Operation Paci Removal: A Story of Triumphs and Failures

As a part of Braden’s bedtime routine, we cuddle him in his rocking chair for about 15 minutes while a lullabye CD plays.

For the past week, he has taken to removing his Paci (aka The Evil One) and flinging it across the room during that cuddle time.  This is a significant pain in the ass, because it requires us to forage for the damn thing in the dark and give it back to him.  Another fine trick he enjoys is throwing it across the room from his crib after he has been put to bed and then screaming for it.  It’s like Parental Unit Remote Control.

On Wednesday night, after having been told several times not to do that, he executed the Paci Throw during cuddle time again.  I said, “No more Paci!  Bye-bye, Paci!” and made the decision that I was going to take his hint, and leave the Paci on the floor.  I figured, this would be the beginning of the all important Paci Wean… or at least teach him a hard lesson for one night. (When Momma says don’t do something?  Don’t do it, ya little Punk!)

He fidgeted a lot, and made lots of sucking sounds.  He cried when I put him in his crib and left the room.  I braced myself for Armaggedon.  He complained a little bit and then he went to sleep.  SCORE.

He woke up in the middle of the night, crying.  I feared the worst.  I envisioned hours of consolation and finally succumbing to Paci Return.  I entered the room, turned on his lullabyes, and patted his back.  He went back to sleep.  DOUBLE SCORE.

Thursday afternoon… successful nap without Paci!  OMG, WE’RE DOING IT!

Then Thursday evening… upstairs AC died.  Just below 90 degrees upstairs.  All hell broke loose.  He was hot, he was crying, he could.not.sleep.  Long story short?  The Evil One had to be administered.

Friday afternoon - nap without Paci attempted.  OH, THE TRIBULATION.  After holding him for over 30 minutes and trying to soothe him while he cried so hard that he made snot bubbles and started choking, I gave the damn thing to him again.  He fell right asleep.  I spoke curses unto all Pacis everywhere.

As I write this, he is trying to fall asleep on Friday night without the Paci.

He has been crying for almost an hour.  I have distinctly heard, “Mammaaa” amidst the wails more than once. Can you hear that tearing sound? That’s my heart ripping in two.

He is beginning to sound frantic.

And I am torn.  Do I let him get past this hump and fall asleep, enduring the pain of separation and anxiety that he is clearly feeling?  Or do I go in there right now and end his suffering by giving him his beloved comfort item?

I am pretty darn tough about a lot of things, but I am not made of stone, people.

That child finds the maleable part of my heart without effort and bends it to his will.

Now I’m going in there.  I’m either going to give him his Paci, comfort him to sleep, or fling him out the window.  I am really not sure which.

 

*************************************

UPDATE:

I held out for 15 more minutes, b/c his wails were decreasing in intensity. 

HE.IS.ASLEEP.

*strips naked and runs around the room laughing, madly… but QUIETLY*

LOTUS: 4, PACI: 2

 

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.

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.”