First, Last, and Only

One and done.

That’s us.

It took us almost 7 years to have this child, and we’re old.  Not old in the real world, of course…but definitely old in the fertility world.  My pregnancy was classified as “geriatric”, which is hilarious, yet strangely fitting.

We struggled for years with infertility and suffered multiple pregnancy losses before finally having our daughter.  Had life given us more time, our story (and family tree) might have looked a lot different.  But it didn’t, and we’re trying to be ok with that.

It’s a bittersweet decision, of course…but deep down, I think we both know that we can’t afford another journey like the one that just ended – the emotional stakes (as well as the time it took) are just too high.   We’re still feeling the effects of it.  Still healing.

Knowing for sure that this will be our only child has made me realize that every one of her firsts, is also a last.  We will not live these through other children.  Her first word will be the last time we’ll ever get to hear a first word the first time it’s uttered, and her first step is the last time we’ll get to see this momentous event.  I will never again hold a tiny newborn and gaze in awe at every perfect feature, knowing that my body created such a miracle.

I don’t even know how to describe how that feels.  All at once, my heart holds melancholy, nostalgia, joy, grief, sorrow, longing, hope, gratitude, and wonder.   Above all, I think it motivates me to fully experience all that I can.  To be present, and “in the moment”.  To understand deeply just how special all of these little things in life are, and to not take a minute for granted.

Of course, there will be days where I fall short.  When I’m not as present, when I’m distracted, or angry, or busy.  When life gets in the way a bit, and clouds what’s most important.  I’m only human after all.  But that, I think, is the gift that an only child gives you.  When you know you won’t have another, it forces you to appreciate what you have.  And, in true only child fashion, demands that you pay attention.

Purposely having an only child can feel a little daunting.  People (sigh, people) will inevitably make comments – they will say that my daughter will miss out if she doesn’t have siblings…that she won’t be socialized properly, she’ll be selfish, or spoiled, or left alone in the world when we die.  Lovely thought, that last one.

Those same people will soon start asking when we’re going to have another, and telling me that I’ll regret not trying for more.  (If they only knew what it took for us to get one child…would they still say this?  Probably.)  And I will politely listen to their cliched “advice”, even though it hurts my heart to hear it – smile, nod, and just hope they go away…because you see, I’m actually really happy that we have one child.  I’m happy with what we have.  I’m not supposed to be, I know.  I’m supposed to want more.

During our darkest days, we never thought she’d come.  But somehow she is here, and she’s amazing, and beautiful, and perfect.  Honestly, how could we ever want anything else?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MOM is the loneliest number

Ok.  So let me just start by saying I love that I am (finally!) a mom.  I love my kid so much that I could stare at her all day, every day (and sort of do).  When I leave her, which isn’t often, I feel like a part of me is missing.  It’s an almost physical ache.  It’s crazy to me.

So that said, please know that I’m not complaining.  I’m not ungrateful.  I, more than most, know how lucky I am to have a child.   But none of that changes the fact that motherhood is fucking lonely.  And surprisingly boring, a lot of the time – at least in the beginning.  I talk about the baby, think about the baby, and spend every waking minute with the baby.  Marsha Marsha Marsha.  Baby Baby Baby.

When my husband comes home from work, I find myself desperately clinging to conversation with him like he’s a piece of debris in the water I’m drowning in.  I’m painfully aware that I don’t have anything interesting to talk about…but that doesn’t stop me, because when you spend your whole day talking to a tiny person that can’t communicate with you in your language, you can start to feel really alone.

The loneliness in motherhood sets in quite early, I found.  When I was breastfeeding, I felt an enormous pressure that’s tied to being everything my daughter needed.  Sure, others could hold her and snuggle her, and even change her diapers….but I was the only one who could feed her (aka keep her alive).  This was especially true for me, because we wanted to limit bottles in an attempt to establish breastfeeding and avoid the dreaded nipple confusion. (which wasn’t really a thing for us, I found out later)  Unfortunately, breastfeeding didn’t last long for me due to supply issues, but I definitely caught a glimpse of just how isolating that sole responsibility might feel for those who exclusively breastfeed (EBF) for an extended period of time.

Also, when the new-ness of the baby wears off for everyone else, life moves on for them…and for you.  People drift away, and you’re mostly left alone to parent your child.  This can be a blessing of course – but in many ways it can also feel a little overwhelming.  I remember thinking something along the lines of: “Wait.  I’m supposed to actually do this now?  Don’t they know I don’t know what I’m doing?  Who’s idea was this?”

Getting out and socializing can help ease that “alone in the world” feeling – though I honestly don’t know how others do this early on.  Those moms are my superheroes.  I’m just now starting to venture out into social groups, meet other moms, etc. and my baby girl is almost 3 months old.  Truth be told, I didn’t even feel like leaving the house for at least a month after having the baby.  Granted, I was recovering from surgery, and it was the middle of January in Canada (that means COLD like you’ve probably never known if you don’t live here)…but still.  Not leaving the house can make you feel like your world is tiny.  And it is.

To combat the isolation that seems to come with motherhood, I’ve actually made a huge conscious effort to make “Mom friends”.

I used to scoff at this idea.  Really.  The thought of making friends solely based on one seemingly flimsy common bond like having kids the same age made me think that those relationships couldn’t possibly be genuine – they must just serve some superficial purpose.  In my head, I pictured “mom friends” as a bunch of catty, judgy, sanctimonious women who got together solely to take perfectly staged facebook mom selfies (#melfies?) with.  Of course, they would also all wear actual clothes (not yoga pants covered in dog hair, and a dirty tank top for three days like me), have perfect hair, and bake organic sugar-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, egg-free fucking snacks together, while drinking their ridiculously high maintenance tall, skinny, triple caff, no foam, soy milk heated to exactly 120 degree, lattes. (I have an active, and very specific imagination)  I didn’t need that.  I had my own “real” friends.  Normal friends.

Turns out, I was totally and completely wrong.

You see, as your world becomes more baby-centric, the friends you had that aren’t at the same place in life as you are now sort of fade from view a bit.  I’m not sure if they leave you behind, or if you leave them…but it definitely happens.  It seems inevitable.  And it kind of sucks.  Of course if you’re aware of this, and you care to save those friendships, you can work at maintaining them (I totally suggest putting in the effort there – especially when you have great friends like I do).  But it can be hard.  And it can take time and energy (especially energy!) that you feel like you don’t really have.

Once I got over myself and realized that I actually did need mom friends (the horror!), I had to really push myself outside of my safe little bubble to actually seek out these connections.  To find people who are at this exact stage of life along with me.  People that get it.  People that are up at 3am too.  People that aren’t assholes.   That last one was key.

Most of my mom friends are online, which is the beauty of living in the age we do…but I’m happy to say that I’ve made some actual “real life” mom friends too.  And I even like them.  Yay me.  😉

One of them is my neighbour, who had a little girl a week after me.  We joked through our pregnancies about who would win the New Year’s baby prizes (neither of us did), compared aches and pains, and kept an eye on each other’s houses in the middle of the night to see if one of us had gone to the hospital.  Now we sympathize with each other about family drama, recount all the unwanted advice we’ve been given so far, share parenting tips, and even clothing.  This is a friend I can see having a beer with, and maybe even some family barbecues down the line.

Another is a woman I first met through our (similar) jobs in social services,  and then connected again because – you guessed it! – she is a mom with a kid the same age.  She has a little boy, and we make cliche jokes that our children will end up dating one day.  Beyond that though, she has a sarcastic, dark sense of humour which I appreciate…and thankfully, doesn’t order weird drinks from Starbucks.  She likes the outdoors, and seems fearless to try new things with her son which is inspiring.  She taught me how to secure my carseat without the base, and encouraged me to take my daughter swimming for the first time.  This is a friend who will challenge and push me.  I need that.

I guess what I was hoping to convey with this post is not just that motherhood can feel lonely (which I think is fairly obvious)…but more importantly that if you’re feeling this way too, you can do something about it.  You don’t have to go it alone.  And if you’re like I was, and think having mom friends is totally lame, swallow your pride and make an effort to pick ones that don’t suck.  They’re out there, trust me.   I found two.  🙂

 

 

 

B(r)est Laid Plans…

When I was pregnant, I decided I would breastfeed.   I wanted the benefits of breastfeeding (protection against illness, lower risk of sids, increased bonding, and an apparently higher IQ – for the baby, not me.).  Plus, it’s waaaaaayyyyy cheaper than buying formula.  It seemed like a no brainer.

I had read that breastfeeding can be difficult for many women though, so to prepare for that I watched videos, read books and websites, and took classes.  I reached out to my local LLL (la leche league) chapter, and joined online support groups, trying to learn as much as I possibly could.  Seriously.  My LLL coach was beyond impressed with my initiative.

I was ready for latch issues, which seemed to be one of the most common issues women ran into.  I read about tongue ties, and lip ties.   I knew all about alternative positions to try in case one didn’t work.  I saved lists of foods to avoid (or to eat!), learned about cluster feeding, and thought about how often I would need to breastfeed (on demand).  I bought nursing bras, nursing tanks, nursing pads, nursing pillows…

I was not prepared for supply issues.

We didn’t have latch issues at all.  If we had, I feel like this could have been a problem with a more straight-forward solution for me. But no, Raina latched like a pro from the start…which made me feel confident that this would work for us.  I felt proud.  And hopeful.  And competent.  That really sucks when it goes away.

Despite early attempts at nursing following my c-section, my milk didn’t come in until about 6 days after birth, and for some reason I never really produced much in terms of colostrum. I’m talking drops.  If that.  And when I say my milk “came in”…I didn’t actually feel this happen.  I just noticed one day that there was white liquid where there had been yellow before.  I never felt engorged.  I’ve never felt a let down.  My breasts didn’t feel fuller.  They didn’t change size.

I’m not sure why this is.  Some of the research I’ve read points to traumatic births; or more specifically a lengthy separation of mother and baby following the birth, and lack of skin to skin contact as major contributors to supply issues – which was certainly the case for me.   Other sources say that hormonal imbalances can cause problems….which I also have. (insulin-resistant PCOS, and borderline Hypothyroidism)

Lucky me.

Anyway, during that time between colostrum and milk, my poor baby girl began losing a seriously scary amount of weight and became jaundiced.  Jaundice causes lethargy, so we had to work really hard to wake Raina for every feed, and she would fall asleep at the breast within seconds.  It was heartbreaking.  It was terrifying.  It was like it was too much work for her.  Because of these issues, it was suggested we supplement with formula, which we did, even though I continued with breastfeeding too.

When we were discharged, the doctor told us that we were at her cutoff for infant weight loss (meaning we were right on the line between staying extra days, or getting to go home) and she wanted us to come back in a few days to have the baby weighed, just in case.   She was concerned.  So was I.

While at home, I breastfed like it was my job.  I woke my sleepy baby every 2 hours on the dot, to try and get her to feed.  It was incredibly difficult, and frustrating.  I was scared that she was too weak.  We tried cold cloths, stripping her down, rubbing her, putting something cold on her feet, etc. etc. to try and rouse her.  She was so exhausted from the jaundice that she never really fed that well from the breast because of the effort it took – she just didn’t have it in her.

I had been discouraged from using a pump while in the hospital because the doctor said it wouldn’t increase my supply as effectively as nursing would.  She told me that I needed baby to feed from the breast…but no one told me what to do if the baby just won’t feed.  If they couldn’t feed.  Out of desperation I began pumping anyway, just so that I could get some breast milk into her with a dropper.  I was able to get a little milk with the pump…and combined with regular feeds of formula, Raina finally began to gain her weight back and the jaundice eventually cleared.

Once she had her strength back, I tried actively breastfeeding again and thankfully, it seemed to be going well.  Raina’s latch was strong and consistent, and didn’t hurt at all – she was visibly swallowing, and nursed from both breasts each feed.

I enjoyed our nursing sessions.  I felt good.  I felt “motherly”.  I felt like I was doing the right thing for my baby.  I thought things were finally turning around.  We had the “right” number (even more, actually) of wet and dirty diapers each day.  That’s apparently how you know if the baby is getting what she should…so we went along like this for a while.  I proudly took “brelfies” (breastfeeding selfies), and turned them into those trendy “tree of life” photos you saw floating around on social media a while back.

About two weeks after her birth though, Raina’s weight gain became a concern because it was too slow, and much too low.  A nurse began visiting me at home, and it was then that I learned that Raina was not getting enough from me during our feeds.  I felt terrible.  Like I had been starving my baby.  Like I was an awful, negligent, ignorant mother.  How did I not know this?   I thought we were doing well.  I was devastated.  My heart broke.  I cried until I had no tears left – sobbed as I held my baby, looking into her eyes and apologizing to her over and over for failing her…cried as I called my husband at work to tell him about the nurse’s visit, and to discuss next steps.

We began supplementing more and more with formula to ensure steady weight gain. Every bottle I mixed up and fed to Raina made me feel a little more sad inside.  It was just such tangible proof of my failure.  I stopped breastfeeding  almost entirely, to focus more on pumping so that I could be sure of how much she was getting at each feed.  At first, knowing that she was still getting some breast milk made me feel a little better.

I started out pumping after each feed.  That’s 7-8 times a day.  In the beginning, I got about 4 oz. in total over a 24 hr period, which is utterly dismal – but was enough for at least one feed a day.

Unfortunately, that number has steadily dropped in the days since despite the number of pumping sessions remaining the same.  Looking into those mostly empty bottles attached to the end of my pump was (and still is!) horribly depressing.  And yet I kept on trying.

I started power pumping, drinking mother’s milk tea, taking fenugreek, massaging my breasts, eating oatmeal, drinking enough water to drown a camel.  I avoided breastfeeding because it was too painful (emotionally), but read about, and reached out to support groups for advice on how to increase supply by pumping – I was assured it could be done.  I also reached out to a local mom I found on a Human Milk for Human Babies milk-sharing group site, despite the fact that this is not encouraged due to health and safety concerns.  Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), she didn’t have a stash to share.

Today I’m down to a total of about 2 oz. from all pumping sessions combined.  Not even enough for one feed.  At this rate, it will take me two days to be able to fill one bottle for my girl…longer, if this downward trend continues.

I feel like giving up.  I feel like a failure.  I feel like I’m letting my baby down.

As I write this out, I’m feeling compelled to explore these negative emotions a little bit deeper. You see, it’s sort of interesting to me, because I am not actually opposed to formula feeding in the least.  I am not, nor have I ever been, a strict “breast is best” advocate.  Truth be told, I would normally put myself firmly in the “fed is best” camp.   So why am I struggling so much with this?   Why am I being so hard on myself?

I think for me, it got really personal, really quickly.  I began to internalize my inability to produce enough milk as proof that my body doesn’t work, and by extension, proof that I was a bad mother.  The recurrence of thoughts that my body is defective has been extremely triggering, given my history with infertility and miscarriages and the similar feelings of failure surrounding that whole ordeal.  As much as I thought I had dealt with that, I guess sometimes things have a way of coming back to the surface.

Personal reasons aside, there is also an INTENSE amount of pressure to breastfeed.  And it comes from everywhere – relatives, strangers, friends, medical professionals, and of course, society.  The “breast is best” movement is a powerful one.

Bravo on a successful campaign, ladies.

Terms that have been given to breast milk like: “liquid gold” and “elixir of life” make it sound almost magical…leaving formula to sound, by comparison, not just less-than…but also a little like an unnatural, and certainly dangerous chemical cocktail.

I’ve seen bullies lactivists compare formula feeding to sticking a baby on an exhaust pipe.  I’ve heard formula called poison.  I’ve read posts on websites calling formula feeding mothers lazy and selfish – saying things like they are taking the “easy” way out, or are more concerned with convenience than doing what’s right for their child.

Seriously?  Convenience?  Have these people even tried to formula feed?  It’s certainly not convenient.  If you’re using powdered formula (which you will, eventually – because it’s more affordable than the pre-made liquid stuff), you have to boil water, let it cool to room temperature, measure it out, mix that with the right amount of formula, combine it in a way that allows you to get all the lumps out without getting a ton of foam/bubbles (this is not easy, let me tell you).  And you have to do this in advance…because this process takes a while.  Not to mention, all the cleaning/sterilizing of your bottles, rings, caps, and nipples all day, every day.

No – what’s convenient, is pulling out your breast to feed your child when they’re hungry.  The milk is there.  It’s ready.  It’s already warm.  That’s convenient.  And easy, when it works for you.  I’ve done both.  I know.

Oh!  And while I’m on a bit of a rant, why is it that everyone’s first question when they hear you’ve had a baby is:  “are you breastfeeding?”  I have never asked someone this.  Why is this something we routinely ask women?

When I say no to this incredibly personal question, and you inevitably press on asking why not – what is it you want to hear?  Do you really want to hear my “story”?   Will my struggles with breastfeeding be “enough” for you to give me permission to use formula?  Did I try hard enough for you?  Will you try to give me advice that I didn’t ask for?

I pumped, fed, and breastfed around the clock for just shy of five weeks.  Five weeks of tears, anxiety, fear, and feeling like a complete and utter failure as a woman and a mother. (also while recovering from a major, and let’s face it – traumatic, surgery)

I sat for hours at a time to produce half an ounce of  “liquid gold” to give to my baby girl, all while others got to actually spend time with her, enjoying her.  I would give anything to go back and have the chance to enjoy her during that time too.

So please – before you ask someone this, do me a favour and ask yourself why you’re asking.  If you stop to think about it, you’ll realize that it is none of your business, of course…but more importantly, please remember that:  A) they are feeding their kid in the manner they have deemed fit, and :  B) how or why they do that doesn’t actually matter to you at all.  Unless they are asking you to feed them, you really don’t need to know this, do you?   I didn’t think so.

So, this all said, I think I’m tapping out.  I’m calling it.

I’ve tried.  I’ve cried.  I’ve missed out.  I’m done.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…I’ve got to go make some more bottles, and spend some time with my daughter.

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