Bottle This Feeling

Big big day at my house. For approximately 20 minutes, I left the house BY MYSELF. No other living being was with me. That's the first time in 3 weeks that has happened. And I liked it. I liked it a lot. I also cried for the first 12 minutes of my walk. It's so freaking emotional to do anything right now. I left the house because Jeff was giving Sadie a bottle of my breast milk so we could experiment with me being able to run errands without her or allow Jeff to take a night feeding or let my parents feed her during their visit this weekend so Jeff and I can go out alone. Before I left the house, I was afraid she wouldn't take the bottle and I would have to deal with my feelings of being trapped and needing some more space or having to confront using formula.

When I walked out of the house into the coolish August breeze and everything was still outside my front door, I felt afraid about letting her go, loosening my grip on her as her ONLY source of nutrients, food, and the comfort that comes from a full belly of milk and a full mouth of breast. It's my first letting Sadie go so that others can be important to her. It seems entirely appropriate that Jeff would be able to take a turn feeding our daughter, but for three weeks the role as the ONLY feeder had a psychological grip on me that I didn't know until I stepped out this morning.

I walked through my neighborhood at a slow pace, partly because I was crying and partly because I am still incredibly tender and sore and sometimes in pain from the C-section surgery. I called my friends and left messages about the heroic action I was taking by letting my husband give Sadie a bottle of my pumped breast milk. I finally got ahold of my friend Bobby who is a father of four with another little boy on the way. He was incredibly supportive of the process of having lots of feelings about letting go and letting Sadie have new experiences that do not include me.

I also had the pleasure of confronting my own control issues. It was suggested to us that I leave the house so that the baby can concentrate on the bottle and not be confused or sense that the breast was nearby. In all honesty, I left the house for my own sake because had I stayed, I would want to "consult" (read control) and interfere with the process because of course, who knows better than I. Turns out that lots of people know lots of things and I don't need to monopolize the information about Sadie's food or pleasures or anything else. Sometimes, I just need to get out of her way.

Jeff called my cell about 5 blocks into my walk and said that everything was great and that she sucked down the 2 ounces I pumped very quickly. In fact, he thought she might be still hungry so I should probably head home.

Ahhh, the universe has mercy on me. It was the best possible outcome. Sadie and Jeff managed the bottle just fine; I got to get out of the house to peruse the neighborhood for a few minutes on my own while connecting with another compassionate parent who has been around a block or two; and Sadie still needed me. When I got home, there was an empty bottle, a happy dad, and a drowsy, but still game for more food, baby.

This is so good. I am breathing more freely. I am feeling excited about not having to drag Sadie to every drug store, therapy appointment, and errand around town. The whole point of having Jeff home during the beginning of Sadie's life was to give him and her the chance to build a relationship. I don't need a psychology degree to tell me that allowing them some space where I am not hovering around is a healthy dynamic for my whole family.

Baby Sleeping

My two favorite moments of the day : when Sadie is fast asleep and I know that I can talk as loud as I want to crank up the stereo and she won't budge. It's the nearest bit of freedom I have these days and I really relish it.

Second, this afternoon I made lunch for me and Jeff and brought it upstairs on a tray. We were having a little picnic on the bed-- (Note to self: order new linens after we pass through the newborn phase)-- and Sadie was sitting on my lap just relaxing and looking at Jeff. I was able to hold her in my lap and eat my lunch, which was a new trick for both of us. Next thing I know, Miss Sadie, the Mistress of Manners, starts with her farting and suddenly there is literally poo coming out of the top of her onsie. By top, I am referring to the part by her neck. I have heard parents talk about this, but who can believe this is really something that a little person can do until it happens to you? I was wondering what it would take for her to sit with us while we relax and have a meal. Now I know: explosive diarrhea. Hell, I guess it takes what it takes.

And, because the poo bore a striking resemblance to the food I was eating, I wasn't sad to leave my half-eaten plate in order to change her and when we saw the extent of the damage, we went straight to the bath. Sadie still hasn't taken to the bath yet, but we hold out hope that one day she'll enjoy being submerged in lukewarm water and having her hair washed. I kept explaining to her that taking baths were just one of many things to come that we would subject her to that she would not necessarily like, but that we would insist upon. I love her and I love her when she calm and peaceful, but I really can't have her lounging around with her own feces caked on her hair and her ankles.

She's in one of her long nap stretches right now. It's really peaceful and I am glad she can settle down for these 3 and 4-hour stretches. And, not just so that I can get on line and order more comfy maternity leave clothes, but also so that her little brain can develop along with all the associated neurological systems. I have addressed the birth announcements, but fear that if I send them out this early-- before she's even three weeks old-- then people won't believe me when I say I am overwhelmed and maybe have a touch of the baby blues. Look, just because I am organized and want to get the word out about the baby does not mean that I am coasting along and don't need lots of love and support and encouragement from anyone and everyone.

Ta Daaaaa!

She's got flair, this little 9lb daughter of mine. Jeff captured her sense of drama in the latest photo shoot. This picture makes me laugh thinking about what kind of a personality she will have at 4 or 10 or 15. So far she seems curious, spirited, feisty, and very into automatic gratification. She's exhibiting more of my personality than Jeff's so far, much to my chagrin and amusement, depending on how much sleep I have had.

I have always known that change is very difficult for me. I don't like haircuts or rearranging the furniture or having a new schedule. It's no wonder that those little paragraphs in the parenting books about how a new mom may be "anxious, depressed, moody, irritable and struggling with the responsibility of caring for a newborn and the loss of her old life and freedom," applies to me with a shattering accuracy. Before Sadie was born, I skipped over those paragraphs, cockily assuming that having a great husband and a wide, competent and compassionate support network would bring me through with all smiles and a cute outfit everyday. And, while all those things are true, I have struggled to make sense of my feelings of sadness and despair when I wonder if I will ever sleep in again or if I will ever get to lose myself in the aisles of Dominick's grocery store by myself. I think the hardest part for me is the feeling that I always have a sense that there is a clock ticking and that at any moment the baby could wake and need to eat and for now, in these early exclusively breastfeeding days, it's all me. It intimidates me and brings up lots of feelings: I feel proud of my availability and my willingness to give her every single nutrient she needs; I feel happy my body is on board with my wishes to breast feed; I feel angst about how much my right nipple hurts; I feel resentment that no one else can do this at 3:00 a.m.-- and all of this I feel at an intensity of a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10. There rarely is a medium speed for me, and now it's all 10 or 0.

It's a confusing time. I thought I would feel differently about everything. I didn't know I would miss being alone in the car listening to the Indigo Girls and sucking on a Crystal Light from a straw. I had no idea that running through Filene's Basement or being able to decide on a whim to do something crazy-- like go to the Post Office-- would vanish and I would cry about it for a weekend. How could I know this? Now I can't imagine having whims that involve me being farther than 20 yards from Sadie. And, it's not exactly a complaint because what did I ever really get at Filene's and the post office always pisses me off with the workers' horrible attitudes and those long lines. It's not even that I wish I was doing something different exactly, it's more than my daily life is so radically unrecognizable from what it was on June 30, which was only about 5 weeks ago. I think I am adjusting the best that I can. I cry a lot, which helps me relate to Sadie. Just like her, sometimes I just need to blow off steam and let it all out. She does the the same thing sometimes and it's more tolerable to hear her cries when I trust her process of crying is as important as mine is. I never wanted to raise a daughter who was afraid or ashamed to cry. Happily, I can report that doesn't seem to be the case with Sadie.

I am also happy about the good humor I have about having breast milk all over my clothes. I don't bother changing them, because I will just get more clothes dirty. I do, however, plan to burn these early motherhood clothes because I wear the same few things all the time. It reminds me of the clothes I wore during my month-long backpacking trip through Europe. Man, if I ever saw those Birkenstocks and that green pocket tee from the Gap, I was going to spontaneously vomit. It's actually hard to look at the pictures to this day.

My favorite thing that Sadie is doing now is allowing me to cradle her and rock her after we feed. When I am trying to burp her, she always squirms so that her head ends up in the crook of my elbow so we can look each other in the eye. I talk to her all the time, but during those moments, I actualy shut my mouth and memorize the look at her face and the feeling in my arms because she won't be 9lbs forever and she won't be at my breast forever either. Those are the moments when I understand what is great about being a mom, especially Sadie's mom. I forget about the loss of solitude or the pain from childbirth and the whole world is just me and Sadie and staring into those deep blue eyes hoping I am worthy of what will develop into her love and affection of me. It's easier to talk about what I am missing because it's hard to describe this new relationship with my daughter. I want to get better at describing my love and attachment to her, but for now I will stick with the image of my little baby cradled in my arms and the hope that she can feel that I would do anything for her health, safety, and well being and that I will continue to work out my intense feelings about the relationship so I can remain ever present to her as we grow together.

Tired Is The New Black

Sadie is over two weeks old, well past her birth weight (11 ounces past to be almost exact), and we have had a dizzying week of firsts. Pictured above is our first visit to the pediatrician. Sadie, our champion, peed when they weighed her and then screamed loud enough to curl the linoleum in our little examination room. Yes sir, that's my baby.

We have plumb tuckered her out. Yesterday, she went to her first meeting with mama and then went to her first retail store (Old Navy-- don't judge me) and her first grocery store (Dominick's). So many firsts, is it any wonder this child can sleep 4 hours at a stretch? Now, if only those hours were at NIGHT!

The pediatrican asked us if Sadie knows the difference between night and day. Jeff and I just stared at each other. We barely know the difference and we sure as hell don't know how to tell if SHE knows if it's night or day. I admit that question made me wonder if there is something I am supposed to be doing to teach her the difference between night and day. Do I need to be reading about this? Asking around? Somehow I think me getting a system or "right way to do it" stuck in my head is a very, very bad idea. There are very few absolutes in my mind when it comes to my relationship with Sadie, but one of them is that if I try to exert my will on her, we will all end up miserable. For now, I will just trust that it will all work out at some point. I did tell her all day, "it's day time," and when the sun went down I started saying, "it's nighttime." Here's hoping she's a very verbal learner!

The fatigue is starting to catch up with me. I have that low grade headache all the time and almost always feel nauseated. I also finished the Norco. Actually, there's a bunch left, but I haven't taken them in over 48 hours so that little chapter in my narcotics history is closed. Ever since I stopped taking it, my appetite is vengeful. All I want is a blizzard, and I am not talking about snow. I am also not talking about yogurt or low calorie or low fat ice cream. I am talking about full fat creamy ice cream with cookies in it. Oreos. It's the first craving I have had since Sadie was born. Once I decided I have no idea how to manage getting a stupid blizzard, I decided I had to have some macaroni and cheese. I got neither today, but tomorrow is another day.

The biggest consequence of letting go of Norco is being able to drive. Today Sadie and I drove by ourselves downtown for a doctor's appointment. We listened to the CD that is a recording of a blow dryer, which saved the ride. It was a big step towards getting out and about with my little baby. Not sure what our next milestone will be, but for now I am celebrating being able to get around and be out and about with Sadie and being able to endure the pain of the C-Section armed only with Motrin and my sunny disposition.

Recovery

Right behind me, Jeff has Sadie draped in a black velvet cloth and is doing a photo shoot with her. (Results above.) She's being unbelievably game for this exercise, and he snapped about 800 shots before she called it a day. I am having a moment. I just read an account of a woman who was able to have a drug-free vaginal birth-- she went into pretty great detail-- and a wave of sadness has just descended on me. Actually, I already felt sort of sad because my uterus still hurts and so do my nipples. Happy to report to anyone who cares that Preparation H seems to be a miracle in a tube, but still. I want to have more energy and I want to not have this troublesome pain in my right abdomen, that is likely the site of the stitches in my uterus. I have been trying to wean myself off the Norco, the drug that the doctor prescribed for me. I am allowed to take one every four hours, but I am now doing about every 8 or 12 hours. Um, maybe that's why it hurts.

But I don't want to be on opiates anymore. I can't drive as long as I am on them. My appetite is all funky when I am on them and I am not keen on taking them while breast feeding Sadie. The result is that I have pain and I get all weepy and withdrawn, which even in my condition, does not seem like a family friendly alternative. Tomorrow is two weeks since Sadie's birth and when I think about what happened to my body, it seems like that it's not outrageous that it still hurts. I have taken yoga classes that took weeks to recover from. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I just let myself have the meltdown about how Sadie's birth transpired-- just let it all out once and for all-- maybe I would make better decisions about how to proceed with the pain and the recovery and I would take better stock of my options.

I also just read an article in the New York Times about a woman who describes herself as very tough. Her proof that she's not a pushover? She's had a drug-free vaginal birth and then refused drugs after a C-section. She's perfectly articulated my underlying beliefs: using drugs makes me a pushover, a woman who is not strong, a woman who copped out or didn't do her homework or didn't love her baby enough to growl, grunt, and chant through a natural childbirth. I am wimpy because major abdominal surgery laid me out so completely that I took drugs to recover from the experience of having my uterus stitched up while it was out of my body and sitting on the outside of my stomach. It's just one of the legion of debates that women engage in-- to work or stay home? Breastfeed or bottle? Pacifier or no? Drugs after childbirth or not? To indulge in the Bob stroller or "settle" for the $238.00 MacLaren?

Enough already. It wasn't a political statement for me to have a C-section. I don't really care what other women do/did/will do. While the personal may be political, for me, the only thing that matters is the personal right now. I don't really have time for all of this perseverating. I would rather be watching my daughter in her swing or talking to Jeff about Henry Louis Gates Jr.'s arrest for disorderly conduct. Or, most importantly, get some sleep so I'll be ready to be present when my daughter needs me in a few hours.

Have I Told Ya'll Lately That I Love You?

I do. The loves of my life: Jeff and Sadie.

And yes, that's a sweater onsie with a sweater hat in July because it's 66 degrees! How cute is my little eskimo?

Sunday Blues

Let's get one thing straight: I adore my daughter. I love every inch of her and could literally spend hours staring at her tiny features and her hands and feet. There is nothing I would not do for her.

And.

And, this is really hard. By "this," I mean being a new mom to a new baby and spending hours a day not knowing what I am doing, what Sadie is doing, what she needs and how to comfort her or give her what she wants or needs. The ear-piercing crying is like a red bull shot to my heart. She used to have a cry that was a slow build up to the full-out, I-am-going-to-rock-this-entire-zipcode-with-my-tiny-vocal-chords, and now we skipped all the foreplay and she just opens her mouth and screams as if I was threatening to leave her with Michael Jackson (when he was still alive). It is hard to get used to. I was hoping she would not make this a habit, but it started yesterday, and she has perfected it today. She also started doing her champion screaming during her feedings. I am still recovering from having her little head pop off my breast and launch into this distressed scream. Not exactly the reaction I want to have when someone has sampled my breast.

So, here's how I have handled this new development. First, I catastrophize in my head that she'll scream all day every day for the rest of her life, which is going to make her career at Yale very trying. Then, I start to cry silently until Jeff tries to interact with me, at which time I start to cry openly and unabashedly. The next step was to put out the S.O.S. on Facebook letting every parent who can see my status update that my sweet little Sadie has been permanently affected by something horrific and irreversible that I have done in her first 10 dayys of life and that I am decidedly ON THE EDGE. Then, I turn to the telephone and start calling all of the moms I know to ask them (1) why my child is screaming hysterically after NOT doing that for the first 9 days of her life and (2) what do I do to make it stop so I don't have to feel ashamed that I ruined her whole entire life. This last step was seriously frustrated because I accidentally put my cell phone in the washing machine this morning when I did a load of laundry. The phone is not going to make it. Thus, gone are the numbers of my mommy friends-- washed away like the soil on our sheets. To remedy that aparent tragedy, I turned back to my lifeline, Facebook, and posted that I lost my cell phone and the only way to contact me is through email or our home phone.

And, then I took my little Sadie in my arms and I told her the following:

"Sadie, I love you. I love your feelings and fully support you screaming at the top of your lungs. It's good to feel feelings and to express them. You are doing a good job being a baby. You are supposed to cry to communicate with me. It's my job to figure out what you need and want. Mommy may have feelings about your screaming or crying, but it's not your job to take care of me. I have lots of support in my life-- people who can help take care of me so I can take care of you. I am not going anywhere no matter how long or how loud you scream. We are both learning and there are new things every day. I will probably disappoint you a lot, but you will not disappoint me. You are the perfect baby for me. You and all of your feelings and all of your expressions are welcome here. They are essential for your emotional development, which is important to me. Thank you for letting me know when something is not right with you or when you need someting you don't have."

She kept on crying, which is basically what I told her to do. It's very important to me to raise a daughter who feels safe and comfortable being loud or angry or vocal or lonely. I want her to know that I honestly do support her having feelings and that they are beautiful-- and any failure on my part to embrace the parts of her that need to wail or blow of some steam or just plain bellow is just that: my failure. It's my job to get more support to deal with my own feelings around the intense moments around here. It's not her job to be quiet. She's not a church mouse; she's a baby. And at one point she was wailing so loud with her mouth so wide open I thought I could see China, a small part of me was cheering her on: "Go Sadie, scream it out. Start early. Do whatever you need to do. Don't let anyone's discomfort with your process stop you from going bold and balls out and just letting it all out. You are definitely my daughter and this is healthy and adaptive."

Someone please remind me of this down nthe road when I can only hear the voice that says: "Christie, you failed. You fucked up your daughter and ruined every second of her life. There is nothing to do now except give up, accept the greatest defeat of your life, and never ever forgive yourself."