His Birth Story
As Braden’s One Year Birthday (October 16th) approaches, I feel the need to dust off His Birth Story.I wrote it back on December 29th, 2006. It is posted on my Myspace blog, but I thought it would be nice to move it here, as I think about the impending day.
This post is incredibly long, as blogs go. If you’re committed to reading it, you might want to get some popcorn. But please read it and prove to me that you really do love me.
Braden’s Birth Story
It was nearing the middle of October, 2006, and although John had planned on being on Paternity Leave by then, he was headed out on the road for three more shows.
Recent occurrences had left our small family with less than the desired amount of income, pushing John to perform on the 12th –14th, against his desired plan of action.
Because of our dire situation, I was forced to eat lots of chocolate chip cookies. Don’t question the logic. Just read.
Just earlier that week we sat in an examination room listening to phrases like, “70% and 3 inches,” “water breaks early from changes in atmospheric pressure,” and “how far away will you be?” from our OB/GYN. I had to stifle a giggle when I saw the captured-prey look on poor John’s face. His constant mantra for the rest of the week was “Stay in until daddy comes home!”
John was set to return home early on Sunday morning, October 15.
Not long after John departed for his last road run before paternity leave, a cold front rumbled into town, bringing storms… and steady changes in atmospheric pressure.
I sat on the couch with the remote on my belly, the tv frozen on the Weatherscan channel. Chewing on my lower lip, I wched the barometric pressure readings dance around. I decided the best way to handle the situation was to eat more cookies.
The days passed with agonizing s l o w n e s s while I waited for John to return. In fact, time actually went backwards a couple of times.
Every day, I talked to Braden and longed to see his face… during those moments, I wanted him to just go on ahead and come into the world. Then I would think about John, and how much I needed and wanted him to be present for this wonderful delivery, and I would wish for more time again.
I decided that the best way for me to reconcile my emotions was to… you guessed it! Eat more cookies.
Finally, it was late night on October 14th, and John was on his way home. I was so excited to have him return. I was eagerly anticipating his arrival and looking forward to feeling relaxed in his presence.
And hoping he’d go buy me some more cookies, since I had eaten them all.
On Sunday morning, October 15th, we got up and readied ourselves for church. Later in the day, after the service, we returned to the church to attend a baby shower graciously thrown for us by our new Nashville Vineyard Church family.
We had an awesome time eating cake, talking to friends, laughing, eating cake, opening gifts, taking pictures, and eating cake. Thank God there was cake there, because there were no cookies.
Braden received many lovely gifts, and we were greatly loved upon. When it was winding down, we gathered our spoils and headed for home, content to be together and anxiously waiting to see what the next week would be like.
And full of cake. Yum.
That evening was lovely. We had a quiet, intimate night together to reflect on the nine months of pregnancy and to think about what the very near future would be like.
It is times like that when we realize that every day our love grows stronger – such a great blessing. After enjoying one another’s company all evening, we turned in, and snuggled each other to sleep.
Dreams came upon us… in mine, I ate lots of cookies.
Around 8:30am, I awoke to make a trip to the porcelain bowl (which must have had the imprint of my butt-cheeks on it by then)… and noticed that I was feeling mildly crampy. Having experienced my fair share of Braxton-Hicks contractions, I just waddled on into the bathroom, expecting them to slack off.
While waddling back to the bed, I made the mental note that the crampiness was not subsiding. Hmmm.
I climbed back under the covers and closed my eyes. Sleep would not come to me… my mind was whispering things to me, “Loootusss… feel that tension down below? It’s not going away, Lotus…. In fact, does it feel a little less mild now? Maybe? You think? Maybe you should open your eyes, Lotusss….”
In fact, my mind wasn’t saying anything at all about cookies, and I was beginning to think it was right about those cramps.
I opened my eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed, quietly monitoring the sensations in my abdomen. Yes, yes, it was true… the crampiness was still going on, and it was elevating.
“Hey, is my baby ready to come out now? Is this actually it?”
I decided it would probably be a good idea to let John in on the fun, so I woke him gently, and told him I was having cramps, and that I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was the beginning of labor.
His eyes came alive like they never do early in the morning, and he was up.
You know how they tell you to wait until your contractions are 5 minutes apart before you call the doctor’s office?
HAHAHA! Mine never were.
Before I knew it, there was NO question that I was having contractions… I went from mild crampiness to booming labor in the blink of an eye.
Realizing that it was on, I knew I wouldn’t be showering again for some time, so I jumped into the shower and took the shortest shower I have ever taken in my life – probably about 3 minutes. I had a contraction while in the shower stall. I looked down at my rotund belly and imagined Braden break-dancing inside.
We started timing the contractions as I was dressing (which is difficult when you have to constantly stop to lean into the bed, panting and jittering your legs around, trying to figure out if any of this crap will ease the pain) and they were, to our amazement, coming about 3 minutes apart… no 2.5, wait, 2, what the heck – 1.5?!? Holy crap!
John called the doctor, and of course, they wanted to speak to me (they do this evil thing to see if you are really in the thick of it). I tried my best, but it was difficult… talking to someone when all you really want to do is bite down on your arm is a hard thing to do.
The nurse decided I was just dehydrated.
!!!
She told me to drink a lot of water and call back in an hour if the contractions were still coming very close. I wanted to kill her, but I hung up and screamed for water instead.
I moved my show to the living room. I drank as much water as I could between bouts of crawling around on all fours and rolling around on my back with my feet pushing at the back of the couch.
“Hee-hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hee-hoo-DARNIT!!!”
After about 20 minutes went by, I growled at John to call the nurse back and tell her I was IN LABOR AND I REFUSED TO WAIT A WHOLE HOUR.
He promptly grabbed his phone and called. As another contraction came on, I lay on the floor with my legs in the air, on my back like a turned-over bug… and I heard him say, “I THINK my wife is in labor.
That evil woman wanted to talk to me again. I grabbed the phone and told her, “YES I drank water,” and “NO it didn’t help,” and “YES I’m – Ohhh… Hee-hee-hee-hoo! Hee-hee-hee-hoo! Hee-waa-waa-sob-sob- hoooooo!!!”
She told me to go to the hospital
We grabbed a few things that weren’t already waiting in the car, and by about 10:30 we made our way towards the door. I had to lie down on the floor one more time with my feet up against the wall in the hallway before we could leave.
Rain. Rain! LOTS OF RAIN!
And Pain. Pain! LOTS OF PAIN!
We hopped into the car, and BOLTED out onto the highway. The ride to the hospital was an insane flight of excitement, terror, screaming, wiggling, hee-hee-hoo’s, and honking. John drove like a bat out of hell.
I wish I had had some cookies.
We finally got to the hospital and I was dropped into a wheelchair and whisked to a teenie room with a bed and 2 nurses. I started getting naked before they even closed the door. I really didn’t care. I threw my clothes across the room and got on the bed… I was being hooked up to things and prodded, and questions were being asked.
The nurses seemed casual, chatting with one another about ‘blahdee this and that’ as I “heee-heee-heee-hoooo’d” with vigor. One of them ventured where the sun don’t shine, and suddenly her facial expression changed. “You’re 100% and 7 inches!”
I’m sure I gave her a look of, “No crap, lady! I’m quite aware that it’s on!”
Moments later, the bed I was on was quickly moving through countless hallways. People we passed grinned at my exasperated “hee-hee-hee-hoo’s.” They smiled and oooh’d at my huge, bulging belly. It was like a crazy, silly carnival ride.
At some time during the hallway ride, John had joined the parade. We arrived in a large labor and delivery room. Many things were attached to me and many questions were posed to me.
I was lucid, in pain, excited, concerned, eager, poised, and thrilled.
One of the things attached to me was an IV, on the back of my hand. It was uncomfortable in an odd way, but was feeding me fluids. Once I had drained the bag, I was told, I could have my epidural.
Machines around us beeped and hummed. We could hear and see our little Wiggle Bean’s heartbeat. Like music. Beautiful music.
On a monitor above that one, we could see a real-time charting of Braden’s heart rate and my abdominal activities. My contractions took visual form. It was amazing.
The anesthesiologists came into the room and started asking me questions, and mixing things.
Pain predominates my memories at this point.
My nurse, Amy, asked me to sit on the edge of the bed. She stood right in front of me, and like a loving mommy with a little kid, held me, putting my forehead close against her chest. John kneeled to one side and held my hand. The drug-givers stood behind me, rubbing cold things on my back and feeling around on my spine. They warned me of pressure and I felt it… along with pain. It took a small while for the needle to be properly inserted.
The contractions were amazingly painful. Trying to describe them with words is futile. No one who has not had one can ever understand. Never.
Sitting still during the peak of this while pushing out your back and awaiting a needle into the spinal area is a crazy experience. Soon it was over, and I laid back. Before long, I was peaceful. I watched in amazement as the dancing lines on the monitor to my left told the active story of my contractions… while my tummy was none the wiser. John and I chatted.
For the next several hours, many people saw my unmentionables. I didn’t care. My water was manually broken (not exactly what I had desired, but it didn’t really upset me, either). My birth plan was discussed. I was moved this way and that.
I wore an oxygen mask to keep Braden’s environment stable (his heartbeat was actually blipping around a bit).
My vitals were monitored, and so were Braden’s. John made phone calls, and took videos that he narrated. We laughed and talked. I rested and waited. We listened to the sounds of my womb and Braden’s heartbeat. We could hear little sounds when he would move. John gave me ice chips.
Labor s t r e t c h e d out, and pitocin came to call.
That’s right… the epidural s l o w e d my labor, and now we had to jack it up again. Soon, my contractions were raging again, and all was good. Every now and again, my pain medication was adjusted. By a little after 7pm, my body was ready, and it was time.
!
We were excited and giddy.
Then the real work began.
The actual work of labor was the most exhausting, and greatly rewarding experience of my life.I LOVED it. Am I crazy? No – the epidural I had allowed me to fully enjoy every minute of the delivery! I was totally in control of what was happening, and I felt empowered and strong. (Yes, you can actually feel that way even if you had an epidural!)
I felt the amazing miracle of life in action!
(I also felt my face swell to enormous proportions, due to the effort of pushing and all the extra fluids I was retaining… but that’s not really important, is it? And who else can later give themselves the nickname, “Mushroom Face?”)
John was at my left side, holding my leg during pushes, and stroking my arm and touching my face at all the right times. My nurse was at my right side, holding that leg and directing me to breathe and push when the contractions came on. Lisa, the nurse, kept telling me what an amazing pusher I was, and that I was progressing at an astounding rate for a first time birther. She was giving me a total ego trip – but apparently, I am made for birthing.
Chalk one up for me and my reproductive system.
When Braden was staying in the birth canal (no more peek-a-boo), Lisa wheeled over the mirror I had requested and placed it so that I could observe the delivery.
Such an amazing site I have never before witnessed. I would take a deep breath in, bear down and puuuuuuuuuuush… and leaning forward I would look into the mirror and see my son’s head and his long, curly black hair!
Miraculous.
John and I grinned at each other and beamed. It was all too incredibly amazing. Soon, the doctor came into the room. Braden was crowning, I could see his head slowly emerging, and the doctor told me this experience was impossible without an epidural. The next parts all happened so fast… before I knew it, Braden was coming out of me, very quickly. John and I were elated! An attending nurse yelled, “Broken cord, broken cord!”
Apparently Braden was not hip to the fact that John wanted to cut the umbilical cord. He had snapped it himself as he was coming into the world. I expected my son to be placed on my lap, but the doctor quickly handed him off and he was whisked away to the little station across the room.
“I’m going to let them go ahead and take him and stimulate him a little bit,” she said.
“Is he okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah, he’s very stunned from having his head down in there.”
I’m assuming she meant in the birth canal for so long – he did have QUITE a glorious conehead.
[gore alert: this video shows a bloody baby. No, you will not see my Vag.]
Soon, it became apparent that he needed more than just a little stimulation…”He breathed in some meconium, but he’ll be fine, we just need to clean him up….” For those of you who don’t know, that means he crapped inside me, and upon his first breath upon birthing, he breathed in his own poop. Ever have poop in your lungs? That can’t be pleasant. The thing is, they had no idea it had happened. Usually, if this has occurred, when your water breaks, it is greenish. When they broke my water, it was nice and clear. Apparently, Braden decided to take a crap sometime after that. While John stood nearby, NICU nurses rushed into the room and surrounded Braden at his little station. They quickly worked at cleaning out his lungs and stimulating him.
He failed his first Apgar test.
John, pained and scared, stood by… he didn’t tell me then that my baby looked like a limp ragdoll. I didn’t know until later when I viewed the above video.
I lay on the delivery table all the way across this mammoth room. All I saw was nurses behind the curtain, attending to my son. And my doctor kept talking to me. I asked her about the placenta, which I had just birthed.She showed it to me in detail, describing each part. It is an incredibly amazing organ, by the way.
I now know what an incredible master of distraction my delivery doctor is, too, by the way.
I made eye contact with John, from across the room, and he looked worried. I asked the doctor, who was now sewing up a few small tears, if my son was okay. “Yes, oh yes, he’s going to be just fine, they just need to suction out the meconium and wake him up a bit, he’ll be okay. You’ll see him soon.”
Feeling reassured, I made a joke about my son already being a turd (since he inhaled some).
Only one person laughed. And there were lots of people in the room.
And I’m funny, darnit, okay?
So I realized that it wasn’t funny because of the timing… not funny. Now I was worried.
“IS MY SON OKAY?!?”
Finally, a nurse brought a small, pale bundle over to me. She leaned over towards me with my little boy. I took him and he made little whimpering cries as I held him. His face was beautiful.
I kissed him and I tried to impart all of the HUGE LOVE I had for him into his little body through my lips where they touched his face. John took a short video of Mommy and Baby meeting, on the outside, for the first time.
Braden was quietly grunting at the end of each little cry, and the nurse explained that this was because he was having trouble breathing. She said they would have to take him to the nursery instead of leaving him with me.
Having trouble breathing?
We had just enough time for the nurse to take a photo of the 3 of us together. Our first family photo! My face was so swollen that I could barely keep my eyes open when I smiled.
I wanted to hold onto him all night long.
She took him from me.
He was taken to the nursery, and they kept telling us that he would be fine, just fine. They said he’d just need a little time, and he would be with us again later. I kept telling John that “he’s in the nursery, not the NICU, so he’s going to be fine… right?”
Hours passed by.
John left the room several times to check on Braden. I was in agony when I was alone. John took a few pictures with his phone and our digital camera to show me. I melted, and my need to hold him intensified.
I’ll spare the details of my clean-up and eventual journey to my room. I will mention that I had some difficulty getting to the wheelchair that would transport me to my boarding room. I later found out that I had temporarily lost the use of my left leg due to the fact that I’d crushed the femoral nerve near my left hip during labor. Pretty scary stuff, considering that:a) If I had crushed the femoral artery instead of the nerve, I would have bled to death almost instantly. A good argument against an epidural next time.
b) I was told it could take as long as 6 months to heal, and it might never heal completely. (I had complete use of that leg before the end of the year, by the way. Thank You, Lord.)
I was dying to see my beloved, so my awesome nurse took me past the nursery and parked my chair in front of my prince. John stood next to me. The three of us stood there for what I believe was at least 20 minutes, though it flew by.
Tears, smiles, laughs… long silences thick with emotion. Love, awe, excitement, Love, relief, fear, anticipation, Love, desire, admiration, LOVE.
I sat there and stared at the product of the great love that John and I have for one another.
Then it was on to our room… not as large as the delivery room, but still quite a good size. John left to get himself some food. While he was gone, I met the graveyard shift nurse, and she explained some things I would need to do to care for myself, and what they would be doing to care for me.
When John returned, we chatted while he ate. We turned the lights off to try to get some sleep. I couldn’t sleep – a part of me was in another room.
Finally, around 4am, someone knocked on the door, and when it opened, a nursery nurse wheeled a bassinet into my room. In said bassinet was the best part of my life.
John and I rejoiced.
Braden looked at us with his amazing little eyes and we became his.
We chose to have our son room in with us, and the next couple of days were blurs of intense love, cuteness, limping, diapers (mine and Braden’s), pain killers, making Braden Burritos, hospital meals in bed, crying (me and Braden), laughing, feeding, tests, and watching him sleep to make sure he never stopped breathing.
And holding him.
And wanting to hold him forever.
Life will never be the same.
Thank God.
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.
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