My baby will be two months old this week. I feel like I've lived a whole lifetime in just these past eight weeks. Late nights have been rough, of course, even with my husband helping to support me. Diaper blowouts, crying jags, traumatic bathtimes - many of the challenges of parenthood have already reared their ugly heads. I've got a good support team, though, so we're all getting by.
They say, however, that no two mommies are the same; nor are two babies. Which means that everything - from how baby wants to be held to which brand of diaper works best, is up for debate. The problem is, this mommy is also a perfectionist, which means that things must be done one of two ways: flawlessly or not at all.
That's not a good thing. Especially when pretty much the next 18+ years of my life will be almost entirely trial and error. *Cue panic attack.*
Although I'm not sharing every tiny little scrap of information about my baby with the world, I think it's important to at least chronicle some of my struggles. After all, my readers have journeyed through miscarriage with me; now that my husband and I have our long-awaited child, we have a new set of challenges, and it's only fair that we're honest about those, too.
Ronen spent nine days in the NICU, and although he received excellent care during that time, it severely limited my ability to bond with him, particularly in the area of breastfeeding. That has been very difficult for me, and I've been quite hard on myself each time Ross or I mixed up a bottle of formula to supplement our little guy. I wanted so badly to be able to breastfeed exclusively, but that just hasn't happened. Poor latch, ongoing pain, exhaustion on my part, or just plain discouragement has led us to turn to the (baby) bottle on occasion. I've already run the gamut of ideas to make things more successful or easier, but most have failed for us, leaving me again condemning myself as a mother when I mumbled "yes, please", to my husband's offer of bottle-feeding the baby as I rolled back over for twenty more minutes of precious sleep when I should have been pumping, or feeding him myself.
I've hated myself for losing patience with the baby when I couldn't understand his needs. He was fed, changed, clean, warm, and swaddled. Why was he still crying and WHEN WOULD HE STOP?!
Ross was concerned that I had post-partum depression. I think the hormonal swings scared him, and rightly so - they scared me, too. However, when I was honest with myself and did a little research, I found that the majority of the symptoms didn't match up with what I was feeling. In fact, the greatest amount of my frustration was coming from one source alone: breastfeeding.
Or rather, my apparent failure at it.
I realized that the times I struggled with the most anger, depression and anxiety were feeding times. This might be linked with the baby's time in the NICU, where feedings were closely monitored and any time in which the baby consumed less than expected or took longer than expected was considered a failure. Or, it could be a side effect of the self-imposed burden of perfectionism, since nursing has not been a happy, beautiful and successful experience from day one. Probably a bit of both.
Still, once I isolated that part of motherhood, things got a little clearer. I pinpointed the specifics of why breastfeeding was making me anxious, and realized that, while some are fixable, some really are not. My son's high palate is something he has to grow into, and is causing latching problems which leave me in pain. So I began to dislike nursing my son.
Dreading breastfeeding made me feel like a terrible mother, so the cycle continued. I'd get upset about breastfeeding and it would frequently result in a self-fulfilling prophecy. The baby would finally latch, but I'd be stuck in an awkward or painful position for forty-five minutes. Or he would thrash about so violently that I'd have to literally pin his arms down to try to get him to eat. And, yes, the little dude picked up on my emotions, and reacted accordingly.
So guess what? He gets formula and pumped milk.
I've read lots of comments in nursing forums online, and frankly, it's enough to make any mother feel that she is valueless if she cannot or will not provide a baby nourishment at her breast. My girl Jaime, whom I frequently mention, was unable to nurse her twins and didn't learn until her fourth daughter was born that she actually had a glandular problem that prevented her from providing for her girls! For four years she dealt with intermittent disappointment and shame because she wasn't a proud breast-feeding mama...and even now, after receiving the knowledge that there was nothing in her power she could have done, she sometimes has twinges of guilt. Yes, breast milk has the upper hand on formula; mommies make it for each specific baby. But, in my case, it was being provided with a heavy dose of stress, anxiety, anger, resentment, and dread. That's not a cocktail I'd want to give any baby.
I frequently see it quoted that any woman can breastfeed if she tries hard enough, because it is "natural". But that makes no sense at all! It's "natural" to conceive children, yet thousands of couples each year find themselves truly unable to have babies, no matter how hard they try. Some can be helped with medical intervention, some cannot. I believe breastfeeding is the same way. I'm sure that the majority of women who have challenges can overcome them, but some cannot. I'm not saying I cannot overcome my own challenges, but I'm slowly accepting that my son has had lots of my own milk these past several weeks - which is a great thing! He gets lots of love and snuggles from anyone who feeds him. The bottle has allowed my family to feed the baby, which has been spiritually fulfilling - after all, these people have prayed for us through each miscarriage and have been waiting to welcome this tiny one into our lives as anxiously as we have. Why shouldn't I share him? Plus, yes...it is immeasurably beneficial for my husband and I to share night-feeding duties. Although I still take the lion's share (he works full time and I do not, so I try to let him sleep more at night and he lets me sleep in and nap on weekends and when he comes home), I definitely tag-team him sometimes. "Your turn," I mumble as I roll over and steal another half-hour of sweet sleep.
I've had a few crisis moments over the past few days. Moments when I am questioning my own decision to feed my baby both breast milk and formula. Wondering if I'm denying him for my own comfort. If Mommy being happy really does impact baby's happiness.
But then I look at my sweet-faced sleeping son, happily snoozing with a belly full of milk, and I realize: even as a preemie, he is easily meeting his developmental milestones as though he were full-term. He rolled over twice at 4 weeks (and lest that be a fluke, he did it again last week). He is starting to smile and express pleasure. He grabs at the bottle on his own. He hold his head up for several seconds at a time. He recognizes voices. He has gained almost 3 pounds since birth. He is beginning to sleep longer and longer stretches at night.
He. Is. Happy.
And you know what else?
Mommy and Daddy are, too.
If he scores two or three points lower on an IQ test because he consumed formula along with breast milk during his infancy, that's ok. I will love him anyway, because he is my son.
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