Yesterday

Braden woke up late again yesterday. The plan was no nap, so bedtime would be painless and a full night’s healing sleep would be had.

And despite no nap, we had a great time.

And Mommy was feeling triumphant last night. Bedtime was painless, and The Boy slept well.

Every day is new.

The Braden Boobie-Milk Story

Today, I am proud to support Breastfeeding Mothers. I am proud of all the moms who choose to do this for their children, and themselves. I am incredibly happy for those of them who are willing (and ABLE) to stick with it.

You guys ROCK.

I really, really wish I could turn on my web-cam and broadcast a live breastfeeding session with Braden today, as part of The Great Breast Fest.

Really.

If I could, I would.

But his little body says, “NO.”

Let me take a few steps back and tell you a LONG (please, bear with me) story that will make this clear.

I have always planned on breastfeeding my children. I planned to do it before I even thought about it. By that, I mean that I don’t think I ever even considered NOT breastfeeding them, if that makes sense. It’s like it wasn’t even an option.

My mother breastfed all 3 of her children (openly, proudly, and happily). Maybe you get saggy boobs; who cares!? I know about the positive benefits for the child, from the wonderful immunity boosts to the great bonding and comfort. Add to that the increased ability to metabolize the Junk in My Trunk, and the fact that IT’S FREE, and breast milk becomes God Juice.

While I was pregnant I read at least 3 books solely about Breastfeeding, as well as many which included sections on the topic. I read magazines, web articles, forums, and various other posts, until I had BF Info pouring outta my ass.

I researched breast-pumps, nursing pads, nipples creams, etc. I bought several nursing bras and tops. Up to and directly after Braden’s birth, I borrowed, bought, and stocked all the things I thought would help in the breastfeeding journey, from pillows to pads to pumps to creams.

I was SO READY.Braden inhaled meconium upon entering our lovely world (8:35pm on 10.16.06) which caused some respiratory distress (look for His Birth Story to be posted here on Oct 14th). I didn’t get to hold him right after he came out. Once he was stable, I got to hold him for a very BRIEF moment, and then he was gone to the nursery for observation and monitoring. I didn’t get to see him again for hours, and I didn’t get to hold him again until 4am. That whole part of my Birth Plan about how “I want to nurse immediately after delivery!!!” flew right into the fan, along with the shit that had hit it moments before.

When we did start nursing later that night, I thought I was doing okay, but, let’s face it… even after all the reading and such, I didn’t REALLY know what the hell I was doing! This was the first non-romantic booby suck I’d ever had!

The next day, a Lactation Consultant helped me with Braden’s latch. I had been DREADING the LC. Throughout my pregnancy, I (internally) swore that nobody was going to be all over my boobies telling me what to do with them. Not only am I stubborn, and headstrong (I know how to do everything right the first time, and I don’t need any help, ever. DUH.), but I’m not the type of person who likes to show my body parts to just anyone. I’m generally not into that!

Ha! By that day, I didn’t give half a rat’s ass who saw my knockers. (The day before, countless people saw every uncharted inch of my body, and I didn’t care then, either.)

I WELCOMED the LC to be all over my boobies telling me what to do with them. And she REALLY HELPED. She gave me some tips and showed me some things that made it easier to go about setting up a proper latch, actual demonstration of different “holds,” and cues to look for that would tell me Braden was actually swallowing nourishment.

That night, Braden puked up a bunch of yellow stuff, and I freaked out. (This falls under the category of “OMG, IS HE BREATHING??” and “MY BABY THREW UP, HE’S DYING, I KNOW IT!”

Ah, the wonders of being a first-time parent (read: paranoid, semi-idiot with offspring) during the first week. Heh.The nurse we frantically summoned to our room from the nursery told me that it was normal, and it was yellow because he was getting lots of colostrum; a good sign. I was relieved, as well as proud. That’s right, people, the Mommy Juice was A’flowin.

Later that night, Braden started crying. He was fed. Changed. Swaddled. Rocked. Cuddled. Sung to. Prayed Over. Fed. Changed. Rocked. Cuddled. The crying became an awful, wailing, screaming.

It. Just. Wouldn’t. Stop.

That’s when another part of the Birth Plan – “No bottles or pacifiers are to be given to my son at ANY TIME!” – went right out the window. (No more fan, we’re just chunking things out of the 3rd story window now, thanks.)

John went to the nursery and got a paci. Upon his return, he told me that a nurse in the hallway saw him with it, and remarked, “It will become your Best Friend.” Ohhh, how right she was. (But it’s the only best friend I’ve ever wished had never existed.)

It soothed The Boy. Thus began a long love-affair with Paci-Poo.

We took our amazing, beautiful miracle home, and started the Journey Of Parenthood on Wednesday, October 18th. He was a joy. Sure, he often seemed cranky, irritable, and farty… but we just thought it was because he was taking after me. And when he made that loud, grunting Turd Announcement, we just thought it was funny, and we laughed….

On Friday night, I was changing a diaper, and noticed a tiny speck of blood amidst the mustard. My mind reeled. My stomach lurched and churned. My heart was running a marathon. I called John (he was on The Road with Chris Cagle) to freak out in his ear. We decided that since Braden seemed fine otherwise, we’d wait until his scheduled appointment on Monday.

That was a long weekend.

During Braden’s visit, his pediatrician asked me if I had brought a stool sample. DOH! Didn’t think of that one. She had to stick her finger up his butt to get some poo, which he LOVED. It was tested, and the result was positive for blood.

She looked grim. My heart sank.

That began my dairy exclusion diet. Let me make the point here that I LOVE DAIRY, ESPECIALLY CHEESE. But I was going to do whatever it took to breastfeed. So. No Dairy.

For those 2 weeks, I consumed no dairy, and I struggled with my little boy.

We’d have awesome nursing sessions… and then we’d have the “I love your booby, NO I HATE YOUR BOOBY, IT MAKES ME CRY… wait, I love it, I love it… NO I HATE IT!!!” sessions. His latch made my hoohas burn. My hoohas made him cry.I cried a lot.

A LOT.

Whining moment: I was a new mother. Super educated, and yet, still clueless. EXHAUSTED. Worried. Confused. Scared. Frustrated. Not allowing myself caffeine, alcohol, or dairy. Wondering why my body was being such a piece of shit. Doubting myself as a mother. Feeling like a failure, and mad about it.

At the next Poop Test, I remembered to bring a used diaper. No finger. But still blood.

Dr. Hunter said we should give it more time because it can take awhile for all the remnants of dairy to clear out of our systems.

More trying. More crying. Pumping so Daddy could help feed.

Thanksgiving Day. Rather pleasant… until 10pm.

Non-stop, High-Intensity Screaming Cry from 10pm until 4am.

That’s right, friends. The COLIC had arrived. The crying, every night. The utter helpless, frustrating feeling of complete failure.

Next Poop Test. Blood. AGAIN.

That began the addition of Soy Exclusion.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PRODUCTS CONTAIN SOME FORM OF SOY?

No dairy. No Soy.

Mommy so tired.

We tried so hard. I don’t know what words to use to express the anguish of moments when my son would be SO HUNGRY and latch SO EAGERLY and then completely reject my breasts, crying, because he was IN PAIN.

It was almost sad that we actually DID have some really GOOD breastfeeding sessions. (Don’t ask me how or why. I guess sometimes his gut pain wasn’t as bad as at others.)

I knew what it was like when it was right. Why couldn’t it be that way all the time???Next appointment was December 18th.

Dr. Hunter left the room with Braden’s Stool Test Card. We waited.

She came back, looking bummed. Blood. STILL.I think I had to use all of the strength I’ve ever summoned just to stop myself from crumpling onto the floor of the examining room.

She reluctantly suggested that it was time to put him on a special formula for babies with milk protein allergy. She said I should pump every 2-3 hours so that I could still possibly breastfeed if necessary. The tone of her voice and the look on her face didn’t say it would be necessary. She told me that if I couldn’t keep breastfeeding him, I could always try again with the next baby.

The meaning of her words was too heavy, and I started crying. I’m crying now, remembering.

Dr. Hunter was gentle, thoughtful, kind and reassuring, and I got it together. On the outside.

We put Braden on the formula (Enfamil Nutramigen, aka Liquid Gold). Within less than 24 hours, he was a completely different baby. He was happy. He smiled a lot. He cooed. He allowed us to put him in his bouncer and eat together, at the same time, you know, while neither of us was holding a baby???

WE WERE STUNNED. Elated.

Still, I pumped my dirty pillows. I pumped and pumped and hoped and waited and watched and pumped.

I HATED pumping. It HURT. Anyone who thinks that pumping is easy is a dork. One that should be punched in the face.After almost a week, I went to my husband and we had The Talk.

It was time to stop pumping. I stopped adding to my Freezer Full of Breast Milk. I washed the pump and Put It Away.

Again, I cried.

But I also rejoiced, because my son was HAPPY.

It took 2 more visits for us to get a test negative for blood. Do you get the thrust of that? The proteins in my breast milk were ripping up the insides of my son’s intestines so badly that it took him a full month to heal completely.

I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t feel slighted. I do. I have a long list of laments: loss of ability to give my child greater immunity, loss of bonding time, loss of that special feeling (that Words Can’t Describe thing about BF your infant), loss of MONEY, loss of self-worth, loss of ability to burn extra calories, damnit.

But what I gained was priceless. A happy, healthy baby.

Incidentally, I kept the Freezer Full of Breast Milk until I was forced to clean it out when we moved in May. (I cried again, of course.)

Braden is my sweet, amazing, beautiful, funny, crazy, smart, happy-go-lucky, fast, silly, HEALTHY son. I’d do anything for him.

Even NOT breastfeed.

I support Breastfeeding Moms, Pumping Moms, Bottlefeeding Moms. No matter whether you’re putting a boob or a bottle in your infant’s mouth, no matter if there’s breastmilk, goat’s milk, or formula flowing into your child’s stomach, no matter how long you do it, or the choices you make about being ‘discrete,’ I salute you, MOMS.

I’m in Support of Moms (and Dads!) who love, care for, nurture, and comfort their children in healthy ways that are right for their families. Period.

Thanks for reading this. I think I needed to write it.

Satan Created Teething

Yesterday and today have been lovely. Really.

On Sunday, Braden kept acting intensely clingy and cranky. You’d have thought someone had convinced him that if he acted as much like he was my ill-tempered, conjoined twin as was humanly possible, he’d win a bale of cotton candy. After several situations in which he melted down in a manner unlike him, I decided he must be having a teething session.

That afternoon, he picked up a toy, walked into the kitchen, and suddenly screamed, crumpling to the floor. He pushed his head into the linoleum and just cried. I was bewildered, and ran to get him. I assumed he was either in the process of sprouting horns, or must have just experienced some gum cutting. I checked his forehead, and saw nothing, so I decided it was the teething, and gave him some Acetaminophen.

At dinner that night, while he was opening wide for some Braden Burgers, I saw the new tooth. His lower, right lateral incisor had finally made an appearance. About time.

At bedtime, I gave him some Ibuprofen. He slept like a rock last night. Slept an hour later in the morning than usual, even. This behavior is a sign of the apocalypse. Or his body is going through a major overhaul. Considering all the talking he’s been doing lately, and the teething, it could be the latter.

Nah… I’m still thinking apocalypse.

Today was EVEN BETTER than yesterday. I thought (IDIOT.IDIOT.IDIOT) that he’d be much better today, since the tooth had broken the surface yesterday, and he’d had a lovely night of sleep.

HAHAHA!

I’m suspecting that the lower, right lateral incisor is causing him a lot of extra pain coming up, AND he’s also working on a lower, left cuspid. (I had to do some examining to come to this conclusion, which Braden thoroughly enjoyed. I almost had to use the Jaws of Life just to get in there.)

So, today, Braden basically decided that if he wasn’t at least 3 inches inside my butthole at all times, he was going to DIE.

It served me right, anyway, for wanting to do such ridiculous things.

Like pee when my bladder was full, or make myself something to eat.

OR BREATHE.

Activities that actually made him happy were things like yanking on my nose stud, flinging DVDs off the DVD tower, throwing his cup of apple juice across the kitchen, and whacking me in the face with his recorder flute.

I’m not stressed out about it at all.

But, I have decided that I don’t really want to put him in the closet when he’s like this, after all.

I want to go in there. Alone. And sleep.

Waking for Braden

Last night I awoke, at about 4:30 am, to mildly-annoyed-baby-whine sounds. Listening to the monitor intently for a moment, tapping into that special Baby Sound Meanings-Deciphering Super Power us mommies have, I decided Braden must be half asleep, but missing his paci.Sometimes, the sounds say, “I miss my paci… but it’s not a big deal, and in a few seconds, I’m gonna murmur off, back into deep sleep without it.” When they say that, I roll over and go back to sleep.

Sometimes the sleepy sounds say, “Uh-oh. I miss my paci. While I sound pretty deep asleep still, right now, if it doesn’t jump in my mouth soon, things are going to change pretty quickly.” When they say that, I’ve learned to get up quickly, walk quietly, search furtively, find the paci and plug the hole.

Of course, sometimes they say, “OMG, I’M NOT GOING TO MAKE QUIET, SLEEPY SOUNDS AT ALL! I JUST WOKE UP, MY PACI IS GONE, AND WE’RE GOING STRAIGHT INTO DEFCON-5! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those are the nights when I really, really wish I hadn’t given up the sweet, sweet alcohol. (Because getting drunk while rocking a child back to sleep for the next seventy-eleven hours is a good idea. ? )

So, anyway, while I was standing by his crib reaching into the corner to retrieve The Paci, the soft glow of his crib-side light gave me one of those sweet glimpses of my Nighttime Braden. He was nestled near the corner of the crib right next to me, on his back, sleepily rubbing at one eye, with both eyes still shut. His blonde hair was falling back softly from his forehead. He had that, “I’m an angel in dinosaur pajamas” look. I sighed as I put the paci back into his little mouth, and listened to his sleepy, happy sucking sounds.

Back in bed, I spoke to him in my head for a few minutes.

“Braden, you have amazed me just recently.

I can’t believe how much you JUST changed on me again. I can’t believe how often you are talking to me, and that you’re asking me QUESTIONS!

I can’t believe that you can RUN and point at things and ask me, “Ish?” (this?) and “Wah-DAHT?”

I can’t believe that you spit out large paragraphs of garbled baby-language about the things I identify for you.

Braden, I’m just amazed by you and I don’t know how to tell you that. I still can’t believe that God decided to let you live with me.

But, you know what, Braden?

I hope He never changes His mind.”

Random Sharing, While in Agony

Kind of random and pointless post today, since my back is acting 159 years old again.

Something I did in the past few days (not sure what, exactly) has paid off by resulting in sciatic pain shooting down my leg yesterday morning, followed by tender, nervy pain in my lower back last night, and climaxing as serious, hobbling-type back pain for me all day today.

It has worsened as the day has worn on, no matter what I have done. Usually I can minimize the pain with a combination of Ibuprofen/Ice Gel Pack/Hydration/Rest. Today, the Back Pain Demon is having none of it.

So, I hobbled down the steep-ass driveway this morning to sweep up the mulch that some Butt Raper’s dog flung out of the flowerbed I’ve been nurturing alongside the driveway. If I see this happening again, I swear I’m going to run out there, bad back or not, and kick that freakin’ dog as hard as I can.

Then John mowed the lawn, since it was starting to look like no-one lived here, and a kid came to my door last week and asked me, “Can I, uh… mow your lawn for some money?”

John has been gone all this afternoon to do work on Chris Cagle‘s next album. He’s at Scott Hendricks’s studio, much to his delight. He’ll probably be there all night. Yay @ the work and the experience for John. Boo @ John being gone while I’m all decrepit.

Braden has been increasingly vocal in the past month, with a sharp upturn in the jabbering activity just this past week.

He’s been making a sound for some time that I SWORE was him asking “What’s this?” It sounds kind of like “Huh-Ish?” He confirmed my suspicions a few days ago when he held up his little, fake cell-phone and CLEARLY asked me, “Whas-tis?” He has said it semi-clearly only once more since then, but has been repeatedly making the “Huh-ish?” and now “Teh-Iss?” sounds while pointing, or staring, at something. It’s wonderful.

For the record, he’s been saying, “Dadada” for awhile. Sometimes it seems discriminate, sometimes it seems random. Today, twice, he’s whined, “Maaaaahh” to me in a needy way.

Also for the record, TEETHING SUCKS. I would like to petition Our Creator for a change in this process, ie: all teeth should arrive overnight, at one time.

Have I mentioned that my back hurts? Right now, it’s feeling like Satan’s Torture Playground Rehearsal Scene, in the movie, “Lotus: The Later Years.”

I need a nap. Where’s MY paci?

*grumble*

At least Braden’s having some fun today.

His Musical Soul

My son clearly enjoys all things musical. His appreciation ranges from making odd, alien-like and sometimes Clingon, or decidedly mechanical, sounds with his own mouth, to digging the actual music that mommy and daddy listen to.Braden is thrilled to beat on pots and pans, and likes to play his own little guitar. When he hears music (of any kind… the crappy little tunes that his push-button toys play as well as anything from Gwen Stefani to Guns N Roses) he sings and dances.

His version of singing is a beautiful art to behold. Sometimes he dreamily tilts his head back and coos and wails mournfully along with a tune. At other times, he emits a shrill screaming rant, rife with emotion. And there are moments that just beg him to perform his rythmic ‘shout and bark’ style of song. You can’t witness any of it without smiling. And, if you can, then you’re a butthole.

Dancing is also something that calls to Braden’s heart and soul. The child will “dance” even when seated, and to anything even remotely musical. A crappy version of “Camptown Races” had him swaying in his highchair this morning. Upon hearing “Wind it Up” by Gwen Stefani yesterday, he held onto the arm of my office chair and bounced up and down, then swayed, stomping his feet.

When John plays his guitar, Braden can’t decide whether he is more interested in slapping the strings along with Daddy, or dancing around in a circle singing, “AH-ahhh, ahhh-ahhh, AH-AH-ahhhhhhhh!” Both are endearing and adorable.

Even the grinding, creaking sound of the cabinet doors in his bathroom enchants his little, musical soul.

He has a love affair with these cabinet doors, btw. He doesn’t even care what’s inside anymore. His greatest desire in that bathroom is to engage in endless exploration of Cabinet Door Audiology. Sometimes he is studious and serious, bordering on being Completely Zoned Out, while he’s in “cabinet mode.” Other times, he is silly and boisterous, giggling and squealing in delight at the wonders his friends (the doors) reveal to him. I wish I could capture some of that wonder in my life at my age. Wait, I have! In him.

My kid – he both ages me and keeps me young. God bless him, the cute little fart.