Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Image: Dropout
I have real excuses for not posting a new photo:
First, my camera is out of batteries. Second, I can't find my USB cable. Third, this is a tie-in to the breast feeding post:
Sure, he seems cute, but this innocent look belies the incredible reservoir of stubborness within.
Kompewtur
Derrrrrrrr. How do you work this here thing?
Okay, I'm an idiot. I turned on comment approval many months ago because I was getting comment spammed. The thing is, though, if a blogger turns on this rather nifty feature, they actually have to remember to go in and read and approve their comments. Imagine that.
So today I clicked on this little link on my blogger page called, guess what?, "Moderate comments" thinking, "Hmmm..what's that?" and lo and behold: COMMENTS! From you! My three readers!
And here I thought you didn't like me.
Needless to say, I'm turning comment moderation off. Bring on the spam!!!!
Okay, I'm an idiot. I turned on comment approval many months ago because I was getting comment spammed. The thing is, though, if a blogger turns on this rather nifty feature, they actually have to remember to go in and read and approve their comments. Imagine that.
So today I clicked on this little link on my blogger page called, guess what?, "Moderate comments" thinking, "Hmmm..what's that?" and lo and behold: COMMENTS! From you! My three readers!
And here I thought you didn't like me.
Needless to say, I'm turning comment moderation off. Bring on the spam!!!!
Booby School Dropout
Slate has a great article (with slides!) this week about breastfeeding mothers' rather ambivalent relationships with their breast pumps, a contraption which I happen to know all too intimately.
Like the author, I charged into motherhood with a certain bullheadedness about breastfeeding. Sure, I talked the talk about my lack of expectations. I knew the possible complications. I knew that breastfeeding sometimes took a while to get established, but deep down in my heart, I knew that I could do it. I was a feminist! I was strong! I would persevere and get through any of the normal difficulties. I would birth my baby and he would immediately be put to my breast and know what to do. I wouldn't mind being the one that had to get up for nighttime feedings, and I would take advantage of my workplace's nursing mother's room and put to good use the little manual Avent breastpump that I had received at my baby shower. I was woman and hear me fucking roar. And nurse!
Things didn't quite go as I had planned. Because Harrison was in distress at the moment of his birth, the neonatal team whisked him away to the warming table to stabilize his heart and breath. [Hadn't they read my plan? "I would like to have my son placed on my stomach/chest immediately after delivery."]
Harrison didn't cry for the first minute and all thoughts of bringing him to my breast immediately were gone from my mind as he was suctioned rather vigorously. I trusted that everything was fine: I saw him wiggling. And then, finally, crying. But I was still contracting and being stitched up in my unmentionables and reeling from the rather traumatic ending to what had otherwise been a pretty good labor. I don't know how long it was before Harrison was brought over. Fifteen minutes maybe? Twenty? Nevertheless, I didn't put him to my breast until maybe forty five minutes after his birth.
And when he finally got there, he wanted nothing to do with it.
It was from that very shaky beginning that Harrison was a failed nurser. During the two days at the hospital, he didn't eat a drop. He would either cry or fall asleep. He couldn't latch. He couldn't get comfortable. He squirmed and flailed. He zonked out. He peered. His eyes crossed. He farted. He yawned. He did everything but eat.
The nurses did everything they could to help. The lactation consultant visited twice and stated that she had never seen such a lazy nurser. After 36 hours of not eating, I started worrying that my baby was going to starve to death.
The hospital forgot (?) to circumcise Harrison as they normally would have done on the first full day of our stay. When we asked them about it the morning of our departure on day 2, they had it done immediately, but then informed us that Harrison had to pee before they would let him go. Now we had a dilemma because he hadn't eaten anything since he was in utero and his diapers had been dry all day. We kept trying to get him to nurse, but he continued to refuse. His diaper stayed dry.
Finally, we decided to let him drink a half ounce of sugar water from a bottle, just so we'd be able to take him home. He drank the water immediately and peed an hour or so later. We were free!
Harrison was starving and screamed bloody murder that first night home. He continued to refuse to nurse. Meanwhile, I needed to pump to stimulate my milk production. We, of course, hadn't gotten anything ready at home for bottle feeding. We didn't have any bottles sterilized or the pump out of the package. Valerie saved my life by getting the bottles and pump ready for me and giving me a Cliff's notes version of the directions on how to use it. We decided to give Harrison the little bit of colostrum that I was able to pump and supplement that with formula. Once he got something to eat, he calmed down and went to sleep.
Over the next few weeks, this pattern continued: Harrison refused to nurse, I was forced to pump or explode. We embarked on an intensive breastfeeding training regimen we called "Boob School". We talked to the lactation consultatant. We tried using a nipple shield. We tried using a breastmilk-filled medicine dropper positioned near my nipple so that he'd associate my boobs with milk. I pumped and then popped my nipple in his mouth with milk squirting out.
He didn't get it.
In the meantime, we started feeding him the pumped milk out of a bottle.
Aside from Harrison's surgery, this was the hardest time I have ever had as a parent. I cried every two hours, every time Harrison tried and failed to nurse. I cried while I pumped. I cried when I fed Harrison from the bottle. I cried while Doug fed Harrison from the bottle. I felt like I spent all my time either expressing milk or feeding Harrison, but I couldn't do those two things at the same time. I felt like a huge failure and a terrible mother. I felt totally rejected.
Doug researched our problem on the internet and found lots of women who had had the same exact experience. Some of their flunkie babies had "Ah-ha!" moments at 4 or 5 weeks where they finally "got" it, but most of the mothers had given up. A very small percentage of them had found full-time pumping as a solution.
After three weeks of Boob School, I finally made the decision to give up on direct breastfeeding and give myself over to full-time pumping. For the most part, I felt that a huge weight was lifted because we weren't going to have to fight with Harrison every few hours, which meant I wouldn't have to cry every few hours.
Full-time pumping was quite successful. I had a great supply and pumping after I went back to work was easy and fast. At my most productive I could express 5 ounces from each breast in about 15 minutes. In some ways, pumping was easier on me because Doug was able to participate in Harrison's feedings.
I stuck with full time pumping for about 5 and a half months, and with my freezer stocks, Harrison had breastmilk through 6 months. I made the decision to stop when I developed a repetitive motion injury in my hand from using the pump and when I basically just got too lazy to keep doing it.
Still, deciding to quit breastfeeding was hard. Again I felt overcome with guilt. Ashley said, "He will be fine and he will not care" and she was right. When Harrison went to daycare in mid November 2004, we switched over to formula.
So that's my breastfeeding story. I am still trying to get to the point where I am at peace with the way things turned out. It's hard to move past it because Doug and I do plan to have another child and I live in a bit of fear over what will happen with the next baby. I'm not sure if there's any one party or factor to blame: the hospital? Me? Harrison? The birth? The intensive suctioning after he was born?
Getting back to the Slate article about pumps, I can say that pumping was very easy for me. Maybe it was too easy. Maybe if pumping had not been so easy, I would have tried harder with the direct breastfeeding. But maybe without the ease of the pump, I still would have given up on breastfeeding altogether and given him formula from the beginning.
And the bottom line is that no matter what, Harrison would have been fine. He would have been healthy and well-fed and happy. And I'm learning to accept that.
Like the author, I charged into motherhood with a certain bullheadedness about breastfeeding. Sure, I talked the talk about my lack of expectations. I knew the possible complications. I knew that breastfeeding sometimes took a while to get established, but deep down in my heart, I knew that I could do it. I was a feminist! I was strong! I would persevere and get through any of the normal difficulties. I would birth my baby and he would immediately be put to my breast and know what to do. I wouldn't mind being the one that had to get up for nighttime feedings, and I would take advantage of my workplace's nursing mother's room and put to good use the little manual Avent breastpump that I had received at my baby shower. I was woman and hear me fucking roar. And nurse!
Things didn't quite go as I had planned. Because Harrison was in distress at the moment of his birth, the neonatal team whisked him away to the warming table to stabilize his heart and breath. [Hadn't they read my plan? "I would like to have my son placed on my stomach/chest immediately after delivery."]
Harrison didn't cry for the first minute and all thoughts of bringing him to my breast immediately were gone from my mind as he was suctioned rather vigorously. I trusted that everything was fine: I saw him wiggling. And then, finally, crying. But I was still contracting and being stitched up in my unmentionables and reeling from the rather traumatic ending to what had otherwise been a pretty good labor. I don't know how long it was before Harrison was brought over. Fifteen minutes maybe? Twenty? Nevertheless, I didn't put him to my breast until maybe forty five minutes after his birth.
And when he finally got there, he wanted nothing to do with it.
It was from that very shaky beginning that Harrison was a failed nurser. During the two days at the hospital, he didn't eat a drop. He would either cry or fall asleep. He couldn't latch. He couldn't get comfortable. He squirmed and flailed. He zonked out. He peered. His eyes crossed. He farted. He yawned. He did everything but eat.
The nurses did everything they could to help. The lactation consultant visited twice and stated that she had never seen such a lazy nurser. After 36 hours of not eating, I started worrying that my baby was going to starve to death.
The hospital forgot (?) to circumcise Harrison as they normally would have done on the first full day of our stay. When we asked them about it the morning of our departure on day 2, they had it done immediately, but then informed us that Harrison had to pee before they would let him go. Now we had a dilemma because he hadn't eaten anything since he was in utero and his diapers had been dry all day. We kept trying to get him to nurse, but he continued to refuse. His diaper stayed dry.
Finally, we decided to let him drink a half ounce of sugar water from a bottle, just so we'd be able to take him home. He drank the water immediately and peed an hour or so later. We were free!
Harrison was starving and screamed bloody murder that first night home. He continued to refuse to nurse. Meanwhile, I needed to pump to stimulate my milk production. We, of course, hadn't gotten anything ready at home for bottle feeding. We didn't have any bottles sterilized or the pump out of the package. Valerie saved my life by getting the bottles and pump ready for me and giving me a Cliff's notes version of the directions on how to use it. We decided to give Harrison the little bit of colostrum that I was able to pump and supplement that with formula. Once he got something to eat, he calmed down and went to sleep.
Over the next few weeks, this pattern continued: Harrison refused to nurse, I was forced to pump or explode. We embarked on an intensive breastfeeding training regimen we called "Boob School". We talked to the lactation consultatant. We tried using a nipple shield. We tried using a breastmilk-filled medicine dropper positioned near my nipple so that he'd associate my boobs with milk. I pumped and then popped my nipple in his mouth with milk squirting out.
He didn't get it.
In the meantime, we started feeding him the pumped milk out of a bottle.
Aside from Harrison's surgery, this was the hardest time I have ever had as a parent. I cried every two hours, every time Harrison tried and failed to nurse. I cried while I pumped. I cried when I fed Harrison from the bottle. I cried while Doug fed Harrison from the bottle. I felt like I spent all my time either expressing milk or feeding Harrison, but I couldn't do those two things at the same time. I felt like a huge failure and a terrible mother. I felt totally rejected.
Doug researched our problem on the internet and found lots of women who had had the same exact experience. Some of their flunkie babies had "Ah-ha!" moments at 4 or 5 weeks where they finally "got" it, but most of the mothers had given up. A very small percentage of them had found full-time pumping as a solution.
After three weeks of Boob School, I finally made the decision to give up on direct breastfeeding and give myself over to full-time pumping. For the most part, I felt that a huge weight was lifted because we weren't going to have to fight with Harrison every few hours, which meant I wouldn't have to cry every few hours.
Full-time pumping was quite successful. I had a great supply and pumping after I went back to work was easy and fast. At my most productive I could express 5 ounces from each breast in about 15 minutes. In some ways, pumping was easier on me because Doug was able to participate in Harrison's feedings.
I stuck with full time pumping for about 5 and a half months, and with my freezer stocks, Harrison had breastmilk through 6 months. I made the decision to stop when I developed a repetitive motion injury in my hand from using the pump and when I basically just got too lazy to keep doing it.
Still, deciding to quit breastfeeding was hard. Again I felt overcome with guilt. Ashley said, "He will be fine and he will not care" and she was right. When Harrison went to daycare in mid November 2004, we switched over to formula.
So that's my breastfeeding story. I am still trying to get to the point where I am at peace with the way things turned out. It's hard to move past it because Doug and I do plan to have another child and I live in a bit of fear over what will happen with the next baby. I'm not sure if there's any one party or factor to blame: the hospital? Me? Harrison? The birth? The intensive suctioning after he was born?
Getting back to the Slate article about pumps, I can say that pumping was very easy for me. Maybe it was too easy. Maybe if pumping had not been so easy, I would have tried harder with the direct breastfeeding. But maybe without the ease of the pump, I still would have given up on breastfeeding altogether and given him formula from the beginning.
And the bottom line is that no matter what, Harrison would have been fine. He would have been healthy and well-fed and happy. And I'm learning to accept that.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Sarah for President
I'm running for office in 2008 on a pro-visible pantyline platform.
Who's with me?
Who's with me?
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Winter. Again!
Okay, I was a little hasty with that ode to spring in my last post.
Since last writing the temperature plummeted 30+ degrees and stuck somewhere around 25F; Harrison contracted pneumonia; I've become infected with flu; two out of the last five work days were actually spent at work; and my use of TV as a babysitter and my hatred of the upstairs remodeling project have both risen exponentially.
I'm still suffering, but Harrison is on the mend, thanks to antibiotics which in addition to healing his respiratory system have also given him "the trots" (as my Dad called it), which in turn has led to a terrible diaper rash, which in turn has led Harrison to lie about having pooped in order to avoid having his arse wiped.
Me: "Did you poop?"
Harrison: [whimperingly] "Noooo?"
This is rarely convincing, since it is usually accompanied by him grabbing at the back of his diaper and saying, "Owwwww."
When he's 16, remind me how I used to joke about his inability to lie well to his parents.
Since last writing the temperature plummeted 30+ degrees and stuck somewhere around 25F; Harrison contracted pneumonia; I've become infected with flu; two out of the last five work days were actually spent at work; and my use of TV as a babysitter and my hatred of the upstairs remodeling project have both risen exponentially.
I'm still suffering, but Harrison is on the mend, thanks to antibiotics which in addition to healing his respiratory system have also given him "the trots" (as my Dad called it), which in turn has led to a terrible diaper rash, which in turn has led Harrison to lie about having pooped in order to avoid having his arse wiped.
Me: "Did you poop?"
Harrison: [whimperingly] "Noooo?"
This is rarely convincing, since it is usually accompanied by him grabbing at the back of his diaper and saying, "Owwwww."
When he's 16, remind me how I used to joke about his inability to lie well to his parents.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Sprung
While my Dad and Doug worked on the upstairs bathroom project Saturday morning, Harrison and I went to the Public Market--the first time we've ventured there since the local harvest offerings died down in early December. It's much too early for local fruits and veggies, but as it was the first warm spring Saturday, it was bustling, and it was energizing to be back there. Fruit is meant to be squeezed and sniffed and selected outdoors--even if the avocado or mango you're molesting had to come all the way from Mexico or Guatemala for the privilege.
There are buds on the backyard lilacs and the crocus, daffodils, and miniature iris are popping their little green heads up through the mulch toward the sun. Yesterday was a dramatic day weather-wise. (Though not as dramatic as it was for my cousin Laura in Arkansas who reported baseball-sized hail!) There were dark rolling storm clouds and crash-boom thunder for the greater part of the day, then a warm evening with sunshowers and, later, blue skies.
Harrison is fascinated by everything he'd forgotten about outside and all the new things that he hadn't yet discovered. He points at our license plates and says his letters "B! K! O! W! V!" and points to and counts out the characters: "Two. Two. Two." [He's still working on that.] He shouts "Eye-s" [Eggs] and "Ucky!" at the winter's worth of scattered eggshells and rotting vegetables composting in the various flowerbeds. He closely examines sticks from the maple in the side yard. He tromps up to the neighborhood kids and shouts his demands "Bike!" Ball!" and they comply.
Yesterday after dinner Harrison scooted around on his tricycle and jumped gleefully in the mudpuddles at the foot of the driveway.
He spent 10 minutes pointing and smiling at a soggy leaf stuck to the side of the house.
Doug pointed out a V of geese flying toward the lake and Harrison honked back in greeting and continued honking at the morning doves, finches, pigeons, and various other urban backyard birds we encountered.
There's no question that spring is in the process of springing.
There are buds on the backyard lilacs and the crocus, daffodils, and miniature iris are popping their little green heads up through the mulch toward the sun. Yesterday was a dramatic day weather-wise. (Though not as dramatic as it was for my cousin Laura in Arkansas who reported baseball-sized hail!) There were dark rolling storm clouds and crash-boom thunder for the greater part of the day, then a warm evening with sunshowers and, later, blue skies.
Harrison is fascinated by everything he'd forgotten about outside and all the new things that he hadn't yet discovered. He points at our license plates and says his letters "B! K! O! W! V!" and points to and counts out the characters: "Two. Two. Two." [He's still working on that.] He shouts "Eye-s" [Eggs] and "Ucky!" at the winter's worth of scattered eggshells and rotting vegetables composting in the various flowerbeds. He closely examines sticks from the maple in the side yard. He tromps up to the neighborhood kids and shouts his demands "Bike!" Ball!" and they comply.
Yesterday after dinner Harrison scooted around on his tricycle and jumped gleefully in the mudpuddles at the foot of the driveway.
He spent 10 minutes pointing and smiling at a soggy leaf stuck to the side of the house.
Doug pointed out a V of geese flying toward the lake and Harrison honked back in greeting and continued honking at the morning doves, finches, pigeons, and various other urban backyard birds we encountered.
There's no question that spring is in the process of springing.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Vo-do-dee-o
Scene: Harrison in bath. Doug piles rubber duckies in boat.
S: Those rubber duckies are refugees escaping to freedom.
D: Yeah, from Cuba
S: Or Vietnam. What persecution would rubber duckies need to escape? Their livers are going to be harvested for pate?
D: Or Cheney's around with his gun? I don't think those reasons for amnesty would fly.
S: [Groan.]
H: Ernie!
S: Those rubber duckies are refugees escaping to freedom.
D: Yeah, from Cuba
S: Or Vietnam. What persecution would rubber duckies need to escape? Their livers are going to be harvested for pate?
D: Or Cheney's around with his gun? I don't think those reasons for amnesty would fly.
S: [Groan.]
H: Ernie!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Biters Anonymous
Harrison's daycare has a confidentiality policy when it comes to their accident reports. Last week, for example, I got a report that said, "Another child bit Harrison on the hand while they were playing at the water table. Harrison did not cry and there was no mark."
In the car, I said, "Someone bit you, huh? Are you okay?" and he pointed at his hand, made a worried face and said, "Anna...Not nice!"
So much for anonymity.
In the car, I said, "Someone bit you, huh? Are you okay?" and he pointed at his hand, made a worried face and said, "Anna...Not nice!"
So much for anonymity.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Da Bomb
2:45 PM. Sarah enters daycare and sees that it is in chaos. 7,204 toys litter the floor.
Sarah: Wow! What happened in here? It looks like a bomb went off.
Miss Meredith: No, there wasn't any bomb. Actually, it was all Harrison.
Sarah: Wow! What happened in here? It looks like a bomb went off.
Miss Meredith: No, there wasn't any bomb. Actually, it was all Harrison.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Not Lost In Translation
1. ROW! ROW! MOMMY! ROW! ROW!
=
Mother, would you please sing Row Row Row Your Boat for me, please?
2. HAM!
=
Mother, I would like it very much if you would read to me Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham, if you have a spare moment?
3. ANNIE? ANNIE?
=
The cats are very cute, Mother, and I would like to give them cat treats, or as you call them, "kitty candies". Can you please get the "kitty candies" down for me, so that I may feed them?
4. UP!
=
I require some assistance getting up on this bed, Mother. Can you please assist me?
5. UPP!
=
I require some assistance getting down from this bed, Mother. Can you please assist me?
=
Mother, would you please sing Row Row Row Your Boat for me, please?
2. HAM!
=
Mother, I would like it very much if you would read to me Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham, if you have a spare moment?
3. ANNIE? ANNIE?
=
The cats are very cute, Mother, and I would like to give them cat treats, or as you call them, "kitty candies". Can you please get the "kitty candies" down for me, so that I may feed them?
4. UP!
=
I require some assistance getting up on this bed, Mother. Can you please assist me?
5. UPP!
=
I require some assistance getting down from this bed, Mother. Can you please assist me?
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