Tuesday, May 28, 2019

I wish you were here


A wayward post
A song that reminded them of you
And now I’m reminded too.
I wish you were here.
Desperately searching for old voicemails
So I can hear your voice just one more time
But to no avail because I took you for granted for far too long.
And now I can never get your voice back.
I’ll never hear the scratch
Of a late night voicemail
Deleted in haste
Because I didn’t know.
I didn’t know how desperate I would be
To hear your voice again.
I wish you were here.
I’m so sorry that I took you for granted.
I’m sorry for deleted voicemails,
Neglected conversations.
Missed calls.
Missed chances.
I wish you were here.
I wish I could hear your voice just one more time….

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Shout, Shout, Let it All Out



When I was little I lost my dad. Let me rephrase… when I was six years old my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, and that loss has been with me my entire life. It sits on my chest, and weighs on me heavily when I stand still long enough to think about it. In many ways, losing someone so pivital in my life at such a young age has seemed to shape me - it shapes the way I view the world, and I largely believe that my generalized anxiety disorder can be traced back to this first life altering event. And then I just kept losing the people that I love.

When I was 13 I lost my granddaddy Stewart, and it was awful. We were there at the end in the hospital with him, and it was horrific. He was dying. We were there to see him dying. And in my preteen brain, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that there was literally nothing I could do about it. Although losing grandparents is probably most children's first introduction to the inevitability that everyone dies, my granddaddy had become a replacement father figure in my life, and therefore his loss was akin to losing my father all over again. 

When I was 14 my cousin Paul (who was more like a brother than a cousin) died by suicide. It was (and still is) one of the worst things that has ever happened in my life. It completely changed my family, our holiday traditions, and to this day, I still have nightmares about the night we lost Paul.

Because of these loses, since I was very young, my worst fear has been that someone I love dearly will die again. While I know that death is an inevitable part of life, losing people is terrifying to me. 

And then a few months ago, it happened again. My brother died unexpectedly. While he had been disabled for a very long time, and while my brain likes to play the game of “worst case scenario”, and play out how I would react or feel if someone I loved passed away (usually when I’m trying to sleep); nothing can ever fully prepare you for losing one of your favorite people.

My siblings aren’t just random people in my life (it seems like I know so many people that aren’t particularly close with their siblings, or who haven’t talked to their siblings in years). My siblings are my best friends. We don’t live close to one another, but we talk often; and when we see one another, we go out and spend time together like no time has passed at all. We play pool, we eat food, and we enjoy the time we spend together. They raised me when my mother simply wasn’t mentally capable (or even physically present). Losing my brother is one of my worst nightmares, one of my greatest fears, and it happened. And even though it happened months ago, feels like it’s still happening to me. My brain won’t let it go. I expect to be able to call him with good or bad news at every turn. I expected to see him this past Christmas. I expect him to see my daughter grow up. And he’s… just… Not… There… and when I let myself think about that, it’s excruciating.

And the worst part is, I don’t feel like I have time to deal with any of it. Or more accurately, I don't want to make the time to deal with it. When I start to think about it, I cry; and simply put, I don’t have time to cry. I have a job, I have responsibilities, I have a baby who I love dearly and I don’t want to cry in front of yet, not yet. As someone who grew up with an absent mother who was always crying when she was around (who always cries even now), I just don’t want to cry around my daughter. I know that’s not logical. I know I will never be like my mother. But I just hate crying anyways, and I really don’t want to cry around my baby. 

So I shove it down. I don’t have time, I have to get work done. I don’t have time, I want to be present for the little time I get to spend with my daughter because of working. I don’t have time, I need to sleep. Oh in the quiet moments right before I fall asleep, my brain tries so hard to think about it, to make me feel it, and I keep shoving it down. I don’t want to think about it. He’s still there… he’s just a phone call away… I’ll see him the next time I come to visit… it’s not happening again. He’ll always be there. It’s alright.

But it’s not alright. I’m anxious all of the time anyways. I’m terrified something will happen to my husband, or my daughter, or my sisters. I’m so anxious, my entire body is tense all of the time. I'm so tense, I keep hurting my back simply by existing. When I drive, horrible images float through my brain - I keep imagining horrible accidents that will take it all away with a blink of an eye. I’m on high alert. I need to keep my family safe. At night, I wake up all of the time even when my daughter isn’t stirring or awake because I need to check the monitor. I need to see that she’s OK. Everything in this life is so fucking fragile, and I just can’t seem to cope with any of it.

And then I shove all of that down too… and logically I know that this will only last for so long, that I can only put off these feelings for so long; but I spent so much time in my life feeling like shit. I worked so hard in my life to get to where I am now. I have such a good life (you know, aside from the loss and the anxiety). I just want to enjoy the good things in my life, and ignore the bad things… just a little while longer. But if I keep shoving it down, it's only going to get worse. The detachment/anxiety cycle is going to keep getting worse.

And what is the worst thing that could happen if I really let it sink it, if I think about it, if I let myself cry? It becomes real... if I actually let myself feel this, he's really gone. If I stop thinking that he's just a phone call away, he really isn't just a phone call away. If I stop expecting to see him, if I stop thinking about the next time I get to see him... he really won't be there. I'm not ready to accept it. I'm not ready to accept that he's gone. Over and over again, like a child throwing a tantrum, my mantra is that it's not fucking fair. It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not right. It'll never be right. And I'm just so fucking sick of losing the people that I love. I'm so fucking sick of feeling like I've been left.

A good friend of mine told me that I need to start writing; that I need to start dealing with these emotions. So I’m trying now. I’m trying so fucking hard to let it out, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I think too much about it, I won’t be able to stop. But I have to start letting it out sometime. It may as well be pen to paper… or you know, typing words into a screen.

Saturday, February 2, 2019

The Ignored Child and the Intensive Parent


The Ignored Child and the Intensive Parent

Recently, I’ve been seeing more articles coming out about “Intensive Parenting”. One that I ran across just yesterday “The Relentlessness of Modern Parenting” by the Atlantic (an article I found to be completely judgmental), had me thinking about my own parenting style. According to them, I am an intensive parent because I play with my daughter doing crafts and reading her books - or due to my intention to put Ahsoka into at least a couple of classes throughout her childhood. But what the article fails to really cover, is why parents have become this way. I mean, they talk about why rich parents are this way, but they fail to look at the middle class and what may drive us to make sure that our children get the most out of well, their childhood. They fail to talk about why those of us who grew up in vastly different households may choose to be more hands on with our own children.

I didn’t grow up middle class. I grew up poor. I wasn’t so poor that we were homeless at any point, but we were poor enough that my bi-polar, often absent, mother struggled to keep things afloat. We were poor enough that I can remember not always having food in the house (even if sometimes it was due to my mom simply not caring to buy food). And we were poor enough by the time I came along that things like classes and quality time with mom simply didn’t happen. I was fortunate that there were nearly free things in my community which enabled me to be in a Children’s quoir, or that my church had enough activities that allowed me to do fun things, such as girls’ camp when I was a teenager. But even so, I was raised with a large sense of detachment from my mother.

When I was six months old, my mother had her first mental breakdown, and was hospitalized for the first time because of it. After that, she suffered from migraines, and general depression that kept her in bed for long periods of time. When I was six years old, and my father passed away, she worked full time, and I saw even less of her. While I had an imaginative childhood spent exploring the woods behind my house, I also had a childhood spent largely in front of the television. My brother referred to me as “The Ignored Child” because being 10 years old than me, his early childhood experience was vastly different than my own. His memories of me as a baby and toddler are of waking up, changing my diaper, feeding me breakfast, and putting me in front of the TV before school. When he would return home from school, I would still be in front of the TV, often times still in the same diaper.

So when I read articles about this intensive style of parenting… It kind of pisses me off. Yeah, I do read parenting books, and articles, and have really thoughtfully considered the type of parent I want to be. And I did “breastfeed exclusively” for her first six months because, um, guys, that’s not a new thing… that’s a thing most developed countries do well beyond the 1 year mark that the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) recommend. Why is that even part of this article?

Yes, I do read to my child daily, and try to be present with her. I also encourage her to play by herself. I encourage her to explore the safe spaces in our house we have created for her. And when she is older, I will encourage her to explore more freely (she is only one year old after all). Yeah, I did make her a sugar-free birthday cake for her first birthday because I like her teeth to be healthy, and as this article may judge me for that, there are a million other articles talking about how prevalent childhood obesity has become in our society. There are so many damn contradictory articles and studies and books, it makes my fucking head spin. Why do I do all of this? Because I believe that my daughter deserves a better childhood than the one I had. While I do appreciate my childhood in many ways because I like who I am as a person at this point in my life, it took so much struggle to get here, and many MANY experiences, that frankly, I could have done without. I had plenty of “life experiences” to craft me into a strong person that occurred prior to the dumpster fire that was my 20s. So if I can give my daughter a childhood filled with the magic and wonder and exploration I had, but subtract the death and depression and neglect? FUCK YEAH I’m going to do it.

I don’t do these things because I think that it will make my daughter be rich, or because I think I can prevent all of the bad things from happening to her. I do these things because I love spending time with my daughter, and I want to enjoy this time we have together because once she’s a teenager, I know that I will not have these opportunities. But more importantly, I don’t want her to feel as lonely as I did as a child. I want her to feel loved. I want her to feel supported. I’m not going to spend countless hours doing her homework as this article states modern parents do, but I am certainly going to be a resource for her because frankly I did poorly in school throughout my childhood because I didn’t have resources. My siblings were teenagers by the time I really needed help in school, and being children themselves, they had their own shit to work through.

I’m also not planning on putting her into all of the classes, or doing all of the activities. But I do think that there’s some fun and learning to be had by doing some fun things together or independently. I believe that there is a healthy balance there. I think parenting is a constant balancing act between what we want for our kids, being there for our kids, and also letting our kids experience and make mistakes. And I think that instead of being helpful, these articles are painfully judgmental of what modern parents are experiencing. We have so much more data and information to sort through. In some ways, it’s amazing because it does allow me the opportunity to see what kind of parent I want to be. In some ways, it can be maddening because sometimes as a new parent, I just need some fucking help figuring out if it’s, for instance, diaper rash or something worse. Sometimes I just need some fucking help getting my house clean! But what I don’t need, is one more damn article telling me that I’m doing something wrong – too much this, but too little that! Fuck you! Parents are largely doing the best that we can with the resources and information we have.

And yeah, it sucks that not everyone has these resources, or abilities to put their kids in classes, or activities. My mom certainly didn’t – although frankly, she was resourceful enough to take advantage where she could, and I think that’s what we should focus on for families doing without. What we can do to offer activities for kids that aren’t so ridiculously expensive in communities that can use them? What can we do to provide these stressed out and busy parents with the information they need to get at these programs that they aren’t aware of - assuming that they even want to take advantage of those types of things, because some parents are happy with a completely free range style.

And that brings me to another point that this article seems to fail to mention. I think more parents would LOVE to leave their children unattended in their yard, or let them go to a local park after a certain age/ maturity level. But guess what? We can’t! In this modern day and age, your neighbors will literally call the cops on you, and you could have a mark on your permanent record for letting your child play in your front yard without you; even if you can see them from your kitchen window. Gone are the days of letting swaths of children plan and explore alone because our society has gotten so fucking judgmental. I hope more states pass free range parenting laws. But until then, some of us parents will have no choice but to always keep our kids in our presence when outside of our home. That’s not intensive, that’s just reality.


Tuesday, January 22, 2019

The Birth Story


Today is the one year anniversary of Ahsoka's due date. She waited a whole week from her due date to make her way into the world (or perhaps it took a week of contractions/ early labor + over 33 hours of active labor to convince her to come out). But as I read my "still pregnant" post from this date last year, and thinking about everything it took to get her into our lives; I think today will always be a special anniversary to me.

I meant to write out her birth story soon after it occurred so that everything would be fresh in my mind. I wanted to note every single detail. But life is busy, and working full time while being a full time mama leaves little time to write. But as I take stock of the things in my life that help me process my thoughts, that help me navigate through this life, writing is at the top of the list. So, in celebration of the date my doctors thought my daughter might be born, I will write the birth story. Why not wait for her actual birth date? Because the reality is that the story of Ahsoka's birth was a week-long adventure. 

A year ago today, the day started like any other typical Monday. Except for the fact that I was an extremely uncomfortable pregnant lady who had spent the past few weeks thinking that my baby was coming early, and that had not happened. I was fortunate because my job at the time allowed me to work from home the later part of my pregnancy journey. So I was gearing up for an uneventful day at work, even as I was having what I thought were "pretend" contractions, and going about my day. My husband went into work because nothing indicated to me that Ahsoka was coming anytime soon.

But then about mid-day, my "pretend" contractions started to feel a little more... intense. Nothing too painful, just... more frequent and more of a full body experience. So I texted my husband, and said that I didn't want to alarm him, but I think that labor might be starting. Now, knowing from our birthing class that early labor can take a day or two, we weren't too concerned, but being the loving husband that he is; Zach rushed home to be with me. As the contractions intensified, we realized that there was a winter storm rushing through the area. And we thought, let's call the nurse line to see what they recommend. They recommended that we go to the hospital immediately. 

Upon arrival to the hospital, they hooked us up to a monitor, we talked about what our birth plan was going to be (a natural birth in a birthing tub, which the hospital was happy to accommodate)... and were told that neither my doctor nor my OBGYN were not on call for that day. I was incredibly dismayed. My OB had been with us throughout the entire journey, and my regular doctor (who is also an OB) was also someone that I would have loved to be in on the process. A couple of hours after our arrival, and after testing my birth canal for any amniotic fluid that might be leaking out (there wasn't any), they realized that my contractions (while they were legitimate contractions) were simply not consistent enough to move labor forward. I was also barely dilated at half-an-inch. Given they weather, they said that we would wait around a couple of hours; however, it was very unlikely that anything was going to occur any time soon. So we decided to trek though the bad weather and make our way home.

By the time we left, the snow storm was heavy underway, and rush hour traffic had started. One of the highway exits that we would have taken to get home was completely blocked by an accident, so we had to get off the highway and drive through the city. Our car threatened to get stuck numerous times, we navigated around cars that were legitimately stuck, but somehow I knew that we were going to be ok. It took us two hours to get across town (10 miles). Despite my rather uncomfortable contractions and the stress of driving through bad weather, the whole thing was kind of funny to us and surreal. We joked that it would be funny if I had the baby on the road (it wouldn't).

Finally, once we were across town, and probably only a few miles from home, we realized we were starving. So we stopped at a local burger joint and through my contractions, we enjoyed what was yet another possibly last meal before the baby comes moment (we had eaten out several times leading up to the due date thinking that it could be the last time we sit as childless adults together in a restaurant). It was kind of comical because I was HUGE and obviously having contractions, eating a burger, drinking a root beer, and watching the snow dumping outside. The wait staff watched us curiously.

We made it home that night exhausted, and complete bewildered as to what to expect next.

The next morning, I had my weekly doctor's appointment with my OB. They examined me, witnessed me having a couple of contractions, and took a peak at the baby to see how she was doing. While she was head down, she was facing the wrong way; which is likely why labor was not progressing. They advised that I just continue to wait it out at home, and my OB felt very strongly that Ahsoka would emerge in the next day or two. 

For for nights and five days, we waited... Well, "waited" isn't the right word. We tried to do anything we could to get labor to progress. I did yoga every day, I went for very short and very awkward walks outside (in over a foot of snow, with my husband holding me to make sure I didn't fall). I went to the pool to walk around, in attempt to try to convince Ahsoka to come to us. And we did very awkward (and at times very uncomfortable) stretches that were supposed to help the baby "turn" the correct direction. Every night I would go to sleep with my contractions intensifying, and every morning I would wake up with barely a contraction every 20 minutes.

Finally that Saturday night around 10PM, I noticed that the contractions once again seemed to be intensifying, and I thought JUST MAYBE this would be it. But it still didn't seem as intense as the nurses at the hospital indicated the would be. So we went to bed. Then I awoke with the intense feeling I needed to use the bathroom. It was at that point that I lost my mucus plug (something I had been told to anticipate in our birth classes, but that I still didn't full understand until it happened). It was an exciting moment because I knew that meant we could go to the hospital, that labor was finally progressing. I woke up my husband, and he and I decided to take quick showers before heading out. Unfortunately while he was showering, and I was packing my bag, my water broke as I was standing in front of my dresser. I had to laugh. I had been told by SO MANY PEOPLE that your water does not simply break while at home. That only happens in the movies you see. Well, not only did my water break right there in my bedroom, but I continued to leak all the way to the hospital.

Upon arrival the hospital checked us in, and got us set up in a birthing suite. Monitoring the contractions (after testing yet again to make sure my water had actually broken, which it had), they said that we still had a while to wait and that we should get some rest. I was still only dilated about an inch. My OB was on a road trip, and would not be back until Sunday evening, so I was sadly aware she would not likely be there; however, my regular doctor was going to be there the next day, which made me happy because I thought at least she would likely be there for the birth. Despite knowing that we were likely in there for the long haul, I had trouble sleeping that night. I was too excited.

The next morning my doctor warned that approximately 12 hours after my water broke (so around noon she said), that if the labor didn't progress we would want to speed things up with pitosin because you are more open to infection once your water breaks. Surely the baby would be ready to get here by then! But as the day wore on, my contractions slowed yet again, so my dreams of having a natural water birth were tossed out the window, and I was hooked up to an IV to begin the pitosin drip. I would still be able to labor down in the bath tub if I wished, but they can't do a water birth when you have to take pitosin. I understood because the reality is that I was more concerned about having a healthy baby than having a perfect birth story. 

Of all the things I had prepared for in getting ready for Ahsoka's birth (knowing full well that birth plans often go out the window), I had not really read up on pitosin. I knew that pitosin moved slow labors forward, and was used to induce labor, but that was about it. I didn't realize that in the process of "Speeding things up", pitosin also causes contractions to intensify. And the word "intensify" doesn't really quite capture the feeling. I went from breathing and humming through my contractions to howling and weeping through them. The contractions were coming every minute, without any relief. I was using the bathroom every five minutes. I sat on a birthing ball, I leaned over the bed, I tried to walk, I labored in an extremely hot bath... nothing gave me any sense of relief. The only thing that seemed to kind of feel a little bit okay was sitting on the doctor's swivel stool and leaning on the edge of the bed. My poor husband looked so dismayed.

Six hours into the pitosin drip; six hours of grueling, intense, horrific pain, they decided to check to see how much I had dilated. When I was in birthing class, they said all moms go through some kind of breaking point during labor. It was hard to imagine not having gone through labor, what that would be like. At that point, I had labored for over 18 hours, and the past six hours had been the most intense pain that I had ever experienced. So when they checked to see how far I had dilated, and told me that I was only at three inches... that was my breaking point. I hadn't cried, nor even complained (other than you know, howling in pain), but I began to heavily weep. The nurses (the saints) who were there tried to comfort me, tell me that I had come so far, and that I was doing so good... but that was it. That was my breaking point. 

I felt another sense of bowel pressure, so I went to the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time, and I heard my doctor talking to my husband through the bathroom door. She knew I had wanted to go through labor unmediated, but in hushed tones I heard her say "are you sure she doesn't want try some kind of pain intervention?" She sounded worried. My husband sounded worried. I came out of the bathroom and said "what are my options" because I was at my breaking point. They had offered me gas, and I had taken that, but it didn't touch my pain, nor had it touched the anxiety that had taken over with the intense pain. She listed out options, but the only one that sounded reasonable (because it wouldn't impact the baby) was an epidural. I had kind of bucked the idea of utilizing an epidural previously because I knew that it didn't really work for other women in my family, and in general I was really tied to the idea of a natural birth. But the pain I was in wasn't natural. It was medically induced pain. And I needed it to stop.

So I went for the epidural... And it was the best decision ever. Within half-an-hour the pain had become manageable. Within the hour, I was completely numb. I was so numb in fact, I was very little help when the nurses had to turn me and move me around every so often. I felt embarrassed, but I also felt so relieved from the lack of pain, the embarrassment was slight and faded quickly. I'm also glad that I finally relented and did the epidural because I was in labor for 15 + more hours. And fuck being in that kind of pain for that period of time. 

That night, despite having to be re-positioned every couple of hours, I actually got a decent amount of sleep. I watched "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend" on the ipad until I passed out. I woke early the next morning, and both my doctor and my OB were now there. They checked to see how labor was progressing, and promised it would be soon. They kept saying "let us know when you feel an intense pressure because that means she's coming". I never felt the intense pressure. I was still so completely numb that I had no idea when I was even having a contraction.

Around 9AM they realized that she was beginning to crown. Then shortly after they realized that malcum was there (which means the baby pooped, and means that NICU needs to examine the baby shortly after birth to ensure she was fine). Around 9:30 they prepped me to begin pushing. I asked if NICU needed to be there but they assured me that they had plenty of time to call them in. I would be in the final stage of labor for quite some time they said...

Four very easy contractions later, Ahsoka emerged. Let me repeat that because that was less than thirty minutes of pushing. FOUR contractions. I think they expected it to take a couple of hours because my OB was SHOCKED. They had to call NICU after the fact, and they rushed the baby away to examine her (she was fine). I then delivered my placenta, and they asked if I wanted to see it (I did not, but saw it anyways). While they were examining Ahsoka, they stitched me up (only a few level 3 tears, lol). 

My doctor laughed and said that all of our baby turning stretches must have worked because Ahsoka came out exactly in the position they needed her to be in... but upon looking at her umbilical chord, they found it had a perfect knot in it. It's kind of a scary prospect given that she needed that chord to survive in the womb, and who knows when that knot occurred; however, she was in perfect health. I did have to joke about how she had been doing somersaults in the womb for months (she was VERY active most of my pregnancy). 

After they completed their exam, they laid her on my chest. She was perfect and beautiful. She was (and still is) the most beautiful, precious baby I had ever seen. My baby was 20.5 inches long, weighing 8 pounds and 7 ounces. She had a full head of thick black hair, and dark blue eyes. Shortly after they laid her on my chest, they encouraged her to nurse for the first time, and she immediately latched. Watching my perfect little baby nurse for the first time, holding her, looking down at the perfect being we had created; it was a spiritual experience. She was meant to be there with us. After nursing, they handed her to my husband, who had the happiest look on his face. He was in love. I wish we had thought to take pictures in those moments, but the truth is, shortly after that, I began to fade, and went in and out of sleep. It actually took a while before we could move me to recovery because my blood pressure had dropped, and I didn't have any strength. I think we finally got some pictures a few hours later, but the details become very fuzzy to me during that time. But by the next day I had recovered (to a point), and was in good spirits. We had an excellent experience the next couple of days and nights in the hospital. The nurses were amazing and supportive. 

So maybe I have missed a detail here and there. Maybe I'll edit this blog at some point. But that's the story of how Ahsoka came into the world. I will love her unconditionally forever. I actually fell in love with her when she was growing inside of me, but nothing could have prepared me for the love I felt upon seeing her sweet face for the first time. And nothing could have prepared me for the love that continues to grow each day I spend with her. She is the light of my life. Happy due date Ahsoka. 

















Tuesday, May 29, 2018

The Best Laid Plans



Before I conceived, and while I was pregnant, I had many things in mind that I would have liked to do with my child, and how I planned (still plan) to raise them. I had this ideal of what parenthood will be like, specifically what kind of parent I would like to be. Some people refer to this as "being a perfect parent before you are a parent." I would like to think that I wasn't judgmental of other parents and their practices before having my own child, but in some ways I assumed that the parenting methods I wanted to employ would be the parenting methods I would employ. If you set out to do something, you can make it happen, right? *insert four-months-postpartum-mom maniacal laughter here* One of those plans included exactly where Ahsoka would sleep, how she would sleep, and at what age she would transition to her own room.

When it came to where Ahsoka would sleep, I knew that for the first six months of her life, we intended to have her sleeping in our bedroom, but in a separate bassinet - this practice is referred to as "co-sleeping" - sleeping in the same room, but not necessarily the same bed. I spent hours researching bassinettes, and finally took the advice of someone from my La Leche League Group, and got a min-pack and play (looking back now, especially with her tongue/lip tie and reflux issues, I wish I had started out using a side-car bed instead, but I digress). It was perfect because it would accommodate her both as a newborn, and as she grew up until six months. I knew that at six months, we could safely transfer her to her own bedroom in the beautiful Pottery Barn Kids crib we purchased (on sale, and it was a floor model, but still beautiful nonetheless).

Stick with me here, I'll get to a point eventually.

In the hospital, Ahsoka nursed often, but I was ultimately able to set her down in the small bedside bassinet they had for her throughout the night in-between feedings. By the third night, she was having some trouble staying asleep, but a little bit of soothing, and she was fine. This only cemented my confidence that I would be able to do the same with her at home in the mini-pack and play I had at for her next to my bed.

But three days after we had Ahsoka home from the hospital (six days after she was born), something changed - I can only describe it as her "waking up". She was more alert, and she was adorable, but she was also more demanding. Ahsoka would only sleep on me, day or night. I spent weeks trying to lay her down in her mini-pack and play after each nighttime feeding, and in her crib or downstairs pack and play during the day. And each time she would settle for maybe a few moments before screaming her head off until I picked her back up again. Her nighttime nursing frequency was so often, I started falling asleep with her in my arms. This, as a new mother who spent many hours of reading about SIDS, was terrifying to me. She should only be sleeping on her back in a completely separate space! As normal as it is for new moms to be exhausted and sleep deprived, I was barely sleeping period. My sisters exchanged knowing glances as I explained my plight to them. They had bed-shared with their kids, and explained to me that it wouldn't be the end of the world if I had to bed-share with Ahsoka.

This is when I started to realize just how applicable the term "the best laid plans" is in parenthood.

After reading numerous articles, studies, and books, here's what I found out about bed-sharing that surprised me. The instances of SIDS and bed-sharing was documented both when parents shared the bed, and fell asleep on other surfaces such as couches and sofas (where kids can fall of the couch, or fall into the cracks between cushions - a horrifying thing to read about); the documentation also included high-risk instances - such as parents who smoke, drink, use illicit drugs, or use medications that can cause sleepiness. None of those high risk factors applied to me. If you take out the high risk factors, SIDS in bed-sharing is far less common. In fact, there are many who believe (including the lactation consultant I eventually confided in later), that bed-sharing properly can actually reduce SIDS - this being a very controversial subject, as specialists and doctors and other parents could easily have a royal rumble in terms of their strong disagreements.

My doctor and the hospital and the nurses all spoke of "back to sleep" as if it was the only way could could keep your child asleep safely. And I believe that for safety and liability reasons, they are only able to recommend this practice. I get it, the "back to sleep" initiative has saved so many infants lives. But the thing is that it doesn't work for everyone. Despite weeks of my attempts to get Ahsoka to sleep on anything other than me (even anyone, she still doesn't sleep as soundly on her dad), her stubbornness prevailed.

"Even though most new breastfeeding mothers today don't plan to bedshare, studies show that eventually 60 to 75% of them will, at least some of the time."

I never intended to bed-share with my daughter. But after weeks of attempts to get her to sleep in her own space, to no avail, I needed to figure out how to safely do this. There's some good information out there, and I have provided some links below. I spent hours reading studies, and books, and I also talked to the ladies in my local La Leche League, to really get to the bottom of how to do it safely and how to make it work for me.

Because "back to sleep" is treated as the only way to safely get your child to sleep, many parents are afraid to tell their doctors (or anyone else) that they are actually bed-sharing, intentionally or not. I decided, despite the disapproving looks, that I would tell my doctor anyways because I'm not ashamed to say that both Ahsoka and I benefit from bed-sharing.

But is it possible that if parents could feel more comfortable telling their doctors the truth, and if doctors weren't so afraid of liability, that it could actually benefit all involved if doctors could simply inform parents of the risks, but also how to safely (as safely as possible including sharing the high-risk factors) bed-share? How to intentionally bed-share because bed-sharing on accident isn't safe. How to keep heavy blankets, pillows, any anything else away from baby. How to still put baby on their back, but next to you. How you can't swaddle your baby if you bed-share, and need to dress them lightly. How that if you do decide to bed-share, how you need a firm mattress, and absolutely cannot use a waterbed. How you have to keep pets and other children out of the bed if you are bed-sharing with an infant. How you have to keep long hair pulled back to avoid strangulation (and you don't wear necklaces or strapy sleep clothing). How you can use your arm to create a sort of space around you and the child, and how your legs naturally curl up to protect your child in a sort of safety cocoon. How you can face away from your partner, so you are in the middle of the bed, and the baby is on your side of the bed, but still plenty of room away from the edge. How you can reduce the risk of rolling even further by having a safe landing place, or a bed that is low tot he ground.

Wouldn't it be amazing if mothers didn't shame one another for the way they choose to raise their baby, or in my case, the way a baby's individual needs forces your hand regardless how you feel about something? Despite the best laid plans, sometimes you just have to do what works best for you and your family (safely of course). Because ultimately, both Ahsoka and I excel in our daily lives and our relationship with one another when we actually get some sleep.


References:

KellyMom: Co-sleeping and Bed-sharing
Breastfeeding Today: The Safe Sleep Seven
https://www.parentingscience.com/bed-sharing.html
https://cosleeping.nd.edu/
Ask Dr. Sears: Cosleeping Safely

Note: Many of the references at the bottom of the Kelly Mom article is what I was about to use, so in the name of saving time, I would advise you to check these references.

Articles:

MPR News: Is sleeping with your baby as dangerous as doctors say?








Monday, May 21, 2018

Reality Bites


The thing about having a generalized anxiety disorder while simultaneously having a somewhat obsessive personality, is that you tend to know yourself and your anxiety pretty well by the time you are in your 30's... Or at least me and the people I know who are also living with anxiety seem to have a pretty good handle on it. To put it succinctly, I know myself, I know what an anxiety attack feels like. I know my anxiety "triggers". I even know when an anxiety attack is about to start, which is great because I can generally "head it off at the pass" so to speak, and prevent myself from having a full blown attack. I have a toolkit of various methods that I utilize to keep my anxiety in check. But I also know that sometimes, despite my best efforts to take care of myself, I'm going to go through rough patches. Sometimes that rough patch is having waves of general feelings of anxiety, sometimes it's a lack of energy, and sometimes it's depression. Usually big life events or changes tend to hit  me a little harder than they seem to hit other people, and they take me a little longer to bounce back. But it's been a long time since any of that has impacted my day to day life overall.

Knowing all of this is why I know that people in my particular situation are more susceptible to postpartum mood disorders such as Postpartum Depression (PPD), or Postpartum Anxiety (PPA). I was prepared for this. I was actually fully expecting to have to begin counseling again once Ahsoka was born. When my cat Stewie died two months before my daughter was due to arrive, I felt like it was almost set in stone because losing Stewie was (and still is) extremely hard on me.

After Ahsoka was born, my sisters came to visit, and it was amazing. My husband's mother came to visit us regularly, and was an immense help around the house. The combination of winter and nursing a newborn had me in full on hermit mode, but that too didn't seem to differ much from other moms I knew who had babies around the same time. I tend to become a hermit every winter anyways. Life was good.

I have read many articles about what women go through when they are experiencing or have experienced PPD and/or PPA, and I am simply unable to understand their plight. Women experiencing PPD and PPA talk about feeling disconnected from their children. Whereas I feel spiritually connected to my daughter in a way I could never have predicted.

I didn't seem to have any of the telltale symptoms of either PPD or PPA. Despite all of the issues we had with her weight gain (she's caught up now), and my own slow to heal issues (I'm fine now), I was so happy and grateful to have Ahsoka in my life. Aside from anxiety around Ahsoka's weight gain, which resolved itself once we finally figured everything out, I felt great mentally. I was exhausted, sleep deprived, I would still (and still do) cry about Stewie from time to time, but I wasn't having any full on anxiety attacks. I was less anxious overall than when I was pregnant. It's like Ahsoka and I were living in a blissful bubble outside of reality.

Then I returned to work a few weeks ago... While my anxiety still seems to be in check, I've been incredibly depressed. The first week I took my daughter to daycare, I was fortunate enough to be able to work from home the entire week. Fortunate because I cried every day until I was able to pick her up. I'm no longer crying nonstop when she's not around, but I feel like I'm walking around without a piece of my heart. I'm spending the latter half of the day counting the minutes until I get to see my daughter again. I'm having an awful time keeping motivated in my job responsibilities. And I absolutely hate breast pumping multiple times a day. I want to continue breastfeeding, so I will continue to pump so that she has milk for each day at daycare, but I hate this entire process.

I never thought I would long to be a stay at home mom. Part of me was looking forward to returning to work to get a little more structure back to my day. I worked really hard to get where I'm at in my career, and I thought that sentiment was enough to put me in a good place mentally upon my return to work. But when the day came to return to work, I was a mess. I woke up that morning, held my daughter while she slept, and just cried. I still don't feel like myself. I put off getting out of bed in the morning because I know the second we start our day, I'm going to have to leave Ahsoka with a stranger for the day (a very nice stranger who I'm glad we found, but still someone who is not me).

I wish we could afford for me to be a stay at home mom, or for me to at least work some cushy part time job where I could work out of my home with Ahsoka at my side, or only be away from her for only a few hours each day instead of 8 - 10 hours a day during the week (longer when my company hits our busy season this Fall). I miss being in our blissful mommy and baby bubble all day. Being with Ahsoka full-time was hard, harder than any day job I've ever had. But it was so rewarding; more rewarding than anything I've ever experienced in my life.

I'm sure all of this will get easier with time... at least, that's what people tell me, and that's what I keep telling myself. But I can't seem to logic my way out of this awful feeling when I'm away from her while I'm at work. And it's not like I've never been away from her. My husband and I have managed a couple of movie dates, and I've been fine. But being at work all day was soul sucking before I had a baby. You see, I'm not passionate about my job (I don't think most people are). I have hobbies that I'm passionate about (I run social media for a geek blog. I'm an admin for a Star Wars fan page on Facebook, I love seeing live music, going to conventions and taking pictures, etc.). But I'm not saving the world at my day job. I'm not even sure how much of what I do is really helping people anymore, which is what used to get me through the day (I work in benefits administration on the back end as a business analyst). I'm a small cog in a giant corporate machine that doesn't care about me or my family. They don't even care enough to pay me the average of what my job title gets paid (at my company or otherwise). And if I left, they would quickly and easily replace me.

But I'm not replaceable as Ahsoka's mom. She's growing and changing so fast, and I will only get to have this experience with her once in my life (and hers). But because of money and bills, I'm missing out. And it's the worst.

As I type and edit this post, tears are streaming down my face. Another Monday morning, and I'm missing my daughter terribly already. Is this really what postpartum depression looks like for me, or is it just the reality of being a working mom? Because this new reality of mine is incredibly depressing.




Tuesday, May 15, 2018

The Tie That Binds


Forward: This article is ultimately going to discuss Lip tie and Tongue Tie. But that's not where the story begins. 

NOTE: If you read nothing else from this point on, read this - If you live in the US, are about to have a baby, or just had your baby; get dental insurance when you add your baby to your medical insurance. If you don't need it, it's usually pretty inexpensive. But if your child needs a lip tie or tongue tie revisions surgery, your medical insurance will not likely cover it. Your dental insurance will.

Shortly after my daughter Ahsoka came into this world, she was hungry - Super hungry. If the hospital where you are giving birth knows that you intend to breastfeed (and if your hospital is worth their snuff), they're going to do everything in their power to help you be successful in your breastfeeding endeavors from the get go. This includes putting your new baby to your breast shortly (scratch that, almost immediately) after they are born.

Breastfeeding can be a tricky thing. It's beautiful, it's natural, but even in the most ideal circumstances, it can be incredibly difficult. Often times that first time at your breast, your baby will not latch. The hospital staff will tell you it's okay, they work with you, and they give you lactation consultants to help you and your baby learn how to latch. This was not the case for us. My baby girl latched immediately. She latched so well that the nurses (who are all trained lactation consultants at my hospital) never questioned if we would have a successful breastfeeding relationship. They called her "little barracuda" because she latched fiercely and often (and feeding often is what newborns are supposed to do).

In the short time in an American hospital, your breasts are typically only producing colostrum (the first secretion from the mammary glands after giving birth, rich in antibodies that helps your baby's stomach lining form so that their stomach can eventually properly digest breast milk that comes later), and your milk will not likely come in until you are home. My milk didn't come in until the night before my daughter's first post-hospital follow-up appointment (five days after she was born). I was breastfeeding her constantly; however, not only did she lose just over 10% of her body weight during our stay at the hospital (she was healthy otherwise, so they let us go), but she had lost even more weight since we left the hospital.

But my doctor and I had a plan. My milk had just come in the night before for Pete's sake! We needed to give it time. I was eating oatmeal every day, relaxing as much as possible with my sisters in town to help us out, and doing everything I could to support my milk production. So we set up another appointment the following week. When they weighed Ahsoka again the following week, my heart sank. She had not really gained much at all (actually, they mis-weighed her at first and it looked like she had lost any more weight, but fortunately she was just slow growing instead of still losing weight). So we set up another appointment for the following week. The lactation specialist at my doctor's office observed her latch at my breast, and said it looked good.

All in all it took four weeks for my daughter to get back up to her birth weight, so we had to continue to  bring her into the doctor's office to weigh her week after week.

Ahsoka didn't seem dehydrated, she was healthy and happy and on track otherwise. She was having regular diaper output that seemed in line for a baby her age. But she was still gaining very, very little weight. She was at my breast near-constantly. At that point, I was already hand expressing milk after each feeding, and giving her the hand expressed milk each day to supplement her long breastfeeding sessions. I began pumping milk and gave her pumped milk each day. We were giving her the milk with a dropper each feeding to avoid nipple confusion. It was all completely exhausting.

I knew that breastfeeding wasn't going to be easy. I knew that it was a process. But something seemed wrong. Was it really supposed to be THIS hard? I read every blog, article, book and study that I could about slow weight gain and breastfeeding methods. I started to question my milk supply, despite everything showing that my milk was fine. I felt like I was missing something.

Again, keeping in mind that because I had told them that I intended to breastfeed only, they wanted to do everything in their power to assist me in these efforts. Acquaintances who had their babies around the same time we had were all formula feeding. Now, I am of the opinion that "fed is best", so whatever works for your family is important. But I'm stubborn. I set out to breastfeed, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with my daughter or with my milk supply. So I continued down the breastfeeding only path. My doctor hadn't even mentioned supplementing with formula, or the potential of moving to formula; so I didn't consider it either.

Six weeks after my daughter was born her weight gain was still slow, but she was at least steadily gaining, and our doctor agreed it was time to give my daughter my pumped milk with the bottle to supplement her diet instead of the dropper. We switched to bi-weekly weigh-ins even though she was still below average weight for her age (some babies truly are just smaller or gain weight slower than others, but are otherwise healthy). We needed to start introducing the bottle anyways because eventually I needed to return to work and if you wait too long to introduce the bottle, the kid may never take to the bottle (or it can at least make the process of getting them to take the bottle much harder). Using the bottle to supplement her unfortunately had the opposite intended effect because her weight gain became even slower, which we did not discover until I had a lactation consultant come to our home to help me with breast pumping the following week.

Pumping milk is not as easy as it may seem, and when I first started using a breast pump, not only was I not getting much (2 - 3 ounces, which as it turns out is perfectly average for when you first start pumping), but my already tender nipples felt brutalized. I checked the Medela *my pump brand at the time* website to make sure I had the right sized shield for my nipple size, but something seemed off. If I tried to pump milk more than once a day, I was left in an incredible amount of pain.

So we had a certified lactation consultant come out. Different than the nurses and doctor's, this person's job is solely with infants and breastfeeding specifically.

First, she identified that I was using the wrong size breast shield. Some women mistakenly think they need a smaller shield, when in fact they need a much larger one. This was my case, and since moving up to larger shields, I've had a much healthier relationship with my pump. It's still not easy, but it's manageable. She also gave me several tips and pointers for more effective pumping methods. Despite my hours and hours of reading books and internet articles, having someone in person help you with your pump is simply a different experience. Regardless if your child has issues or if you have issues with using a breast pump, I highly recommend having a lactation consultant help you get started.

But she was really concerned with Ahsoka's weight gain. Of course she was concerned, Ahsoka was gaining even more slowly than she was before in the two weeks we had started to give her bottles on top of breastfeeding. So she observed  me feeding Ahsoka. She noted that I was literally holding my breast to Ahsoka's mouth; a maneuver I call "torpedoing" and hadn't realized that most moms do not need to "babysit" the latch in that manner. The she inspected Ahsoka's mouth and said - "this kid has a posterior tongue tie and an upper lip tie. She is having trouble latching properly, and she is probably having a terribly difficult time drawing and swallowing milk properly as a result."

I was in shock. EIGHT WEEKS of constant feeding, and supplementing, and worrying. They checked her mouth for tongue tie in the hospital and said that she did not have one. Not once since the hospital stay had anyone asked or checked or mentioned the possibility that she could have a tongue tie and/or lip tie. Truly, the only time I had heard about tongue ties and lip ties was very briefly in our Newborns 101 class where it was mentioned in passing as something that is very rare (it's not). The consultant gave me a referral for a couple of dentists in the area who are specialists who could perform revision surgery. She said it was up to us, but her exact phrasing was "I think if you choose to do a revision surgery for your daughter, you're going to see a world of difference."

After she left, I immediately made an appointment with the dentist for their next available appointment, which was two weeks out. The nice thing about the dentist we set up the appointment with is that they will do a consult and immediately do the revision if you so choose at that same appointment (with a laser, which is much less invasive than with a scalpel). I had an appointment for yet another weigh in with the doctor the following week, which gave me time to discuss the surgery with my doctor, and still have the dentist appointment in my back pocket.

The lactation consultant also gave us some great pointers for effectively supplementing Ahsoka's diet with the bottle as well. As a result, Ahsoka gained 11 ounces in the week between the lactation consultant and the next doctor's appointment (almost triple what she had been gaining each week). While this was very encouraging, I wanted to get to the point where I could breastfeed a meal or use the bottle for a meal - not both all of the time. At this point, I was still breastfeeding Ahsoka almost non-stop throughout the day and night.

Let me preface something. I love, love, love my OB/pediatrician. I still have her as my child's doctor and will continue to do so. But unlike dedicated lactation consultants who are typically called in when there is an issue and therefore run into lip tie and tongue tie issues on a consistent basis, my doctor just didn't have experience with these issues. At the next appointment she looked at Ahsoka's mouth and said that she wasn't convinced a revision surgery would help. She felt like Ahsoka had good range of motion with her tongue. But that it was ultimately up to us, and there certainly wasn't any harm in having the dentist do a consultation. We set another weigh-in appointment for a month later.

I was so torn. Was I considering a completely unnecessary procedure for my daughter? A deep dive into research on lip ties and tongue ties showed me yet another strong division in the world of babies - Simply put, some people believe that revision surgery is necessary, and some people do not. And there is a staggering amount of data to support both schools of thought. But what I found when I read about tongue ties and lip ties is that not only can they impact breastfeeding, but they can cause speech and dental issues later in life. This hit close to home with me because I personally had speech issues growing up, and I had braces/retainers for years (which was an awful experience in both cases). When I was little, lip ties and tongue ties were a relatively unknown thing. Ahsoka's tongue tie was even harder to identify because a posterior tongue tie is when there is a restriction at the base of the tongue (and most healthcare providers are looking for a restriction towards the tip of the tongue). This is likely why they did not catch her tongue tie at the hospital.

Something I have discovered as a new parent is that there are going to be many points in time where you have to look at the data, and make the best decision that makes the most sense for your situation and your family because there are always going to be studies and information and articles to support different parenting methods. And sometimes that decision boils down to "going with your gut". And you are going to make mistakes (hopefully not life threatening, but mistakes nonetheless). Furthermore, every child is different. What works for one child may not work for another child. And in the case of lip ties and tongue ties, you have to consider the severity of the restrictions.

During the consultation with the dentist the following week (Ahsoka was 10 weeks old at this point), I think I already knew in my gut that we were going to go with the revision surgery. But it helped having a trained professional confirm what I believed: That this surgery would help her breastfeed more effectively. That it would even help her take the bottle more effectively. That it would prevent potential speech and dental issues later in life. My husband agreed with me that going with the revision surgery was the best course of action.

They had us leave the room for the procedure, and brought her to us immediately afterwards to nurse. Ahsoka was screaming. I began to cry as I nursed her, but Ahsoka latched on and I felt better that I was able to comfort her.

The surgery wasn't the hardest part. For four weeks following the procedure, we had to stretch and massage Ahsoka's lip and tongue - Every four hours the first three weeks, and then phase out one stretch per day on the fourth week. Each time we had to do these stretches, Ahsoka would scream bloody murder. She also became much stronger in that time, and would squirm and jerk away from us. Her lip and tongue actually bled a couple of times (which is normal). It was awful. The worst time to do her stretches was at 2AM when I would actually have to wake her up for the stretch every night. I was already exhausted, but this process added a whole new level to new baby exhaustion. I think after the first week and a half, it wasn't so much painful to her as it was upsetting. But that thought did little to make it easier on either of us.

But I will tell you, almost immediately after the surgery, Ahsoka's latch was different. Along with the stretches, we had to do suck training to help her newly freed tongue and lip re-learn how to latch and unlearn some of our bad habits, but Ahsoka's latch was already different aside from us doing these exercises. She was sucking harder, staying at the breast for shorter periods, and refusing the bottle with the additional supplemental milk (we think because she was full).

At thirteen weeks old, Ahsoka had her next weigh-in appointment at the pediatrician. Not only was her weight on track, but she had caught up to the average weight for her age (50th percentile). Her doctor was completely blown away. Ahsoka's experience completely changed her mind about the revision surgery. And she believes the surgery is what put Ahsoka on track.

So that's my story. Ultimately, as hard as it was, I'm pleased that we had the revision surgery done. I'm even more  pleased that we are still breastfeeding. It's been a long road, but based on my personal preference as a mother, I'm glad we have been able to breastfeed for this long.

When I started out with breastfeeding, I said that I would be happy if we could do it for a month, for three months, for six months, for a year (etc); and after each of these milestones, I would see how realistic it was to continue. My next milestone is six months. I'd like to make it at least a year. When she's a year old, we'll see if we're ready to wean then, or if we want to try for 18 months.

Breastfeeding is another one of those baby things that has a huge amount of information and schools of thought as far as how long one should breastfeed. "The World Health Organization recommends exclusive breastfeeding (i.e. no other fluids or solids) for six months and then continued breastfeeding combined with solid foods for 2 years or as long as mother and baby desire."
I think overall, I'll know when the time to stop breastfeeding is right based both on my needs as a mother, my ability to keep my milk supply up; but mostly importantly and ultimately what Ahsoka dictates. She is, after all, the reason I'm doing all of this.