Heh, heh, Bewbies.

Today, we are going to talk about...boobs. 

Not just any boobs...MY boobs. 

More specifically, I'm going to talk about breastfeeding, so all you pervs can leave the room now, because it's not gonna be pretty. Go on. Leave. You creeps. 

Ah, the euphoria of breastfeeding. That intimate connection between you and your little one that maintains the physical bond you had when she was in the womb! 💕 There is nothing more natural, more serene, more beautiful than a breastfeeding mother, no??? 

😑

Well, not exactly. Not for me, anyway.  I mean, it's cool knowing I can feed my kid with my body and I sure as heck appreciate the savings on formula, but breastfeeding has been quite a rocky road for me.  (Did someone just say Rocky Road? As in ice cream??? Where?!?! I want!! I MUST HAVE!!!)

Sorry, got carried away for a second. That's what happens after being on a gestational diabetes-restricted diet for a few months. (Oh yes, I had my second baby, Coraline. Her birth story is coming soon, but I happened to finish this blog entry first. Screw chronological order!)  Anyway, back to talking about my tatas. 

With Mila, I was uncertain about the whole breastfeeding process. My own mother couldn't breastfeed and in my social circle, I don't honestly know a lot of moms who have, so my hopes weren't high. But when they first handed her to me, she latched on like a champ. I didn't expect it, we were just going to do skin-to-skin contact, but with her limited newborn baby vision, she saw the opportunity and went for it. That's my girl, hungry from the get-go. It hurt a bit, but I was so proud that it was happening at all, that I didn't even care. That night, I fed her again in the NICU (she was there for observation) and the pain was still there, but she ate for a marathon session. A good 40 minutes per side. I was a new mom and saw this as (slightly painful) bliss. 

Until the next morning and the 🔥FIRE NIPPLES🔥. Yeah, it turns out she wasn't latching correctly (or unlatching properly either) and that resulted in some serious nipple damage. At first, they didn't look nearly as bad as they felt, so when the lactation consultant cane by, she seemed to think I was overreacting. "Breastfeeding shouldn't hurt," I was told hundreds of times...well, if you have nipple damage, it sure as hell will. In fact, simply having a shirt on felt like sheer and utter torture. I'm not even joking, when she latched on, it was worse than labor pains. My toes curled and I would scream. I dreaded her hungry eager little face and those piranha gums. If the US Government needs a new form of torture, attach babies to the nipples of international criminals. 

Thank God, we got past that stage...but I did use formula (The dread! The horror!!!) to supplement here and there, which sort of sucked because I felt like I was failing. I'm not good with failure, it sticks with me. I felt especially badly during those middle of the night feelings when there was really nothing else to focus on. Especially those first nights when they told me she wasn't filling her diaper enough and was still hungry. I cried so hard at that. Some of the "Breast is Best" supporters have a way of making you feel obligated to do everything the traditional, natural way but what really got us through that time were a few devices that they advised against. One was a "nipple shield." It looks like a tiny silicone witch hat that covers the whole areola area and it made it slightly more bearable to breastfeed until the nips healed (which involved scabbing and other gross stuff but I'll spare you the details.). It's recommended to be used sparingly but I used it exclusively for like three months straight. Whatever, it worked. 

Another thing that helped-and was suggested by the lactation consultant- were "breast shells" which were like hard plastic flying saucer cups that shielded the nips from touching anything. Without the right bra, it made me look like I had the worst implant job ever, but they made it possible for me to actually wear clothes, which was nice if I ever wanted to leave the house. Which I didn't, but still. 

Speaking of hard boobs...Holy McMoly and heaven forbid if you let the tatas become engorged. It's like having actual boulders for boobies. I had the pleasure of this happening a few times and sometimes they caused a plugged duct which is basically a boob blockage that hurts like hell, and the only cure is to feed-feed-feed that baby until it clears up. Super awesome for someone with tender nips. This time, with baby #2, I tried to avoid it but somehow it happened again and it turned into mastitis, which is an infection that makes it feel like you have the flu. Not a cold...the flu. Like influenza. Like you can't move your limbs and feel near death. Same cure, too...feed the baby like crazy until it clears up. This picture just keeps getting more beautiful, doesn't it? 

At this point, I should note the intense relationship that breastfeeding causes between mother and child. It isn't one sided, simply because mom is feeding baby...I need her just as much as she needs me in order to keep my breasts healthy. It's also weird to think that after nine plus months, this child is STILL attached to me somehow...just on the outside. I guess that part is kind of cool. 

But back to the uncool part. You need AT LEAST four arms to breastfeed. I'm not actually sure why evolution hasn't caught up with this yet...females should have four arms. One for holding the baby's head, one for holding the boob, one for getting and adjusting pillows or fixing a bad latch and one for using an electronic device when you are bored because frankly, breastfeeding is time consuming and there's only so many minutes I can stare at my child in awe. I'm sorry, but this is real talk my friends, and after 45 minutes on breast #1, one tends to get a bit restless. 

Speaking of restlessness and boredom...lets talk about breast pumping. Oh. My. Word. It's the most annoying fracking thing ever. First of all, there's like 70 different parts that you have to put together every single time, and you have to clean and sterilize them and OMG. When a coworker suggested I just keep the parts in the fridge in between pumping sessions, I wanted to hug her. I'm not sure how sanitary it is, but my kids are both fine (so far) plus, she's a science teacher so I'll take her word for it (anything to justify not cleaning the parts every time). I bought one of those bras with holes in the nips so I can free up my arms so I don't have to hold it all in place but once everything is set up, it's just BORING. You are literally strapped to one place and you fear that any movement will cause the previous milk to spill. If you are in a public place, you fear people walking in and despite all your best efforts, people WILL disrupt you while you have this device strapped to your chest making you look like some sort of FemBot reject. And I swear, after a while, the pump itself sounds like it says stuff. The suction sound starts to mimic words (Pardon! and Ratchet! being examples, but almost any two-syllable word will do) and I begin to think I'm losing my mind.  Which I guess I sort of am. 

Finally...your boobs become public property. In the hospital, everybody is checking them, checking your technique, etc. At home, the kid eats pretty much constantly (if they are awake), so at least one boob is exposed at all times for the first few weeks. Even once a routine is established, sometimes the kid has to eat when you are in public. I'm not a big public-feeder but trying to find a private spot isn't always easy. I have one of those drape/cover thingies, but peekaboos happen. At people's houses, I never know how people will react. Sometimes they ignore it, sometimes they stare, I've even had a few people caress my boob absentmindedly while I was feeding because they were just admiring the baby and the process (no, that doesn't make it less weird). Yeah. My boobs are no longer private property. 

So after going through all this pain and trouble, you can imagine my absolute indignation when Camila became sick. Her first cold came at about the three month mark and WTF?!? After all I went through, breast milk should be like a miracle cure for all baby ailments from acne to gas to the sniffles. I. Was. Pissed. And yeah yeah, I know, "It could have been worse had she not been breastfed" whatever...I still felt betrayed. And just TRY to breastfeed a baby whose nose is completely stuffed up. It's heartbreaking. 

Despite all this, here I am, with baby #2 and I'm at it again. Why torture myself if it was so bad? Three reasons. 1. I love my daughters and am willing to go through the struggle if it's in their best interest. 2. I'm a perfectionist who always wants to prove I can do stuff. And 3. I'm cheap, and formula is freaking expensive. My boobs are free. Although, the pumping equipment, breast shields and shells and milk storage bags cost a pretty penny, but still less than formula. 

I usually try to end my posts on a positive note, but ugh...it's difficult this time. Especially since I'm writing this at 3 AM while pumping AFTER breastfeeding Cora starting at 1:30 am. I breastfed Camila for eight months before she started biting and thinking it was funny, plus I wasn't able to pump regularly at work so my supply was dwindling and I gave up. I've been exclusively breastfeeding Cora so far, and hope to continue for a full year but I make no guarantees whatsoever. I'm glad I was able to do this for my daughters but I totally understand those moms who couldn't or wouldn't breastfeed. I'm not one of those "Breast is Best" preachers...I'm more like "Survival is Best, so You Do You, Mama." It's less catchy and doesn't rhyme, but it gets the point across.  

To all you moms out there, breastfeeders and bottle mamas and supplementers and everything in between, I salute you. Momming is the toughest job I've ever had, and...um...oh dear...

I was going to end this with some sort of epic inspirational paragraph, but I just heard a certain tiny someone blow out her diaper, so I've gotta run. You know how it is. Wish me luck. 

Coraline's Birth Story

As with ANY birth story, be forewarned. Some crazy, gross, horror-movie-like stuff went down in that delivery room, and I'm not yet sure how much I'm going to include in this post, so if you are squeamish, this is your exit cue. 

Okay-if you are still here...Hi! I just had a baby! Actually I had a baby two weeks ago, but judging by how my abdomen and nether regions are feeling right now, it might as well be yesterday. Before too much time has passed, I want to jot this down so one day my lovely little Cora can read it and say..."Gross, mom. Seriously...gross." And it will be glorious. Especially if it convinces her to wait to have a kid until she's 35, like me. Or mid-50s. Whatever comes first. 

Speaking of what came first, let's start at the beginning. This story actually starts with...Coraline's sister, Camila. (I know, I know, she's already trying to upstage her sister. I can't help it, this is how the story went!) On the night of March 5, 2016, an unusual occurrence took place. Mila woke up in the middle of the night crying and we could not get her back to sleep. In fact, just a few days prior, I was praising her for her ability to sleep through the night, so this was rare. After Carlos brought her to our bed (and retreated to the living room! Ugh 😡), she calmed down but was no longer sleepy. She pretty much wanted to play, talk, sing, and poke me in the face. After about an hour of that nonsense, I put her back to her crib and she finally relaxed, but I couldn't relax...I was cramping. Badly. And it seemed to be every ten minutes or so. Just as with Camila, I was nine days before my due date but UNLIKE Camila, my water hadnt broken so I wasn't sure I was in labor. I had had Braxton-Hicks contractions for three weeks do I wanted to be sure this was the real deal. I spent a good two or three hours timing these cramps, which turned out to be contractions. The on-call doctor (which is never MY doc because I always seem to go into labor late at night when he's off-duty) said to come in when they are 5 minutes apart. The problem was that sometimes they were 5 minutes but then the contractions were weak, and being a perfectionist, I wasn't sure if those "counted." I was seriously driving myself crazy. I had an app on my phone and was trying to find a pattern in the contractions. I wish there was an app where I could just place the phone on my belly and it would say either "GO TO HOSPITAL NOW!" or "Chill, girl. You got time. Have some FroYo." but there isn't. Maybe one of you readers of my blog can invent that!!! And then you better give me royalties because I came up with the idea! Hey! I got two little mouths to feed now! Kids ain't cheap, mofos!

Oh yeah...back to the kid... So, I woke Carlos and told him I might be in labor. He seemed to believe me this time, I guess he learned to trust my instincts after NOT believing me when my water broke with Camila (no, sweetie, you will never live that down). By 5 am, the pains were becoming unbearable and although they averaged seven minutes apart, we headed to the hospital. On the way there, they turned into three minutes apart (what the heck happened to all the minutes between seven and three?!?) and every bump in the road was excruciating. By the time we got to the hospital, I was ready for the drugs!

Have I mentioned how much I love Greenwich Hospital? Pain or not, I was psyched to be there. The service is outstanding, it's a beautiful hospital, I never have to wait, it's basically a hotel with a medical staff. They hooked me up with the IV after a few painful failed attempts, and then it was epidural time. 

Epidurals are scary. I'm not sure why because they aren't actually painful, but you have to sign a waiver, and they don't let your partner see what they are doing, and I've heard nightmare stories so I guess that's why, but regardless of the reason, I was freaked out. I was also, apparently, dehydrated. Just before the epidural was complete, I started feeling woozy. Like..."I might faint" woozy. I started sweating all over and the room was closing in on me until...SMELLING SALTS! Or ammonia, rather. Scary moment, but the nursing staff (and my hubby) were there when I "came to" and once the drugs started kicking in, I felt MUCH better. It was bliss. 

Well, for a while anyway. Until they inexplicably started becoming painful again. With Camila, I had pressure pain so I didn't expect a painless labor but this was different. And getting worse. The epidural specialist came in and gave me an extra dose of whatever 'epidurally medicine' they give you but it didn't cut the pain one bit. He offered to redo it but after my near-faint experience, I was reluctant. My blood pressure was already dropping to sort-of-scary levels and I didn't want to risk it. 

But it was getting worse. The doctor came in to check on my dilation and when he checked me (like, on the inside) DURING A CONTRACTION, it was the single most painful thing I ever ever experienced. I thought my body would split in two from the pain. My amazing nurse Chrissy broached the subject of redoing the epidural again, and this time I went for it. I was out of options. A new specialist came in to do the procedure, while Nurse Chrissy kept me calm through the contractions. It turns out, the original epidural fell out of place so I was pretty much doing natural labor for the previous two hours. (Side note...natural labor is horrible. In 2016, I don't understand why anyone would do it. I'm not even sure I understand how the human race still exists considering how long women had babies without drugs. Baffling.)

Finally! Relief! After this, it was pretty much smooth sailing until delivery time. Carlos and I watched a lot of HGTV (another side note-what is this fascination with "tiny houses" lately?!? I don't want to live in a space where my bed doubles as my breakfast table slash sofa slash desk slash whatever) I wasn't even getting the pressure pains in my backside like I did with Camila. I was dilating well, too. The only issue was that the baby was too high up. After shifting me around for a few hours, Nurse Chrissy came in with what looked like a giant pill device that looked like two big exercise balls melted  together. I had no idea what the hell to do with this thing. Bounce on it? Bend backward and stretch over it? It turns out that they put the giant thing between my legs (if you know what I mean), like a pillow when you are sleeping (wait...what did you THINK I meant?!?) and...it worked!!! About a half hour later, Cora was in position and we were ready! Nurse Chrissy was the absolute best!

It was showtime. I was NOT looking forward to this part. I pushed for nearly an hour with Camila and by the end of that labor, I was more exhausted than I had ever been in my entire life. Well, they say that your subsequent deliveries are shorter, and that was true because I only pushed for 20 minutes or so. Although it must be mentioned that the staff and my own husband OUTRIGHT LIED and told me that she was "right there" for about 15 of those minutes. In fact, during my second-to-last push, I could have SWORN that the baby was halfway outside of me and I BEGGED them to let me push again. By "them" I mean all six people on the room. Yes, it was a full house, partially because they had found out that the baby made a bowel movement right before delivery (That's my girl!) and needed extra staff from the NICU to make sure it didn't pose a threat to her health. 

But that last push did it and, according to my husband, she "shot right out!" They placed her beautiful (and covered in disgusting jelly looking stuff) little head on my belly and I could already see her fuzzy little shoulders and big eyes wide open just like her older sister. I kissed my hand and placed it on her head before they whisked her away to the next table to make sure she hasn't ingested anything dangerous. The next few minutes were a blur of relief, me craning to try to see my new baby, passing the placenta and getting stitched up (which I didn't actually feel! Yay for a functioning epidural!) and the bustling of all those people in the room. I remember two things most clearly- 1. The number of people commenting on her crazy-long eyelashes and 2. The look of joy on Carlos' face. When I had Camila, I was too exhausted afterwards to pay attention to his reaction, but this time I got to see his "proud papa" face as he inched in to take photos and video of his new little girl. Our family just became all the more complete. 

Finally, they cleaned her up and I was able to hold my sweet little Coraline for the first time. I kissed her little forehead as I would do thousands of times in the following weeks. She looked like her sister, but not quite. Her nose was definitely different. I could already tell she was a quiet, peaceful little thing. And she was here. Thank the Lord. 

I started this blog entry a week ago, it's actually Easter morning and our sweet Coraline is exactly three weeks old today. It hasn't been easy with two-under-two, but she is a wonderful baby and has made it a lot easier than it could have been. She sleeps a good 90% of the day...and that includes nights!!! Woohoo! So far, she doesn't seem to have a "witching hour" and I hope that doesn't change. She has a little red birthmark above her lip and another on her right eyelid like her mama. In short, she is my perfect angel. Her name means "beautiful heart" and so far she is living up to it. 

Welcome to our crazy family, Miss Coraline Jolie. We love you so gosh-darn much.