Oh crap, I have an actual baby.
Baby Evan slept for NINE HOURS last night! I feel like George Clooney just showed up at my door on a unicorn to cook me breakfast and give me the Publishers Clearing House giant check and when I looked in the mirror I had lost 50 lbs and grew two inches. To celebrate, here’s Baby’s Greatest Hits from recent naps.
Weather permitting, I’m going to make this a weekly feature. Baby Evan is just about aware enough to start appreciating our little outings and my neighborhood has a lot of great houses and gardens to look at.
My thrush seems to be improving, but since my milk letdown (the squirting across the room part) is still kind of painful I decided to take everyone’s advice and fight the yeast from every angle. I called my doctor for the Diflucan and a prescription for All-Purpose Nipple Ointment. APNO is like the Holy Grail of breastfeeding problems, the one magical thing that will solve all your issues and make you nurse forever. Unfortunately, the pharmacist has to order two of the ingredients so I have to wait two days.
In the meantime, I tracked down some gentian violet ($4.97 at CVS, ask at the pharmacy counter). It’s amazing, said the breastfeeding experts, but watch out it stains. It really works, said my lovely commenters, but it turns everything purple. You definitely need some, says the internet, but about the color… It was a lifesaver for me, said my pharmacist, but my baby’s face was stained for months. So I got a little bottle and started using it last night.
OMG MY NIPPLES ARE PURPLE. NEON PURPLE. PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURPLE. Here’s a quick picture to give you an idea of what it looks like:
It also turned the baby’s mouth purple.
I’m scared to take Baby Evan out in public, since the bluish tint on his lips combined with his fair skin makes him look sort of…dead. The good news is he could star in ATTACK OF THE ZOMBIE BABIES no problem. Hollywood, we’re awaiting your call.
Things I have not had time to do yet today:
1. Eat
2. My 18 minute work-out video
3. Take a nap to make up for that 3 am feeding
4. Bring in the trash cans
5. Laundry
6. Put on a shirt not covered in spit-up
7. Make the bed
8. Take a shower
Things I DID do:
1. Change the baby
2. Feed the baby
3. Change the baby
4. Feed the baby
5. You get the idea
6. Call my doctor for a Diflucan prescription that I will probably won’t get to pick up until some time tomorrow since today is turning out to be an endless cycle of baby care.
So really, darling husband, when you announce you are “coming home for lunch” don’t be surprised when my response is more “Great, hold this kid while I pee” and less “I’ll be waiting for you, stud”.
It was one year ago this past weekend while we were visiting the same relatives up in Massachusetts that I turned to my husband and said these loving words: “I feel like crap and I’m like 85% sure I’m pregnant so you better start being nicer to me.” Since then, I’ve thought about babies at least once an hour (8,760 times), said the word boobs on average once a day (365 times), and worried about something baby-related every minute (525,6oo times – ha, I didn’t even use a calculator for that one).
I’d say besides suffering from a severe case of baby-obsession, my life is not as different as I would have thought. Just fuller and a little smellier. I’m also less lazy, more patient, less judgemental, more empathetic and generally healthier if a little fatter. So I think that, yes, I DO recommend this baby thing. Now excuse me, my baby is crying again and has pooped through his pants, the dog just chewed up a tiny pair of socks, I haven’t eaten anything besides a handful of trailmix in 20 hours, my nipples are still burning and I smell like spoiled milk.
I realized over the past three months I’ve had almost NOTHING positive to say about breastfeeding. Which is easy to understand considering I’ve gone through latch problems, bruised nipples, huge swollen porn star boobs, nipple shields, refusing a bottle, endless night feedings, plugged ducts and now thrush. I’ve made breastfeeding sound about as much fun as a drug-free root canal. But I am determined to do this. I am steadfast in my decision that breast is best for me and no matter how difficult my body and my baby make it, this is something I CAN DO.
I can’t give up. I won’t. I am convinced it will only take me one more week (just one more…) and then all this pain and frustration will pay off. I’ve seen little glimpses of what my breastfeeding relationship with the baby can be like. Days when things are going well and he’s the happy, smiley baby who loves to cuddle and is growing like a champ. And I feel like the milk he’s gotten so far has done all the magical things breastmilk is supposed to do. He hasn’t been sick, despite spending the first few weeks of his life in hospital waiting rooms. He’s never had an ear infection. You could almost set your watch by his poop. He wasn’t colicky. He’s hitting all his developmental milestones like clockwork. I couldn’t ask for a healthier baby.
Of course, those things could have nothing at all to do with the breastfeeding. I can’t prove anything. Scientists (and mommy bloggers) can argue themselves red in the face about the health benefits versus exaggerations versus the boob Nazis versus exhausted, frustrated mothers versus pushy, overbearing formula companies. I don’t want to be part of the debate. I have no comments and no contempt for anyone who uses formula. I don’t care what you feed your children. I care what I feed MY child, and my child is breastfed. Painfully, exhaustively, happily, exclusively, proudly, hourly, lovingly breastfed. And it is, actually, awesome.
I think I have thrush. It’s a yeast infection you can get on your nipples and in the baby’s mouth from, well, lots of things, but I think I got it from damp nursing pads or wearing my Lilypadz at night. My nipples are burning like crazy and look very pink and shiny and even though Baby Evan’s latch is finally right it still hurts every time he eats. GAH. I’m doing everything the internet suggests to try and get rid of it on my own (seriously, you don’t want to know) but tomorrow I’m going to ask my LC to look at my nipples. Wow. I can’t believe I am eagerly awaiting my chance to have a 65 year old woman look at my nipples. Having a baby really does change things.
I’ve always been an over-packer. I cannot leave a 60-mile radius around my house without outfits for the following situations: what if we go to the beach? what if it’s cold at night? what if we go out to dinner? what if we have to walk really far? what if a giant asteroid hits earth? what if Steven Spielberg suddenly falls out of the sky and says “You! If only you had a red shirt you’d be PERFECT for the lead role in my next film!”? So I tend to carry a lot of stuff.
All that previous packing was NOTHING compared to the amount of crap you need with a baby. We didn’t even spend the night away from home and we still brought an entire car full of baby stuff. There’s the car seat, the stroller, the diaper bag, the other diaper bag, the outfits & burp cloths (because I still have the spitty-uppiest baby in the world), the pack’n'play, the sling carrier, the mei tai carrier, the toys, the bouncy seat…wait, where’s the bouncy seat? Did we forget the bouncy seat?!?! Luckily, E’s cousin has two kids and a garage full of abandoned baby gear which happened to include a swing. I seriously don’t know how people used to survive before Fisher-Price.
Our trip was to Plymouth, Mass – I’ve always felt that was an appropriate place to spend the 4th, very America-y – and we had a good time. The baby was about as well behaved as a three month old could be. He took a nice long nap in my new baby carrier while we walked around town. Unfortunately, now all the pictures of him in Plymouth look like this:
But he was very happy being carried and he didn’t get a sunburn and besides a little numbness in my left shoulder this morning the mai tei worked great. That’s us standing next to Plymouth Rock. I know, how exciting. A rock. You’re so jealous of our proximity to a random rock on a whole beach full of rocks that has been designated as the official rock the Pilgrims landed on even though it’s definitely not. Oh and someone vandalized it so instead of saying “1620″ it says “1820″. So America just lost two hundred years of history. Great job, douchebag vandal.
Here are some pictures from the rest of our day:
My best friend Erin – Erin (I don’t have a fake name 
) to my readers – had her baby boy tonight! Reid Charles Baker was born at 7:58 pm. He was 7 lbs 13 oz and 20 inches long. Baby and mom could both use your prayers and happy thoughts since Reid was having a little trouble breathing and is in the NICU but hopes are high he’ll be at 100% by tomorrow. Congrats to Erin, Mitch and Reid! We love you all!
I bought a status diaper bag. Did you even know there was such a thing?
I was planning to just buy a big purse but couldn’t resist. It’s a Petunia Pickle Bottom, a fancy baby bag designer (uh, bags FOR babies I mean – I doubt the designer is an actual baby). It came with four different kinds of straps, one of which is designed to attach to your Bugaboo stroller. This bag says “I am classy and stylish and the kind of mom who always brushes her hair”. Except that it was on clearance at TJMaxx so mine says “I am cheap and enjoy buying pants for $12″.
