tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51039815239050374402024-03-06T00:30:55.365-05:00Monkey MamaMonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-34208244554216044302012-03-22T17:55:00.000-04:002012-03-22T17:55:26.396-04:00Nursing a Toddler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaknAkrf_cco2f5twvxW0euWTBFxuiZ2JFUY5XG611Q0LGrImmBvOj5IFJ5iDl4O86HDMMrDu3BNsv-hAbZPLpD6g4w_9Ek_zsDS8VGfhOA7f4yXrEjk-WnJVhr4oE8_DxHqXV8lyTd8w/s1600/IMG_5471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaknAkrf_cco2f5twvxW0euWTBFxuiZ2JFUY5XG611Q0LGrImmBvOj5IFJ5iDl4O86HDMMrDu3BNsv-hAbZPLpD6g4w_9Ek_zsDS8VGfhOA7f4yXrEjk-WnJVhr4oE8_DxHqXV8lyTd8w/s320/IMG_5471.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>At 19 months old, there is no question that my little Monkey has left infancy behind and is now a full fledged toddler. And really, toddlerhood is a lot of fun! I love watching him as he learns new things every minute, and I swear, his vocabulary is increasing exponentially. His play has evolved into more pretend play and sensory exploration, leaving pretty terrific messes in his wake. He has also become much more independent. I was amazed last weekend at a St. Patrick's day party when he took off with his Granny and Papa for at least a half an hour before he came looking for me. But all of this learning, growing, and newfound independence is exhausting, and he still loves to snuggle up with his mama and nurse.<br />
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So, how is nursing a toddler different than nursing a baby? <br />
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For starters, he's bigger and he won't sit still, but that's not so bad. Because he's bigger, he's able to latch on all by himself and I can multitask while he snacks. In fact, he's nursing down for a nap as I type this. The gym-nurse-tics I could do without most of the time, but if nothing else, it's quite entertaining (it certainly provides my husband with a source amusement as Monkey assumes the downward dog yoga position without unlatching). <br />
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The part I hate the most about nursing a toddler? The dreaded nursing in public. I feel very self conscious when we nurse in public (which is not helped by his distracted Karate Kid inspired nursing style: latch-on, latch-off). Sometimes I find myself hoping that Monkey won't ask for milk (or, muk, as he calls it) until we get home. But, to be honest, most of the time no one even bats an eye, and if they have an opinion they keep it to themselves.<br />
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When he was younger, I proudly nursed in public everywhere we went. By openly breastfeeding in public, I felt like was helping other mothers (who might be nervous about doing so themselves) by normalizing it. I have to periodically remind myself that the same is true for nursing a toddler in public. There are a lot of "closet-nursing" mamas out there who, just like me, feel squeamish about others knowing that their toddler is <i>still</i> breastfeeding. <br />
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Now, I'm not going to lie. I am not as open about it as I used to be. Most of the time, Monkey nurses in our ErgoBaby carrier, and, while I don't cover him up (as if he'd allow that!), most people don't realize that he's nursing and think he's just sleeping. But, some people do notice and they often give me a look or even say something to let me know that they've noticed. Sometimes it's a look of disapproval or disbelief, but more often than not, it's a knowing smile from a mama who's been there, and that just makes my day.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVECGqqUtQXALG54ZW5tU4q9vmgQqUe2b5wZ5w8oa4eVirFfKntWrL5bMvFlVMI2pYC66AlFgnmpVGYlYhpco47GL0J-H7OzIc3fSLjiB0jGoljoFhFX-7uXigowPhkEtew0OHIYRUqBk/s1600/IMG_3808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVECGqqUtQXALG54ZW5tU4q9vmgQqUe2b5wZ5w8oa4eVirFfKntWrL5bMvFlVMI2pYC66AlFgnmpVGYlYhpco47GL0J-H7OzIc3fSLjiB0jGoljoFhFX-7uXigowPhkEtew0OHIYRUqBk/s200/IMG_3808.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
I have no intention of weaning him before his second birthday (as recommended by the <a href="http://www.who.int/nutrition/topics/exclusive_breastfeeding/en/" target="_blank">World Health Organization</a>, among others), and I have no idea how long we'll continue with our nursing relationship after that. Perhaps I'll let him self-wean, I'm just not sure yet. For now, I'm enjoying the snuggles and milky smiles while I still can.MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-56302700534839256402011-09-14T17:01:00.004-04:002012-03-21T17:14:29.028-04:00Unsolicited advice for my pregnant friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ijvgg-zj84jX3GzgBQZKnvpGzIQqsgoeYaXQXqF5H-IdrNerLmF_qMgBFfXH7iY44WyvwSvR5cOQ6Zh2ab2gN1Otfy2ADkxy50M-n5DaMIUoJuSYx1lWuNTuCH0fmS9k9fBaLQYnboI/s1600/P4070616_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ijvgg-zj84jX3GzgBQZKnvpGzIQqsgoeYaXQXqF5H-IdrNerLmF_qMgBFfXH7iY44WyvwSvR5cOQ6Zh2ab2gN1Otfy2ADkxy50M-n5DaMIUoJuSYx1lWuNTuCH0fmS9k9fBaLQYnboI/s320/P4070616_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 17px;">If you are already visibly pregnant, you may have already noticed that social boundaries are beginning to change as friends, family, and even complete strangers put their hands on your belly - sometimes without even asking! Over the course of the next few months, you’re going to hear from just about everyone that your life is about to change in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. The barista at Starbucks will warn you about the sleep deprivation and tell you to get lots of sleep now (as if that’s going to make you feel better when you’ve been up for days with only a few hours of sleep – “Oh, I’m so glad I got all that sleep last month!”). The lady behind you in line at the supermarket will tell you all about her own (or her sister’s, cousin’s, best friend’s or neighbor’s) pregnancies. Some coworker will recount every gory detail of her first pregnancy, from morning sickness to crowning. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">The good news is that you won’t be pregnant forever, and the belly groping will eventually stop. The bad news? Once your baby is born, the unsolicited advice will overflow as you will become fair game for every well-meaning man, woman, and child to tell you everything you’re doing wrong and why their way is better. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">So, what makes me think you want to hear my advice now? Well, maybe you don’t, but these are the things that I wish people HAD told me when I was pregnant, rather than telling me about their sister-in-law’s failed induction that led to a c-section or why I must get the epidural. The following is my unsolicited advice:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">1. You're reading the wrong books<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">When I was pregnant, I read lots of books: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Expect-When-Youre-Expecting/dp/0761148574">What to Expect When You're Expecting</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Your-Pregnancy-Week-6th/dp/0738211095/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1316036308&sr=1-1">Your Pregnancy Week by Week</a>, and even <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Belly-Laughs-Naked-Pregnancy-Childbirth/dp/0738210072/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1316036379&sr=1-1">Belly Laughs</a>, by Jenny McCarthy. It was fun reading about my baby's weekly development, and I felt reassured that all of my wacky pregnancy "symptoms" were normal. It never occurred to me to read some baby books as well. Seriously. There I was, thrilled to be pregnant (despite the water retention, swollen hippo feet, acne, and frequent trips to the bathroom), just giddy with excitement about having a baby, but I was so caught up in the pregnancy part that I forgot to read ahead to find out what was coming next. Well girls, all that free time you have to read while you're pregnant is going to be a distant memory once your bundle of joy arrives, so take advantage of it and read up a little bit on burping, spit-up, colostrum, umbilical cord care, sleep, and poop (it's amazing how interested in poop you will become in your first few weeks as a new mom). I highly recommend <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Baby-Book-Everything-About-Birth/dp/0316779059">The Baby Book</a> (along with just about everything from the Sears Library), <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sleeping-Your-Baby-Parents-Cosleeping/dp/1930775342">Sleeping With Your Baby</a>, by Dr. James McKenna (even if you don't plan on co-sleeping), and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/No-Cry-Sleep-Solution-Gentle-Through/dp/0071381392">The No-Cry Sleep Solution</a>, by Elizabeth Pantley.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">2. Do your own research<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">In addition to reading the baby books, I encourage you to once again take advantage of the free time you have now and do some research. Think your doctor has told you all you need to know? Think again. I believe that most doctors really do have good intentions, but too many of them are not up to date on current recommendations or may not have taken the time to fully educate themselves and then their patients. The burden is on you, so do your homework. Find out what you need to know about medicated birth, vaccines, circumcision, and breastfeeding. You will need to make decisions about all of these things and you will likely feel more comfortable if those decisions are informed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">3. Keep the receipts<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">Nesting during pregnancy inspires many trips to the local baby store. I remember marching (well, actually, I was waddling) up and down the aisles with my husband, armed with our barcode scanner registry gun, convinced that we needed everything in that store. We spent months agonizing over choosing the right crib, stroller, bottles, and the rest of the obligatory baby gear. Well, I can tell you that our beautiful (and expensive) crib has yet be slept in, Monkey spends more time in a sling, wrap, or carrier than in a stroller, and once we had established breastfeeding, he refused bottles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">4. Attend a La Leche League meeting<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">It’s no secret that I’m a lactivist and want every baby to be breastfed, so I’m going to skip the part where I tell you all about the wonderful benefits to both baby and mom (I’ll save that for another post). You probably already know most of that stuff anyway, right? What you may not know is that breastfeeding, much like most aspects of parenting, is not without its challenges, and may not come “naturally” to all mothers and babies. This is especially true for mothers who have endured highly medicalized births such as inductions or cesarean sections. The best way to combat these breastfeeding challenges, should you encounter them, is to arm yourself with knowledge before they occur. Yup, I’m telling you to do more homework. Go to a <a href="http://www.llli.org/webus.html">La Leche League meeting near you</a> and talk to other moms. Moms-to-be attend all the time, so there’s no need to feel weird about possibly attending without a babe in arms. Listen to the moms and meeting leaders and ask them any questions that you may have. You may find that some of them delivered in the same hospital or birthing center as you and they may have specific advice. LLL meetings are great for growing your circle of mom friends and for getting the support that many breasteeding moms seek.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">So, there you have it. I hope that this helps you along as you fumble towards motherhood. Just one more thing:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">5. Enjoy every minute<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13pt;">I know, I know, the hippo feet, the nausea, the aching back, the hot flashes, and the exhaustion… I haven’t forgotten. But I promise you that you will have moments when you miss being pregnant. That amazing feeling of your baby moving around in your belly is unlike anything else in the world. It’s the beginning of the unique bonding that takes place between mother and baby, and it really is amazing. Remember, it only lasts for about nine months – a blip in your lifetime – so take the time to enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-1082073042130140012011-01-25T17:33:00.003-05:002012-03-21T17:10:38.529-04:00Circumcision: whose choice should it really be?Lately I've been feeling a lot of guilt over having had my son circumcised. The truth is, I did absolutely no research on the subject (which is not like me at all). My husband thought it should be done, and other people suggested that there were <a href="http://www.nocircpa.org/4642.html">medical benefits</a> (such as being cleaner, resulting in fewer infections, and a correlation with lower rates of STDs) so I said, "okay." I barely even gave it a second thought until it came time to do it. When the doctor came to take Monkey away for the circumcision, I felt sick about it. When they brought him back and I saw his raw little penis, I cried. <br />
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So, why did I do it? <br />
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If only I had taken the time to learn more about it before he was born, I probably wouldn't have consented. I know now that there was no legitimate medical reason to have it done. I know now that it was painful for him. I know now that the <a href="http://patiented.aap.org/content.aspx?aid=5273">American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) does not recommend it</a>. I know now that I made a decision that cannot be undone, and my son will have to live with it for the rest of his life.<br />
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Since there is no medical rationale, why are we still cutting our baby boys? For the sake of tradition, culture, or religion? Just because something has gone on for a long time (e.g., slavery, female genital mutilation, hazing) or is done in the name of culture or religion (suicide bombings, honor killings, ritual human sacrifice) <a href="http://www.hks.harvard.edu/fs/rzeckhau/SQBDM.pdf">doesn't make it right</a>, and male circumcision is no exception. <br />
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I don't know any men who would voluntarily be circumcised as consenting adults, so why on earth do we, as parents, subject our sons to it? <br />
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"He won't be able to remember it, so it's okay."<br />
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Really? REALLY??? Most people <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Childhood_amnesia">can't remember anything before the age of two</a> (and some before the age of 5), so does that mean that it doesn't matter how we treat our children for the first couple of years because they won't remember anyway? Go ahead and slap your kid around - he won't remember when he grows up, so it doesn't matter. This kind of "logic" helps parents feel better about the mistakes they've made along the way (and hey, nobody's perfect), but it shouldn't be used to justify abuse - or unnecessary cosmetic genital mutilation. Besides, we wouldn't allow this to happen to our daughters, would we?<br />
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I can't undo what I have already allowed to be done to my son, but I can (and do) support the <a href="http://www.mgmbill.org/index.htm">MGM Bill</a> to end nonconsensual genital mutilation.MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-60283811392566691062011-01-24T18:44:00.004-05:002012-03-21T17:05:54.406-04:00I'm a Little Bit Crunchy<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The Definition of a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=crunchy+mama">"Crunchy Mama"</a> (according to Urban Dictionary): </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 19px;"><i>"Mother who supports homebirth, breastfeeding, baby wearing, cloth diapering, co-sleeping, gentle discipline, etc. One who questions established medical authority; tends to be vegetarian and/or prepare all-organic foods. See </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 19px;"><i>crunchy</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 19px;"><i> and </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 19px;"><i>hippie</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 19px;"><i>.</i></span></div><div class="example" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 5pt; margin-top: 5pt;">'That crunchy mama is breastfeeding in public again!'"</div>While I remain undecided on having a homebirth myself (the four doctors who make up my child's grandparents would have a collective conniption), I fully support a mother's right to make that choice for herself. I am a passionate breastfeeding lactivist (and IBCLC-in-training). I wear my baby as often as possible and my collection of baby carriers is ever expanding. I like the idea of cloth diapering, but Hubby thinks it's gross, and the truth is, the initial cost is so much more expensive than sticking with disposables. I believe that <a href="http://www.nd.edu/~jmckenn1/lab/longterm.html">co-sleeping</a> is natural for babies and cribs are silly. Gentle discipline has always been my way, even as a teacher. I hate using anything with unnecessary dyes or fragrances, especially on my baby. I am vegetarian and I plan on feeding my baby whole natural (preferably organic) foods rather than jarred processed foods through <a href="http://www.wholesomebabyfood.com/babyledweaning.htm">baby-led weaning</a> when he is ready for solids. I am a vegetarian, but that's not a choice I plan on making for Monkey. And don't even get me started about extended breastfeeding! That one's gonna open a big can of worms after Monkey's first birthday.<br />
<br />
So it seems that, now that I'm a mom, I'm a little bit crunchy. I don't think I'm super granola crunchy, but just a little crunchy (although urban dictionary may beg to differ). Unfortunately, outside of my <a href="http://rqpmama.blogspot.com/2011/01/bring-back-leaky-bb.html">online circle of friends,</a> I don't have many people in my life who would describe themselves as such, so I often find myself keeping my crunchy opinions quiet. And, you know what? That kind of sucks.<br />
<br />
But, what to do? I like my friends so I'm not looking to trade them in for crunchier alternatives, nor do I wish to "convert" them. The truth is, I would guess that most of them would be surprised to learn that I'm a little bit crunchy. Hubby is aware (although <i>slightly</i> in denial) and tolerant of my crunchy tendencies and is even somewhat supportive (as long as the ideas that I propose are not too much more expensive than their less-than-green alternatives as we are on a tight budget these days).<br />
<br />
Are there any other closet-crunchies out there?MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-28715680313471482742011-01-03T21:56:00.001-05:002012-03-21T17:02:53.377-04:00Bring back the Leaky B@@b!Breastfeeding did not come easily to me but I was lucky to have the support of my husband, my mom and dad, a handful of fabulous lactation consultants, oh and about 5,000 "Leakies" on a facebook page called The Leaky B@@b. I'm not sure how I found TLB, but boy am I glad that I did! <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gKJp5shj8bg8aJAXkOBH71IatmFEvGnTzbbrAQ6nQ6XqKpUjerYYyK8LPzl0Tv2e3a7kxm4b3x5vZ21XWElitQDI0HcBWr_Rrq9zgyi5ITToFCm-ZUAuY9AqxajVEK4CM6zmisItYFs/s1600/1104102344c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gKJp5shj8bg8aJAXkOBH71IatmFEvGnTzbbrAQ6nQ6XqKpUjerYYyK8LPzl0Tv2e3a7kxm4b3x5vZ21XWElitQDI0HcBWr_Rrq9zgyi5ITToFCm-ZUAuY9AqxajVEK4CM6zmisItYFs/s320/1104102344c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nursing my little Monkey... <br />
Tell me, is this hateful, threatening, or obscene?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>When posting on TLB, I felt safe. I could ask questions about nipple pain without embarrassment or proclaim "BREAST IS BEST!" without offending anyone. It wasn't long before I felt like a part of the Leaky family. We cared about and supported one another without judgement. <br />
On new year's eve, I posted for a friend who was suffering from chronic clogged ducts and within a few minutes, a handful of Leakies had responded with encouragement and helpful suggestions for relief. My friend was amazed, and I felt proud to introduce her to my virtual family. <br />
Approximately 24 hours later, The Leaky B@@b was removed from facebook with the following explanation:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/2011/01/email-from-facebook.html">"Your Page "The Leaky B@@b" has been removed for violating our Terms of Use. A Facebook Page is a distinct presence used solely for business or promotional purposes. Among other things, Pages that are hateful, threatening, or obscene are not allowed. We also take down Pages that attack an individual or group, or that are set up by an unauthorized individual. If your Page was removed for any of the above reasons, it will not be reinstated. Continued misuse of Facebook's features could result in the permanent loss of your account."</a></span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
Huh? Apparently my caring, non-judgemental, supportive family was considered by some to be "hateful, threatening, or obscene." It's so absurd, I can't even wrap my head around it. Too many breastfeeding mothers have encountered ignorance and discrimination or have been made to hide under blankets or in bathrooms to feed their babies (despite <a href="http://www.ncsl.org/issues-research/health/breastfeeding-state-laws.aspx" target="_blank">laws protecting their right to breastfeed in public</a>). That was out in the real world, and now it's happening on facebook as well. <br />
<i><a href="http://www.facebook.com/topic.php?uid=68310606562&topic=18315">Shame on you, facebook</a></i>, for violating your own Terms of Use by "attacking an individual or group."<br />
Please, do the right thing and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bring-back-The-Leaky-Boob/185706648121870">Bring back the Leaky B@@b</a>!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5seqligq5BbMnNROgnY12IGgFySsVvRNV1nzWtgvGRtUYietoFV1caK0825NkxHc5ssLGpwtRBiWyxQuKFSiWKBdG_bm7kJTzid4uHwHdjA1iEduaDeNfgCZgbRiQQR-B0lj4ZXS4TkM/s1600/168446_185706894788512_185706648121870_648730_5523527_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5seqligq5BbMnNROgnY12IGgFySsVvRNV1nzWtgvGRtUYietoFV1caK0825NkxHc5ssLGpwtRBiWyxQuKFSiWKBdG_bm7kJTzid4uHwHdjA1iEduaDeNfgCZgbRiQQR-B0lj4ZXS4TkM/s320/168446_185706894788512_185706648121870_648730_5523527_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-9711094430109240962010-12-15T22:53:00.002-05:002012-03-21T17:00:04.607-04:00Breastfeeding Part IIIOver the next four weeks, I continued to meet with three lactation consultants: Ann, Kathleen, and Patty. We tried nursing in different positions to see what would work best. We went back and forth with using the nipple shield - sometimes it worked well, other times it hurt like hell. It always seemed like he latched well when a lactation consultant was watching but then when I was alone, we just couldn't get it together. <br />
<br />
My mom and Hubby were both very supportive and did what they could to help, but I still felt really alone. I felt like no one really understood why this was so important to me and I couldn't explain it if I tried. Most people told me that I had tried hard enough and it was time to give up. After all, their kids had had formula and were "just fine."<br />
<br />
Monkey's latch steadily improved, but he often got fussy at the breast, especially in the evenings. Okay, he was more than fussy. He would latch on for a couple of minutes and then clamp down and pull back while flailing his arms and legs and finally (after I unlatched him) screaming his lungs out. The LCs couldn't decide if the milk flow was too fast or too slow and the pediatrician was sure it was reflux.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9qTZAUmww421HqYmad7qX1wvSvBkh7E1e5UGkxijWsVo504AKETY2V9lDlIllaUyXGZRI4mSdw-E8nBycmnPpidCSKggn8ef1rrI5oB-TmtqRmHxYNYgqEX9mrPFMsG0k_sKlDQgacs/s1600/1004101657a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig9qTZAUmww421HqYmad7qX1wvSvBkh7E1e5UGkxijWsVo504AKETY2V9lDlIllaUyXGZRI4mSdw-E8nBycmnPpidCSKggn8ef1rrI5oB-TmtqRmHxYNYgqEX9mrPFMsG0k_sKlDQgacs/s320/1004101657a.jpg" width="240" /></a>At six weeks, we finally turned a corner. At the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lactation-Drop-in/167969676575919">breastfeeding drop-in</a> at the hospital, he had been transferring more and more milk each week and this time, Patty said she thought I was ready to drop the bottles. She told me to try just nursing him for the next two days and to come back in for a weigh-in in 48 hours. I was so happy! I called Hubby on my way home and told him. He seemed a little bit apprehensive about trying exclusive breastfeeding again after what had happened <a href="http://rqpmama.blogspot.com/2010/12/breastfeeding-part-ii_14.html">before</a>. For the rest of the day, we nursed as much as Monkey wanted. That night we went to my first La Leche League meeting and I told my story. I was so excited that I was able to finish the story by saying we were getting rid of the bottles. <br />
<br />
But then something awful happened. As I was nursing Monkey towards the end of the LLL meeting, my nipple began to hurt. One of the leaders came over to help me, but when she looked she said his latch looked pretty good. I figured that maybe it was just from nursing more that day than I was used to, but as the night went on the pain just got worse and worse. Around 4am I was in tears as Monkey nursed happily. Hubby finally told me to stop and gave him a bottle while I pumped, but even the pumping hurt. I suffered through the pain as much as I could the next day, only giving Monkey one more bottle. <br />
<br />
I was nervous about his weight and couldn't wait until Thursday, so on Wednesday I called Ann (one of the LCs who had been helping me) and she came over with her scale to weigh him. He had not lost any weight, so I was relieved - but I was still in pain. I continued to breastfeed through the excruciating pain for the next twenty four hours. Finally, Thursday rolled around and Monkey and I went to see Patty. I was elated to see that he had gained two ounces! Patty was excited too, but she was concerned when I told her about the nipple pain. I sat down to nurse him so that she could see his latch and she said it was perfect. On the verge of tears, I told her that it felt like he had razorblades in his mouth.<br />
<br />
"You just said the magic words!" She explained that the pain I was describing was classic yeast/thrush and told me to get a prescription for "triple-nipple-cream" (also known as <a href="http://www.drjacknewman.com/help/Candida-Protocol.asp">APNO</a>). I called my OB immediately and had the ointment about an hour later. Within a few hours, I began to feel relief and by the next day I was breastfeeding pain-free. <br />
<br />
Monkey is now 22 weeks old and has been exclusively breastfed since he was 7 weeks old. We still go to the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Lactation-Drop-in/167969676575919">breastfeeding drop-in</a> to see Patty and to help other nursing moms who are struggling.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YPDMucm-r8TeW9gYRkX0NrM-WTNa8dD8K0ctEWnhCItQwuMhncmHm2m_OAFPYX7CG44dTfIhsLCXs4Ti6ELQvimSeUaPWswX_ilmwi2xHuHzX2rYON1CspFDnGO6jiwHpOm4OAAc3Zo/s1600/1106101805a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YPDMucm-r8TeW9gYRkX0NrM-WTNa8dD8K0ctEWnhCItQwuMhncmHm2m_OAFPYX7CG44dTfIhsLCXs4Ti6ELQvimSeUaPWswX_ilmwi2xHuHzX2rYON1CspFDnGO6jiwHpOm4OAAc3Zo/s320/1106101805a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-20435757662613851982010-12-07T23:29:00.002-05:002012-03-29T23:50:58.659-04:00Breastfeeding Part II<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For the next couple of weeks, we worked hard to nurse every two hours, day and night. It hurt a little bit, but it was not that bad so I wasn't worried. I figured I just needed to get used to it. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At the beginning of the third week, things started to get bad. My nipples were bruised and so very sore. Something had drastically changed, but I couldn't figure out what it was. One desperate night, Hubby and I wound up supplementing with the milk that I had pumped in the hospital. We used a tiny 5cc syringe because I was sure that using a bottle would forever doom our breastfeeding relationship. I met with </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">two </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">lactation consultants that week, one at the hospital and one who came to my home. They were both helpful, and a before and after weighing showed that Monkey transferred about an ounce, but the pain continued. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That Saturday, my husband had to go to a party with his parents and my mom was having dinner with friends, leaving me alone with Monkey for the first time ever. A few minutes after Hubby left, Monkey started crying and didn't stop. I tried everything I could think of, but (other than one short 30 minute nap) the crying continued. About four hours later, after several tearful phone calls, my mom came over to help me. We determined that Monkey did not have a fever, but still I couldn't soothe him. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I called the pediatrician on-call, and she went over a list of things for me to check to figure out why he was crying. She finally told me to drive him around for twenty minutes and, if that didn't work, to take him to the emergency room. We tried the driving and it didn't work, so we took him to the hospital. They weighed him and ran a bunch of blood tests and then they told me that he was malnourished and dehydrated. Needless to say, I was crushed (and then I was the one crying for hours). </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At 5lbs 15oz, he was 3 ounces below his birth weight and his bilirubin levels were 13.5 (which I later found out was not as high as the doctor had suggested, but still not great). </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The ER doctor said that we had to supplement Monkey with formula, which I had never wanted to do. As I watched Hubby feed him that bottle of formula, I thought about his "virgin gut" and how we were ruining it. It broke my heart that we were no longer exclusively breastfeeding. I had heard the stories and I knew that supplementing with formula could destroy our chances for successful breastfeeding. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They almost admitted Monkey into the hospital that night, but, after talking to our pediatrician, they finally decided to let us take him home. They gave us strict instructions for feeding him: every two hours, breastfeed for no more than twenty minutes (so that he wouldn't "waste" too much energy on it) and then give him pumped breast-milk and then formula. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k257n8N6SMFLm-w9KLZoMAnMbhut4wMXculCdpfr7NzgJ5rnZF_j3JiFAl4xbCV0o4sjXfxC_sgYmU3gMNg9-ndy2KJ6PO0yfQAm32540zBmIQcQyz9vsO1pWLMeGMwxUwt8OMkE5DU/s1600/0829100553a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k257n8N6SMFLm-w9KLZoMAnMbhut4wMXculCdpfr7NzgJ5rnZF_j3JiFAl4xbCV0o4sjXfxC_sgYmU3gMNg9-ndy2KJ6PO0yfQAm32540zBmIQcQyz9vsO1pWLMeGMwxUwt8OMkE5DU/s320/0829100553a.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Monkey sleeping with Hubby after returning from the hospital</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That Monday, we took him to see his pediatrician. He weighed 6lbs 5oz, so he was finally over his birth weight (by 3oz) at three weeks old. The pediatrician agreed with what the ER doctor had said and wanted us to continue supplementing. I asked him if I could just give pumped milk and eliminate the formula, but he said that we should continue with the formula in case my breast-milk "didn't have enough calories." </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The day after meeting with the pediatrician, I went back to the hospital to meet with Kathleen, one of the lactation consultants who had helped me after my delivery. She did a before and after weighing and told me that Monkey was doing non-nutritive sucking and only transferred about a tablespoon of milk. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We discussed the possibility of a posterior tongue-tie and I made an appointment to meet with an oral surgeon. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Kathleen also watched him drinking from the bottle and was concerned with how much time it took him to finish it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She recommended using different bottles to minimize nipple confusion since his latch had gotten worse and she gave me a new nipple shield to use. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I left feeling so discouraged. I couldn't tell when Monkey was getting milk and when he was doing non-nutritive sucking. Feeding him had turned into a nightmare. The entire process took at least an hour and between the nursing and the pumping, my nipples were in bad shape. I was pumping as much as I could after every feeding to maintain my supply and I was beginning to feel like I was developing a closer relationship with my pump than with my baby. This just wasn't the breastfeeding experience that I wanted. I hated seeing him drinking from a bottle, but I hated even more to think that I had been starving him before! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I really wanted to go back to exclusive breastfeeding, but it seemed that I was unable to adequately nourish him that way. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I felt broken. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
next:<br />
<a href="http://rqpmama.blogspot.com/2010/12/breastfeeding-part-ii.html">Breastfeeding Part III</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"></span><br />
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</span></span></div></div></div>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-1140765641679213302010-11-30T20:46:00.003-05:002012-03-29T23:52:10.159-04:00Breastfeeding Part I<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I held my baby for the first time, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. The feeling was surreal to say the least. Once in the recovery room, my mom encouraged me to breastfeed him. I had no idea of what I was doing and wasn't sure if we were doing it right, but I was thrilled that we were doing it! </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It kind of went downhill from there. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was pregnant, I knew that I would breastfeed, but I really didn't know how difficult it could be. I though that the baby would just know what to do and that would be it. I realized very quickly that that was not the case for me and my little Monkey. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During my five day stay at the hospital I saw the lactation consultants every day. I was also given advice by several nurses who I assumed knew as much as the IBCLCs. I now know that much of their advice, while well-meaning, did more harm than good. I was getting so much conflicting advice from so many different people and I didn't know which I should follow. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On the evening of the third day, a nursery nurse came in and told me and Hubby that Monkey had lost 8.5% of his birth weight and needed to be supplemented with formula since my milk had not yet come in. I had heard of hospitals pushing formula when it wasn't necessary, and I knew that colostrum was enough for my baby, so I said "NO," and said that I wanted to speak with the pediatrician who was recommending it. The nurse left and I called my mom in tears. She went to <a href="http://www.llli.org/resources/assistance.html?m=0,0">La Leche League</a>'s website and found that 8.5% weight loss was normal and not a cause for concern. She told me that what they were doing wasn't right and that I had the right to refuse the formula supplementation. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The nurse came back a short time later with the pediatrician. He told us that 8.5% was too much weight loss and that we really should "let him have some formula." He went on to assure me that a little formula would not mean the end of breastfeeding and made it sound like I was starving my baby. Hubby was worried and told me that I needed to listen to the doctor, but I held my ground. Through my tears, I said "no" again. I was scared though. Was the pediatrician right? Was I starving him? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The pediatrician was clearly annoyed that I had not agreed and he said that we could wait till the morning, but if my milk wasn't in by then, we'd have to supplement. He left and another nurse came in with a pump. She was very kind and she told me not to worry as she showed me how to use the pump. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I pumped all night and we finger-fed Monkey the colostrum with a syringe. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, my milk came in! Hubby and I were both so relieved, and I thought for sure that the hardest part was over. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">next:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://rqpmama.blogspot.com/2010/12/breastfeeding-part-ii_14.html">Breastfeeding Part II</a></span>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-13707874679251764262010-11-19T18:16:00.002-05:002013-03-28T13:31:39.746-04:00Baby!<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Well, it was a good thing that we were ready because a few short hours later I woke up with cramps unlike anything I had ever felt before. I went to the bathroom and felt my mucous plug fall out. I was surprised and frightened by the amount of blood, so I woke my husband and then called the doctor. The operator told me that Dr. wallace was on call and she would call me right back. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><i>Who the hell is Dr. Wallace?!?</i> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Throughout my pregnancy, I had met with each of the OBs in the practice at least once so that I would be comfortable with whoever happened to be on call when I went into labor, but I had never even heard of Dr. Wallace. Panic set in. A </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">few minutes later Dr. Wallace called me back </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">and, after going over my history, told me to come in. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">My husband put my overnight bags in the car and we set off for the hospital. I was nervous and excited and terrified - I was about to have a baby!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">I was 2cm dilated when I arrived at the hospital and 3cm a half an hour later. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Dr. Wallace did a sonogram which, of course, revealed that baby was still breach and would have to be born by</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"> a c-section. Even though this was hardly news, it was starting to feel very real and I was starting to feel scared. Dr. Wallace was really nice, but she wasn't my doctor and I wanted my doctor. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ls8dB_7kKI-cNMCbu_i_MjZeYklc5lSqMO2UDfDM0yDuXXk4JuzMXfGlnl0P4QKAejc33jgMQsPWXookFLvcrbAfYDZx-c4WCgEt-8uTSHgiFTrO7Df-4-8f5FJd11zfV9y_o4vambk/s1600/P8090001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ls8dB_7kKI-cNMCbu_i_MjZeYklc5lSqMO2UDfDM0yDuXXk4JuzMXfGlnl0P4QKAejc33jgMQsPWXookFLvcrbAfYDZx-c4WCgEt-8uTSHgiFTrO7Df-4-8f5FJd11zfV9y_o4vambk/s320/P8090001.JPG" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">I had been waiting to call my parents because I didn't want to wake them earlier than necessary, but around 5am I couldn't wait any longer. Everything was happening so fast, I was afraid that they might not make it in time if I waited too long. My husband also called his parents. His mother, who is an anesthesiologist, told him to make sure we insisted on having an anesthesiologist (rather than a nurse anesthetist) do my spinal. We told Dr. Wallace and she said that we would have to wait for the anesthesiologist. To be honest, this was a bit of a relief to me. I was pretty scared and wanted things to slow down a bit. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">It turned out that this decision to wait meant that my doctor would be there to do the section - another sigh of relief for me!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Despite all of this relief, by about 8am, I was shaking uncontrollably with fear. As they walked me into the O.R., the nurses kept offering me blankets because they thought I was shivering from being cold. I kept telling them that I was really scared. They were nice, but they didn't help me to feel any better. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">It seemed to take forever for the anesthesiologist to insert the spinal. At one point, a sharp pain ran down my left leg and I cried out. He assured me that this was normal, but it just made me more afraid. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"> I was just as scared of this part as I was of the actual operation. Finally, it was finished and they helped me to lay down. I was still shaking as they pinned a sheet up below my chin and I asked when my husband could come in. I was told he would be there soon. I glanced at the blood pressure monitor and saw that my pressure was soaring at 210/105. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">The anesthesiologist, but something on my chest and asked me if it felt cold. I told him that it did. Then he did the same on my stomach. He continued to do this until I said that it didn't feel cold on my stomach. I didn't like that I could feel it at all on my stomach because I thought that this would mean that I would feel the scalpel. I was hoping to be more numb than that. At some point, it became clear to the anesthesiologist that I was terrified. He told me that most women would be excited and that I was breaking his heart. He asked me if I would like something to help me relax and I said yes. He explained to me that it might affect my "memory of the event." I told him that I didn't care. I still don't know what it was that he gave me, but it definitely did the trick, and I remember "the event" just fine. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHrwOjyzvGEsKC8YOxWdk8hqcVxvAINGAE3PrXl9MxN1yvxLjMu_gx0BWneJwspWJ7HreHPDAOXrQCEbSi2tnaXZNsVwDuO-S2XE8jih715eGZMumNzxENnAVm9mizktbwjZXCK5-DyLs/s1600/P8090008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHrwOjyzvGEsKC8YOxWdk8hqcVxvAINGAE3PrXl9MxN1yvxLjMu_gx0BWneJwspWJ7HreHPDAOXrQCEbSi2tnaXZNsVwDuO-S2XE8jih715eGZMumNzxENnAVm9mizktbwjZXCK5-DyLs/s320/P8090008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Finally, my husband came in and they gave him a seat near my head. He knew that I was scared and did his best to talk to me to keep my mind off of what was happening. It wasn't long before I heard a commotion and my husband said that he could see the baby. The doctor held him up above the sheet, but I couldn't see him. My husband took a couple of pictures for me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">I asked why he wasn't crying, but almost as soon as I had asked, I heard him cry. It was not the moment that I thought it would be. It felt like someone else's baby was crying, not mine. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljJgFcRS6GK5qvvVmg_WlS79iPnPcm6kY-OVEugWTrt5jaHragGBbSJCrRZr1MOmP0yLAgwLzNj1MpzAePxc0iyTzLCfCyQ13pFOFZ7FJ1-j2e9WlEnW5gVg9VUuq15iJBADJ_p0ujrM/s1600/P8090011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljJgFcRS6GK5qvvVmg_WlS79iPnPcm6kY-OVEugWTrt5jaHragGBbSJCrRZr1MOmP0yLAgwLzNj1MpzAePxc0iyTzLCfCyQ13pFOFZ7FJ1-j2e9WlEnW5gVg9VUuq15iJBADJ_p0ujrM/s320/P8090011.JPG" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Someone asked my husband if he would like to cut the cord and he walked away out of my view. Unable to move, I desperately waited for him to come back. When he returned, I saw my baby for the first time. He was an amazing sight, but still did not feel like my baby. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">I was very aware of this disconnect and hoped that it would go away when I got to hold him.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">It seemed to take forever for the doctors to finish closing me up and I did my best not to listen to what was happening below that sheet. The anesthesiologist took a few pictures of the three of us together. Finally, they lifted me onto a bed and, just before they wheeled me out, they handed me my baby. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmK3JrcfLr8RfyDYCkkEBcFhqfE_MMRyR-dyIytB7cX6rurz4XqVAN1KLa589zBHQx-sc3mKgquqt6LaakO_djRxyN2trIwHx0OkgsYGx94WKWBa9CSGxk4U3RTpHHupbmzBiuJoJM2o/s1600/0809001509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmK3JrcfLr8RfyDYCkkEBcFhqfE_MMRyR-dyIytB7cX6rurz4XqVAN1KLa589zBHQx-sc3mKgquqt6LaakO_djRxyN2trIwHx0OkgsYGx94WKWBa9CSGxk4U3RTpHHupbmzBiuJoJM2o/s400/0809001509.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">next:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><a href="http://rqpmama.blogspot.com/2010/11/breastfeeding-part-i.html" target="_blank">Breastfeeding Part I</a></span></div>
MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-85821588575821011852010-11-09T17:41:00.001-05:002012-03-29T23:41:45.139-04:00Complications<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i> </i></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"> </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The first two trimesters of my pregnancy were fairly uneventful. All of my check-ups went well and my greatest concern was finding maternity clothes that didn't make me look like a whale. Around 32 weeks, during a sonogram to check my amniotic fluid level, I learned that my baby hadn’t turned yet. My doctor assured me that some babies turn later and that I shouldn’t be concerned. Of course, I had to look it up when I got home and I was relieved to read, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Twenty five percent of fetuses are in the breech position at 32 weeks gestation; this drops to three percent at term.” (</span></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Breech_birth"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Wikipedia</span></i></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">)</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Three percent? No problem! This baby was going to turn himself around.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As the weeks went on, I continued to feel those little feet kicking my bladder instead of my ribs, but I knew that there was no way we would be a part of that tiny three percent. In my childbirth classes, we spent 5 weeks learning about vaginal births and one week was dedicated to c-sections. I was sure that I was going to have a vaginal birth, and although I was pretty sure I wanted an epidural, I practiced my breathing techniques. I was nervous, but excited.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Around 36 weeks, I was ready to be done with being pregnant. The record-breaking heat and humidity in Washington DC was like my own personal hell. Family and friends talked about how hot it was, but they had no idea what it was like to work in a building with no central air while 8 months pregnant. People kept asking me how I was feeling and telling me “how awful it must be to be pregnant in this heat!” I smiled as sweetly as I could, but secretly hated everyone around me who wasn’t miserable. My feet and ankles swelled up to capacity and even my oversized Crocs were so tight they left imprints all over my feet.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The day after my last childbirth class, I went in for a routine check-up and my doctor was immediately concerned about my blood pressure. When she told me that I would need to go straight to the hospital, the blood drained from my face. I felt sick as she told me that I might have to have the baby that night and I tried to hold back the tears as she explained to me the dangers of preeclampsia.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I had only been to the hospital once before and I couldn’t remember how to get there. I called my husband sobbing and he gave me the address to enter into the GPS. He assured me that he would meet me there just as soon as he could but, unfortunately, he was at least an hour and a half away in rush hour traffic, so I called my mom and asked her to meet me there as well. As I drove to the hospital, I kept thinking about how I hadn’t packed my bags and the car seat wasn’t installed. I wasn't ready and I was scared.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Upon arrival at the hospital, I peed in a cup and had blood drawn. The nurses hooked me up to machines that monitored my blood pressure, contractions, and the baby’s heart rate. After a sonogram showed that the baby was still breech, the doctor explained that if we had to deliver that night, I would have to have a c-section. I looked around the room and saw posters showing the difference in a baby’s brain size from 36 to 40 weeks. Was that supposed to help me relax? How could they expect my blood pressure to go back to normal now?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After several hours, I was surprised and relieved to hear that the test results were normal, my blood pressure had gone down enough, and they were going to send me home on modified bed rest. As my husband drove me home, I felt so grateful to have more time to prepare for my baby.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">About a week later, another sonogram confirmed that this baby had still not turned and my doctor told me that, at this point, he probably wouldn’t. My heart sank as I realized that I was, in fact, going to have a c-section. We scheduled it for the following Thursday.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That weekend my husband and I finished getting the house and ourselves ready for our baby’s arrival. As I got into bed on Sunday night, I felt a wave of calm wash over me. We were ready!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">next:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="http://rqpmama.blogspot.com/2010/11/baby.html" target="_blank">Baby!</a></i></span><br />
<div></div>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-4862916480282852852010-11-05T07:09:00.000-04:002010-11-09T20:51:44.412-05:00This Moment<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjF7TbG6h2cMzpMdn0nezayVi94ZIuVSip7SFd527XyNGNkot61_AngSzzbm8ehTEDJiaKMNm_06B0Wgbp19_AFsGNK5in0-T4N2a84fbTNms2h5tf6BXCKTMVtB5FFPBgA_2e5C8mGbM/s1600/downsize-740610.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536019320327671874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjF7TbG6h2cMzpMdn0nezayVi94ZIuVSip7SFd527XyNGNkot61_AngSzzbm8ehTEDJiaKMNm_06B0Wgbp19_AFsGNK5in0-T4N2a84fbTNms2h5tf6BXCKTMVtB5FFPBgA_2e5C8mGbM/s320/downsize-740610.jpg" /></a></div>This Moment as inspired by <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/2010/11/this-moment.html">The Leaky B@@b</a>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5103981523905037440.post-54640894630139896702010-11-04T23:00:00.000-04:002010-11-30T17:39:07.081-05:00So, I'm blogging now<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In August 2010, Monkey was born and our breastfeeding journey began. Throughout our ups and downs, I spent a lot of time learning about breastfeeding everywhere I could: I met with lactation consultants - lots of them. I attended La Leche League meetings. I read all of the breastfeeding books, blogs, and websites I could find. I began talking to other breastfeeding mothers, some in person, and many online. Each of these resources contributed to our breastfeeding success story in some way. When his latch was so painful that I cried, when I was worried that I wasn't making enough milk, when he screamed and pulled away from the breast, when I felt like I was developing a stronger bond with my pump than with my baby, I found comfort in knowing that I was not alone. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, I'm blogging now. I'm not really sure exactly what direction this blog will take, but I want to share my story with other mamas out there.</span>MonkeyMamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07075192704217860312noreply@blogger.com0