Looking Back

Today I was walking through the baby store with the following items in my cart:

1. teething tablets

2. teething toys

3. spoons

4. rice cereal

5. Swaddle blanket, size LARGE

6. Size 6 month PJ's

It hit me. My baby is growing up here. My BABY is giggling at my stupid songs (Paula Abdul is a good one). My baby is standing up (with help, of course). My baby is rolling. My baby is getting a tooth. a TOOTH! 

Four months ago today this amazing little girl was this helpless (seemingly), tiny (5.12lbs), baby. She just slept all day, ate so little (and often), and only blankly stared at objects when awake. I was so hormonal and cried all the time. We woke up every 2 hours to a tiny cry of hunger, and she was super easy to soothe. The house was in total chaos. We were eating take out and deli salads. I swear I lived on chicken salad and crackers. I had a little notebook where I wrote down each feeding, each nap, and each poop. She smelled like chicken pot pie to me. Her eyes were crossed, her feet and legs were curled, and she made sucking motions in her sleep. I could hold her in one arm. Her belly button had this weird gross black thing hanging off of it, and I think I cried when it came off. 

And then there was nursing...

 Before giving birth I stocked up on everything I could possibly need to do this. I had so many books. I had pillows, pads, creams, and ice packs ready to go. Somehow I disregarded the statements in the books about breastfeeding complications due to PCOS, a hormonal disorder I was diagnosed with almost 2 decades ago. I knew my mother and sister both had breastfeeding "issues", but somehow I was convinced that I could do it. All I had to do was try hard enough. 

I was trying SO hard. I was hooked up to a pump every 3 hours, and not one drop came out. Her mouth was so tiny, and my nips were so flat (weird, never heard of this happening), I couldn't get her to latch. I would lay there with my tears falling on her tiny face. She would scream. She was hungry. I gave her formula. It took 6 days of rigorous pumping around the clock for my first drop of milk to come. I fed her what I had with an eye dropper. The guilt was heavy and strong and it dominated these first few weeks. Everywhere I looked I would see "breast is best". Its written right there on the front of the formula can, and on the bottles wrapper. What did this mean to me? I wasn't able to give my baby the best. I was a bad mom. I wasn't enough. 

I tried harder and harder. took every supplement  pill, herb, and tea out there. I took so much fenugreek that my armpits smelled like maple syrup. I saw multiple lactation consultants, who gave me nipple shields and told me to keep it up. I tried hand massaging and acupuncture  I pumped these nips till they were numb. For what? For about 5 milliliters of guilt and self loathing. Luckily I was supported by everyone in my life. but I felt that somehow everyone else judged me as I judged myself. I was afraid to feed my baby in public, nervous about getting comments from strangers. I was convinced they were all whispering things like.. "why would she give her baby all those chemicals? She must be a lazy mom who just didn't care enough or try hard enough to give her baby the best"

After a few weeks of this it occurred to me that it just wasn't worth all this work and sadness anymore. Olive was healthy, growing, and happy. What I could give her was a happy mother. I chose this. Some might still judge me secretly  or whisper behind my back in public, but you know what? I no longer care. I formula feed my wonderful and healthy baby, and I am proud of the mother I am. I am proud of me, and i'm even more proud of her. 

How far we all have come as a family in the past 4 months. Were still learning, growing, and "doing what works for us" everyday. I love this little girl so much. I love being her mom. 

4 month pictures to come....