An update on nursing Essie

So breastfeeding isn't going too well.

I wasn't sure how to begin this post so I figured that's as good a start as any.

I have been meaning to come here and work through this for weeks, yet I just can't find the time. But lately I've been wondering if I have actually been avoiding it. So many emotions are wrapped up in nursing. 

And things seem to be changing so quickly. Three weeks ago, I wrote posts in my ahead about how Essie's tongue tie was fixed and how I was hoping it was the answer to all our problems and how my supply would really kick in now and how I wanted to see a lactation consultant... but I never got a chance to type it up. Two weeks ago, I had every intention of sharing how I rented a hospital-grade pump, how excited the woman at the lactation place was for me, how excited people always are. And how just days later, I was getting nearly no milk, how frustrating it was, how I was still looking forward to my appointment with the lactation consultant, how the appointment came and went and I was told to pump eight to 10 times a day. How I actually only found time to pump one to four times a day, when I was lucky. And what a huge pain it was to pump with three kids, made even worse by pumping imaginary milk.

I wanted to come here and lament how I was getting nearly no milk at all. What it felt like to see a drop each time, so little that it wouldn't even trickle down into the collection bottle. How I'd get basically nothing from pumping, but how excited I was when I'd get a milliliter - a MILLILITER - from hand expressing immediately afterward.

But before I could write any of that, I was stopping. I was done with the pump. With my one milliliter and the bottle's stupid, teeny, tiny, little lines that mocked me. 

Unfortunately, all of this lead to me nursing Essie less and less. There was just something about knowing that I had no milk that made it all seem so silly and so easy to cut corners. I'd need to run errands and Ryan would just give her a bottle. What did it matter? I had no milk anyway. 

But then I noticed she seemed unsettled at times, and it hit me - My lack of milk wasn't news to her. She has known all along that she wasn't getting much, yet she still loved it. And here I was cutting her off, simply because I felt stupid about it. How selfish of me. Maybe she needed it. The cuddling. Me. 

So that sounds like I'm leading up to revealing that I'm back to nursing, and things are going great, even if there is barely any milk, right? Not exactly. The truth is, it's hard to nurse when you know you don't have anything to give. She's getting older and bigger and isn't okay with getting nothing while she's starving. 

I have to admit, a small part of me is relieved (which is SO weird because a much bigger part of me is sad and disappointed and grieving the loss of nursing forever, since I probably won't ever be pregnant again and if I can't handle this, then I definitely can't start from scratch to nurse another child we may adopt). It's just that bottle-feeding is so much easier than nursing when nursing is a struggle. Nursing Luke was cake, I loved it. He never took a bottle until his sippy cup. But man, this is hard. Not initially, but ever since finding out the truth about my supply.

Another part of me is humiliated. One of those versions of posts I wrote in my head was entitled, "I'm a nursing fraud" (yes, I think up titles to my imaginary posts). Everyone thought it was so neat (or weird, but they didn't admit that to me) that I was nursing. Our pediatrician in Arizona was jumping out of her skin she was so thrilled about it. The leader of a support group was teary-eyed as she talked about me to the group. The woman at the lactation center was going to ask my consultant for updates on how it was going because she just thought it was the coolest thing. I have to admit I liked hearing that, just as many stay-at-home moms who get zero feedback on their work performance would probably like to. I was nursing my baby who I did not give birth to. That was my story. Only probably was it turned out I wasn't really nursing her. So ya, I felt like a fraud. I eventually convinced myself that I wasn't one since I wasn't actually aware that I didn't have any milk. Fraud? On second thought, no. But humiliated? Sure. 

It was just so easy the first time around. I was one of those mothers who had no problems, except for Luke's dairy allergy, but that was it. No issues with supply. I empathized with moms who couldn't keep breastfeeding, but I really couldn't relate. Now I can. No amount of mother's milk tea or lactation cookies are going to mimic what a pregnancy did for my breast milk. 

I decided early on that I didn't want to take drugs. They're just not for me. This is just going to happen and I'm going to have to deal with it. I may already have nothing left, but Luke still swears there's something there. He's probably just being kind.

I haven't even touched on the guilt. Oh, the guilt. It's there when glancing at the warning on the formula package and when winding up on an anti-formula rant on a friend-of-a-friend's facebook page. Did I try hard enough? Am I giving up too soon? Should I have just tried the meds out of love for Essie? Should I have kept pumping? Should I have prayed harder?

Clara was formula-fed and I was fine with it. Maybe with her it didn't feel like a failure because I didn't try. And I hadn't yet experienced nursing at that point. I should just be thankful I was able to do it at all, instead of mourning that it was only for one baby. 

Or two, if I count Essie. And I probably should. I'm just in that phase where I'm still being hard on myself, kind of like after my c-section with Luke (I'm resisting the urge to put the word nurse in quotations, just as I wanted to do with the word birth after he was born). But, as I did after Luke, I need to pick myself up and move on with what I've been given. Which is a beautiful baby who I love with all my heart, who sometimes loves to nurse no matter how many millimeters she's getting, and at other times is hungry and wants her bottle. A baby who is growing like crazy and is healthy and happy. 

A little blue-eyed gift from God that I am humbled and overjoyed to be given the responsibility of raising. I will always do what's best for her, but sometimes you hit a wall with what you had hoped was possible and we might be there when it comes to nursing. So you back away from that wall and take a different path. I've calmed her by nursing several times in the last couple of days and there is a lot to be said for that.

It's so easy to judge our worth as a mother by those little lines on the bottle when pumping. It's easy to think about what she's not getting from me, how more breast milk could possibly make her healthier or smarter or more whatever. But I'm learning it's not just about how much I produce. That's only part of the story.

It's also about what nursing is doing for her. What it's done for me. It's about the soothing, the snuggling, the warmth, the bonding. I will never forget bringing this tiny baby back to our hotel after she was discharged from the hospital, putting her to my breast, and her latching and staying there for an hour. She has always loved nursing, no matter what she was getting. And when I stop to think about it, I realize what an enormous blessing that is.

I'm so grateful for these months and for however much I am able to breastfeed her in the future. The amount of milk may be small, but the benefits have been enormous. And for that I am forever grateful.

One problem down

So we figured out how to get Clara to sleep with her light off - a nightlight that projects fish onto her ceiling. I want to kiss the person who came up with it.

It was just luck that I even found it. We were buying a microwave online and needed to add a couple small purchases to reach a certain limit in order to get a certain deal. It was right around the time I posted about her fear-of-the-dark-or-whatever-it-is problem (thank you for all your amazingly awesome advice, by the way!) and so I decided to get Clara a nightlight. And there it was. Completely cheesy and tacky and perfect. Or so I hoped.

Her first night with her fishies (and according to her, one of them is "Home Nemo") was her first night without her light on. And it's been that way ever since.

If you come to our home, you will inevitably be dragged into her room to see her fish. She's fascinated that they are only visible when the light is off. Ahh.. the beauty of the fishy nightlight! The lights must be off!

Tonight we did have a small crisis when the fishy nightlight went missing, and I wondered if she'd need her light on again or if, perhaps, she could now handle the dark. But I found it so we didn't have to find out. And there's really no need to. I'm good with her having her fishies on the ceiling all the way through college, if that's what she wants.

My other problem - the one concerning disciplining the two crazy toddler twins while I'm nursing - hasn't gone as well. We have lots of good days, but today was a reminder that when things get bad, they get real bad.

The thing is, there is no solution that works. LeapPads? They fight over them (even though they each have their own) and Luke wound up clunking Clara's head with his today. Coloring? Again, fighting over paper, stickers, crayons, you name it, and eventually hitting and/or biting ensues. TV? Well it turns them into crazed lunatics for the remainder of the day and is just not worth them being comatose while I'm nursing Essie. And they still find a way to fight while it's on.

They fight over special toys brought out only for nursing. They fight over new toys bought just for nursing. Reading is tough because they both want to sit on Essie and me. And Essie - who happens to be a perfect baby in every way, shape and form - has one thing she doesn't like, and that's being sat on or pushed while she's eating. I can't really say I blame her.

Today was a naughty spot (i.e. time out) day. You know those days. In our house, at least, it's usually all or nothing. And today it was all. Luke was in naughty spot continuously from the time he woke up from his nap until he went to bed. He got out of naughty spot over and over, he eventually was put in his room, he stripped naked in his room, I resorted to naughty spot being on my lap and he proceeded to head-bang my chest. Oh, man. I think I will hear, "Lukie's hitting me, Mama!" in my sleep.

So how do you put and keep a child in naughty spot while you're feeding a baby? I'm beginning to think Luke likes seeing me play this game of nursing and disclipining. I wouldn't put it past him.

And that leads me to another question that I pondered throughout the day: How on Earth does anyone play the naughty-spot game all day long AND clean their house? And by "clean their house" I don't mean actually clean their house. I mean the basics, like empty the dishwasher, sweep the floor, clear the kitchen table from lunch, pick up the couch cushions off the floor, fold clothes.

Okay, I shouldn't pretend that I would have actually folded clothes today if not for my poorly behaved children.

But seriously, I'm beginning to think I just don't get it. So please, let me know your tips. And please tell me it's hard to have two toddlers and a new baby (and ignore the fact that the baby is perfect... let's pretend she's a handful just for this) and keep up around your home.

And just because I feel bad I was a little down on my older two in this post, I'll leave you with this exchange...

Clara (after I briefly explained marriage to her, while watching the Bachelor [don't ask] [and, no, I didn't tell her that marriage is something that comes after you date thirty women and pick from the final two] [and, no, I don't actually let my kids watch that garbage]): I'm going to get married.

Me: You are? What boy are you going to marry?

Clara: Lukie.

Me: You want to be married to Lukie? Even though he bites you all the time? (It had been a biting sorta day)

Clara: He doesn't bite me all the time.

Me: I know. That's sweet, honey. But you can't marry your brother.

Clara: But I can marry him because he's a good brother.

My sweet babies. They really are great kids. And best friends. And partners in crime. Their relationship is like no other I've ever seen. They love each other with all their little hearts and forgive at the drop of a hat.

Now if I could just get them to sit quietly with their hands folded in their laps while I'm feeding their baby sister, we'll be all set.

Our little Catholic

 I'm long overdue in announcing that Esther was baptized!

She's wearing the bonnet I wore 36 years ago for my baptism.

Essie officially became a Catholic more than two weeks ago now. My sister, her Godmother, came all the way from New York for the baptism and we were so grateful she and her family made the trip.

It was held at our parish, where Clara was also baptized. But, as some of you may recall, Clara was nine-months old by the time she was allowed to receive the Sacrament.

Three years ago, our diocese required a birth certificate with our names on it in order for a baby to be baptized (if I remember correctly, the names on the birth certificate needed to be the same parents who were presenting her for baptism). Well, with an adoption, you typically don't get a birth certificate with the adoptive parents' names on it until everything is finalized. And, in our case, finalization wasn't going to happen until she was 14-months old. That was way too long to wait for her to be baptized, in our opinion.

So I argued our case with the diocese and won.

Well..... in reality, I made a call, told a priest (who worked for the diocese) our story over the phone, and he called me back with news that the baptism could go forward. Much less dramatic than I could make it sound! But that paved the way for Essie to be baptized as soon as we wanted this time around.

Oh, the chrism. I always hear women rave about the smell of it, so I always felt like I needed to too, in order to be a good Catholic. But, honestly, I didn't see what all the fuss was about. Until now. Our priest slathered so much on, and she has so much hair, that the scent was very strong. Too strong for me. But as the days passed, the smell grew more subtle and I realized what the attraction was. I got used to it. I bathed her but didn't wash her hair. And then the other day, I gave in and washed it, and to my surprise, it still smells like chrism. I think my lack of washing it sooner might have made permanently changed the scent of her scalp. And I can live with that.

Can I just add that looking at these pictures, I forget that I didn't just give birth? I look like a woman who just had a baby, except that my pregnancy weight was gained on our road trip over a period of a couple weeks rather than nine months. And unfortunately, breast feeding isn't helping to melt it off like last time around.

Self-deprication aside, our first photo as a family of five brings me great joy.

And this cake brought me a lot of joy. Probably too much!

'God bless Esther' is right. Welcome to the Church, baby girl!

Because I can't think right now...

I have a million posts swirling around in my head. A lot has happened lately and I haven't really reflected much on it. You add a baby to the family and you are just trying to survive for a while, but what a life-changing ride we've been on lately. I really need to stop and ponder it. And my version of pondering something is writing about it here, so I better get on that.

But for now, because I feel like I've been going-going-going (every kid has been sick and now illness seems to be working its way through the line-up a second time) and I need to crash on the couch with Essie for thirty minutes before her big sister and brother wake up from their naps, I will just wish you a happy Valentine's Day and share some shots from this week. Hope you're having a great day!

Busy and crazy (advice needed)

Things are really great around here, but busy. I am so behind - with housework, with thank-you cards, with Christmas-present buying. 

My days are spent nursing Essie and disciplining Clara and Luke. 

Just a snapshot of our daily life - kids lying around peacefully on blankets. (That's scarcastic, in case you can't tell.)

And, it seems, that those two things go hand-in-hand - the older two are at their worst when I'm feeding Essie. They fight, help themselves to items in the freezer, climb on the coffee table, jump off the coffee table, you name it. I've let it go on too long (of course, I yell but it's as if no sound is coming from my mouth) and I still don't see a solution. Right now I use the TV, but I know they are just that much crazier when it's on. Well, not right at the moment that it's on - they're awesomely subdued and not wrestling each other or the furniture when it's on - but the rest of the day. It's just becoming too much of a crutch for me.

I just can't figure out what else to have them do. They won't play in their rooms, coloring is not an option due their inability to maturely handle crayons (they [i.e. Luke] either throw them, color on everything but paper or lodge them in ears), and they're completely not into their toys when I'm nursing.

I welcome any advice.

Another problem I need your help with (because you all have a pretty good track record of solving my parenting conundrums) is Clara's fear of the dark. She's never actually told me she's afraid of the dark, but she won't sleep without a light on so I have drawn my own conclusion. And by light, I mean lamp. We tried Christmas lights for a while, which worked, but they were pretty bright and ended up dying anyway. She used to be okay with one of those stuffed animals that shined lights on the ceiling, but we are way past that at this point.

We also used to sneak in and turn her light off after she fell asleep, but she is on to us now. At first she'd just wake up and turn it back on herself. But now her lamp is too high for her to reach so she just screams for us and wakes the house up. 

Someone out there must have dealt with this, right? Should I just let her scream for a few nights? 

Could you say "lights out" to this face???

It's not all problematic, though. They are sooooo sweet lately. Clara helps with Essie a lot. Her primary job is to turn the music back on when Essie's in her little seat and it cycles off.

She's also talking up a storm lately, saying so many more things, talking so quickly, so animated. One day, a couple weeks ago, it was like a switch flipped on and her language - and volume - exploded. She's always been a talker, but it was like she'd had caffeine! She's also her brother's keeper - she lets me know when he needs to go to naughty spot, or the doctor, or to bed. 

We believe in clearly-defined gender roles in our house. Except for Luke's pink bed sheets.

Luke is silly, as always. My favorite story about Luke, which I think totally encapsulates his little personality, happened when he was shopping with me one day. As I'm browsing the fabric in a quilting store, he starts excitedly telling me, "Mommy! It's Philip Phillips! It's Philip Phillips!"(yes, my son is well acquainted with the reigning American Idol). I'm thinking he's talking about a song playing in the store (because he can pick out his favorite PP song with one note, and I'm not kidding), but no. He was having (what he thought was) his first celebrity sighting.

And tell me you don't see the resemblance.

That's my two-year-old for ya (and you can judge our musical tastes all you want. "Home" is one darn good song).

Oh, and the best news of the week thus far... Essie had her six-week check-up today and she is now eight pounds! That's two pounds in a month! Esther can really eat. She fits in great with me.

This is from last week. Her cheeks are a half-pound chubbier by now.

Ryan is now home from work and we are going to irresponsibly watch some television instead of sleeping and will regret it in the morning. We never learn.

Oh, and I didn't win, but this blog was nominated in two categories - Most Inspirational Blog and Best Mommy Blog - in the Sheenazing Blogger Awards hosted by A Knotted Life.

Mommy Blogger?! To think this Catholic infertility blog is now considered a Mommy Blog is a little mind-blowing for me.

I know, I know. I have three kids. Clearly this became a Mommy Blog a while ago. But I'll never get used to that, in a good way.

Nursing Essie

I went to a La Leche League meeting the other night and, since I arrived late, the women went around the room and re-introduced themselves for my benefit. It was after the second woman said her name, a little bit about her baby and then declared that she hasn't given her daughter even one drop of formula and several in the room cheered, that I became frozen with panic at the realization that I would likely have to pull out a bottle for Essie while there. And not just a bottle whose contents could be mistaken for breast milk. No. I would also be pulling out my little pink 3-chamber container and carefully pouring out the powder to mix with the water. 

Please, Essie, be okay with just my breast milk this one time, I begged her telepathically. She must have heard because I was spared the embarrassment of giving my baby a bottle of formula in the middle of a breast-feeding support group. Where they cheer for not using formula.

Turned out, though, that they wouldn't have minded. When it came time to tell my story - about our epic journey to pick up our little baby and how, by the grace of God, I was still nursing when this all happened and can now nurse an adopted child - they hung on my every word and when I was finished, the very kind leader (who actually appeared teary-eyed) told me what an inspiration I am to her, and others in the group spoke up in agreement. 

I know where to go if I'm having a bad day and need a little ego-boost.

I had to tell them, though, that what I did was easy. I just stuck her on there and she latched. It's the moms who adopt who weren't lactating, many who have never been pregnant, and yet are able to breastfeed who should really be commended. I don't know I would have had the stamina for all that.

The timing for me and Essie couldn't have been more perfect. I worried for so long that I'd never nurse again after Luke and then, out of the blue, we adopt a baby before I have weaned him. My prayer - one of those prayers your heart feels but you never actually voice - was answered and here I am, nursing a second baby, a baby I didn't birth. What a gift I have been given. 

Wearing my kangaroo care shirt with Essie

When I'm asked how nursing is going, I always answer "well." But I'm aware that 'well' means different things to different people. For me, it means that we nurse first and then give her a bottle of formula if she's still hungry. It means she latches great and there's no nipple confusion. It means I nurse several times a day and I think she really likes it. 

If I had needed to supplement Luke, I don't know that I would have considered it to be going 'well;' we mother can be hard on ourselves when it comes to nursing. But there are definitely different - lower - expectations when the child you are trying to nurse was adopted. I wasn't pregnant, I didn't give birth, there aren't all the necessary hormones, my body didn't expect to have this sudden demand. Yet, here we are - nursing. 

I didn't nurse her until day two of her life. I only saw her briefly on her birth day and while I knew her birth mom was okay with me nursing, it was late, we were there with the kids for a quick visit, and it just didn't seem like the right time. That didn't bother me because I was going into it with those low expectations - whatever I was able to do would be fine. If she didn't latch, she didn't latch. I've fed a baby formula before and she is healthy and perfect. Formula might not be ideal, but I know it's also not as evil as some people can make it seem.

Essie was discharged on day two and as soon as we arrived back at our hotel, I sat down with a pillow and the baby and gave her my breast. She latched on immediately.

I nursed her that afternoon, evening, and night, although I had to wake her up for more than half those feedings. Day three was Christmas and we were spending it at the home of the lovely lady who was our link to this adoption, Leila. I was starting to get a little concerned that Essie was too tired, but I wasn't sure if that was because she was just in that sleepy newborn phase (which we never experienced with colicky Luke, so we didn't know what it would be like) or if she was becoming lethargic from not eating enough. It was on my radar that my supply was such a big unknown, and it worried me.

I talked about it with Leila, we found that her diaper was dry (despite having just eaten), and so we headed to the nearest pharmacy to pick up some formula. I was fine with it. It was about getting my baby - my very small baby - enough to nourish her, and if I couldn't provide it, formula would. Soon after, she started to wake up more, which lead to her being hungry more, and she began to gain more in the days that followed.

From the start of adding formula, I always nursed her first, then once she either nursed for 30 to 45 minutes or pulled off and was fussy (which lead me to believe the milk had slowed), I went to the bottle. Right now, she will take three to four ounces of formula after nursing.

One other little complication - and the reason, we believe, that she takes so long to nurse - is that she has a slight tongue tie. We have gotten differing opinions on whether this needs to be fixed, so as of right now it hasn't been. But because I believe we need all the help we can get with nursing, I'm going to ask her pediatrician to refer us to a doctor who will take care of it.

Despite not being afraid of supplementing with formula, I am trying to reduce the amount we are giving her. It's expensive, bottles are a hassle and it doesn't help my supply to stay in this current pattern. I think I was getting lazy and relying on the bottle a little too much. So instead of giving up when she first pulls off, I'm now trying to power through and get her to take a little more breast milk. It's been working and I have reduced the amount of formula we give her.

I'd love to get rid of formula all together, but that just may not be in our future. If I can get around to renting a hospital-grade pump (recommended by the LLL leader), I'm going to try to start pumping in between feedings to increase my supply, but that's about all I'll probably do. I'm aware of all the medications and supplements, but I haven't felt motivated to take any. Although I swear I have more breast milk on days I eat oatmeal in the morning.

And then there's the issue of weight gain, which no breastfeeding post would be complete without discussing. She's doing amazingly well in that department. She is now up to seven-and-a-half pounds. That's up two pounds from her lowest weight and she's gained a pound in the last week-and-a-half.

I know - despite the prominently displayed warnings on formula containers that make me think of those on cigarette boxes - that formula is okay. It really, truly is. Adopting will bring you to that realization pretty quickly. Clara is fine. My friends' formula-fed babies are wonderful. I'm not special because I can nurse Essie, I'm just lucky because I like doing it. And I hate washing bottles. I still am, of course, washing bottles, but at least it's far less of them.

It's all about expectations and since mine are low, we're going to be okay. We are okay. Essie's wonderful and amazing and apparently likes nursing and we're so very, very blessed. 

My heroes

Courage is the ability to confront fear, pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation. "Physical courage" is courage in the face of physical pain, hardship, death, or threat of death, while "moral courage" is the ability to act rightly in the face of popular opposition, shame, scandal, or discouragement. (Source: Wikipedia)

I can't help but think of all the courageous birth moms on this anniversary of Roe v. Wade. Especially the beautiful one we were blessed to meet just last month, through whom we were able to glimpse at least a small part of the journey these incredible women take towards adoption. 

Think about it: in our Culture of Death, in our abortion-on-demand society where it's so easy to head over to the local abortion clinic and take care of it... in a society where - ironically - adoption is the option that has been stigmatized... these women decide to carry a child for nine months, a good portion of which time they can't hide that they are pregnant... they may face criticism or feel shame, they may be ostracized from their families, pressured by the baby's father... they may have to fight for their babies, the children's first protectors... going to work and school becomes difficult or impossible, their lives are (at least temporarily) thrown off course... they endure all the aches of pregnancy, followed by the pains of labor... and then lovingly place their sweet baby in the arms of another couple.

It's heartbreaking. It's selfless. It's, in my opinion, the highest form of courage. It's true love.

Birth moms (and dads) are my heroes. Especially the two who have touched our lives.

My love and admiration for them is something words cannot even describe. But it makes me want to be a better mother every single day.