Poem for Wilson

I hold you a little longer tonight, my son
As I see the tears of those parents who
lost their children
just down the road.

As I feel the veil of sadness and confusion
that consumes our community
I look at you
just a little longer.

I kiss you just a few more times,
feeling your skin on mine,
hoping I will never feel
the tremendous loss that comes from losing a child.

I listen carefully to your laughs
for you know nothing yet of tragedy and trauma;
your innocence
still intact.

As I hold your little hands, I am frightened for you.
Worried for the scars that you may endure
Hopeful that we will never experience such tragedy
Praying that your generation will find peace.

No words can express the sadness I feel for those parents
as my new-parent heart bleeds in pain of the threat
of losing such a precious gift.
I search for a way to cope with the thought.

So, I hold you a little longer tonight, my son.
I look at you just a little longer.
I kiss you just a few more times.
I listen carefully to your laughs.
And I hold your little hands in mine
with the fresh realization that every second of our time
is a gift that can be taken away with no warning.

Meaning via Wilson

As I sit here tonight with a sore throat and stuffy nose from a cold that my husband and son gave me, several blocked milk ducts and mastitis, along with massive sleep deprivation from my little guy's teething nights, I am reflecting on why I feel like I wouldn't change a thing... How am I so happy when I am having such a hard time? So, for tonight's blog post, I want to reflect on the very positive things that being a parent has brought to me thus far.

1. Every experience has much more significance. Before Wilson, the highlights of my life had to do with my successes: going to college, graduating from Yale, getting my professorship, getting tenure and promotion. I also valued my relationships: getting married to Mike, my love for my family - my mother, father and brothers, and my life with my pets. But, now, things that seem mundane take on new significance. Just sitting around the house before would have had no significance except for extra sleep. Now, it's exactly the opposite: Laying on the couch each morning with Wilson as we drift into a cozy co-sleep nap, changing his diaper each morning amid smiles and giggles, the way that Wilson nuzzles into my neck as I rock him to sleep each night. And I realize that life has not become only about the major events in my life, but about the little moments - that I will treasure forever.

2. My life is no longer shallow. I used to think about what new electronic goodie I needed, what new restaurant I wanted to try for dinner, what movie I wanted to watch, what publication I was working on or what clothes and makeup I wanted to buy. Now I worry about making the right decisions for my son, providing him with enough enriching experiences, making our home peaceful and calm, being a good mother and providing him with a good life and good values.







3. I am much more instinctual rather than cerebral. I embrace my nerdiness and my nature as an academic; I am in my head analyzing everything most of the time. But at 3 a.m. when the baby needs a bottle, I am never thinking about what needs to be done - I am acting on instinct. I often surprise Wilson's other caregivers as I often know immediately what he wants or needs - not based on his cues or cries, just based on my intuition and instinct. I fully embrace this new-found state of being - no doubt, no neuroticism, no anxiety or analysis paralysis. Just acting naturally in the way I feel I was intended to be.

4. I have a new social network. I often wondered why my friends who became parents had little time for their previous single or non-parent friends. Now I know that you have little time for anyone or anything! But, there is something comforting about affiliating with other parents that helps you on this journey. It helps you to figure things out, gather advice, to feel more normal, to appreciate your little ones, and to provide opportunities for the family to be together with other families. I love the new friends I have made, as well as the groups that I am in (virtual and otherwise). I would never have met these wonderful people without becoming a parent, as my pre-parent life did not allow me to travel much outside my typical life and comfort zone. 

5. I am able to so easily be in the moment. It used to be difficult to focus on staying in the present, not worrying about the past or the future, but those things do not even enter my mind when I hold Wilson close. His smiles, his hugs, his love for the simple things - giggling at the dog, cooing at my singing or "conversing" with me makes me appreciate our little moment in time.

6. My 'eyes' are new. Things that were boring and repetitive before are now interesting and new. The way Wilson looks at the sun shining in through the window, how every time Wilson sees his "Leo" (his little Lion blanket toy) he gets excited, a Dr. Seuss book, how a blanket is so soft and comforting, how a silly jumper can be incredible fun and how music makes you feel such happiness. Wilson has allowed me to look at the world in a new way; the same world I took for granted every day and would never be able to "see" without him.




7. The best thing I have ever done. When I hold Wilson's tiny hands, kiss his head, return his beautiful smiles, marvel at his strong grip, listen to his contagious giggles and hear his soft voice, I can not believe that I had a part in his creation. That out of the love I had for my husband, we made this perfect being together - That my body helped to hold and nurture him until he was ready to survive and thrive on his own. As a woman, I have always had a love-hate relationship with my body, but after Wilson, I will never again take it for granted for it gave me Wilson.

One thing is sure: my life is forever changed by this little guy. And even though being a parent is the hardest thing I have ever tried to do, it is easily the most meaningful and fulfilling. I know that these short three and a half months are just the tip of the iceberg, so as I sit here stuffed-up, tired and sore, I still look forward to what I haven't seen on this journey yet - even if I have to drive over a few bumps in the road to get there.


 

Adventures in Breastfeeding, Continued...

I'm not entirely sure if I should still be calling this post "breastfeeding" since I'm exclusively pumping, but since breastfeeding moms tell me that pumping is way harder, I'll go with it. Since I last posted on breastfeeding, things have progressed, but not in the "natural, I am so peaceful here feeding my baby" way. I continue to pump and have about 300 ounces stored, in addition to having his daily milk covered. And I am only pumping three times a day, which is virtually unheard of. After talking to a friend who exclusively pumped for over a year, I got some advice on how to get a large supply and be able to maintain long-term. With the assistance of my mother who cared for Wilson for a week while I pumped EVERY 2 HOURS AROUND THE CLOCK, I built up a large supply. I then tailored it down to every 3 hours, 4 hours, etc. until I finally made it to every 8 hours. I take a Fenugreek supplement three times a day to keep my supply consistent. Not only does it do that well, it also turns you into an IHOP because it makes you smell like maple syrup. Seriously. My dogs want to lick my arms for no apparent reason now. But, I guess that is a good side effect on those days when you can't get a shower because of the baby.

I remember saying to my best friend, "I don't care if he can ever latch, I just want to make enough milk to feed him." Well, be careful what you wish for my friends, because Wilson is 15 weeks old and has yet to latch. We still try. Sometimes he mouths at the breast and laughs at me. Sometimes he really tries, but looks confused. Recently, however, I have decided that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing that he is not nursing, since my freak of a baby is teething at 3 months old. I am well aware of over-achieving, but this is ridiculous! I was a little wary of predicting teething since I thought he was before and it was actually his lovely difficult temperament showing itself, so I didn't really say anything at first. First, I had to get the bibs out because he was drooling like it was an olympic sport that he was practicing. Then, he started rubbing at his cheek, leaving a little red spot of dry skin and several wolverine-fingernail scratches. Then, he got a cold and an ear infection. Then, my husband asked if Wilson had recently encountered a zombie because he was literally biting at anything that came near his face. Toys, blankets, our hands AND the nipple on his bottle. He actually tore a nipple one night and we poured milk all over ourselves (aka liquid gold - cry!). But, I sat there thinking. "Huh. That could be my nipple right now." And I was never happier to be pumping exclusively. 

Until a few days later when I felt a little weird after pumping to look down and find a giant blood blister on my nipple. Now, I wasn't sure what to make of this, except that it kind of hurt and looked bad. So I did the obligatory google search and found that it was a normal thing that happens sometimes in breastfeeding and pumping. I didn't think that it was too bad until the next time I pumped...when it popped. Then and every time I pumped, there was excruciating pain from the unhealed wound and I would literally have to brace myself with tears coming down my cheeks when I first started pumping. Luckily, someone from my Yoga Mommies Face Book group advised to put ice on it before pumping, which made it go from excruciating to NO PAIN. I love that woman. 

The other thing that I was advised to do was to express some breastmilk on it to keep it healing, which also worked wonders. Which brings me to my next thought: have you ever seen the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding?  The father in it carries around a bottle of Windex and uses it for everything from a rash to a cut to a pimple. Well, I think breastmilk is the new (or old?) Windex. I have used it to heal my own cuts, heal Wilson's dry skin (when combined with calendula lotion), heal an infection in his eyes when he was a newborn, heal his ear infection (combined with garlic drops), prevent Wilson from getting a cold that I had when he was 2 months old and healing his little Wolverine scratches on his face. If this stuff is so amazing, it makes me wonder why we don't bottle it and use it more. Probably because it is freaking gross to think about. One doctor told a mom to drink her own breastmilk when she was sick because of the antibodies would help her get better faster. And that's probably true - but I could never do it. I still haven't tasted it and yet, I wonder why I am willing to drink a large farm animal's titty juice every morning with my cereal?

But anyway, I digress. So after slowly healing, I have noticed that this breast doesn't feel right. It's slightly swollen, feels warmer to the touch, is sore and occasionally feels like it is on fire inside. So, I probably have a clogged duct or mastitis, also side effects from nursing and pumping. When is this supposed to get natural?!?? So after flu-like symptoms all day and having a very sore boob, I dragged myself, my teething baby and my husband to get groceries so we do not starve this next week. When we got home, my husband said "Huh, what is this?" as he held up a piece of my breast pump sitting on the floor. My mouth hung open in shock and horror as I found the connecting pieces (the piece that holds together the flange, the bottle and the pump wires) spread about the floor, incredibly clean and with dog teeth marks all over them. "Seriously?!?!?" I cried as I ran around trying to find the other one and to make sure they did not get to my $500 pump. I apparently, in my teething-induced sleep haze forgot to put the parts on the counter to clean and left them wrapped in a cloth on my nursing bag on the couch. And the little bitches pounced as soon as I left. I hysterically prayed, driving way over the speed limit (without the baby in the car) to Babies'r'us late on Sunday night to get replacement parts, that they would be open and have them in stock.  They did.

So, I'm off to Dr. Smillie's again to treat the mastitis/clogged duct/burst blood blister and see how I can try to get this little teething monkey to maybe latch before he's 18 years old. Hopefully my next update will include someone besides the dogs trying to get to my breastmilk (namely my infant), less infections (for everyone) and more peaceful feelings of natural bonding. But, for now, it's 10 p.m. and time to pump again.

Tempering the Temperament...part deux

I laid in my bath tonight reading my Mama PhD book after giving Wilson his bath and passing him off to Mike. I listened to Wilson scream as Mike put on his pajamas, but after about 2 minutes, I heard nothing in the other room. I wondered...Hmm. Either they've killed each other or Wilson is getting better. I walked into the room after my bath and found Wilson peacefully taking his bottle from Mike who was cuddling him and softly singing, "I am what I am" - a meditation song that we sang together this week during our nightly meditation. Mike added to it "You are what you are" as he softly sang my son to sleep.

This has been the capstone of our persistent work with Wilson, our little DC (difficult child), as Mike calls him. I've organized our house into "stations" - there's the swing, the nap nanny in front of the television, his playgym mat, his tummy time mat, a beautiful blanket my niece made us which serves as his tummy and roll over practice mat, his Bumbo chair, his vibrating chair, his jumper, his walker and his high chair [all in different areas of the house]. After Wilson wakes up in the morning, we play with him on the changing table, get him dressed and spend a few minutes holding him. Then he's off onto the circuit to sit/play independently. When he gets mad or bored, we try to talk him through it and then if successful, walk away. If unsuccessful, we take him to the next station and let him play. Rinse and repeat until he indicates he's unhappy with everything, which usually indicates he's tired and ready for his bottle and his nap. We try every time to put him down in his pack and play to nap - something which was impossible a month ago. We try to make it out of the house at least once a day - always bringing the babywearing carrier just in case. At night, we have dinner, do our nightly meditation as a family (although it's always singing meditations and requires some baby-entertaining at the same time), have bath time, then put him to bed in his crib in his own room. If at any point he does his "mad cry" (which has been often in the past), we try to talk him through it where he is at, comforting him with touch and with our voices. If that doesn't work (he's been known to scream so loud and cry so hard that he loses his breath), we hold him close - talk to him reassuringly and say lots of things I know he doesn't understand, but we'll continue to say to him as he gets older and does - we love him, he's ok, we are there, take a breath (although this really for our benefit rather than his) and that we are there to help him. He usually calms down quickly and we take him back to the circuit.

So that's our "work'; here's our progress in the last month since we started. He now only requires holding to help him calm down a few times a day (down from easily over 20 times a day). He now sits independently for hours every day (up from a few minutes a day last month). We've been able to get work done, take care of the house, spend time together, catch up on our tv, watch some movies AND spend lots of time with him, playing and loving our new role as parents. He isn't crazy about his swing, but has sat in it for 30 minutes at one time recently, his nap nanny for an hour or more, his baby gym for 30 minutes, he's now rolling over!! and sits in his high chair, while we eat dinner - which I've have been able to cook consistently for over a week. A few times I had to babywear him while cooking, but he was quite content to sit there and watch me prepare our meal. He sits patiently through our meditation, giggling at our singing and enjoying when I do a little baby yoga while we sing. He's doing about 50% better in his car seat - and he rarely every cries for no apparent reason anymore. He does sleep in his crib - sleeping 4 to 5 hours, gets his bottle, back down for 3 hours, another bottle, then 3 more hours, another part of a bottle, then 1 hour before getting up for the day. He's done this so consistently that I now wake up before he starts crying!

Here's what we've learned: this approach seems to be working for us for now and it's helped us get to know our Big Willy. He wants to be part of everything and he's very interested in the world. He would like to be walking already and loves to be stood up and even moves himself in his walker. He's got such a cute blooming personality and every day he seems to mellow out more and more. Mike and I reconnected to each other with some deep conversations settling on what we needed from the other (I asked for more positivity; he asked for healthier meals). We put together a schedule that was fair to both of us and allowed me to do work. In balancing my roles as academic and mother, I realized that I cannot separate the two: I am both. So, as a true collectivist, I have decided that little Wilson needs to be part of my life at school as well. So we are going to attempt to begin to go to work together and have a few "stations" at the office. I'm also going to have my at-home writing time after I put him to bed and try going to the gym and have date nights again.

I don't know if this will continue to work, if we will be able to stick to our schedule or if it will all fall apart when he gets sick or starts teething. I'm definitely sure we'll face new challenges, we'll have to try new things and we'll have to learn to adapt and be flexible as we go. But I do know this: it's getting better.

What I wish I knew...

I've been considering this blog post for quite awhile: What I wish I knew before having a baby. Since I'm pretty new at this gig (although at 3 months, it feels like forever ago to the freedom of my pre-mom days...), I asked a lot of other mothers to chime in, so this post includes many others' input. I hope it finds its way to those who haven't had their babies yet, as well as to those who are currently struggling and want to feel just a little more normal.

1. Work out your issues before having the baby. Before you have the baby, your self-esteem, childhood issues, issues with your mother/father and doubts about your self-worth should be, as much as they can be, resolved. Your relationship should be strong and you have mastered positive communication. There is no time to work out your issues after the baby arrives. If you don't do this before, you WILL suffer after the baby comes. This is why divorce rates spike during pregnancy and after a child is born, why depression can be quite severe after a baby arrives and how resentment of the baby (and in turn, the child's resentment of the parent) can happen. Message: Go to therapy, meditate, do yoga, confront your parents, marital therapy - whatever you need to do - but work out your issues NOW.

2. Breastfeeding is difficult and don't pinch pennies on the breastpump. Breastfeeding looks so calm, natural and peaceful, but it's lies - horrible, horrible lies. For some reason, in our culture, this generation has HUGE difficulties with breastfeeding. It takes forever for most to figure it out, some (like my son) never latch and others do so horribly that your nipples crack and bleed. For those moms and babies who do figure it out, sometimes you face additional challenges like milk shortages, overproduction of skim milk or early teething. I thought I would never even need a breastpump, but lo and behold I have a breastfeeding-challenged son, so that is ALL I use. I use it so much every day that I should name it. Even though I exclusively pump, have gotten my pumping times down to 3 times a day (unheard of) and have a good supply for Wilson, I still have lovely things that happen like finding a blood blister on my nipple after pumping a few days ago. How is that evolutionarily adaptive??? It's not! So main message here: If you plan on breastfeeding, plan on experiencing difficulties. If you don't, yay! Celebrate. But it's more than likely, you will. Don't beat yourself up about it.

3. Everyone has a little bit of the baby blues. I patiently listened to the lecture my midwives gave me after I had Wilson. Yes, I know what postpartum depression is. Yes, I know what to look for. Yes, I would definitely get help. "But, it's ridiculous, I won't get it," I thought. I have great self-care, a good marriage and, after all, I have wanted this baby for years! How could I be sad about finally getting what I want?! Little did I know that how much you love your baby has absolutely nothing to do with postpartum depression. As one of my midwives put it, "You go through the birth experience, have that moment of excitement as you meet your little one...Then you fall into a big, black hole." And it's true. You fall into the hole of conflicting feelings, identity struggles, sleep deprivation, strained relationships, lack of basic self-care like eating and showering and at the same time pure wonderment and joy. It's a bizarre place and experience and I think every mother should know that it's normal.

4. You will lose any idea of who you are as a person. I feel like this is some kind of Zen koan (a meditation paradox), but you really go through a crisis of identity. Like a tree falling in the woods, If I no longer do ___________ (insert previous identity here), then am still that identity? Before having a baby, I prided myself on being a counselor, a teacher, a researcher, a shaman, a wife and a pet owner. I have no time to counsel anyone, I am on maternity leave for a semester from teaching, I made the decision to not do my research until I go back in the spring, I haven't had a drum circle since before the baby is born, I routinely tell my husband to "shut his face", and I have gated and barred my little furries from most of the rooms in our house to keep the inevitable hair from finding its way onto my infant. The dogs haven't gone for a walk in months and the cats are so starved for attention that they take the dogs flattened stuffed animals in their mouths and bring them to us like little dead presents. I eat when my baby lets me, I sleep when my baby lets me, I care for my baby all day, I feel horrible when I am away from him, I worry about his well-being, I revel in his smiles and plan my activities based on things that he will enjoy. I am now, first and foremost, a mom. But, I am those other identities too. So as you flounder around in that black hole, part of what you are looking for -- is -- you. I feel I'm finally starting to make progress on this front, but I wish I had known how difficult finding balance between your role as a mom, your job and the rest of who you are, truly is.

5. Many people are judgmental jerks. Everyone will have an opinion of how you are parenting; unfortunately some share it with you. Everything from using daycare for your infant -- to when you should potty train -- to what you are eating when you are breastfeeding becomes an object of scrutiny. These unfortunately tend to be women themselves, which makes you think they would have empathy for new mothers. But, no, as any middle-schooler or highschooler knows: girls can be mean. Their unsolicited advice and judgments of you can make you question your choices as a parent. Bottom line: it's none of their business, they don't have to raise your child and if someone has to spend that much time talking about and judging a new mom who is trying her best, that person's life must be pretty sad. Don't listen and don't ever question your instincts when you feel strongly about something. And if you are ever really doubting yourself, go talk to another new mom - who will remind you of the normality of what you are experiencing. 

6. You will hate your partner...at least for a little while. I never anticipated having any kind of problem with my husband. We had an ideal relationship. We had been married for 8 years and worked out all the issues we had in our relationship. We had great communication. We loved each other intensely. We had all the same interests and hobbies. We were happy to be on this journey together and could not imagine or anticipate any issues whatsoever. And then, the baby, stress, sleep deprivation and lack of patience, time and energy kicks in. You exert all of your patience and energy in caring for your little one. As a new parent, you are experiencing a crisis of identity and often are not taking care of yourself or doing any of those things you used to do to rid yourself of stress: like going to the gym, reading in the bath or watching crap television. As a new mother (especially if you are staying home), you are vulnerable, you are full of hormones, you worry about everything, you have lost your body and often your mind. You have NO TIME to patiently explain how you are feeling to your partner and that their poorly-worded off-hand comment has hurt your already-vulnerable feelings. That won't happen. Instead, you will turn red, scream how your partner has no idea what it's like to stay home and care all day for this baby, how you've lost your body and mind and how much you would now like to punch your partner in the face. Your partner, particularly if they are male, is most likely depressed by how drastically his life has now changed, how little you pay attention to them now, how uninterested you are in being intimate (another side-effect of the hormones of breastfeeding -- oh and just being a new mom), and how little control he has in this new life. The problem is that as a new mother and primary caregiver, these complaints from your partner will pale in comparison to yours and you, again, feel like punching them in the face. You will have full hour "conversations" on who does more work, who gets more sleep and whose life has changed more. It's stupid and childish and it happens to all of us. You HAVE to find a way to connect to your partner as a co-parent to your child, as your lover and as your friend, or you will be another after-child divorce statistic.

7. It often takes some time to feel connected to your baby. When your baby is an inside-baby, they are part of you. They feel what you feel. They allow you to sleep (at least until the end). When they emerge, you realize that they are a distinctly different and separate person - a stranger. You have to get to know this little being; and the illusion of how you, as their mother, should innately know everything they need and connect to them immediately becomes obviously transparent. If you have a traumatic birth experience, it can take even longer to feel this connection and to "like" your little one. This does NOT make you a bad mother; it is more normal than you think.

8. The love you feel for your children will be greater and more painful than anything you have ever felt before. As hard as being a new mom is, I wouldn't change anything about it. I look at Wilson's smiles and my heart feels fuller than it ever has before. Just when you think you can't love them any more, you do. And your heart grows with each child to love them just as much. At the same time, to think of anything bad happening to Wilson, thinking of him having to go through illness, heartbreak and trauma, and to hear of parents who have lost their children -- literally takes my breath away. He has become my heart and to lose him would literally be losing a piece of myself. 

9. Having a baby is messy and gross. From the birth experience where you will likely poop on your provider when pushing your baby out -- to leaking milk out of your boobs -- to passing fist-sized blood clots -- to "pancake boobs" and stretch marks -- to spit up and poop-plosion diapers that defy gravity -- having and raising your baby is gross, messy and disgusting. Nothing will remind you of our animalistic nature like having a baby. There is nothing prim and proper about this experience at all. I remember wondering how women lose their modesty and can be naked in the labor and delivery room in front of strangers. And then, I was there - throwing my clothes off, laying on the shower room floor in a semi-hypnotic state. I didn't care who was there or what they thought of me. Your modesty slowly returns, but you should know that even though this whole process is pretty gross, you won't care.

10. Patience, trust and acceptance. My mantra for getting pregnant and surviving the last few days of my pregnancy became crucial in surviving being a new parent. You cannot control anything. You WILL get something you didn't plan on - whether it is a child that has colic, one who has a difficult temperament, a baby who develops autism, a traumatic birth experience, a divorce, an illness, a hurricane, etc. This is life. Being able to survive this, as any other crazy life experience, requires that you have patience with yourself, your partner, your child and life in general. It requires that you trust that life will get better, that you and your partner can do this, that things will be that were meant to be and that you can handle this. It also requires acceptance of what life hands you. When I realized that after a difficult time getting pregnant, a difficult end of my pregnancy and an incredibly-difficult birth experience that I was given a difficult-tempered baby, I cried hysterically. It did not seem fair that I went through all of these horrible things (don't get me started on my other non-baby life experiences) and couldn't catch a break with the temperament of my child. But, in my soul, I am a teacher. I have experienced many less-than-ideal life circumstances and have not only grown from them, but have been able to help others who are going through the same thing. These things make me a stronger and more intuitive teacher. If I can help other new moms to feel better and more prepared, I would gladly have gone through all that I have. And I would choose to do it again. 

11. Make sure you have help. Being a mom today is ridiculously hard. You are expected to take care of yourself, remain presentable and attractive, take care of your partner (which usually means being responsive AND cooking, cleaning and caring for the house) and caring for this new infant -- all while meeting incredibly high expectations of yourself and others. Women in previous generations were not always expected to breastfeed - a horrible time suck (pun intended) which not only secures your place as primary caregiver, but ensures you will be home-bound for weeks-months-years. Families were more intact and close-by in previous generations, ensuring strong family support to help you raise children. The expectations of balancing work and home have never been higher; it is really no longer an option for most to be a stay-at-home mom -- we must work to support the family. These requirements are IMPOSSIBLE. You cannot be perfect at all of these things. You need someone you trust to help you with the baby, give you time to sleep, work on your relationship with your partner and simply to remain sane. So, make sure you have good quality childcare (p.s. high quality childcare centers have 2-year waiting lists), people (that you trust) who can just give you a break by watching the baby for a few hours and someone to talk to when life gets rough. You are not a superwoman and the more you try to make yourself be this, the more disservice you will actually do to yourself and your baby. A good mother is one who knows her limits and teaches her children the same.

12. It gets better. The first time you try to put your infant in their carseat, put a onesie on your infant, deal with a horribly-gassed screaming baby, change a poop-plosion diaper and put them in a carrier, you will feel inept and ridiculous. I remember Wilson screaming bloody murder as Mike and I tried to figure out how the straps went on the carseat. We looked at each other with horror and complete powerlessness at our carseat-ignorance. Three months later, we can get him ready in the car seat in a matter of seconds, combined with the obligatory distraction (usually singing and dancing) to keep him from freaking the hell out. Similarly, you learn that you can balance some things, you learn how to manage time better (make a schedule - seriously), which baby goodies you absolutely need for your child (Wilson needs a pacifier and a blanket over his head to fall asleep, but hates his baby swing like it has an evil soul and wishes him harm) and you find things that make life easier (we only buy zippy pajamas now because snapping 30 snaps at 3 a.m. is just freaking stupid).

13. You are a good mother. No matter how much you doubt it, worry about your choices and feel guilt, your child came to you for a reason. You are the best mother for your child. If you are doubting your worth as a mother, I have news for you - that means you are a good one. I always tell my students that you can always identify the truly insane by the fact that they never entertain the thought that they might be insane. Someone with schizophrenia truly believes that they are being chased by the government and that they are Jesus or Abraham Lincoln - a doubt never enters their mind. When a sane person experiences something psychologically bizarre, they question their sanity - the most sane thing you can do. I believe the same lies true for being a mother. If you truly believe you are the perfect mother with no faults whatsoever, you are probably a terrible one. But, if you doubt your worth as a mother, worry about your choices and feel perpetual guilt, this shows you are thoughtful, care intensely for your child and are, indeed, a good mom. 

This is Really Freaking Hard...

So, in between pumping, changing diapers and jiggling the crap out of my child, I've been contemplating motherhood and my new identity when I came to the following conclusion: motherhood is a lot like those beautiful newborn and family pictures we see. On the surface, everyone is happy and working in harmony. Everyone is well-dressed, showered and manicured to the nth degree. The baby looks effortlessly peaceful, even angelic. But if you are a newborn photographer or a parent who just had these pictures taken you know that is the farthest from the truth. You painstakingly picked every outfit, hurriedly made sure everyone was clean, dressed and presentable. You packed the diaper bag, pumped, breastfed or bottlefed, then tortured that poor baby by keeping him/her awake for hours until you got to the studio. Even though you have exhausted your poor offspring into submission, it takes HOURS to get a handful of photos. You have to calm the baby down, then put them in not-so-natural baby poses that are super cute until they wake up and have a hissy fit (not captured on camera). Those beautiful naked photos are also uber-cute until the baby shits all over the prop. Seriously, Wilson pooped and peed on everything that poor photographer put under him. This is motherhood. Mothers smile, say how much they love their baby (which is true), show cute pictures and coo about how wonderful their lives are now that it has been blessed with this bundle of joy. It's true - just like the pretty family pictures, that moment was real and captured on camera for proof. But what we don't talk about enough is the behind-the-scenes craziness that we experience on our journey of love and sacrifice. And it's full of tons of poop on every prop.

From very early on, we, as young women, are sold what I like to call - the 'mommy dream'. When I was little my only reference for what taking care of a baby was my knock-off cabbage patch doll, who I called little Wendy. Not a good reference, really. Wendy went to bed when I told her, she required no feedings of any kind and didn't cry when I played with my other toys. Oh how motherhood seemed like bliss then. 

As a teenager, I was deathly afraid of getting pregnant, but not really out of recognition of how hard it might be. I didn't want to get pregnant because it wasn't time for me. I wanted to do lots of things and, really, 99.9% of the population should never procreate with their teenage partners anyway - because let's face it - we make crappy decisions about relationships until far into adulthood.

As a young adult, I had some friends that had children and the most I could get from them was the old "I love them, but..." where the "but" described the difficulty, but it ended with, but it's all worth it anyway. To me that sort of negated the "but" and I really never got it. 

After graduate school, I had several friends that had children and watched some of them grow. They looked tired - exhausted even. But they too, said the whole "I love them, but..." phrase. Only my closest friends were honest enough to say how difficult their babies were. And I told myself the lie that every parent-to-be tell themselves in order to successfully procreate: it's ok because our child will be different.

So what is the behind-the-scenes poopery, as it were? It's a jumble of crazy emotions, experiences, new learning and existential pondering. It just so happens that you can have incredibly conflicting emotions AT THE SAME TIME. I absolutely adore Wilson. He makes me a better person every day. I love waking up to his smiles (even at 3 a.m.) and I miss him horribly if I am apart from him for more than a minute. BUT... at the same time, I am exhausted, barely taking care of myself, want to punch my partner in the face on a bi-weekly basis (and I'm sure he feels the same way), stressed, harried, second-guessing my worth as a mother, struggling to balance my newfound-nurterer role with the previous roles as wife, teacher, researcher, shaman and everything else my post-pregnant brain has forgotten that I used to be. In one second I look at Wilson and think, "You are the most beautiful being I have ever seen in my life." In the next moment I think, "What the hell was I thinking doing this? How am I supposed to balance all of these things??"

It's not just being a parent that is hard. It's being a mom, I believe, in our culture right now. As a new mom, you are not always surrounded by mother and sisters all waiting to help you with the baby (unless you are in an Italian family who moved across the street from your parents). Many of us don't have a lot of family close so the option of having tons of willing help isn't an option. Most of us work outside of the home and I still don't have a clue how that is supposed to balance out. It's also really hard for women with a professional career. We've spent so much time becoming equal in a male-driven market that being pregnant and raising a family puts you at a distinct disadvantage to your male peers - sometimes even discriminatory. There is no place in our professional portfolios to reflect on your role as a mother and how much time you spent rearing the next generation that will better our world. You have to meet the same requirements as any male, but have to do so with less time, energy and resources. Because let's face it, the cultural expectation is that we, as women, must do the majority of the child-rearing. Call it hormonal or historical, typically the primary parent role falls to women. I am lucky enough to have a husband that is thoughtful, involved and concerned about my well-being. Often he sacrifices all of his personal time to give me one break during the very long day. But, I will always be driven, internally and culturally, to be the primary caregiver.

As I have struggled with this new reality, I have found myself having some depressive symptoms. As a psychologist, I know what postpartum depression is and rather than wait until it possibly became clinically significant, I spoke to my family, my midwives and my therapist immediately. I set a new plan in place to take care of myself so that I can be the best mom for Wilson, as well as to get help (I have no close-by relatives and I feel bad asking for free help from friends when Wilson is a little difficult - you either need to be blood-related or getting a paycheck to be calm and patient with little Willy). In addition, I am reading a new book while I take my one moment to myself everyday at bath time. After bathing Wilson, I hand him off to Mike to get diapered, baby-massaged, lotioned and dressed for the night. I take at least another half an hour in the bath free of pets, babies or partner. The new book was given to me by one of my colleagues at SCSU and is entitled "Mama PhD". It has made me cry more than once as I read the experiences of women in academia struggling to balance their roles and facing new experiences, including discrimination in the workplace.

But, as I sit here in my office, fresh from finishing work on a new publication, hearing Wilson cooing to my paid help in the living room, with a machine pumping breast milk out of me, I am keenly aware of how my new life is both terrifying, hysterical and beautiful. I'm clumsily navigating my new roles, afraid of not meeting expectations in one (or all) of them, laughing at the ridiculousness of who I have become (p.s. being a mother is way harder than getting a Ph.D. at Yale if you were wondering) and -- at the same time -- feeling love and happiness that I could have never imagined. Knowing that this little being is the best thing you ever did in your life and that you wouldn't change anything about this experience (except perhaps for getting more sleep...). I thought I couldn't possibly love any bigger than how much I love my partner, but Wilson blows that out of the park. I would gladly sacrifice any part of my life for him and his happiness and health have become the priority in my life over everything else.

On my last visit to my midwife, she said something to me that really resonated with my experience right now. She talked about the postcards of all the newborn pictures with our cute posed babies looking like angels and on the back moms write things like, "loving life", "fallen in love with this little angel" and "enjoying every minute". She sighed and said, "Instead, it should read, 'this is really freaking hard'."

Tempering the Temperament...

Temperament. Something I learned extensively about as a developmental psychologist. The importance of which was something I talked about in my own classes to my graduate students. Something I eagerly awaited to evaluate in my own child.

You see, temperament is almost always inherited from the mother or father; it's innate and somewhat inflexible. Some temperaments are able to be altered, but most are only influenced by trauma and abuse. A child's temperament is very important to understand because it not only predicts what kind of personality the child will have, it helps you to understand the types of issues the child may face, as well as what style of parenting you will need to have with this particular child. Temperament is why parents of multiple children say "that totally worked with my first child, but not at all with my second." In a word, temperament is your child's 'constitution'.

I know a lot about it, so before Wilson, I evaluated both Mike and my temperament as children. Based on our parents' descriptions, I was an 'easy' baby and Mike was 'slow to warm'. 

An easy temperament baby is the one that everyone hopes will show up in their child. They are calm, flexible, easy-going babies. They love to be cuddled, but can be very happy for hours playing by themselves. As babies, these infants sleep well, eat well (unless there is a concurrent digestive issue) and their parents are likely to say "This baby stuff is hard, but it's do-able." Wilson had about a 45% chance of being an easy baby since I was, but alas, he is not.

Another form of an easy temperament baby is the "active" baby. They have the easy disposition, but can't sit still. As an infant, they develop physically very quickly and are constantly on the move. It is not uncommon for them to get into lots of mischief, be bored easily and be walking well before they are one year old. They can't sit still and they exhaust the crap out of their parents, but at least the kids are very happy while they do it. Parents of an active baby usually say things like, "This kid never stops!!!" Since neither Mike nor I had this temperament, Wilson had about a 5% chance of being active. But, thank goodness, he does not have active temperament. I'm way too old for to survive a child that can't sit still.

A slow-to-warm baby is basically a shy child. As an infant, they are slow to react to things: eating, sleeping, etc. They like to be cuddly with their parents and can be anxious when they can't see them. They use parents as the home base and need encouragement to try new situations and meet new people. Parents of the slow-to-warm baby say things like, "He's a little clingy..." Since Wilson was clearly not easy, I was holding out for this one. After all, he had a 45% chance of getting this one as well. But, nope. He was not.

The last main type of temperament is difficult. It's called that because this is the type that parents fear. Literally, the last possible type you would ever want. Babies that have a difficult temperament have a horrible time regulating ANYTHING. They don't easily regulate their senses, their sleep cycles, their eating, their emotions - so basically their whole lives. They cry over everything, need tons of constant soothing, cling to you like a suction cup, sleep like crap and eat irregularly. They are often comorbid with colic, but not all the time. Many parents think their children are difficult, until they actually meet a difficult child. There is no break, no end to the neediness of these little ones. Parents of difficult children usually say things like, "Do you want a child? Please, take mine!" Wilson had a 5% chance of getting this temperament. But my kid likes to play the odds.

Before 2 months, I noticed a few things in Wilson's behavior that were a little disconcerting. He had a hard time with transitions. When you switched his position, handed him to another person or even put him down, he would fuss a little. Mike and I responded by taking the time to soothe him and never rushed him. Consequently, his ability to handle transitions became much improved. I also noticed that the kid didn't sleep. He slept about an hour at a time (MAX) until I would put him on his belly, when he would sleep about 3 hours at a time (maybe). He also had issues with eating. If you've read my other posts, you know he hasn't been able to breastfeed - partially due to his low threshold for frustration, but even with the bottle, he was finicky about how we held it and what kind of bottle we used. Also, some days he would eat 35 ounces and others only 15 ounces. But he didn't really cry too much - he fussed a little and we could easily calm him down. So, I was hoping beyond hope that he was a slow-to-warm child.

At 2 months, I noticed a huge shift in Wilson's behavior. So much so that I thought he was teething. I could see a little white below the gum (still there), so I thought perhaps this atrocious behavior was due to him teething. But, now I believe it is stable enough to call his temperament. He suddenly found his lungs and would cry intensely over any discomfort. He could no longer easily fall asleep at night and began waking up more at night (5 to 6 times). He refused to be put down AT ALL during the day. And when I say refused, I mean that he cried bloody murder until he was picked up and consoled. He didn't like riding in the car, he doesn't like being in the stroller, he just wants to be strapped onto your body and jiggled. Good thing I had lots of carriers; I perfected baby-wearing and doing dishes and laundry with this baby strapped to me. Babywearing also became necessary for anything outside - including eating out or getting groceries. Here's the tough thing about "difficult" babies - you know that they are changed, they are fed and that their major needs have been met. So, you feel intensely manipulated - like the kid must be doing this to you on purpose. But this isn't a toddler (who knows how to manipulate). A baby doesn't even understand that you are a separate individual, so they aren't capable of manipulation. They are crying because they don't understand, are scared, anxious and unable to regulate and adjust like other infants. So what else can you do except go to your infant and help them when they are crying for your help so intensely? I knew the research about difficult temperament which says if you don't do this, they can end up with trust issues and major behavioral problems. Great. So, I know I need to be responsive consistently for this little man, but it was becoming really difficult.

At 10 weeks after he was born, I was at the end of my rope. I couldn't balance work with taking care of him at all. I felt like a little parasite had attached itself to me and was slowly sucking the life out of me. I loved (and still do!) him so much, but I was sleep-deprived, losing weight at an alarming rate (probably from all the jiggling and no time to eat), barely showered, had no time for self-care and was grieving the fact that my baby was not easy or slow-to-warm. My baby was just like my pregnancy and labor: difficult.

I did some meditation and realized that I had to change how I was seeing Wilson's temperament. I started a major shift in my self-care and began doing important things like eating and showering again (important stuff!). I had to make sure that I shared enough tasks with Mike to stay sane so that we could both be as responsive as we needed to be. Mike and I talked about the research on difficult temperament. Sure, it is really exhausting, but at the same time, difficult is the ONLY temperament where parental behavior can make a huge difference in the child's personality as an adult. Outside of abuse or trauma, an easy child will grow up to be a laid-back adult. A slow-to-warm child will always be a little shy. An active child will always be a whirlwind of energy. But a difficult child is completely dependent on their parents for what their personality will be like as an adult. Research shows that difficult children whose parents are responsive consistently and teach their child how to regulate grow up to have an easy-going, balanced and calm disposition as adults. They are stable, empathic and show leadership abilities. On the other hand, when parents are not consistently responsive, these children have academic, social and behavioral problems as older children, adolescents and adults. They can be quite anti-social and get into trouble a lot. So, even though that is a ton of pressure, it made me remember something. 

I remembered a poem that Linda shared with me when I was trying to get pregnant and for mother's day once I was pregnant with Wilson. It is essentially about how when you are dreaming of your child and hoping for them, that they are dreaming and hoping for you. In fact, they really chose you, rather than the other way around. And that encourages me that there IS a reason why Wilson came to us. He knew that we would always love him no matter what - no matter how difficult he was born. He knew that despite my sleep deprivation and utter exhaustion, I would never stop hugging him. That we would take a deep breath and talk him through whatever difficulty he was having. That I would jiggle and sing him to sleep when he was crying so hard because he couldn't shut down and was overtired. That I would get him to giggle even when he was miserable. That I would rock him when he was feeling unhappy and let him sleep on my chest when he didn't want to be alone. That I would always do my best to understand what was wrong and help to fix it. That he would always come first in our lives and his emotional needs were just as important to us as his physical ones. That I wanted him for so long that the fact that he was "difficult" wouldn't make me want him any less. That Mike and I could survive and help Wilson to become the person he is meant to be. Over the last few weeks, I have come to fully embrace his temperament, joke about it, plan for it and be thankful that Wilson came to us rather than 16-year-olds without a stable life and marriage (I love watching 16 and pregnant..it always makes me feel better) who may not know how to help him.

And one day when he is an adult, we'll be able to look at him and say "we did that; we helped him." And I'll remind him, along with stories of my 50-hour-labor, that without us, he might have ended up in prison, so there better be no nursing homes in our future. 

Addendum: I now realize that Mike was misinformed about his temperament; he and Wilson are carbon copies and share difficult temperament. This information really should be disclosed prior to breeding. 

Back-ish to Work

So I am officially off of my 8 weeks of Family Medical Maternity Leave. I took two extra weeks for breastfeeding problems, not that we made much progress on that front, but I did up my milk supply, so all was not lost.

As I worked from home today and get ready to go back tomorrow (with baby in tow), I have so many mixed emotions. I miss teaching, my coworkers and my students quite a bit. Being a teacher was such a fundamental part of my identity that it never felt like work. I don't have to teach this semester, just do research, committee and administrative work, as well as work on my new business (Baby Signs). So, on the one hand, I am excited to get back into work, to be in front of a computer again, to be using the cerebral portion of my brain. But, my heart breaks not being with my son. The people who have been helping me take care of him while I try to work or pump or even sleep have been amazing. They are wonderful people who Wilson loves. But Wilson is a total mommy's boy. I had to stop working twice today just to hold him because he was so fussy for his babysitter and, apparently, he missed me. As soon as I took him, he calmed down, stopped crying and smiled. Little cheeky monkey.

Still, I got sooo much work done today it was ridiculous. To have six hours mostly uninterrupted (except for 2 calm-Wilson sessions and to breast pump) was beautiful. I didn't feel frustrated as I usually do trying to do anything - like read one email. It's like he has an internal alarm that goes off telling him to start crying whenever I need to work, pump or fall asleep. But today, with a helper, my work time was definitely more concentrated and productive. 

But, interestingly, there is part of me that really just wants to be a stay-at-home mom now. That is so not like me at all. I've always been incredibly active at work - some would say a work-a-holic even. And yet, playing with Wilson, feeding him, breast-pumping and cuddling him to sleep are about all I really want to do right now. Damn these hormones. 

I think there is also a part of me that doesn't want to begin what will inevitably happen. Wilson will grow up. He won't ever need me again like he does right now. He has literally been a part of me and we are so innately connected, that I am experiencing a spiritual and meaningful connection I never thought possible.

If you had asked me 5 years ago if I could see myself not wanting to work, to stay at home, cook, clean and care for a child, I would have called you crazy. Insane, even. But, tonight, after I got done working and sat down to rock Wilson and give him a bottle, I realized how happy this little guy has made me. My whole being has never been in the moment as it is when I am with him. When else would you find yourself singing, dancing, laughing and smiling all through the day? I love consoling and hugging him, kissing his little head and dressing him in insanely-cute outfits and enjoying every second of every day. Even though I have lost a lot - pieces of my identity pre-baby that I probably won't ever get back, I've never experienced these feelings before...this feeling of happiness, of pure love and joy from just living and loving. So, I understand why many moms do not want to go back to work or feel horrible when they do. Either way, there is no choice in the matter if we would like to not go bankrupt, so I am going to do my best to enjoy working and being with him as much as I possibly can. My office will now have a little baby decor (a little bassinet and swing) to go along with my totem poles, drums and feathers. I am very thankful that I can bring him in to work with me and have lots of faculty that have pledged to help me out with him. Plus, I think Wilson can be a great new addition to the junior faculty at SCSU. Too bad he can't earn a paycheck yet...

Who am I?

In my developmental course for graduate students, I often talk about the identity change that happens to a parent when they have their first child. Based on the research, for the best identity evolution, the parent must incorporate who they were -- with who they now are as a parent. Over-identifying as a parent is bad for the parent, and under-identifying as a parent is bad for the child. So, the goal is to find who you are as an individual and a parent and balance them together.

When I taught this in class, it was totally convincing -- and based on research. Now, I say --hahahahahahahahaha. I'm not entirely sure when I'm supposed to express who I am as an individual. Perhaps in those 30 seconds each day between feedings and diaper changes. I barely have time to shower and go to the bathroom, much less consider an existential identity evolution. Even as I am typing this, Mike is 3 feet from me jiggling the baby to sleep while I pump breast milk. I can type as this tortuous machine violates my personal space, but not get in touch with who I was a person pre-baby. 

I did consider the change recently, however, as I attended my friend Valerie's baby shower. A little over two years ago, my best friend Jess and I went to our friend Alina's baby shower; she was the first of us to have a baby. Jess and I walked into Babies'R'Us begrudgingly and looked around. We sort of shrugged at each other as we saw bottles, diapers and various accoutrement that we had no idea its purpose. We bought a totally impractical outfit for her baby girl, then begged the registry woman to pick out $75 of baby crap, since we had no idea what we were doing. We only had one rule - no diaper stuff; nothing like considering poop with your present. Flash forward two years. Jess and I are in Babies (we are on a first name basis now) for our friend Valerie's baby shower. Not only do we know what everything is, we know exactly where it is located, since this store is now like our second home. As we perused the registry, we considered what we would each get. As I squinted at the list through my sleep-deprived via newborn eyelids and Jess read through her toddler-exhausted ones, we nodded, then ran to the bottle section of the store, followed by the diaper section of the store. Gifts that keep on giving: diaper pail, diapers, wipes, butt paste, bottles, bottle rack, bibs and pacifiers. Oh how, our lives have changed. We used to want something cute and fashionable - something that said, "Misty and Jess bought this for you..." Now, we bought something that we used and appreciated post-baby - poop and food accessories. 

So, let me consider this now: who am I? Pre-baby, I was a shaman, a teacher, a friend, a wife, a mother of furries. I was funny, loved playing the piano, playing computer games, watching good television and going to see the latest movie. I loved fashion, shoes, makeup. I loved reading trashy vampire romance novels and the latest peer-reviewed journal articles. I practiced meditation and yoga. My identity was secure and stable for several years. I feel as though I am still these things, but there has been no time for these activities with taking care of a high-maintenance newborn. I am now a breast-pumping, newborn jiggling, diaper-wielding, bottle-preparing MOM. If I'm not doing any of those things, I'm sleeping, eating or bathing myself. I'm fairly confident that this will get better and I will be able to express my pre-baby parts of my personality, but right now, it's all about being a mom.

And, ironically, I wouldn't change a thing. Who knew I could be so competent at holding a baby while doing three other things. I'm an expert burper and baby-bather. One of my favorite moments in the day is when I take a bath with Wilson and hold him and sing to him as he smiles. Or when he falls asleep on my chest and we take a brief nap together in the late morning. I love when he rubs my arm and grabs my shirt as he drinks his bottle. I love watching his smiles as we play peek-a-boo when I slip his onesie over his head and how his legs and arms go wild when I am changing his diaper. I think he's hilarious when he makes funny faces at me or does silly things - like turning his head side to side repeatedly in what can only be described as a Stevie-Wonder head dance. I'm totally in love with this little man and don't care that who I was before has been put on hold for now.

However, I am apparently still funny to Wilson who laughed hysterically today when I rubbed lotion on him while saying in my creepiest Silence-of-the-lambs voice "it puts the lotion on the baby or else it gets the hose again..."Ah well, enough existential pondering: off to prepare another bottle...

Adventures in Breastfeeding, part deux

My life has continued to be a blur of diaper changes, feedings, sleeping and jiggling - Wilson is fond of the rock, rock, pat, pat, jiggle, jiggle, sshhhh, sshhhh method of calming. My mom came up to help while I had two extra weeks off from work to get breastfeeding "under control". Well, it's been a week and a half and some things are better, but I wouldn't qualify them as under control yet.

My little bundle of joy is a voracious eater. He eats more than any other baby I've ever heard of and his growth spurts are weeks long, not just a day or two, like they are supposed to be. An average "cluster feeding" day consists of little Wilson drinking a bottle, then me carefully getting him to sleep. I run to the bathroom, get a drink and something quick to eat and start to pump, followed by the inevitable interruption of Wilson waking up to eat more (he sleeps no more than a half an hour to 40 minutes on growth spurt days). Rinse and repeat for 24 hours. With my mother here, I've been able to pump uninterrupted and have built up my supply to about 35 ounces a day. This makes me feel happy, but also like a cow. A happy cow, if you will. With all this eating, Wilson has ended up in the 90th percentile for weight and 98th percentile for height.

Now, last I wrote, breastfeeding was more like a nightmare than a "natural," lovely experience. A few weeks later, things are improving, but it's good that I have the patience of Job. To recap, from birth Wilson went from latching for a minute -- to staring at my breasts with no idea what to do -- to crying hysterically when he saw boobs -- to tolerating boobs but having no interest in them -- to being interested but just mouthing it --to his most recent accomplishment: "the bad latch." He now looks like he really wants to latch and in fact, does...very poorly. So it feels, essentially, like a giant clamp is cutting your nipple off. I stopped him and tried to re-latch, but to no avail. His giant nipple-chomper mouth just doesn't want to open wide enough.

It's at this point that I completely understand people who give up on breastfeeding. Honestly, is it worth all the hassle?!? I've actually settled into the whole pumping thing and I think I can keep this up for quite awhile, so if actual breastfeeding doesn't happen, I believe I can do exclusive pumping. I really don't even care if we do formula, but as every recent mother knows, if you don't at least try breastfeeding, you are a horrible, negligent mother who doesn't care about your baby's health. At least that is what everyone makes you think, especially those that I like to call the "boob nazis" who look at you with contempt if you complain about a sore nipple or speak of supplementing with formula. 

But, as I think about the vast adventures I am having with breastfeeding, I realize that they aren't very different from my adventures getting pregnant, being pregnant and giving birth. They require understanding, patience, hope and trust. I understand that breastfeeding isn't totally natural, at least for modern American women. I also understand that my baby and my boobs don't seemingly match each other. I have the patience to learn this new skill and I have the patience to wait for Wilson to chomp his way through his learning as well. I have hope that my vision of nursing my son, while he quietly looks up at me and that feeling of love (and oxytocin) courses through me. And I trust that someday this will happen. I'm not giving up until it does! It may take until Wilson is 7, but I'm pretty sure he'll be able to follow instructions by then.

My honest, unfiltered feelings about the beauty of breastfeeding...

So, the only thing on my mind right now is breastfeeding. It could be because I pump 6 times a day, around the clock. It could be because Wilson has never successfully latched, or it could be because every day seems to bring with it more challenges than successes with breastfeeding. So even though I refuse to give up, I must purge my thoughts on this topic now. Forewarning: this post has a little TMI in it. If you are uncomfortable with talk of boobies, skip this post. You have been warned.

I should have known that there may be some issues with breastfeeding, but being the ultimate optimist I am, I thought that we would easily overcome these issues and I pictured myself happily breastfeeding my little cooperative infant. During pregnancy, my boobs seemed to take on a life of their own, or at least their own zipcode. I went from a double D pre-pregnancy to an L. Yes, that is a bra size. So that is a 9 size increase. Nine cup sizes. Ridiculous. But I hoped that this meant that I would have lots of milk and the baby would be thrilled. The midwives also informed me that since my breasts were getting so large, I had something called "flat nipples", which I didn't have pre-pregnancy. They told me it was no big deal; "babies will latch on your shoulder," they said. LIES.

Right after we delivered, Wilson latched right away. He didn't stay there long, but I was very happy; it seemed like we were going to have minimal problems. The next day in the hospital, Wilson really wasn't hungry. He didn't root at all (the little sucking faces babies make in order to communicate they would like to eat) and was passing lots of diapers, so we didn't really worry about it. Then the nurses and our pediatrician freaked us out when they said "he should be latching already," "you have to do this before you go home", "your milk supply will be compromised", etc. So being worried about that, against my better judgment, I let the nurses "help" me try to get Wilson to latch. The help consisted of a random nurse grabbing my boob, putting Wilson into some torturous position and thrusting it in his face. He would cry almost immediately. After a few of those experiences, I let the nurses know I wouldn't need any more help, but I couldn't do it on my own either. When I looked at my poor little infant son with this ginormous boob coming at him, I didn't really blame him for crying. I could barely hold him and me at the same time. It must have been humorous, although very sad, to watch. 

I decided to try to pump some colostrum and was actually successful at getting quite a bit to feed him in a dropper, so that made me feel better momentarily. The pediatrician also informed us that he had a small tongue tie, which might make it more difficult for him to latch. "Great," I thought. "My infant has a low threshold for frustration, a small mouth and a tongue tie. I have large breasts with flat nipples. How the heck is this supposed to be natural for us?" Feeling a bit defective, when Wilson was finally hungry on the morning of our discharge, I didn't hesitate to give him formula. He took it easily and seemed very content. 

Mike and I went home and got Earth's Best organic formula and I got to pumping...absolutely nothing. I would pump for 20 minutes and would get 3 drops. It was heartbreaking. I put warm compresses on before pumping, I took a shower, I held the baby and I looked at the baby while pumping. Nothing helped. I reassured myself that my milk wasn't in yet and it would be ok. Even though I had the hands free system, I didn't have the bustier that works with it, so I had to use my hands to hold the pump on - massaging the milk ducts as I went. As a side note, I've never touched my boobs this much, nor thought so little of it. On day 5, my milk still hadn't come in, but the drops I did get looked like they were transitional milk, so I felt hopeful. We went to Dr. Smillie, who is this world-renown breastfeeding expert. She made me feel so much better; I cried, but in happiness. She explained that breastfeeding is natural, but in our culture, we are so bad at it, that we end up doing it wrong because we hear lots of bad advice on how to do it - hence my hospital experience. She showed us a video where the mother just leans back and physically and emotionally supports the infant. The baby wriggles and moved down the mother and then latched right on themselves. I cried thinking about that possibility. So, I leaned back, Wilson laid on me and did an amazing job of moving down to my breast. Then he looked at my boob... and burst out crying. Dr. Smillie set him back up on my chest and he went down again (we have that part down), stared at my boob and cried hysterically again. Dr. Smillie made me feel much better; she explained to me that boobs come in all different sizes and shapes; mine were completely within the range of normal, as were those pesky flat nipples. However, Wilson now had what was called "breast distress'. The nurses at the hospital had literally made my baby phobic of my boobs. So our homework was for me to keep my milk supply up, keep feeding him from the bottle and reconnect to Wilson without the threat of danger-boobs. I just had to hold him on my chest, skin-to-skin when he was full and connect with him. 

That night, I tried to hand express, like she had shown me in the office. I watched a video. I read instructions. I tried. I tried again. And again. I could not do it. I could graduate with a doctorate from Yale, but I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to milk myself. Our doula was there that night and offered to help try to hand-express the milk. Out of pure desperation, I accepted. Mike had this strange expression on his face as he watched this scene; he told me later, that he wasn't sure whether to be excited or horrified. Either way, it didn't work. So I switched back to the pump. Only problem was that the flanges were too small, so it pinched me as it pumped. I sat there, trying to pump through the pain and then hand express, all to no avail. Finally, I just burst out crying. Mike looked at me frantically, but luckily Jess, my best friend, was there to provide some much-needed words of encouragement. She told me that every woman she knows who has breastfed has had problems at one point AND cried over it. She told me that she didn't feel comfortable with breastfeeding until 6 weeks and I had lots of time. Plus my milk would come in soon and I shouldn't worry. I sopped up my tears and went to sleep. Only to wake up in the morning with my wish coming true: my milk had come in. And the phrase be careful what you wish for resonated in my head as the pain set in, coupled with a feeling of hardness I did not anticipate. The pump wasn't working since it was too small, I couldn't figure out how to hand-express and it felt like my boobs were going to explode. Hence, I cried again. Mike called around to get the right size flanges for me and raced off to pick them up. I ordered a hands-free bustier and prayed that Wilson stayed asleep so I didn't have to move. When Mike got back, I took a shower and pumped. And lo and behold, Milk! Lots of it. One issue seemed to be resolved. I rejoiced and was even happier when my hands free system was actually hands free with the arrival of the bustier. I continued the skin to skin with Wilson and felt happy that we had progressed. 

I pumped a lot, but couldn't keep up with Wilson's eating schedule. I asked a few friends because I felt like I was making a lot of milk, but couldn't figure out why I wasn't keeping up. I was pumping about 25 ounces a day and he was still taking 10 ounces of formula on top of that. I found out that that was not quite normal and the fact that I pumped that much a day was really great. In the interim, Mike had done research on formula and found out that most of the formula in the U.S. is not that great. Big surprise. In fact, the "organic" formula we were using has arsenic and other bad chemicals in it as a byproduct of the way it creates DHA from mold. I was more than a bit horrified; luckily my husband is a crazy researcher like me and found a formula used in Europe (Halle) that is truly organic and meets all European standards, meaning it won't poison your baby. You'd think we may want that in the states, but whatever. So he had it imported from France and we found that not only did Wilson love it, it gave him less gas as well. Also, I learned apparently I had an over-achiever boob and a lazy boob. I would get 4 ounces out of one side and only 1 ounce out of the other. Apparently this is common, but annoying.

Our next visit with Dr. Smillie was a bit different. Wilson was in a cluster feeding day, so he was easily frustrated and we couldn't even attempt to latch without him getting frustrated right away. They told me that the uneven breast milk issue wasn't a problem unless I cared about having different sizes when my milk came in. I let them know that attractiveness was really not a priority at this point. When I'm pumping or when I'm covered in spit-up, I'm really not thinking about how good I look in my bra. They tracked his weight and found that he had jumped substantially; from 8 pounds at birth to 11 pounds 10 ounces at week 4. They thought that maybe my milk was not creating enough cream. I told them I was pretty sure it was because I could see it separate in the bottle, but it made sense with how fast he was growing. With too much skim, it just makes the baby perpetually hungry and they never get the fulfilling fat content of the cream. They taught me how to do the "breast milk shake", which involves more massaging of your boobs and sent me home with instructions to get a new bottle because Wilson's latch was also way too small - even on the bottle. I had bought Tommee Tippee Closer to Nature bottles because they were supposed to be good for breastfeeding mothers. Apparently, they are also big liars. They recommended Playtex nursers with slow flow nipples because those are actually the closest thing to how a real nipple looks when it is compressed in a baby's mouth, whereas Tommee Tippee bottles just look like a boob. She also clued me in that you can lubricate the flanges using lanolin or olive oil, which I hadn't been doing before - explaining some of the pain I felt with the friction of pumping. So, after all that new information, I drove home...and cried again. I just wanted one thing to be easy with this. For the whole "natural" part to show it's beautiful head. Instead, I got skim milk and bad bottles on top of our already large laundry list of breastfeeding issues. 

On the advice of Jess, I refrigerated my milk to see how much skim was really in my milk, since it separates when refrigerated. Surprisingly, my milk is vastly cream, so that was NOT the problem in the least. I felt better about that, but then realized that this meant that my baby was just a giant milk piggy. I'm not sure if that is better or not... The doctors also wanted me to pump less - only 10  minutes. But I didn't let down significantly until after 15 minutes - needing to pump to 30 minutes or more sometimes to empty. I asked them what the issue was if I did pump for a really long time and they said the only problem is sore nipples. Apparently, that is the one thing I have going for me: my nipples are real troopers. But, pumping is a huge time suck, no pun intended. Thirty minutes 6 or 7 times a day means HOURS of pumping around the clock. Minus that time from the amount of sleep I get because I have to wait for Wilson to fall asleep to pump unless Mike is home. 

However, I finally figured out a good pumping schedule (every 4 hours) and am almost making enough milk for Wilson's 35 ounces a day. I also tried the whole hand expression thing after pumping once and I figured it out! I was so excited, I had to show Mike. I realized how much my life has changed when I thought that a little over a month ago, I was showing him my publications with equal excitement. We finally bought the new bottles today. I prepared them all, sanitized them, got them ready and then poured some breast milk in them after pumping. I happily gave it to Wilson and watched him make the biggest stank face I've ever seen as he tried to figure out how to suck from this differently. He finally opened his mouth a little wider, then drank 2 ounces. I burped him and then he went back, only to let out those very familiar 'this is torture' cries I remembered when we first tried breast feeding. I let him drink the last few ounces from his old bottle, which we had handy. The next feeding was a repeat and I felt dejected once again. It felt like 1 step forward, 2 steps back.

The bottom line with breastfeeding is that it sucks, even when your infant doesn't. Pumping is abnormal and sometimes painful. When my milk comes in, it feels like a bee has made a nest in my breast and is flying through it. If I get a good pump in, I get 7 ounces out. But then, sometimes I get 2 ounces after pumping the same amount of time. Pumping takes forever when you count the time spent getting ready, putting on the torture device and then cleaning up after pumping. After that much effort, it feels like this liquid is more precious than gold. If I spill any of the breast milk or when he spits it up, it feels like someone is ripping out my soul.

And yet, I'm still doing it. I still hope that he will latch. I pray for that day. I know I'm giving him the best start he can have by giving him breast milk. I look at how much he's growing and know that his fast physical and cognitive development are really great things. I look at how lucky I am to have him, to be married to Mike (who could win a world's best husband award at this point) and I am content. I know other mothers have far worse problems than I am having and so I keep reminding myself to stay strong and to keep moving forward one step at a time.

As I was writing this, Wilson woke up and I fed him with the new bottle. Almost cried because I hadn't secured the nipple on it right, so when I tipped it up I dumped an ounce on him and me (soul-ripping), BUT then he drank from the bottle once it was fixed. All of his 3 ounces, got milk drunk better than usual and fell right back to sleep to be put to bed. One step forward. Now to go change my clothes...

New Mothers

So I stopped by my University (Southern Connecticut State University) to drop things off, see people and check my mailbox on Friday. I stopped into a Group Counseling class taught by my friend and colleague, Cheri Smith; and I got to see a bunch of my students, who I miss so much!! In the course of my visit, Cheri asked me (as an impromptu guest speaker), if I was going to make a counseling group for new mothers, what would the themes of discussion be? I answered in the brief 4 minutes that Wilson allowed for me and then had to run to feed the little monkey, but I kept thinking about the question later on that day. What are the psychological and emotional needs of a new mother? Hence, my new post. This is based not only on my experiences, but my developmental psychology training and the experiences of all the new mothers I now know.

• Identity Change. Your identity as a "person" unique and individual to you changes into something else: a parent. It is a little surreal, however. It's not like this just happens overnight or at the delivery of your baby. It really didn't hit me until Wilson was about 3 weeks old that I was a "mom". Your vision of who you are before has to merge with who you are now, as a mother. That may be easier for some than others, depending on what your identity was before. It is not easy to be sexy, quirky, and cute while covered in poop and spit up. For me, I have found that my laid-back attitude, love for academia and humor have persisted into motherhood; right now, however, they are expressed very differently than they were pre-motherhood. Being laid-back means I don't ever freak out at every issue - crying, poop-plosion diapers, his little bump on his head from the birth, etc. My love for academia has evolved into research on baby stuff, writing this blog, staying connected to the faculty and students and watching thought-provoking crime tv shows (which is truly just sad). And my humor has stayed the same; although a 1-month old doesn't appreciate it like my husband or my classes do. Despite your previous identity, however, you find yourself singing everyday tasks (My latest song was: I'm about to change your diaper...Look you pooped! Gross, kid, Gross, kid, Mommy wants to sleep!), making funny faces and cooing at your baby and falling in love with this little beast despite the amount of aversive consequences at first: no sleep, crying in your face and digging you with those tiny wolverine-like fingernails.
• Learning Curve. The amount of new data that needs to be downloaded into your new mommy brain is immense. Lanugo, placenta, lochia, co-sleeper, baby-wearing...the new terms are substantive enough for a new college course. Then the skills you must be able to perform are really quite intense, in terms of the learning curve. Mike and I have, at first, looked like monkeys while we tried to: install the car seat, open the baby stroller, put him in the infant car seat without him screaming bloody murder, pump milk with the "freestyle" pump (big lie) and attach the Madonna-looking hands free bustier (way less sexy than it sounds) for breast milk pumping. I have additionally learned to pick him up with one hand, feed him and burp him while pumping, change a diaper at lightening speeds, calm him when he's freaking out (it involves a combination of jiggling, talking and singing - my son is as weird as me) and how to stay sane with no sleep (that is not a sure thing yet). In fact, while I was trying to write this blog, I had to balance my breastpump while changing and feeding him and letting the 3 dogs outside.
• Conflicting Emotions. There are so many emotions that are linked the crazy hormones you are experiencing postpartum; and in addition, you also are reacting to the-whole-change-of-life thing, which is also emotion-laden. On one hand you are so happy to be a mother, loving and appreciating this new little person in your life. On the other hand, you are sleep deprived, mourning your old life and identity, frustrated, annoyed, exhausted, sad and feel guilty/unappreciative. During the first month, I kept seeing monarch butterflies everywhere, which are a great totem symbolizing change. The great thing about butterflies is that you have to allow the change to happen itself and can't rush it no matter how difficult it is, knowing that at the end of this transition, something truly beautiful will result. I try to remind myself of this at 3 a.m. when Wilson won't go back to sleep for 3 hours.
• Dealing with Perfectionism. Women are really their own worst critics; they not only have lower self-esteem than men, they tend to minimize their positive qualities and strengths. Although I typically have high standards for myself, I tend not to be perfectionistic in nature. But even I felt the pressure of being a "mom". You need to be all, do all and know all or you feel judged. While it's cute for a dad to struggle with understanding his newborn, if a mom feels that way, she feels like something is wrong with her, or worse yet, others treat her that way. Nothing you do will be perfect - you will probably do a lot wrong with your little one, but you need to remember what you are modeling for your child. You try your best and when you don't do something well, you try again, apologize if needed, fix it and move on. You wouldn't want your child to beat themselves up and agonize over their mistakes, so why would you?
• Whim of a Tiny Little Beast. I think one of the hardest things to deal with is that your life is now at the whim of your newborn. When you can eat, pee, shower and spend time with your partner now depends on this new person with their own agenda. It is easy to get frustrated sometimes and it is easy to forget to empathize with your infant, who is struggling to adjust to being alive in the outside world. But either way, it is a difficult adjustment to realize that you are not your own person anymore. Your life is completely at the whim of this tiny little person; and no matter how cute they are, that is a big adjustment.
• Relationship Evolution. Your relationship will absolutely change with your partner, for the better or worse. Everything from who does more with the baby, who sleeps more, who has given up more and how you are both adjusting will be topics of frequent conversation. It's difficult to adjust as an individual to these changes; it is even harder to adjust as a couple. Mike and I have found that we are a great team in taking care of Wilson, but it took us a month after Wilson was born for us to snuggle together on the couch. Your priorities are: baby, sleeping, eating, showering, work, and then your relationship. So, it's easy to take each other for granted, become resentful and forget how much you mean to each other. This is why it's important that you remember who you are as individuals and as a couple.
• Body Changes. You cannot fully prepare for how your body will change and how you will now completely change how you look at your body. No matter what you think, modesty will absolutely leave you in the hospital during labor. Your partner will see things you never wished them to see and you probably won't care, for the most part. But nothing prepares you for the physical changes in pregnancy and after birth. Between the breastfeeding and pumping, the changes in your weight, the possibility of lovely side effects of pregnancy and birth: things like heartburn, gas, hemorrhoids, burping, etc., your love life is likely to take a hit. But at the same time, you are amazed at the ability of your body to create life, which is unlike anything else in the world.
• Breastfeeding. No matter what anyone says about how natural breastfeeding is, I call bullshit. In a culture where we grew up watching breastfeeding and where we experience births with less medical interventions, I am sure that breastfeeding is natural. In our culture, no, no no. Between trying to get the latch correct, everyone telling you incorrect information about breastfeeding, hoping that your nipples don't get sore, bloody and/or cracked (ew) and attaching a mechanical pump to your nipples to pump out milk, the whole thing just feels...wrong. And if you don't want to struggle with this crap anymore, you feel like a totally horrible mother who wants to give her infant poison (otherwise known as formula). I'm totally committed to giving breastmilk to Wilson, so since he has NEVER latched, I have to pump 5 to 7 times a day in addition to supplementing with formula. Even though I keep praying he will latch someday, I wonder if that will even be better; I hear my friends who talk about sore, cracked nipples because their babies struggle with a correct latch. Others struggle with making enough milk and others have too much. However, I'm holding out for the beauty that I still see in breastfeeding; hoping beyond hope that one day we can achieve that. But if not, the pump will continue to be my friend. 
• Being Confident in Your Decisions. Everyone gives you advice about parenting, so one thing you have to learn quite quickly is to trust your own instincts. You will hear lots of contrary advice and some things, particularly from older generations, sound like downright crazy-talk. I have learned to be appreciative and listen to everyone who gives advice, solicited or unsolicited, but I only accept and use that advice that matches my own instincts and sense.
• Your Appreciation for Your Own Parents. Regardless of your relationship with your parents, you realize that at minimum, they kept you alive, which you now realize is a huge accomplishment. They gave birth to you, changed your ridiculous number of diapers, bathed you, fed you and loved you. Watching my mother with my son was an amazing experience for me. It made me realize what a wonderful mother she was to me and how affectionate, loving and nurturing she was (and is). And now she gets to tell me, "I told you so."

There are probably more themes that would emerge, but these are the ones I have noticed in my brief 1-month stint as a parent. But as difficult as this transition is, I find myself looking at my son with wonder, amazement and love. Today he smiled at me and my heart burst with love for this little person, making any amount of pain, transition and difficulty worth every single second.