The Other Shoe

Earn it?

I am fond of saying that I have worked through all kinds of infertility crap and that there is all this healing going on and this is true, except when it isn't.

Today the world's cutest and easiest baby drove me to the brink, by being his bad old babyish self.  He got a little off schedule which ended up with him being inconsolable, hungry, screamy, and too wigged out to take the bottle that he really needs to calm down and be cute again.

I know in my head that that is his problem, and when I don't let it get to me I am all calm and Supermom-like. I am confident. I run the vacuum, I shush, I am patient, resourceful and tireless.  But today it got to me, because it got in the way of my treadmill time, and because I don't know why, and it got to me BECAUSE it was getting to me.

And that's where the infertility baggage hangover kicks in.  Because we made pregnancy happen, I feel the decision is all on me.  Negative voices in my head say: If having a baby is so HAARRRD for you, then why'd you do it?  Clearly you can't HAAANDLE it. 

Most people have the luxury of saying, well, we had sex and NOW look.  We're having a baby.  When it's hard, later, they can say: oh well, it's not MY fault we had a baby.  It relieves them from having to be perfect parents because they didn't ask for it.  They don't have to earn it.

Obviously this is all neurotic, but work with me.

Because we went so far out of our way to have kids, I always worried that because we clearly weren't physically qualified to get pregnant, maybe that was A Sign.  That we weren't also qualified to be parents, even though all the objective signs say we would kick ass at it.  And now that the baby is here that is true.  We are great parents, except when we aren't, which is about what you could say about anyone.

This makes me think of "Saving Private Ryan," which is a great movie with a crappy message.  Poor little whatshisname Ryan never wanted a bunch of guys to die in a godforsaken village in France just so he could be the only one of his mother's sons to come home from WWII.  He definitely did NOT need Tom Hanks telling him to "Earn it!" with his dying breath.  He probably was haunted his whole life anyway.

All of the important things in life cannot be "earned."  Love of ourselves, love of another person, a baby, health, friends, God's love, a productive life.  I can try to earn my husband's love by being nice and cooking him lots of things with spinach in them but that's not really going to make a difference in the long haul.  I can try to earn good health by exercising and eating the things I made for my husband with all that spinach, but it's no guarantee.

I have a baby, now, because of a lot of effort on our part and because God allowed it (that would be my take on it, yours is whatever yours is).  I didn't earn it.  If we are not good parents, if we are in fact "too old," or if it "wasn't meant to be," too bad.  We have a baby now, and no one is going to come take him away because we didn't "earn it."  If he is screamy and I have to cry, louder than he does, and walk around the house with him for a half hour - which turned out to be a decent replacement for treadmill time, anyway - and I feel strung out and incompetent and not in love with him, at all, that's normal for being a mom. 

And if I have gained 20 pounds on top of 20 other pounds, and I can't figure out why my husband still loves me when I can't bear to see myself in the mirror, I can't "earn" his continuing love and loyalty by keeping the baby longer than I want to. I'm not going to "earn" anything by trying to be better than I am: by hiding my true, needy, angry, flabby unwashed self from him.

No one is keeping track.  No one will say that I'm not "earning" it.

No one except me, of course.

Flirt

Oh... hi.

You're still there. 

So, what's happening?  D. is 4 and a half months old.  My husband takes every opportunity there is to do math in his head and is therefore quick to remind me that 2 weeks does not make half a month.  But he's not here at the moment, so four and a half months it is.  D. is very cute, he is at the moment squealing like Flipper, rolling over from back to belly, trying to crawl but not being able to do a thing except cry, gumming everything fabric and smiling lots.

There is always a number one question for whatever stage of pregnancy / parenting one is, and right now it's "does he sleep through the night?" and the answer is that he is working on it.  I'm actually not a big fan of sleeping through the night at the moment, because when he wakes and gets a bottle somewhere between 10 pm and 4 am, he might sleep past 6.  Otherwise he starts squawking anywhere from 5 am on, with the intention of being fully awake and ready to party soon thereafter.  I am Morning Girl around here so there is no sleeping in for me.  Ever.

While the sleep dep thing unquestionably sucks, it has not sucked for me as badly as I thought it would.  This is because 1) I expected it to feel so much worse 2) it hasn't been as bad for us as some 3) I have a husband who actually does HALF of the night wakings, and I'm very grateful; and 4) after having had insomnia for a decade already, I have had to conclude that getting eight hours of uninterrupted sleep is for pussies.

So much of wrapping our lives around something as world-altering as a new baby seems to be about what we expected.  I have to say that the infertile years really knocked my expectations all to bits, which makes me happier now.  Having a baby to care for is hard, but trying to have one is harder.  Even had we been able to periodically enjoy our child-free status during the Trying Years by jetting off to Europe or drinking sangria by the pitcher with girlfriends...

..well I did do THAT actually...

I couldn't really enjoy any of that freedom.  Youth is wasted on the young, freedom is wasted on the free.  Anyway, compared to the Trying Years, this baby time is better, even though it's waaay harder.

One of my favorite parts of the baby time, now, is that I feel like I can finally contemplate / plan for The Rest of My Life.  Some of that is some scary s*** like aging, but at least I can look it in the face instead of freaking out a la "Idontevenhaveababyyetandi'malreadysoOOOOOOOOLLLLD...." I don't have to live my life always looking down two roads - the If We Do (have a baby) and If We Can't, and If We Can't kind of went right off a cliff for me.

To friends who still suffer and look down the two roads, I don't have any good words to say or ways to fast-forward this sucky part of it. Except: For me that suffering does pay off now, in gratitude and improved perspective, in lowered - hell, shattered - expectations, and in improved patience.  I don't like waiting through a time that is just plain assy, but I have done it before.

So yes I am still here and instead of agonizing in the customary way of the post-infertile parent about What to Blog About Now, I'm just going to keep writing. 

Breast rage

I am furious.  I'm gaining weight, still, about 2 pounds a week.  I have been exercising a lot and trying desperately to control my eating with some success.  I count calories religiously and even allowing for significant error in counting (like restaurant meals and cookie amnesia) there is no way I'm putting away the 7200 extra per week it would take to put two pounds on me, week after week. 

I'm not furious about the weight gain  - I'm actually incredibly depressed, hopeless and weepy about that - no, I'm furious about the breastfeeding HYPE.  Of all the hype that I got hyped with when pregnant,  breastfeeding tops the list.  Everybody couldn't wait to tell me how important it was that I breastfeed, how wonderful it would be for all concerned, how much healthier / smarter / cuter it would make my baby (and hopefully, by association, me.)  I don't know a mother who isn't either guilt-ridden about her supposed breastfeeding failures or remembering the guilt as a painful part of the postpartum haze.  There are a select few who were able to achieve breastfeeding success, which apparently means keeping it up until the baby goes to kindergarten, and they are smug.

Obviously breastfeeding is difficult.  Well, actually it's not obvious until you and your boob are faced with a hungry infant.  Before then, who among us has not thought "what's the big deal?" and assumed that WE would be fine with it.  I sure did.  Obviously I was wrong.

But part of why it was so difficult is the HYPE and the part of the hype that has me infuriated is that you will, absolutely will, lose weight when breastfeeding. 

Of course it's more complicated than that.  The anecdotal information and some newer studies I'm reading suggest that weight comes off more easily after the breastfeeding is over, or maybe everyone's weight comes off more easily after six months postpartum.  According to this study, some women gained and some lost, and it depends on whether you were overweight before your pregnancy.  Because if you started out fat, you'll gain more weight; if you started out thin-ish, you may not.  Our design may be intelligent but it sure as hell isn't fair.

Obviously breastfeeding makes us hungrier, so some of us will lose weight because of burning more calories and some will gain because of eating more.  I personally gained weight during marathon training so we know which category I'm in. Hormones are also a major culprit; some women gain just from the breastfeeding hormones and some do not.

Of course, you have to dig beyond the HYPE to get this kind of answer.  If you go to your ivillage or your basic self-styled weight loss guru type of person or your babycenter you'll get some kind of expert saying breastfeeding burns off those pregnancy pounds, end of story, and then a bunch of comments saying otherwise.  Often accompanied by "what's wrong with me?"  As well as appalling, horrifying spelling.

Is that sad or what?  I am going crazy wondering what's wrong with ME because I fell for it. The hype.  The one-scenario-fits-all generic bad information that is gumming up the internet and coming out of the mouths of doctors as well as TV anchorwomen.  It is really pissing me off. I wish I had known ahead of time that this would happen.  I still would have chosen to breastfeed and I probably would have gone through what I did to keep it going, but maybe I'd be expecting this nightmare instead of going nuts wondering why my weight doesn't fall off when "everyone else's" does.

Breastfeeding babies are supposed to be less vulnerable to obesity than formula-fed babies.  Since I was born to gain weight like Michael Jordan was born to play basketball, this is important.  But guess what?  I was breast-fed.  It didn't help when I was a baby and it ain't helping now.

12 Weeks

Today our little guy is 3 months old.  I'll skip the usual bits about how fast it went and how we can't imagine our life without him - for me, infertility is more memorable than that. 

The end result of all the breastfeeding drama is that I am a part-time breastfeeder.  The baby gets an unknown amount of breast milk when I nurse him.  I don't pump a lot when I pump, and I'm not going to tell you how much that is because I still feel ? ashamed?  I guess, of my non-performing breasts.  Whatever - they did a lot for me over the years and generally looked good, particularly in evening wear.  They continue to make my husband happy.

From where I sit now, being a part-time breastfeeder is the way to go.  This is because I have hit a few walls in the last month.  Getting a few sorta full nights of sleep really sets you up to feel the shorter nights when they come around again, because of course they do. 

I have a particular wall that is, as usual, built of lies.  This wall is where I think I should be more cheerful about mothering a very young baby, because we went through so much to get one. I should be tireless, in case anyone who disapproves of 45-year-olds having babies is watching.  I should be extra-capable in all things Mother, since maybe I wasn't "supposed to be a mother" in the first place.  I hit that wall this week, and not for the first time, and after a lot of trying followed by a lot of crying I can see it more clearly now.

Yeah, it's kinda sick.  Thank God for my husband who patiently points out that all that is lies.  It also makes a hard job much harder which I don't need.

The breastfeeding fell into that whole mess.  I figured I needed to be a perfect breast-feeder to justify it all, et cetera See Above, and of course my body did not cooperate. 

But now, when I think about the next baby, I hope that the breast milk flows copiously, that the latch is sure from the first try, and that there is no silly talk from middle-of-the-night nurses about flat nipples.  I really hope all that.  But I will also hope to introduce the bottle early, whether it contains breast milk or the dreaded formula, and I won't sweat it.  Because doing all the feeding alone is really, really, really hard and I don't want to do that for very long.

I'm also tired of apologizing.  I read a blog entry a while back that stuck with me in which the esteemed Finslippy talks about disagreements and how sometimes we make "everyone else wrong so we can be right."  I am bad about doing this, and it always comes back to bite me.

In order to have the nerve to contemplate unmedicated labor, I had to make C-section really, really wrong.  The good people who chose or got railroaded into or didn't have a choice about getting sectioned were just collateral damage.  Ditto breastfeeding and lots of other choices.  It seems to be hard for me to feel strongly that something is right without deciding that everyone else is wrong and not just, agree-to-disagree wrong, but really, wilfully, "what were you thinking?" wrong.

Like I said, this comes back to bite me hardest of all and so that's going to help me stop it.  Obviously I feel differently about people who have C-sections and I'm not sure how hard I will fight for my VBAC should I get the chance.  (that's another post)  I'm not sure how hard I'll fight to be an exclusive breast-feeder next time - I fought really hard this time and all I got was a 16 pound weight gain and a lot of tears.  Part-time breastfeeding might get me just as healthy a baby and a more healthy mom too.  People who make those choices aren't wrong and terrible, they're me, and I have been given the gift of being able to see their side quite well.

My new position on mothering, and please help me stick to it - hell, help me REMEMBER it - is that this is a marathon not a sprint.  That having a healthy mom just might be an important part of the package and that means a mentally healthy mom too.  There are things I know I f***ed up and wish I could do over again.  Those things are in the minority.  There are many, many other things where I just have a vague feeling that I could have done them better, somehow, and I feel vaguely oogy about them.  That's the part I want to be done with.  That oogy feeling turns into judging me and others and who needs that?  I can't spend the next 17 3/4 years of my son's life apologizing for everything I didn't do perfectly.

So I'm not gonna.

10 weeks

Not much to say.  Daniel is 10 weeks and about 10 pounds.  He is thinking about sleeping through the night; he did it earlier this week.  He is probably going to be better at it than I, since my old friend insomnia is back, this despite my record-breaking time of abstinence from caffeine (none since the birth).  I do eat dark chocolate for breakfast though.  Well, for pre-breakfast.

Which reminds me.  People will tell you that breast feeding is a great way to "shed those pregnancy pounds" and as usual, they are big fat liars.  Well, big skinny liars, perhaps; because it probably worked for them.  Breastfeeding supposedly burns an extra 300-500 calories a day, but what they don't tell you is that it causes an extra 500-1000 calories' worth of appetite. Holy crap. Are you going to eat that?  I am so hungry.  I am countering with some serious exercise, strength training, cardio, the whole bit.  I'm also trying to really love vegetables and eat a lot of them.  But I'll probably still gain until the breastfeeding is over.

The good news is that getting pregnant, having the baby, breastfeeding, and caring for the little guy have been really healing for my sense of femininity.  Feminine is not about girliness, pink, or making my voice go up at the end of a sentence any more for me.  It's this strong primal mother thing; it's about growing another person inside me and surviving, it's about getting him out of me alive & kicking, and now it's about nurturing him.  Every day he is figuring out more about who I am and how much he needs me and I love it. 

Of course that is what I wanted so much out of pregnancy and motherhood, and it helps me put some of the body image stuff into perspective.  Yeah, I'm fat, but you would be too. Yeah, I'm fat, but if I can survive being pregnant, grow another human and keep him healthy, I guess I can probably lift a few weights and eat a few vegetables.  Yeah, it took a long time to get pregnant and bring this little guy into the world and it'll probably take a while to take the weight off too.  Whatever.  If I can patiently shush, rock, walk and wait my baby through an hour of screamy fussiness*, I can also find the patience to be gradual about weight loss & getting back into shape.

*Yeah I know.  Only one hour.  We are very fortunate.

This is what I wake up to every day:

Sling love

I am wearing this fabulous baby sling from Hotslings right now.  With my baby in it; I am typing with two hands. 

Note: this is NOT a picture of me.  I am neither dark, slender, nor possessed of this particular baby.

Anyway, this sling is so fantastic.  I can walk around the house when the baby is "hold me for no reason" fussy.  I can sit & work at the computer (obviously).  I can eat, and heaven knows I NEED to.  I don't need to leave the "sorry I did this with one hand and can't clean up the clothes on the floor / spills on the counter / trash near but not in the trashcan / et cetera" trail of messiness that carrying the baby around all day causes.  

I still leave the messes half the time, I just don't need to. 

And can I just say that porky old Daniel is now just at or over nine pounds and I can feel it as I lug his cute little Buddha-faced self around.  Heaven help me when he gets to be 20 or 30 lbs. but more about that later.

Instead of dreading our trips out, which I am starting to get the hang of, I look forward to walking around the grocery store with him peeping out of the sling in all his cuteness.  There is a whole blog post that needs to be written about how much attention I get, or rather he gets, when we are out.  I love it even as it adds to my survivor guilt.  People seem to act like I actually did something to merit this incredibly cute baby when actually God just dropped him into our lives for no good reason (other than never-ending, whiny persistence). 

Anyway. Love.The.Sling.  Anyone I know who is pregnant is so getting one of these for a shower gift.

Never mind.

Alone

Bad timing.  After a huge weekend filled with family love, celebration, and good food, I'm alone with my almost 2-month old baby for the next three days.  And after being with us since our baby was six days old, my mother has gone home.

Now I understand the end-of-the-rope feeling that new moms get and it's only less than one day out of my three.  I am alone for three days because my husband flies back to Chicago for work from Tuesday morning through Thursday night.  I hoped to line up a friend or two to stay with me for my husband's last commutes of the year but they fell through.

Before I get rolling with the self pity I have to acknowledge the women who don't have a husband or a mother's help, ever.  The women who have more than one kid.  The women who have a kid who isn't as easy as ours.

Nevertheless... this is hard.  I am feeling like a dope because on occasion I have bitched at my husband for "only" taking the baby for "a few hours" here and there through the day, and for part of the night.  I'm an idiot!  That was lovely.  This is unrelenting.  Just being able to hand him off to somebody else - I'll really appreciate that the next time I get the chance.

I'm typing this, by the way, because my baby is not exactly sleeping but not exactly screaming and I can be not-holding him for a few minutes.  There is holding him and there is not-holding him; there is no more me.

This sounds whiny but it actually may be my survival strategy.  If I just forget about cleaning the mess, doing the taxes going to the gym reading the book or doing anything that is... well, anything... then I'm fine.  I just have to sync up with the baby; eat when he eats (this is tricky) sleep when he sleeps and be in-between when he is. 

It's hard.  It's boring, frankly.  He is cute and I adore him but I can't gaze at him 20 hours a day.  I watch a lot of DVDs and that helps me not resent the hours he might want to spend not exactly sleeping, or the way he sleeps soundly in my arms and pops awake the minute we get near his crib.  Thank God for the endless supply of "CSI" available instantly through Netflix.  I must find other online TV, any ideas?

I'm trying not to panic.  He's not screamy - at the moment - and when he is it's actually easier when there is no one around.  Part of what's awful about a crying baby is the looks I imagine I am getting from other people or who he might be keeping awake.  If it's just me, well, whatever.  But it's unrelenting, isn't it?  I used to not get the new moms who said they couldn't shower or read a newspaper.  Now I get it.  I used to think, just go to the gym, how hard can it be? They have daycare, right? 

But oh, the strapping him into the car seat and the hoping he doesn't cry or getting the timing right between feedings or trying not to be so exhausted that I'm a menace behind a wheel just getting to the gym.  Never mind having the energy to actually exercise once I get there.  Not to mention entrusting him to the strangers in the daycare center.  I may just allow myself to sit in the hot tub or get a massage there, hopefully after at least a token amount of physical activity.  Which I need because eating healthily at this point is the extra mile I cannot go; thank God I stocked up on healthy frozen meals because five minutes in the microwave is all i've got to spend on dinner.  And of course my sugar cravings have never been more intense.

Sigh.  Baby's crying.  Thanks for letting me whine.

HB2M

It's my 46th birthday.
I can't believe I am 46 with a newborn.
Here's how it's gone so far...

Harder Than I Thought:

C-section - getting my mind right to have one was easy.  Living with the c-section afterwards, also easy; although I get a little pang when women say "How is your recovery?  I never had one so I don't know."  Hmmm thanks.  Anyway, the actual operation, the epidural: hellish.  Not from pain but from the way it freaked me out.

Breastfeeding - well I've been all through that.  The medication and herbs I'm taking are now increasing my milk supply but I will not be able to catch up to our baby's appetite to breastfeed him exclusively.  I guess I thought it might be hard but didn't accept that it might also be hard for ME. 

Being pregnant.  I'm sorry to say this in front of anyone who longs to be pregnant, and I'm grateful as hell that I got to do it, and will do it again if I can.  But oh, it was so much harder than I thought.

Blogging / finishing posts... pretty challenging. 

Easier Than I Thought:

Sleep deprivation - maybe because I get a lot of help from my husband and my mom was with us for five weeks.  Or maybe because of being over 40 I already know that sleep is a privilege and not a right.  I do have my crash & burn moments and I am saying things like "Look, it has a mammogram" when I mean "monogram" or that we took the baby to the vet instead of the pediatrician... but everyone thinks it's funny.

C-section recovery - compared to being pregnant, recovering from abdominal surgery is a piece of cake, discomfort-wise.  At least for me.

Labor - well, three weak contractions and then surgery.  What's the big deal?  (Hey, at least I can joke about it).

Bonding - ??  As Elle Woods would say "What, like it's hard?"

Scheduling, hassles, being "tied down," however we describe Having To Be a Grownup Now: it's not a lot more hassle than an IVF cycle... but so much more rewarding.

Like i said... finishing posts: hardest of all.  Gotta go.