keep her updated. 

For the next several hours, the doctors and I were embroiled in a battle of wills. Their position: “This is not moving fast enough. You need Pitocin.” My position: “I’m fine. Please let me be.” I was working my plan. No meds. No anesthesia. Do it, old school. At 12:30pm, now 10 hours after my water broke, the doctors begin to express their concern for infection and state that the baby needs to be delivered within 18 hours of the water breaking to prevent complications. But my cervix hadn’t moved a bit. Still 3 centimeters. Since they played the “Your baby could be in danger card”, I caved and took the medicine. 

Shortly thereafter… HELLO, contraction! That’s what those women on TV are screaming about? I get it now. Poor Dad, arrived just before the Pitocin. Not the pretty sight he could’ve witnessed a few hours before when I was bouncing happily on an exercise ball only pausing slightly to breathe through a contraction. 

The next visit from the doctor came with the announcement that I was now at 6 cm. My mixed reaction of “Yay, progress!” and “Seriously, only 6?”rang loud in my head but I just nodded because at this point, talking was out of the question. Suddenly, my back started cramping. I thought it was from strain but the knowing eyes of my mother said “back labor”, which meant I was in for more. I heard whispers between my mom and the nurse that the baby may be face up but honestly there was no room in my mind for worry. I just had to get through the next one. I was compelled to turn over to a “hand and knee” position just to relieve the pressure in my back. It ended up being more like “face in pillow, arms barely holding me up” position but that’s just semantics. 

Time seemed to slow as waves of contractions came right on top of each other. Thoughts of “4 more centimeters of this” were breaking my resolve and the nurse could tell. She leaned in and said to me, “Amanda, listen to me. Once you lose it, it is very difficult to get it back. You are doing great. You have to keep breathing all the way through.” Our eyes met briefly and I asked for help. As a nurse, her instinct was to offer the best help she knew…pain medication. And in that moment, I accepted the help. She instructed that I would have to turn over to my back so that I wouldn’t fall over when the medication took its effect. 

That move served as a catalyst. My very next contraction had me yelling, “I’m pushing!” and the nurse yelling, “Don’t push!” There was frantic movement and I heard her tell my husband, “Don’t let her push”. I met Dan's eyes for the first time in what felt like forever and I saw so much sympathy in them. “Honey, don’t push, just breathe”. With his help, I made it through the next contraction without pushing and the nurse did a quick check.  10 cm. It was 2:30pm. 

I can only tell you what happened next through the stories of my family because my mind was not completely in the room to remember these things. The nurse’s frantic page to the doctor was met with a “We’ll be there soon” kind of attitude. The slow labor had them set for a slow delivery so they did not feel the rush that was in the room. Her pleas got them in the room where a quick check prompted them to get in line with the baby’s schedule and pick up the pace. From that point, it was 6 pushes and 20 minutes. My husband at my right. My mother just behind, supporting my head. Together, we witnessed the birth of our baby boy at 2:49pm, August 10^th, 2010.

And yesterday, we celebrated his first birthday. And at that, I am speechless.