Feeding Time at the ...

I support breastfeeding. I support it for a million and one reasons. I support it so hard, people who use formula tend to avoid me. I understand the use of formula - it is, on occasion, necessary. I hate the companies and the industry. I'm hating the sin and not the sinners, got me? Look into the Nestle boycott and you'll catch my drift pretty soon. I firmly believe that there are better options.

So, the boy and I had a shaky start. Neither of my kids had a fabulous latch, at first. I think my nipples are too big. They just can't seem to get their tiny, newborn mouths around them. With Al, I bled so profusely the first week that her diapers were pink. I needed nipple shields to draw out my nipples. It was pretty awful. Atticus was worse.

He didn't nurse in the hospital. He'd try, but his latch was terrible. I'd pop him off and try it again, but he always had the dimple in his cheek and he made the clicking noise when he suckled. It's hard when you know what is supposed to be going on, but you just can't make it happen.




All the advice in the world will only get you so far. I have huge aereolas (TMI is something you should be used to at this point). There is no way he could get nearly all that boob flesh into his mouth. But we practiced. We also consulted with the midwife, the pediatrician, the visiting nurse, and a lactation consultant. We went to the drop-in lactation clinic too. Got nothing new, no better advice, just, "keep doing what you're doing." Apparently, despite what my children do, I do know what's supposed to happen and how to work towards it.

I tried something I'd never heard of before: I cut my nails really short and let him suck my thumb before giving him my breast. With my nail against his tongue, I could feel with the pad his soft and hard palates. I had to physically push my thumb into his mouth so that my thumb would be where my nipple was supposed to be for: A) optimal nursing, and B) my nipples to stop hurting. It took a few days of practicing like this for his latch to improve, but improve it did. It's still not as great as a lactation consultant would like, but no one thinks that he's starving to death. And I'm not sore anymore!

So, first week: crappy latch, lots of pain, lots of crying.
Second week: We fixed nearly all of that, but I came down with mastitis.

I had mastitis with Al. It was terrible. It was so poorly treated that I wound up with an abscess that required surgical draining (160cc of pus), and it needed to be packed every day for over a month until it had filled in. And I needed to keep nursing on that side through all of it if I wanted to retain function of that breast. After it was completely healed I weaned Al off that breast. She had never really liked nursing on that side anyway.

Same song, second verse. One week post-partum I got mastitis in the same breast. We had just fixed the latch problem and now this. I knew better what I was dealing with, so I wasted no time in getting a prescription for antibiotics and making sure I was getting care.

Here in VT, Visiting Nurses come to check in on moms and babies. With Al, I found it embarrassing. I felt the need to clean, take a shower, brush my teeth, and put on clean clothes when the VN was coming. That shit is exhausting three days post-partum! This time? I answered the door to my cluttered home with my breast hanging out of my stained nursing nightgown. And I didn't have mastitis yet!

She, Susan, came for a follow-up a week later because she knew I had concerns about the latch. She brought the baby scale and more pamphlets about milk making supplements and lactation clinics and Le Leche meetings. She took one look at my flushed cheeks and asked if I'd started antibiotics yet. She went to the pharmacy and picked them up for me! God Bless the Visiting Nurses!

Antibiotics... I give Al organic milk because it doesn't have hormones or antibiotics in it, and here I was feeding my brand new son nothing but milk with antibiotics in it. My rationalization: the cows are given chronic low-doses of antibiotics to try to keep them from getting mastitis. Mine was a short-term dosage to cure one bout of it. The cows are contributing to the resistant strains of infection so not supporting antibiotic laced cows is a statement to the industry. I needed to get better and the drug I was given has a low incidence of breastmilk transmission. Yay for fever fueled rationalization!

After the mastitis cleared up, we weaned off that side. Remember, no matter how painful it is, you MUST continue nursing on the infected side - always first, always longest - if you want the infection to clear up. Massage the breast to help with letdown. Warm compresses to help with the pain and congestion. And nurse, nurse, nurse. Pumping will also help, but it's not as effective at draining all the ducts as nursing. Also, some nursing positions are better at draining certain ducts. Cross-cradle, the most popular hold, only drains between 30-50% of the ducts. Football hold drains up to 70% of the ducts. Good stuff to know when trying to drain them all.

Things went really well for a while. He's a restless nurser, which is really frustrating, but I've grown accustomed to it. Most of the time. It's annoying when he's crying or distracted, but that's what he does.

I can't pump. I've come to terms with that. Okay, that's a lie. Both of them. I can pump, I just get very little return. And I'm still working on being okay with that. I need to actually miss a feeding in order to get between one and two ounces of breastmilk. I also need to be looking at pictures of him while sitting in a quiet room. Please don't talk to me or look at me until I'm really going. And no heavy conversation that takes my mind off the baby or I'll dry right up. There was a really neat article in Midwifery Today about the Shy Hormone, that described this perfectly, but it's not freely accessible anymore (but you can buy or sample the book it's from here).

After the fall semester I had to give up nursing him in class. He's just too big and too noisy. He did really well for the first three months. Sleep, nurse, pee, sleep, nurse, poop, cry, coo, nurse, sleep... Having him in class was embarrassing (I was taking an undergrad class with kids I didn't know - I really stuck out with all the baby gear and the whimpering, sucking, pooping baby) but it worked. I am very grateful to my professor for being so supportive. He was obligated to accommodate me; he held Atticus and cooed at him while I packed my bag or dug for a paper. He cut me a little (just a little) slack on my in-class writings because the sudden silence would awaken Atticus and I'd have to quiet him before I could write. The professor I had been warned against as being tough and hard, was kind and supportive and cuddled my baby.

This spring, I needed to leave him home. As I can't pump, I needed to leave him home with a bottle of something other than breastmilk. He didn't like the cow's milk formula or the soy based stuff. Goat's milk saved the day. One four-ounce bottle twice a week shouldn't have freaked me out as badly as it did.

For weeks, my mother fed him a bottle while I was in class. Then one day I got home early. The bottle was made, I had pumped (nearly 2 oz!), so Mom handed me the bottle. I cried. I freaked out. It was antithetical to every fiber of my being. It's gotten a little easier each time...

He's getting a bottle a night now. An hour or two before bed Bryn makes up a 4-5 oz bottle and Atticus gulps it down like he's starving. But he usually leaves about a half ounce. Then he's content and sleeps for about four hours.

At this age (6 months) Alex has 6 teeth and was happily downing solids, but still a contented nurser. She was also consistently in the 50th percentile range for height and 25th for weight.

Atticus has no teeth, nurses fitfully, and is 75th percentile height, 10th for weight. And that's not consistent. He was 50th and 25th last time... I feel like I'm starving him. I know all about growth-spurts, my breasts, cluster-feeding, yada-yada-yada... My brain knows. My guts are in knots. So he gets a daily bottle to top him off. Is it hurting my supply? Probably. Will I give it up? Only if he wants to. So, no.

He's also started solids, which gives him solid poops (topic for another post). He loves sweet potatoes! So did Alex (and I, apparently). I turned Alex orange, she loved them so! And Mom did it to me too... I'll try not to do that to Atticus. He loves pears too. But not strawberries or bananas. Prune juice is okay, but not prunes. Not too keen on blueberry yogurt; but he loves Mum-mum's!

I wish nursing were easier for more women, including me. I love doing it when my breasts are full and he's content to nurse until he's full. I worry that he's working towards weaning. It will break my heart when it happens.

PPD Update

Back in November, I was diagnosed with PPD, but marginally. It's more like depression with a dose of newborn.

Babies are drains. Money, sleep, sanity, and any preconceived sense of self start circling that drain the instant the mother "recovers" from the post-adrenaline crash after the first kid is pushed into the world. It's not so bad with subsequent kids. Usually.

I became a better, stronger person with each kid. And, I think, a better mom. "Place the oxygen mask over your own mouth and nose before assisting others who may be travelling with you, including small children."

I told my physician about my success with a certain drug (and failure with others). Told him about the studies done on the drug's transmission through breastmilk. Told him I was okay with any risks it might pose, based on what I knew, but if he knew anything additional, we should discuss it. He went to consult with a colleague  who cited the studies I cited. Nothing new. I started on the lowest dose the next morning.

Atticus' behavior has had no discernible change. I felt markedly better within two weeks. The last three weeks, I've had the flu and a stomach bug and I went away for three days. Medication was not a priority. Three days in Montreal would have been better medicated, I think. I'll start again in the morning.

It's nice to feel like me again.

August 27, 2012 1:07am

Less than 20 hours after my water broke my baby boy came into the world.

I woke up at 5:30 thinking I had wet the bed. It wasn't wet, but I went to the bathroom just in case. I uncleanched my Kegel and there was a gush of fluid. I made no mess! I woke up Bryn and despite not having contractions to speak of and Martha's advice to rest, we were both awake and making sure we had everything we needed all packed up.

Boo woke up easily and we got her dressed and ready. My contractions got harder and regular at about 5 minutes apart. We called the midwife again and headed to the hospital.

En route I called and texted everyone who needed to know. My mom would meet us there. Bryn's mom was concerned for me but wanted to know how Bryn was holding up. Bryn's sister was MIA. This was not good. She was on Boo Duty. Turned out she was in class and would meet us at the hospital ASAP after class was done.

As it was a Sunday morning, there was no one at registration or information. I'm glad we had toured the hospital recently; we found the Birth Center without a problem.

I wasn't much more dilated than I had been on Friday, but I was 75% effaced. I walked. I sat. I watched TV with Boo. I played Uno. Bryn took me for a walk in the hospital proper. We looked at the art on the walls. We looked at the pretty garden. I didn't want to go out; it was too hot. We walked down the ramp towards the cafeteria and took the stairs back up. And we did it again. I tried to squat, but it just didn't feel right and I couldn't get back up. I wasn't getting anywhere. We talked about Pitocin.

I let the Pitocin conversation marinate for four hours.

I was at 2 cm at 11 am
I was at 2 cm at 3 pm
I agreed to the Pitocin at 7 pm

I resisted the Pitocin because it felt like failure. It felt like I was conceding. I was agreeing that I could not birth a child without medical intervention. My body, as rounded and feminine as it was, could not, on its own, give birth to a baby. I was also agreeing to a needle in my arm, a monitor on my ample waist, and a monitor for the baby. Instead of the happy-hippy ideal I had envisioned, I was getting a medicalized, monitored, machine-that-goes-ping birth. I'm not sure which I found more demoralizing, the failure of my body or the loss of my dream.

If I had been happy with Alex's birth, I may not have fought so long. As it was, I felt anger every time I thought about her birth. Artificially ruptured membranes, Pitocin, machine-that-goes-ping, IV fluids, episiotomy, and not seeing her for an hour after her birth all equaled me hating the birthing process - which was why I went with a midwife this time. To avoid all of that. The midwife nudged in the early afternoon, and then we flat out talked about it. Then I cried to Bryn about it.

Then I saw the worry and pain in his eyes during my contractions and when he saw the disappointment in my eyes every few hours when I was given the news that I hadn't dilated any further. I saw the worry and pain I was feeling reflected in his eyes and I knew that I needed the drug.

At 7:30 pm my drip was started.

This is when it was suggested that I labor in the tub. Hooked up to an IV stand, two elastic belts, hand itchy, contractions every three minutes is not when I would consider it to be the perfect time for a bath. Midwives are weird that way.

I was in the tub for less than an hour, shifting positions every few contractions, when I was told I had to get out of the tub. ...first you want me in the tub, now you want me out of the tub... I resisted just about everything the midwife asked me to do. Every position change was delayed by a couple of contractions. My main fear was that I would be mid-shift and a contraction would hit. I was afraid of being in an awkward position and being that much more uncomfortable if I was caught off guard like that.

At about 11:30 pm I was finally dilated to 9 cm.
At 12:30 am I had my midwife up to her elbow pushing my cervix out of the way while I was blowing instead of pushing. I really wanted to push. I mean, if you have never been in labor you will never know the difference between wanting to do something and needing to do something. There is a difference between wanting to push and needing to push. That line is filament thin and once broached, being told you can't makes one slightly homicidal.


At one point my midwife told me to try being on my knees. Suddenly, I felt really good about where everything was going. This was the position of my dream! I wound up (after dodging my IV line and threading around the fetal monitor line) on my knees leaning over the back of the raised head of the bed. I still wasn't allowed to push with every contraction - I wasn't fully dilated - but I was closer to my ideal birth position.

While I was on my knees I was alternately pushing and blowing through contractions. Martha wanted me to motorboat with my mouth. If your mouth is relaxed, the rest of your muscles tend to follow that cue. She wanted my cervix to relax so she could push it out of the way. I can't motorboat when I'm not stressed out. I just can't. I wound up just saying, "Bubububububububub..." and making Bryn and Martha giggle. It became a weird mantra for me to focus on instead of pushing. Om never meant anything to me; apparently, Bububub does.

I was Bububub-ing a lot, and not doing much pushing. I was getting pretty ticked off. Then I heard it! A baby crying! The woman next door had stopped screaming and I could hear her baby crying. If I listen to Martha and keep my focus, I'll have a baby too! Baby! There is a baby at the end of all this pain! Focus!

I needed to change position again. I was so focused on the baby, I didn't mind, much. I did have a contraction while rolling and navigating the lines and leads connecting me to the machines. It was just as miserable as I'd imagined.

I wound up on my back, slightly propped up. Not what I'd thought ideal, but everyone seemed to like it better. Martha, not the contractions, nor the cervix, was making me uncomfortable. She was trying to widen my pelvis and was sitting on the bed, with her hand in my foreshortened vagina and smack up against my bent right leg. I fought very hard against my desire to straighten that leg and send her onto the floor. I hated her hand. I was hating her. It was all her fault. It was her fault I had the Pitocin, it was her fault I was on my back, it was her fault I couldn't push, and it was her fault I was so uncomfortable. And then, I was allowed to push!

I don't remember how many times I pushed, but I ignored a lot of directions to push again. Sometimes I could only push once in a contraction, I was just too tired. I remember watching my mom. She was standing at the far side of the room, against the wall, with her hands at the small of her back. That is her pose when she's uncomfortable or unhappy. Something was wrong. I asked her if she was alright. She said she was fine and I had another contraction.

I pushed and pushed and eventually there was a baby on the bed with me. I was not really with it. I saw Bryn smiling and crying and cutting the umbilical cord. I thought we were going to wait for it to stop pulsing. Had it stopped pulsing already? You're restarting the Pitocin to help me deliver the placenta? I didn't speak. I was too foggy. Baby! Where is he? I can hear him! Martha was checking my placenta. It was whole. Here's the baby. Huh?

He was awake and alert, but with no desire to latch and nurse. That's okay, we'd get to that later.

Apparently, the Pitocin had been stopped at 10:30. I'd done the last 5 cm on my own. But the baby's heart rate had been dipping with every contraction at about the same time, that was why a lead had been put on his little head at that time. I was so concerned about the lead in his head that I hadn't noticed that my medicine had been stopped. The lead in his head was what was making everyone so anxious. Well, it was the numbers the lead was providing. His heart rate would dip to nearly 40 during contractions at the end. It would bounce back up, but it was really concerning everyone who could see the monitor. The rate didn't fall so much while I was on my back. Yes, I felt less productive, but it put less stress on the baby. Fair trade off.

Bryn cut the cord while it was still pulsing because the baby had to go to the warming table and be checked by the pediatrician who had swooped in with a pediatrics nurse at the last minute. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He hadn't even time to throw on a white coat. The baby's initial APGAR was a 3. They gave him a little oxygen and his second APGAR was a 9. The pediatrician looked just as happy as Bryn when he handed over my baby boy.

My perfectly healthy, beautiful baby boy.

Other Births I've Known...

So I wasn't actually there for most of them, but I've heard some great birth stories in my time. I'll start with the one I'm most familiar with, my own.

Mom had a great pregnancy. She was chopping firewood the week before she went into labor. She contracted poison ivy in the dead of winter making rubbings of gravestones in Pennsylvania just a few months before I was born. She had planned me. She made appointments with Dad to conceive me. Apparently, I was transverse through most of the pregnancy. I was manually manipulated to be head down and about halfway home I'd flip around to where I was comfy again.
When Mom was admitted to Mary Hitchcock, the nurse told her that she'd never deliver me vaginally. 46 hours later, the head of obstetrics and the head of anesthesiology attended my "emergency" c-section. Since my grandmother couldn't get there for her, my mother had a picture of her young mother holding her in a plastic bag under her pillow through the surgery.
The cord was wrapped around my neck 3 times. Even if Mom's pelvis had spread enough, I would have choked myself. I spent about a week in the NICU.
As a nurse, my mom was the focus of attention in the maternity ward. The baby nurses (what she calls newbies) were using her like a guinea pig. The tried every breast pump they could find on her. After a while, Mom asked what they were doing with all the milk they'd pumped. One of the baby nurses told her, very sheepishly, that they were giving it to the preemies. They hadn't told her or the other mothers for fear that someone would object. It was just that they tolerated it so much better and they thrived on it. Mom offered to nurse them, but it was felt that that was a bit too much. Mom didn't object to pumping after that.

My mom's best friend had three kids and all I remember about the stories is that they were all gushers. She ruined rugs when her water broke. Not helpful in the birthing story area, but darned amusing.

My grandmother had my mother in Philadelphia, I think. She was in the hospital overnight. She was heavily medicated, but not before learning about baseball. Apparently, Gram was alone in the maternity ward and a young attending physician was tasked with sitting with her. The Phillies were playing and they listened to the game on his little radio and he taught her about baseball. She never became a fan of "good" teams; but she took me to my first professional ball game. We watched a lot of baseball together. If her team made it to the World Series, she would hide in the closet and peek her head out for updates periodically.
I'm not sure why, but she never taught my mother about baseball. She taught me.

Her mother, my great-grandmother had no idea she was having a baby. She was in her forties and had been married since she was a young woman. She assumed she was going through "the change". She was a heavy-set woman and assumed a few things about her diet and her indigestion, but eventually called over her sister. Her sister called over the next door neighbor lady, a midwife. The consensus was that she was in enough pain that they should call the doctor. Apparently, he was in the house less than five minutes before exclaiming, "There are three women in this house and not one of you recognizes a woman in labor!?!"
My grandmother was born that night and she was so small that she fit in her father's overcoat pocket. She was yellow. A young cousin was allowed to name her, and she did, after her French china doll: Beatrice.
Since they had not prepared for her and they didn't expect her to survive, she was put in a well padded drawer on the open oven door to keep her warm and the doctor said he'd be back in the morning to pronounce her.
He walked in the door the next morning and was greeted with a screaming infant. She'd made it (and she never shut-up again. And we wouldn't have wanted it any other way.). He told my great-grandmother that she'd better feed her or she really wouldn't survive.

My best friend and birth coach for Alex had two children before I had Alex. The first, she was in labor for 4 hours - start to finish. The second only took 2. She said something about peeled grapes that I don't think I will ever fully understand. For someone who experienced such short and complication free deliveries, she was an amazing birth coach for me.

Alex's birth was long, protracted, and not something I would like to repeat. It could have been much worse, granted, but it could have been better.
Contractions started on Thursday evening. They were finally about 3 minutes apart by 3pm on Saturday. I went into the hospital and was told that I was fully effaced, but only 2cm dilated. At 6pm, my doctor ordered Pitocin. At midnight, he told a nurse to restart my Pitocin and she told him that she would - right after I got a good night's sleep. I was only at 4cm. He came to see me in the morning while I was having breakfast. He complained that I was still not back on the Pitocin and only at 5cm. The nurse (different one) told him that she would restart it after I'd finished breakfast. Some time in the pain haze that was Sunday, the doctor ruptured my membranes. There was meconium in the fluid. At about noon, I was given Stadol to alleviate the pain of the contractions. By 6pm, I was taken off of both medications. It was just me and my contractions.
I was very happy pushing in a squatting position, but eventually I was manhandled onto my back. A nurse had my left leg and she directed Alex's father to take my right. She told him to pull - he couldn't hurt me. I felt a coldness on my perineum and my baby was born at 9pm. She didn't cry.
I asked the doctor what he was still doing between my legs, which were now in stirrups. He was closing the episiotomy I had expressly asked him not to give me.
I was foggy and hazy for a while, but when she was finally handed to me at 10pm I was in good spirits. I had  delivered Alex naked. When the pediatrician was on his way out I asked him if, since he had seen me naked, could I call him Elliot, he replied that I could, just for that night and left. My little girl was perfect in every way.

I have spoken to a few midwives about Alex's delivery and the consensus seems to be that the episiotomy was probably needed, but someone should have said something to me. The Pitocin probably could have been avoided, and if the Pitocin hadn't been administered there likely wouldn't have been a need for the Stadol. We all agreed that the nurses were wonderful for letting me rest and eat.

I have discussed Alex's birth with my midwife and we are in agreement that we will try for a less medicated birth. We have also agreed that if anything medical needs to happen, I will get talked to before it happens. I'm not just going to be a vessel; I will be part of the delivery team this time. And I will nurse within the first hour. Everything is going to be perfect. I've seen it!

Summertime is Here!

Summertime - Billie Holiday from Amos Mulder on Vimeo.


The heatwave has hit the Northeast. Yesterday was in the mid-90's and today was even hotter. I don't think it hit 100, but it was more humid today. We've managed to stay out of the heat for the most part, but it's been tricky.

Yesterday, I had to get the oil changed in my vehicle. My mechanic apologized that he couldn't get us in and out and let me borrow a shop car. A 2002 Audi A6. I was in love. Alex adored it. The A/C was fantastic! Quick and cold. And the car cooled quickly with the sunroof open. After we picked up the Audi we had to take Bryn to his doctor appointment. It was an intake - they had never met before, so it was a nice long appointment and Alex and I got to sit in the A/C and read for over an hour in the dead heat of the afternoon. We had linner (lunch/dinner) at a favorite cafe - including ice cream for dessert. We sat in the cool, dark cafe and finished our desserts because I didn't want Alex getting ice cream on the leather seats. Who am I kidding? I just wanted to eat mine in peace.

It cooled off a bit in the evening and we went down to the garden after the sun went below the trees. We weeded and watered until it got dark enough to not tell the difference between weed and seedling. There was heat lightening leaping from cloud to cloud and I was hopeful for a thunderstorm, but it didn't come. Alex was filthy, as usual, after a few hours in the garden. Her overalls were crunchy.

Bending over isn't comfortable, so I sit when I weed. I weed as much as I can reach and then scoot down a bit. Washing Alex in the tub is also problematic. Yes, I know she's seven. She has real issues with her hair. She comes back from her father's with an itchy head because they let her wash her own hair and she hates rinsing. She can wash herself bodily, but let's face it: It's a lot faster when I do it - when I can reach her. She scoots to the far side of the tub when I go to wash her. I don't think it's deliberate, but I did grab her by the ankle and drag her back to where I could get at her last night. Bending into the tub just drives the baby into my chest and makes it hard to breathe and leaning forward puts strain on my lower back.

She and I went back to the garden this morning to water again before the heat of the day. She managed to get filthy again. And I took her straight to the market. Walking through those doors was heaven. We spent an hour wandering up and down the aisles in the least efficient order. If you think that spending an hour in the supermarket is easy, keep in mind that the market I took her to is a Mac's Market. In Vermont, Mac's is a convenience store. The one in Essex Junction is epic, but it's still pretty small. Yes, there is a butcher and a deli and an organic section, but options are usually between one brand name and ShureFine brand, and the refrigerated aisle is dairy on one side and beer on the other with a bit of soda on the end.

Once we finished off there I took her to the other end of the plaza to the Rite-Aid. Alex had been a sweetie the last time we were there and I denied her a toy she wanted because she had dawdled and waited to bring it to the register until after I had checked out. She just put it back and we got on with our day. Since she was so awesome I decided that she deserved the toy and a couple of water guns to play with in the heat. The fans were all on and pointed at the door going in - it was heaven after the walk down the sidewalk.

Then we went to the bakery in the middle of the plaza. There's a lunch counter at the back! And I picked up a loaf of day old monkey bread for $2. We came home, had a little lunch, and went to the lake.

Maternity bathing suits are terrible. Or at least all the ones I've found are terrible. I finally found one that fit and bought it for the trip I took to Boston in April. The picture above is from a dressing room in March - imagine how it fits now. I never wore it in Boston. My breasts are too big now. They barely fit inside the cups and I'm not sure who decided that bathing suits for big breasted girls need to be halter tops - but they need to stop and be taught a lesson in gravity. Big boobs are heavy boobs and they need to be held up - preferably NOT by my neck. Albatrosses, the both of them. Alex actually giggled and followed the lines in my skin where my bra leaves indentations last night. That was fun. I'm contemplating just getting a bikini. I haven't worn one in over a decade; it might be fun.

Water. I'm not going to talk about the pain my feet are still in from walking across the sand. I'm not going to talk about the grossness of the lake water. I will mention buoyancy. Once I was finally in the water I felt like a new woman. It was heaven. I could walk forever. My hips didn't hurt. My back didn't hurt. My pelvis didn't hurt. I didn't even know that my pelvis had been hurting! It all felt so good. The belly just lifted up in the water and I was nearly weightless. It was decidedly weird when a wake came by and I was only partially submerged. We left over 5 hours ago and I want to go back. 


My feet hurt. My butt hurts. I just ache everywhere. I think I got a sunburn, which doesn't help. Yes, I put on sunblock - but it was old and I probably spent too long in the water. I'll use Alex's from now on. 


Other stuff, other than the heat: I passed my glucose test! I was not as up on my iron as I had been ten days earlier. I think that my iron really fluctuates depending on what I've eaten in the past few days. I tend to get cravings for red meat and spinach on a regular basis, so I haven't taken supplements lately, but I do have them if I have another dizzy spell.

This probably deserves it's own post, but it happened today and it happened in the heatwave, so it's here.
There was a blanket of three Muslim women and their babies in the shade that we walked past on our way back to the car. Their older children were in the water nearby. There are a lot of Muslims in the area: students and refugees alike. I have no idea how they survive all covered up like that. Long sleeves, long skirts or loose slacks, and the head coverings. I wear a sunhat, but that's for shade! Anyway, there were three babies with the women and Alex just squealed! They were adorable babies and I just melted. One woman had hers at her breast, nursing, this tiny little babe. She is a month old. Full head of hair and a concentrated nurser! After we left, Bryn realized he'd been staring. He hoped he hadn't made the mother uncomfortable. The mother was too busy smiling and talking about her baby and asking about mine. We just kept congratulating each other! Alex really wanted to see the baby's face, but she kept a good distance. She did bounce a lot though.

I think there is something very interesting about a culture where the women keep so modest that their arms and legs are covered, even in this heat; but nursing the baby out in the open, with her breast out, no cover on the baby, she was radiant.

27 Weeks

I am now in my third trimester. I got an email from one of the parenting sites I joined telling me that the baby is now the size of a rutabaga. I could tell Bryn that the baby was about 14 inches long or 2 pounds, but when I told him about the rutabaga I actually got a half-hearted, "Cool."

Today I had my second WIC appointment. Iron is 12.4! My goal was 11, so I'm pretty proud of myself. I've gained an appropriate amount of weight. I met my WIC sponsored lactation peer counselor. I got to tell my peer and my worker (and the shadowing student dietitian) all about Alex's birth and nursing and the mastitis that turned into an abscess. I got information about birthing classes and a class for older siblings. My insurance will pay for the 10 hours of birth class, which is a huge load off my mind. All my knowledge is 7 years old and rusty and the $140 price tag was a little scary. Bryn thinks we can swing the sibling class.

I was bad today. I was downtown for the WIC appointment and there was some time before the bus so I stopped at the scoop shop... I had a caramel machiato. It's a milkshake with made with B&J caramel cup and coffee coffee buzz buzz ice cream. Not only did I have a milkshake for lunch - it had espresso beans in it. I bounced off the walls for a while. As I was coming down I got a mad craving for strawberry ice cream. So I got an ice cream cone.

I want bad things. With Alex I craved ceasar salads - genuine ceasar salads. Raw eggs and anchovies were the worst parts of the salad. Now I want burgers, beer, ice cream, gin and tonics, cookies, espresso drinks, iced tea, things swimming in melted butter...

I think the caffeine is well and truly wearing off now. I'm really tired.  I'll write again this weekend when I'm not so beat.

Little Wiggler, Little Learner

I'm a graduate student. I am working towards my Masters degree in English, of all things. I spend most of my time sitting on my butt either reading or writing. I really need to get out more, and hopefully, I will once this semester is over.
There is something perverse about the relationship between the mother and the fetus. She is active and walking and driving and the developing person is lulled and quiet. The expectant mother is sitting quietly and trying to concentrate (or God-forbid, sleep) and suddenly there is an acrobatic routine underway in her midsection. Usually, the tickly, fluttery feeling makes me smile and rub my belly and I say sweet loving things. Usually. Lately, as the semester winds to a close and my stress levels rise, I've been more annoyed by the distraction than enthralled by it. It's hard to write a cohesive and concise sentence about race relations in the 1850's near the Ohio border when someone seems to have the hiccups right under your own rib cage. I need to finish my papers soon.

I went to meet with a professor yesterday. I wanted to speak with him about the baby. The due date is within a week of classes starting in the fall semester. I completely plan to be at the first class, but I will be wearing the infant. I figured that my professors deserve a heads-up that there will be an extra person in their classes. I also wanted to give fair warning about the fact that I will be nursing on demand. The professor was completely indisposed. He sent me an email apologizing for his insane schedule. I emailed him back. I think I was pretty cool about it:

"I am expecting my second child the week before classes begin. Since it is my second, no one expects that I will go much past my due date, so I fully plan on being in attendance for the first class. As the baby will be so young, I will be wearing him to class. As I do not want to be a disruption, I will arrive early to let classmates see the baby and warn them that I will be nursing occasionally. With the baby in the sling, I doubt anyone will actually notice. 

Once the baby is old enough to take a bottle I will be able to leave him at home, but for the first six to eight weeks, he will be my constant companion.

I hope you understand. 

If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know. We have a whole summer to work it out."

I also sent it to my other fall semester professor, with whom I have been unable to connect. The professor I feared more sent me a nice email wishing me luck, he saw no problems with my plan, and he looked forward to meeting both of us! The super busy professor hasn't emailed me back yet. 

I was really scared. I was so scared that I contacted the UVM Title IX coordinator, the UVM Office of Affirmative Action and Equal Opportunity, and the Vermont Human Rights Commission. UVM has all kinds of protections for nursing employees, but I could find nothing on the books for nursing students. There are lots of assumptions that since I'm a graduate student that I am also an employee. As nice as that would be, I'm not; the HR department has nothing to offer me. 

Bottom line was that I tell, don't ask, my professors that I will be nursing and if I run into flak I let the OAAEO know and they will see how they can help me and if that doesn't go anywhere, the VHRC contact I spoke with said that they would be on my side should I have to go to court against UVM. Having sent out the email to my professors, I feel like I may have overreacted, but I'm glad I did it. I like knowing where I stand. 

Once I get a reply from the very busy professor, and my seminar papers are submitted, I can spend the summer reading for comps and working on my thesis. Wait. I told Bryn I would nest. I'll do that too, but I really want to read for my comps. I'm so excited by my topic. 

Remind me that I need to find a sling. Alex hated being swaddled and in a sling. This kid is going to have to like the sling. I'll also need some nursing bras and tops. Oy. I keep forgetting how expensive this whole baby thing is...