Booby Trapped

I really like sleeping and I really like writing, but I've had to choose between the two lately (when I get my ninety minute reprieve) and sleeping has won. Although it seems like every time I lay down for a half hour I just wake up more tired.

We were back at lactation last week with a surprising result. The good news is that she was back up to her birth weight (woo hoo!!). The bad news was, based on that day's nursing performance (compared to the previous week), my medical history (I have the polycystic ovaries and needed help getting pregnant), and the shape of my boobs (cone shaped -- they seriously never grew while I was pregnant), she was fairly confident that I will never make enough milk to sustain Bug. ("Some women with small breasts have no problem producing enough," she tells me. I am not one of them.)

(And yes, I know that Bug has a name, Sadie, but I still like calling her Bug here).

As disappointing as this news was, it was also a huge relief. I didn't want to have to pump ten times a day, in addition to nursing, for the next six months. I felt so trapped, and I hated it. So our new plan is still to nurse her at the beginning of each feeding (her "appetizer") and then supplement with the formula. The nurse said that she will still get the great benefits of the breast milk, even if she is not taking large quantities at once. I could deal with this. And I appreciated her honesty, instead of her telling me I was a bad mom for not nursing, or I had to continue on some crazy program.

My latest anxiety (if we could call it that) is, of course, how much formula to give her. The nurse had to give me the speech about how formula-fed (and I assume this is over-formula-fed) babies have a higher risk of childhood obesity. Great. Bug would eat formula until her stomach exploded. So we're still giving her about 2 oz at each feeding -- she makes it about 3 hours each time between feedings, so I assume she has plenty. When she starts not making it that long we will increase.

In other new developments, we seem to have developed a bit of The Colic. Starting around, oh, 8pm? We start screaming. For no apparent reason. It will start and then stop, and then start again. She clenches her entire body, and her face goes bright red, and then nothing. Sometimes she will toot (she's a big tooter) and seems calm -- for about thirty seconds. I will try and nurse her, and she will be somewhat quiet during that, but will start screaming again immediately after.

We've discovered that the car puts her to sleep instantly, so the past two nights we have gone for a ride around 11 pm. The stupid thing is that it takes longer to actually get her secured in the car seat than it does for her to fall asleep (she hears the click of her car seat into the car and is quiet, and then by the time we've driven out of the alleyway and turned toward Minnetonka Blvd, she is fast asleep). Then we get home and she sleeps in her car seat until it's time to eat again. Which, when all is said and done, probably gives us about 45 minutes to sleep. Sigh.

A friend of Matthew's sent us the "Happiest Baby on the Block" which is the theory of the 5 S's to get babies calm -- she seems to react to them well and quiets down, although will wake up immediately again when placed in her cradle. It's a process. We're tired.

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Her belly button finally fell off on Friday, although there's a story around that one, too. The stove in our kitchen has always sort of smelled like gas, even when it's turned off. We've had people come and check it, and each time they tell us that there's nothing wrong. My aunt came into town this week to visit and help, and told us that she was concerned about the gas that she smelled. We told her that we had it checked out, etc.

Well after she left she called my grandfather (in Florida) who then called my dad, who then called me, telling me I need to call the gas company again. This all happened while my mom and I were at Target. So I call the gas company and the woman on the phone is asking me questions like, how long have you smelled the gas? I don't really want to admit to her that it's been like over a year, so I say something like, "a few months." She then tells me, "remember, we ARE here 24 HOURS A DAY, SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, to provide this FREE SERVICE to you," etc etc. OK, I get it, I probably should have called before (but my husband always told me there was nothing to worry about! Let's blame him.). She tells us not to use any light switches. I tell her that we're not at home right now anyway.

"Ma'am, I need you to return home as quickly and as safely as possible so the technician can enter your home."
"OK, we can be there in about twenty minutes." We hadn't even checked out yet.
"Ma'am, again, I need you to be there as quickly and as safely as possible. If you are not there when the technician arrives then we will need to call law enforcement and have a locksmith come and enter your home." Is she even being serious? I said twenty minutes. I do not want to pay for new locks.

So my mom and I leave Target and dutifully return home quickly and safely. We sit out in the street and wait. Bug has to eat and I'm not sure what to do. I don't want her to stay sleeping, since it's been three hours. It's been 45 minutes since I called, and still no technician. Hurry my ass!

I finally decide that I'm going to change her diaper in the backseat, and then just nurse her in the car. She of course has a gigantic poop, and I'm standing on the curb leaning over the backseat which is probably the most unproductive angle, ever. As I'm taking off her diaper, her belly button stump falls off. If I thought the thing was gross while attached to her, it's even worse when it's unattached. I throw it outside.

Then I look at what has remained on her belly and am horrified! It looks gooey and sort of full of pus (spelling pus-y just didn't look right) and generally not OK. Of course my mother doesn't help things when she looks over and immediately makes a noise (literally, it was some combination of "ew" and "oh!"). Great. I have nothing to cover it with (if it even needs to be covered). I put a clean diaper back on and put her clothes back on and call the doctor's office (I thought I was done calling the doctor 18 times a day since pregnancy was over, but apparently not). Her doctor isn't in, but another one will call me back. Sure enough, about 20 minutes later, I get a call (much better service than the OB during the day!). She assures me that it will be fine, and that I only have to worry if the skin around it gets red, or if it goos for more than a week. I text Matthew, upset, because of course this is all his fault.

I put a blanket over my shoulder to start to nurse her, but as usual, either through my ineptness or her clawing, it has fallen off and my boob is just hanging out while I try and wrestle her on (I cannot wait until she becomes more coordinated). I have no idea how people do this gracefully. And there I am, nursing my child in the front seat of my car, with the windows down, feeling awkward on so many levels. I'm pretty sure this situation is what got Britney Spears arrested, although I believe she was actually driving. Still. It feels weird.

The technician shows up not two minutes later and my mom lets him into the house. I just sort of wave from the car. I can hear the beep of his alarm from outside. Great. They're in there for a while. I switch sides and again expose myself to the world. I'm sure Jerry across the street has his binoculars out and is enjoying this.

They come out and he says that he found an issue with the way that the appliance company installed the stove -- something about not using the correct sealant, which is why it is leaking. He's not supposed to fix it, but he will. Thank you, magic Service Plus man. He leaves, my mom and I go back inside, and I give her a bottle. I eat more jellybeans. I would eat an entire chocolate cake if given the chance.

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I thought I felt a lot smaller than before, and then we were downtown yesterday visiting my mom and I was looking in the mirrors at the store and felt gigantic. Which is interesting, because while pregnant I always thought I looked bigger at home than I did when I looked in public mirrors. I know it's only been two weeks, but it's frustrating, especially when you can't do much about it. "Go for walks" only works when A) it's not raining, which of course it has done all weekend and B) when you feel willing to give up that time to do something other than sleep.

I'm still waiting to feel more attached to her. Right now it still feels like I'm just taking care of A Baby. I don't know why my brain hasn't really connected that she is my baby. I think, maybe, if I woke up and she wasn't here, I wouldn't feel devastated. That sounds really bad. And maybe it's just hard to feel attached to something whose activities only include eating, crying, and tearing through an alarming number of diapers, all of which you have to attend to 24 hours a day while running on maybe 3 hours of sleep. When she is awake, all I want is for her to be sleeping, so I can have a break. I feel like I should be "interacting" with her more, making her smarter, but I just don't have the energy. We'll give this another few days before I perhaps call about the PPD. This whole thing is just waaaaayyyyy harder than I ever thought.

But she is awfully cute: