Okay, y’all are weird.

And by y’all I don’t mean y’all who read this blog, I mean y’all out there in the wide world of the internet. You know, y’all.

So a few days ago I was taking a peek at the search terms that people have Googled and subsequently found their way to my blog. I thought this was such a cool idea and it would give me some insight as to what kinds of topics are bringing folks to my blog. In hindsight, I’m sort of wishing I didn’t. Because as the title suggests, y’all are weird.

Some of them were pretty normal, you know, in that “yeah, that makes perfect sense” category. Some of these included:

how to stop worrying during pregnancy. Makes sense. I wrote a post about how I was going to focus on not worrying while I was pregnant. It’s a fairly common thing for pregnant women to think about.

high elevation and pregnancy third trimester. Well, I never wrote about this specifically, but I live at high elevation and wrote often about the third trimester. A number of the search terms were about pregnancy at high elevation, actually. And I really have to wonder, is this honestly something people worry about? Maybe since I have lived at at least a mile high since I was a kid I never really think about that sort of thing…

santa fe renaissance faire. Another fairly normal search term I could see leading to my blog.

Then there were a couple that made me scratch my head a little, not just because they’re sort of weird but because I have no idea how they got to my blog with that search term.

lester holt cries. Well, that’s sad. He seems like a nice guy.

nano is my boyfriend chef. I don’t actually know what this means. But congratulations? I wish I had a personal chef.

should I bring name tags? Yes. I have no idea why, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

limearitas bloat you? I hope not. I love those things.

And then, finally, were two search terms that really made me go, “What the fuck?” Brace yourself now, because they’re weird. I mean really weird. I think I spit out my coffee when I saw them.

thong and pasties in the park.

sherlock gdjskfdjk

 

Thank you, Sherlock, I had a similar thought. What on earth does that mean? Never mind. Maybe I don’t want to know.

And finally, the big one. I should hope you don’t use this blog as out-loud reading material for your small children, but if you do, I would suggest holding off on this one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

stories about girls getting an air hose up the ass and giving them painful cramps.

 

Huh. I mean, you couldn’t make this shit up. I don’t even know how you might go about making something like that up because that means you’re into some pretty weird shit–oh, never mind. Secondly, how on earth did someone with those search terms end up at my blog? I wonder if they were disappointed. This blog is sorely lacking in the…girls with air hoses in certain orifices department. Sorry to disappoint.

In conclusion….y’all are weird. But welcome to the blog anyway!

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Oh, Grow Up Already!

I’m pretty sure I must be one of the weirdest moms on the planet.

I mean, not like I didn’t already know I was weird. Weird has pretty much been my M.O. since I got to that age when I realized that “normal” was overrated and that life is a terminal disease so you might as well enjoy it while you have it.

But I digress.

I follow a lot of other mom blogs, moms on Instagram, basically my social media is full of moms. And I have been noticing a trend, especially with moms with brand new babies. Maybe it’s not a trend, maybe it’s more of just…mom-hood? Natural biology? Anyway, basically every mom I follow on blogs or Instagram or whatever has the same recurring expression regarding their little ones:

Don’t grow upYou are growing up too fast. Stay this age forever.

And like I said, I’m weird. I know that. But when I think about this concept, I immediately go, “You’re nuts.” I have never had a moment where I wanted my baby to never grow up. I mean, when she was 9 days old I had a moment when I was shocked that she was growing so fast, but I wasn’t lamenting that she had already surpassed 9 days of life. I have literally no desire for Caroline to stay this small, this dependent, for any period of time longer than necessary. I cannot wait for her to grow up. And I don’t mean like, grow up and move out of the house so that Cameron and I can buy an RV and tour the country as empty nesters. I don’t mean that. What I mean is, grow up so that I can feel like we are exploring life together. So that I can watch her discover life and walk on her own two feet. I want to spend afternoons having tea parties with her and playing dress up and taking her to the park to watch her come down the slide for the first time. I want to see her become her own little person and come into her personality.

I don’t want to sound like I’m a disinterested mom or that I’m just biding my time till she is a little older. That’s definitely not the case. I dote on my little girl and I don’t mind getting up in the middle of the night for a bottle. I love spending time with her and I miss her when I have to be away from her. But I’m not going to lie–the first two months of her life were easily the hardest times of my life and I have no desire to repeat that. Pregnancy, labor, birth, and the first 8 weeks of her life were events that, yes, were momentous and exciting, but they were also painful and challenging and tested me far worse than I ever anticipated, and I am glad they are over. I’m excited for her to begin learning, growing, talking, walking, coming into her own. Showing the world what she has to offer. I don’t want her to be 12 pounds and unable to communicate forever. I know, I know, I’ll miss the sweet first moments, the first smile, the first laugh, but I’m even more excited for the first words, the first steps, the first time she brings me a drawing she made for me. Those are the times I am ready for. My beautiful girl has way more to give the world than she has to give just to me. I can already see that she is going to be extraordinary. Now I want her to show the world, too.

A Day at the Aquarium

Last week we took the Bean out for her first trip somewhere that wasn’t Meme and Papi’s house, the grocery store, or the doctor’s office. We picked the aquarium because we figured it was a good opportunity for us to get out and go somewhere, it was inside since it’s been so cold, and because there are always lots of kids running around in an aquarium, which meant my anxiety was likely to be less if she started crying and making a scene. So early that morning we packed up the stroller, put the Bean in an actual outfit, and headed off to Denver to take in some fish-related activities.

This aquarium really does rock, for being located in a land-locked state. I hadn’t been since I was in middle school, and it had changed management hands since then, but the layout was still pretty much the same. You start out in a “fish of North America” area first which has a pretty good variety of fish, from river fish we have here to otters to even lobsters. They even have a terrarium area with tree frogs and snakes and spiders. One attraction in this area is a flash flood simulator, which I remembered from when I was a kid. It’s pretty cool, but somehow less exciting after what we went through last year. The second half of the tour is Indonesian/Southeast Asia-themed, and it has fish like piranhas and these giant silvery things, and some tigers! There are 4 tigers total but only one was gracing us with his presence that day. At the end there is a giant tank that takes up 3 different areas with different sharks and saw fish and a couple sea turtles and stuff. They have cool jellyfish tanks at the end and before you leave you get to stop off at a tank where you can pet sting rays, which I don’t think was there before.

I wasn’t expecting much out of her, to be honest. 3 months is a little young to engage in much of anything, so I figured she’d sit in the stroller and do one of two things: cry or sleep. Wonder of wonders, though, she shocked the shit out of me by not crying OR falling asleep at all. She didn’t want to sit in the stroller much (it was the first time we sat her in the forward-facing seat, so she’s still getting used to that) so we carried her, but man! Did we all have fun! She stared with huge eyes at the fish in the tanks and she loved the otters. She probably could have stared at them all day. She liked the low tanks without covers on them that we could hold her over and seemed to really enjoy watching the fish from above. The only part she wasn’t crazy about was, of all things, the sea urchin tank. Too spiky? I don’t know. Either way, she had a GREAT time. She stared at those fish with so much enthusiasm that we’re going to get her her own fish tank soon so she can watch them. I wish the aquarium was closer (and cheaper, $17.99 a pop for mom and dad) because she really seemed to like it, but I think when we move we’ll take advantage of it. Next trip will probably be the zoo, once it warms up.

Holy moly!

Eeeeew, spider!

Smile!
Lazy tiger.
The look of fascination she had for 2 hours
Losing her socks
Shark!
Saw Fish
The “pet a sting ray” tank…maybe next time.
Too much fish excitement.
Looks like she had a good time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Formula.

I know, super engaging title. Roll with me.

I mentioned in my last post how hard it was for me to cope with the ending of my nursing career with Caroline and, further, switching from pumped breast milk to formula. I’ve been wanting to write about it for a while, because it’s something that I’ve been struggling with.

I never was one of those people in the “no formula! evil!” camp. I was a formula fed baby and so was my brother and for the most part both of us turned out just fine. Sure, obviously breast milk is #1 because, well, that’s what we’re designed for. Boobies are for milk no matter what the lingerie industry likes to have us believe. But as an alternative, it isn’t as if formula is poison. Similac has been a trusted resource for quite some time now. And I always knew that, but I had pretty much resolved myself to spending the time and energy required to breastfeed for a year–that was my optimistic goal, but I figured absolutely no less than 6 months. Well, I barely got 3 out of the deal, which upset me a lot. Part of it was pride, because I liked the fact that her nourishment came from me. Another part of it was that I liked it–I liked the quiet time, I liked the fact that it was something that only she and I could do. Obviously it started out rough, but I was proud of the fact that we had worked through the hardest moments and after 8 weeks or so we had finally turned a corner–so I thought–and it was all working out. It never really occurred to me that the reason for the colic/discomfort was potentially due to the mechanics of the breastfeeding and/or the fact that she probably just wasn’t getting as much milk as she needed and wanted. It was a nasty cycle that was feeding into itself (no pun intended) and it really didn’t become apparent until it was already in hindsight.

And of course, once we did start bottle feeding and the change was so dramatic, I had to come to terms with the fact that I probably couldn’t nurse anymore, or at least not exclusively. For a while I tried to hold on to our nighttime feeds, but when a week went by and she woke up every single hour at night we started to sense that she just wasn’t getting full. The first night I fed her a bottle, she slept for 4 hours. So there went my last hold out of night feeds. I was pretty well crushed about the whole thing. I felt like this one thing that I was designed to do wasn’t working and there wasn’t a lot I could do about it.

Then, when my supply started to dip and my anxiety peaked again, I found myself sitting at the kitchen counter with 2 ounces of pumped milk and a hungry baby who was ready to go to sleep. And I didn’t have enough milk for the night. In the cupboard was a box of trial-size formula tins that Similac had sent me in the mail before the baby was even born. We still had a couple little bottles of newborn nutrition ready-feed formula that the hospital had sent us home with when she was being supplemented at the very beginning, too. Cameron, of course, didn’t think twice. Add the formula to the milk, he said. What’s the big deal?

And what was the big deal? Well, I had to deal with the feeling that my body was failing me and Caroline. Wasn’t I supposed to continue making enough milk for her? Why was it failing at only 11 weeks? And then there was the fact that feeding her formula was never in my “plan.” Of course I knew that there was nothing wrong with formula. It’s just that it’s expensive, and I figured if I was going to be home with her, breast milk is free. But still, when I added the liquid formula to my pitiful 2 ounces of milk and fed it to her before she went to bed, I heard this voice in the back of my head and it said you are failing. I felt so miserable and like such a horrible mother–and why? I knew that formula is no big deal. And let’s face it, I didn’t have much other choice. My milk was failing, Caroline was hungry, and there was formula in the cupboard. Easy solution.

As the next week went on and I supplemented more and more and eventually finally decided to just start formula feeding her, I thought a lot about what it was that made me feel so bad about giving her formula when I knew there was nothing wrong with it. And I realized that it all went back to the medical professionals I had interacted with since the time I was pregnant. During our childbirth classes, the teacher gave us a gloss-over of the benefits of breastfeeding versus formula, and I didn’t even really think about it at the time because I was planning to breastfeed. But I realized after the fact that her little “Breast is Best” speech was actually a diatribe about the evil horrors of formula and the havoc that it will wreak on the baby’s incomplete tummy. Our first morning in the hospital when she had lost so much weight, I had two nurses arguing over me–literally–about what to do with her. The older nurse was saying, we’ll supplement her with formula, no problem. The younger nurse, a lactaction consultant, was saying no, let her pump colostrum and we’ll syringe feed it to her. And again, I didn’t even think about it at the time, but some part of me was like, why is this even a question? The baby is hungry and tiny and losing weight, just give her the formula. When we left the hospital the nurse had to go to the pediatric unit to find some formula to send home with us so we could supplement like the doctor wanted, because the labor and delivery unit can’t even keep formula in the unit or they will lose their “breast friendly” status. When I went to her doctor about her colic for the umpteenth time and mentioned that she had been refusing to nurse, the nurse told me “usually when that happens you have to force them to nurse because otherwise they will prefer a bottle.” (And that was when I was still giving her breastmilk in a bottle.) Force her to nurse? Really? Is the act of breastfeeding really more important than the overall health of the baby and the mother? Who cares HOW she is getting the breastmilk as long as she is getting it?

So it finally occurred to me: no wonder I felt bad about giving her formula. Every medical professional I had bumped into since getting pregnant had been pounding anti-formula vitriol into my brain. Aren’t we supposed to trust medical professionals? It came to me that I actually had no idea what to do with the formula and I had to look it all up on my own on Similac’s website. There were no resources given to me when I was pregnant about what to do in the event that breastfeeding didn’t work out, for whatever reason(s). I felt oddly comforted by Similac’s website. It sounded inviting, comfortable, and had lots of disclaimers like “We believe breastfeeding is best, but if you decide to supplement with formula, we have what you’ll need.” It didn’t sound judgy. I didn’t find myself at a website saying “You shouldn’t even be looking at this website. Shame on you. Get back to putting that baby to the breast.”

It’s been several weeks now since we made the switch to formula and while I have to admit my stress is way less, I do miss the nursing sometimes. But, I have to look at my sweet Bean and admit that she is so. much. better. She is growing and learning and is happy and I have to remind myself that nobody should give a shit about how I am feeding her and what I am feeding her except me and Cameron. Still, it hurts sometimes when I come across blogs written by mothers who are lamenting the fact that their baby self-weaned at 2 years and how much they miss it. I have to curb my cynicism and my desire to say “You got 2 years out of the deal. Quit yer bitchin’.” I didn’t choose to stop nursing and I didn’t want to, it was a response to necessity, but sometimes I feel like some women look at formula feeders and think we must be lazy or have taken the easy route out. It hasn’t been easy to take this road, at least for me.

So, in those moments when I get nostalgic for the nursing or feel angry with the culture of anti-formula/mommy shaming, I remind myself of my new year’s resolutions and remember to be present and positive, and I think of the positives to formula feeding. I still get my quiet time with her before bed. She still can reach out and hold my thumb while she drifts off to sleep. She SLEEPS! No more getting up every 2 hours at night–this week she slept 10 hours in a row. I can wear whatever kinds of clothes I want. (My favorite hoodie was missing me!) I can go wherever I want with her and not worry about having enough milk pumped for her or having to get home in time to make more. She can stay overnight with Meme and Papi and I don’t have to spend days pumping a freezer supply first. I can drink as much coffee and wine as I want and I can indulge in my clove cigarette vice every so often. You know, all those bad things you’re not supposed to do anyway. (Hey, I’m a writer. When I get stuck, I drink more coffee and have a cigarette. What can I say.)

Most of all…she is happy. She has been so happy since we stopped nursing and as much as it hurts me, I have to remember that her happiness and health is the most important thing. It would have been incredibly selfish of me to try to continue nursing when it obviously wasn’t the best for her, no matter what the anti-formula doctors and lactivists say. Life is a moving target and nothing is ever black and white.

3 Months

The Bean is 3 months old! Holy wow!

What a month this has been. Easily the longest so far (I know, we’ve only had 3, but mamas, you get the idea.) in terms of the amount of “stuff” that happened. In the last month, I had to make the difficult decision to stop nursing and bottle feed, and though it completely changed our colic fight, it proved very difficult for me to cope with, and I was officially diagnosed with postpartum depression a few weeks ago. I have a feeling this would have happened with or without the ending of the breastfeeding, it was already there, it just so happened that that decision really was the trigger that made both Cameron and me realize that I wasn’t just dealing with the baby blues anymore, and it was time to address it.  I’m on meds and in counseling now, and I am feeling a lot better, but depression is a moving target and I don’t anticipate being off this bus for some time to come.

Anyway, I am happy to say that the Bean is doing so much better with the colic. It’s basically nonexistent now. She really is a changed baby.

I don’t have official stats for her this month, since we don’t have another doctor’s appointment till her 4 month checkup, but we believe she is finally over 10 pounds! She still wears mostly newborn size clothing but is finally able to fit in some of her 3-month clothes. Weirdly, the 0-3 month clothes are usually waaaay too big on her regardless of the brand or style. Her eyes are still dark gray and she has one brown spot on her left eye. Her hair is starting to thin out a little in places, and is lightening significantly (I didn’t realize it till I looked at some of her newborn photos) but she is still rocking the mohawk up front. It is so long now it almost hangs over her eyes!

The Bean is, as of now, a formula-fed baby. For a little while I was pumping and giving her breastmilk bottles, but my supply slowly started to dip regardless of how many times a day I pumped, and it was giving me anxiety (another PPD signal). I was constantly worried about having enough for her or feeling like I had to be home in so many hours to pump another bottle for her. So a few weeks ago I finally just made the decision to switch over to formula (I’d already been supplementing due to the low supply) and I immediately felt better, though I still had to deal with the nasty voice in the back of my head that kept telling me how awful I was and how bad the formula was for her–another post for another time about how I came to terms with that particular problem. She drinks 4-5oz every 4 hours or so, every 6 hours at night, and doesn’t seem to mind the formula one bit. For a while I was continuing to pump a few times a day so that I could give her at least one breastmilk bottle, but it seems like that is about to come to and end since my supply appears to have finally kicked the bucket.

At the risk of jinxing myself (didn’t I say this last month?), she is still sleeping great. At night she has been going 5-6 hour stretches pretty routinely. We get her down for bed usually between 7:30 and 8 and she will sleep usually till 2 or so, have a bottle and a fresh diaper, and crash again until 7 or 8. She has also been napping consistently, typically going down around 10 or 11 in the morning for 2 or sometimes 3 hours, and then again between 2 and 3 in the afternoon. I have (mostly) figured out her patterns, and can tell that if she’s been up for 2 hours or so and is starting to get cranky, it’s time for a nap. In the last week I transitioned her out of her swaddle for nighttime sleep and she now sleeps in her sleep sack (or snugglie as we have been calling it) on her tummy the same as she does for naptime, and it is working pretty much like a charm. I put her in bed with her binkie, her pink froggy, and her nighttime music (usually Enya) and she conks right out. Every so often if she won’t go back down in the early morning I will bring her into bed with me, but for the most part she sleeps nightly in her own crib in her own room with the door closed and rocks it.

This month, patterns and favorites really started to emerge. We have a daily schedule pretty much locked down that involves getting up, sitting in her booster seat on the counter for a morning bottle while I have my coffee, usually a short snooze in her chair, then some playtime on her mat, and then a nap. After her first nap she gets up, has a lunchtime bottle, more playtime, (if it is nice out we will take a walk or run an errand) and then another nap. We are still ironing the kinks out of the evening routine, since she usually gets tired before we are able to put her to bed (I have rehearsals 4 nights a week so sometimes nailing down the right bedtime is wonky), but she is typically good throughout the dinner hour and then goes to bed. We learned this month that she adores Michael Jackson, and sometimes now if she is being fussy we will throw the “Smooth Criminal” video on the tv and dance with her and she is happy as a clam. Most music will engage her or calm her. She loves her pink froggy, her hanging birdy toy and her plastic keys the most. When she spends time on her playmat now she will reach up and grab the birdy, which I was super stoked about. She can hold onto her keys if I hand them to her, though she hasn’t quite figured out that when she moves her arm, the keys go with it, which has resulted in smacking herself in the face a few times with them. She also smiles all the time now. At her toys, at us, when being tickled, she’s just a smiley girl. She isn’t quite giggling yet, but she does have a definite sound that indicates she is amused or excited.

She still isn’t too crazy about having her clothing changed (onesies that go over the head are pretty traumatic), having her nose sucked out, and long rides in the car, though those seem to depend on the day. I recently took out the infant insert in her car seat and she did pretty okay the next time we were in the car, so maybe it was an issue of not fitting right. I have finally started to overcome some of my anxiety about taking her places by myself, so in the last couple of weeks she has visited Babies R Us and the grocery store. She even got to wait in line in the post office with me for the first time.

Hours before our Broncos Superbowl excitement came to a crashing halt

I love my little Bean and can’t wait to see what this next month brings! If we get a nice day of weather we might take her down to Denver to visit the zoo or the aquarium for the first time. Part of my dealing with the PPD means getting out of the house and taking her places more often so that I won’t be so terrified of it–like I said, moving target and all that. In the meantime, I have a stack of boxes that means I need to start packing up this house. (Still no word on where we might be going to but we need to be prepared for a fast transition.) Yikes.

Finally, for your viewing pleasure, a video!