I know I am a little late getting this first month down, but it's because I didn't even have this idea until I ran across what another blogger had done to document the awesomeness of her little boy.
Favorite Things: You love your pats. Grandma Mary says you are the 'pattiest baby I ever did see'
Fancy Tricks: Everything you do is encouraged by a "oh my goodness, that was SO cute!" You really can do no wrong, even when one of your fancy tricks is pooping before you get another diaper on.
Favorite Past Time: You love to spend time on the floor kicking. There are always so many people who want to hold and cuddle you but you have a mind of your own and we accidently found out your love of personal space when we were all tired of hearing you scream in our arms and set you on the ground to take a break.
Sleep: All the time. You aren't very interested in eating and for being a newborn you are a champ at sleeping. Your typical nap can last as long as 4 hours. Up for a hour at the most and back down you go.
Crying: You're pretty much making noise if you're not asleep. And even then sometimes you will let out a loud wail and I go to check on you and your eyes haven't even fluttered.
Dislikes: Eating. You hate it. Especially when I try to wake you up to do the big job of nursing.
Likes: Listening to me as I read you Nicholas Sparks as you settle back down for another nap. You also like napping on my chest in the big comfy chair.
The best part for me: Watching you sleep. Your little mouth will slip side ways when you're deep in dream land, the top lip under your nose as it ought and your bottom sliding to the side. Or if your balanced just right then your bottom lip will merely cave in all over your gums.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Spoiled Little Utah Girl
The trip to Oregon this time was a little different than most. It had been a year since I had been back to spend any more time than just a short weekend and it no longer felt like home. It was a bitter sweet realization that I was growing up and was no longer dazed by Oregon by its nostalgic home sweet home. I saw it for its beauty as a tourist would. Lovely green every where but slightly annoyed by the rain and glad that I could return somewhere where there wasn't a shoe and sock soaking puddle right outside your car door no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.
And then I thought, what if I'm not really growing up, what if I am just a little spoiled Utah girl? Like the way I proudly told my dad that I had gone outside to get firewood for the stove and he teased me about maybe still having a little country in me way deep down. Not going to lie, I love the convenience of turning a knob for heat that is constant rather than building a fire every morning in the cold and the house doesn't warm up until noon.
And what about how I don't even own a rain coat anymore? If it's raining then I can merely choose to put the grocery shopping off for a day. And if I really can't, it's just a quick jog into dryness since everyone else feels the same way about avoiding grocery shopping in the rain and it's not impossible to find a parking spot relatively close to the store entrance on those wet days.
Or how when I buy a pair of shoes I don't need to think twice about the purchase, taking into consideration how they will hold up on a rainy day. The same with pants. I prefer my pants a little long but back in Oregon I always kept at least one pair that just grazed the top of my shoes because nothing is worse than wet pants from dragging on the ground. The water seeps up the backs of those like a cat prowls bare feet in the morning. You don't realize what's happened until you feel uncomfortable.
I may take for granted that with a newborn I don't even have to care about the pattern of the car seat our little girl is in because she's got a peanut cover to hide her from the world and that cover resembles whether there's a boy or girl inside. I honestly cringed twice when I saw car seats without the handy shell on them, you know, letting all the germs in as the seat swung from the daddy's arm.
Or how about all of the decoupaged (decoupage itself is definitely a Utah word) wood letters and how any well-respecting home has a wreathe on its door to remind the rest of the world which holiday is to be celebrated next? Simple crafts like those are missing in Oregon and I had no idea how much of it originated with all those crafty mommies in Utah until it was not there.
My sweatshirt supply has dwindled considerably because it's either cold enough for a coat around here or warm enough for a t-shirt. Not much middle ground. The sweatshirt in Oregon has a different purpose then it does in Utah, anyhow. In Oregon the sweatshirt is used all day to keep the rain off your arms when it's not chilly enough for a jacket. In Utah sweatshirts are used in the evening when the sun goes down and the temperature drops a few degrees.
Lest we not forget my new-found laziness of saving a few cells of thinking power and not having to worry which bin the recyclables go in and which things can be burned and which are neither and where they go. Utah doesn't recycle the same way Oregon does and when I first moved out here my freshman year of college it drove me crazy. Now I think nothing of it and can toss a tin can in the same sack as a dirty diaper which may also contain some junk mail. It's all the same now.
I told Steven that when we move back to Oregon I would like to move to a dryer part of the state. Somewhere where moss doesn't grow on anything and everything sedentary. Where a yard doesn't seep water when you step on it and where I don't need to worry about making sure Alaska always has a pair of rain boots that fit. However, we do need to be close enough to all of that so that Alaska can watch frog eggs become tadpoles, so she can splash in a puddle of mud wide enough that she can run in, and so she can appreciate a day when she straightens her hair as a teenager and it doesn't frizz.
And then I thought, what if I'm not really growing up, what if I am just a little spoiled Utah girl? Like the way I proudly told my dad that I had gone outside to get firewood for the stove and he teased me about maybe still having a little country in me way deep down. Not going to lie, I love the convenience of turning a knob for heat that is constant rather than building a fire every morning in the cold and the house doesn't warm up until noon.
And what about how I don't even own a rain coat anymore? If it's raining then I can merely choose to put the grocery shopping off for a day. And if I really can't, it's just a quick jog into dryness since everyone else feels the same way about avoiding grocery shopping in the rain and it's not impossible to find a parking spot relatively close to the store entrance on those wet days.
Or how when I buy a pair of shoes I don't need to think twice about the purchase, taking into consideration how they will hold up on a rainy day. The same with pants. I prefer my pants a little long but back in Oregon I always kept at least one pair that just grazed the top of my shoes because nothing is worse than wet pants from dragging on the ground. The water seeps up the backs of those like a cat prowls bare feet in the morning. You don't realize what's happened until you feel uncomfortable.
I may take for granted that with a newborn I don't even have to care about the pattern of the car seat our little girl is in because she's got a peanut cover to hide her from the world and that cover resembles whether there's a boy or girl inside. I honestly cringed twice when I saw car seats without the handy shell on them, you know, letting all the germs in as the seat swung from the daddy's arm.
Or how about all of the decoupaged (decoupage itself is definitely a Utah word) wood letters and how any well-respecting home has a wreathe on its door to remind the rest of the world which holiday is to be celebrated next? Simple crafts like those are missing in Oregon and I had no idea how much of it originated with all those crafty mommies in Utah until it was not there.
My sweatshirt supply has dwindled considerably because it's either cold enough for a coat around here or warm enough for a t-shirt. Not much middle ground. The sweatshirt in Oregon has a different purpose then it does in Utah, anyhow. In Oregon the sweatshirt is used all day to keep the rain off your arms when it's not chilly enough for a jacket. In Utah sweatshirts are used in the evening when the sun goes down and the temperature drops a few degrees.
Lest we not forget my new-found laziness of saving a few cells of thinking power and not having to worry which bin the recyclables go in and which things can be burned and which are neither and where they go. Utah doesn't recycle the same way Oregon does and when I first moved out here my freshman year of college it drove me crazy. Now I think nothing of it and can toss a tin can in the same sack as a dirty diaper which may also contain some junk mail. It's all the same now.
I told Steven that when we move back to Oregon I would like to move to a dryer part of the state. Somewhere where moss doesn't grow on anything and everything sedentary. Where a yard doesn't seep water when you step on it and where I don't need to worry about making sure Alaska always has a pair of rain boots that fit. However, we do need to be close enough to all of that so that Alaska can watch frog eggs become tadpoles, so she can splash in a puddle of mud wide enough that she can run in, and so she can appreciate a day when she straightens her hair as a teenager and it doesn't frizz.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
What's In A Name
At the time we found out we were having a girl we had numerous boy names picked out but our girl names were not so plentiful. It took some thinking and a lot of disagreeing to come with our Alaska Mazie. The top runners for me were Troian, Quinnlynn, and Laken. Steven's tops were Emily and Abigail. As a compromise I suggested Alaska or Montana and Alaska it was. Strong and beautiful. It's so unique that we always get asked why we chose it, and really, there is no reason. No reason other than what it signifies. A wild beauty that is incomparable and a strength that cannot be matched. When I think of Alaska I think of a girl with long, auburn hair shifting freely in the wind as she looks out from a mountain towards the ocean, a world of possibilities reflecting in her brown eyes. The strength to be kind in a cruel world and to stand up for what she knows to be true when morals are so loose.
Along with our search for a name for our little girl that would bring to her greatness our grandmothers were also looking for names. Grandma Graff and Grandma Barnes are currently taken by grandmothers who are still alive and will be around for much of Alaska's life. There is no need to think that there will ever not be a Grandma Graff or a Grandma Barnes. I didn't think that it would be such a big deal to have two people with the same name, after all, there were always plenty of Jessicas that I knew while growing up. However, I began to realize the need for distinction after Alaska was in my arms. My mother never outgrew the name of Mommy. It seems like most kids started calling their mommies and daddies mom and dad around age 12 but my mommy and daddy never got their names changed. They will always be my mommy and daddy and I am not about to step into their names. I cannot be a mommy. That is my mother's name, it represents her. All of her. It's all part of my mommy. I cannot become what she has been working on for the past 23 years over night and it doesn't seem right to take that earned name. I have decided that I can be a momma. And maybe my name will change to mom when Alaska turns 12 but for right now I can be her momma and love her with all the love that she divinely deserves.
Along with our search for a name for our little girl that would bring to her greatness our grandmothers were also looking for names. Grandma Graff and Grandma Barnes are currently taken by grandmothers who are still alive and will be around for much of Alaska's life. There is no need to think that there will ever not be a Grandma Graff or a Grandma Barnes. I didn't think that it would be such a big deal to have two people with the same name, after all, there were always plenty of Jessicas that I knew while growing up. However, I began to realize the need for distinction after Alaska was in my arms. My mother never outgrew the name of Mommy. It seems like most kids started calling their mommies and daddies mom and dad around age 12 but my mommy and daddy never got their names changed. They will always be my mommy and daddy and I am not about to step into their names. I cannot be a mommy. That is my mother's name, it represents her. All of her. It's all part of my mommy. I cannot become what she has been working on for the past 23 years over night and it doesn't seem right to take that earned name. I have decided that I can be a momma. And maybe my name will change to mom when Alaska turns 12 but for right now I can be her momma and love her with all the love that she divinely deserves.
My Husband, The Terrorist
We headed out to Oregon the end of February to share Alaska's blessing day with all of our family out that way. 5 weeks old and she had her first airplane ride.
I carefully lay out all of our clothes on the bed before packing them away in the suitcase. When I got that 50 lb limit suitcase for graduation I never thought I would appreciate it so much. I can pack that thing up to 63 if I do a careful job so I generally just toss things in so that it doesn't exceed its limit because there's nothing much more embarrassing than having to open up your bag at the check-in counter, trying to shuffle 13 pounds around between different bags to make the big one an even 50 and then carrying 30 lbs in your small carry-on bag with your heavy coat on. Believe me.
In went a dozen of her outfits and a handful of t-shirts for me. Being a nursing mama makes it really easy to pack light since next to nothing fits. For the trip I went on a little shopping spree with my collected coupons and I gathered together a few shirts that didn't advertise my still flabby belly and my soft baby-holding arms. Unfortunately I had waited until the last minute to do her laundry, trying to gather up the very last thing that she got spit-up on and soak it long enough to guarantee it to come clean. Which wouldn't have been a big deal because I had plenty of time to dry them in the morning, except that when I woke up at 3 to feed Alaska the power went out from then until 7:10: We were being picked up in 50 minutes and I had other things to do at that point. So, also went into the cases three bags of wet baby things.
We got to the airport with lots of time, no stress. Generally I usually lug all of my stuff to the check-in counter because the person dropping me off needs just a few more minutes before the inevitable goodbye but this time around we were being dropped off at the curb and had a few less hands than would have been ideal. We were helped right away and our Ids were checked, our bags checked, Alaska checked and we all got our boarding passes while standing outside for just a few seconds. It was so easy and I was so grateful for the smoothness of it all. They didn't even weigh the bags, just threw them up on the dolly. Should have been doing it this way all through college to get a few extra pounds in those bags.
Going through security is always just a little stressful for me because there are so many people in a rush, jamming their belts and keys and wallets and shoes into bins to get scanned over. Your boarding pass gets marked up with a highlighter and then you're let loose into a fast game of survival of the fittest as everyone races to get past security. My favorite had always been when I went back to school for the fall and could wear flip-flops. It made checking through that much easier. But then, of course, in the winter I had to wear my heaviest boots and heaviest coat through all of that so that I didn't have to put unnecessary weight in my suitcase.
I had slip-ons ready to be put into a bin and was practiced at grabbing a couple at a time, dropping shoes and small things into one, backpack into the other. I have found its generally easier to use three bins if you have to rather than shoving everything into one, even if it fits. Getting through security is an art form of the practiced and if you have more than one bin, it gives you just 5 seconds extra between when the bin pops out with your shoes and small things, giving you just enough time to get organized before the next bin comes out with your jacket and carry-on. It's a fast process and those 5 seconds are vital.
This time was a little different as we fumbled to get Alaska out of her car seat but everything went smooth because I had already gotten some bins going of things that I had quickly whipped off before helping Steven get her out. All of my things and hers were scanned as we walked through first and Steven brought up the rear with the car seat and his backpack. I had my shoes on and everything back in my pockets and was starting to struggle with my belt while holding a baby when I realized that Steven was not beside me to take her for a second. No. He was stopped at the scanner and a security guard was pouring a FULL algene bottle of water into the trash. Steven had just filled it up as we left the house without me knowing. You can't take over a few ounces of liquid on your carry-on. Ooops. But that wasn't all of it. I fumbled with my belt and got it half-way through by the time the car seat came through with Steven's bag. Steven hadn't really used that backpack since college, two years ago and boys tend to just accumulate stuff instead of going through and throwing out. Which would be why one time when I was looking for our house key I found a few love notes I had written him and why when the bag was scanned under the camera they found a pocket knife that had been long forgotten. It had been discarded, but seriously. That's my husband. The local terrorist. Going to take the plane over by some water and a pocket knife. Which seems illogical, but with all the finicky rules you have to follow now-a-days most people check up on those before flying and here my handsome husband was, with two dangerous items in one carry-on bag.
The rest of the flight went on without any kind of disturbances and Alaska remained asleep the whole time. If she started to wiggle, even just turning her head, Steven had a formula bottle ready to give her to keep her asleep. I am pretty sure she gained 3 oz in just that 2 hour trip, but she stayed asleep.
I carefully lay out all of our clothes on the bed before packing them away in the suitcase. When I got that 50 lb limit suitcase for graduation I never thought I would appreciate it so much. I can pack that thing up to 63 if I do a careful job so I generally just toss things in so that it doesn't exceed its limit because there's nothing much more embarrassing than having to open up your bag at the check-in counter, trying to shuffle 13 pounds around between different bags to make the big one an even 50 and then carrying 30 lbs in your small carry-on bag with your heavy coat on. Believe me.
In went a dozen of her outfits and a handful of t-shirts for me. Being a nursing mama makes it really easy to pack light since next to nothing fits. For the trip I went on a little shopping spree with my collected coupons and I gathered together a few shirts that didn't advertise my still flabby belly and my soft baby-holding arms. Unfortunately I had waited until the last minute to do her laundry, trying to gather up the very last thing that she got spit-up on and soak it long enough to guarantee it to come clean. Which wouldn't have been a big deal because I had plenty of time to dry them in the morning, except that when I woke up at 3 to feed Alaska the power went out from then until 7:10: We were being picked up in 50 minutes and I had other things to do at that point. So, also went into the cases three bags of wet baby things.
We got to the airport with lots of time, no stress. Generally I usually lug all of my stuff to the check-in counter because the person dropping me off needs just a few more minutes before the inevitable goodbye but this time around we were being dropped off at the curb and had a few less hands than would have been ideal. We were helped right away and our Ids were checked, our bags checked, Alaska checked and we all got our boarding passes while standing outside for just a few seconds. It was so easy and I was so grateful for the smoothness of it all. They didn't even weigh the bags, just threw them up on the dolly. Should have been doing it this way all through college to get a few extra pounds in those bags.
Going through security is always just a little stressful for me because there are so many people in a rush, jamming their belts and keys and wallets and shoes into bins to get scanned over. Your boarding pass gets marked up with a highlighter and then you're let loose into a fast game of survival of the fittest as everyone races to get past security. My favorite had always been when I went back to school for the fall and could wear flip-flops. It made checking through that much easier. But then, of course, in the winter I had to wear my heaviest boots and heaviest coat through all of that so that I didn't have to put unnecessary weight in my suitcase.
I had slip-ons ready to be put into a bin and was practiced at grabbing a couple at a time, dropping shoes and small things into one, backpack into the other. I have found its generally easier to use three bins if you have to rather than shoving everything into one, even if it fits. Getting through security is an art form of the practiced and if you have more than one bin, it gives you just 5 seconds extra between when the bin pops out with your shoes and small things, giving you just enough time to get organized before the next bin comes out with your jacket and carry-on. It's a fast process and those 5 seconds are vital.
This time was a little different as we fumbled to get Alaska out of her car seat but everything went smooth because I had already gotten some bins going of things that I had quickly whipped off before helping Steven get her out. All of my things and hers were scanned as we walked through first and Steven brought up the rear with the car seat and his backpack. I had my shoes on and everything back in my pockets and was starting to struggle with my belt while holding a baby when I realized that Steven was not beside me to take her for a second. No. He was stopped at the scanner and a security guard was pouring a FULL algene bottle of water into the trash. Steven had just filled it up as we left the house without me knowing. You can't take over a few ounces of liquid on your carry-on. Ooops. But that wasn't all of it. I fumbled with my belt and got it half-way through by the time the car seat came through with Steven's bag. Steven hadn't really used that backpack since college, two years ago and boys tend to just accumulate stuff instead of going through and throwing out. Which would be why one time when I was looking for our house key I found a few love notes I had written him and why when the bag was scanned under the camera they found a pocket knife that had been long forgotten. It had been discarded, but seriously. That's my husband. The local terrorist. Going to take the plane over by some water and a pocket knife. Which seems illogical, but with all the finicky rules you have to follow now-a-days most people check up on those before flying and here my handsome husband was, with two dangerous items in one carry-on bag.
The rest of the flight went on without any kind of disturbances and Alaska remained asleep the whole time. If she started to wiggle, even just turning her head, Steven had a formula bottle ready to give her to keep her asleep. I am pretty sure she gained 3 oz in just that 2 hour trip, but she stayed asleep.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Tummy Time and Reading
Now that all of our family is gone, Alaska and I have had more time to get to know each other. I was just a little self-conscious to talk to her when everyone was listening, ya know? I didn't want to sound like a crazy person talking to someone who couldn't respond back, but mostly I didn't want to say the wrong thing. What if I talked to her and she screamed louder? I was supposed to be her mother and that means knowing exactly what to do all of the time. I couldn't let on that I had no idea what I was doing. I always let someone take her when she was crying if they offered. I figured two mothers knew a lot more about calming babies than I did, even if she was my own little girl.
I will forever remember when we got back from a walk to the post office and Megan and I were the only ones in the house with Alaska screaming her eyeballs out. Seriously, those things were bulging in the way only a newborn can make them do.I don't know what I was thinking, but I half expected Megan to take her and bounce her around like she was so good at doing. I had more faith in her giving Alaska what she needed than I had in myself. Isn't there something twisted with that? I just stood there, petrified by the screaming mouth and bulging eyes that had become my baby. It wasn't until Megan offered to help me get her out of the stroller that I realized that it was my job to calm her down and I was terrified. It should have been my first instinct to scoop her up in my arms and sing her a lullaby or rock her, but instead it had taken Megan prodding me to pick her up.
Everyone so far had always reached out and taken her from me when she was bawling. Much to my relief and to my annoyance. How was I going to learn how to calm her if I never got her when she was crying and to my relief because I had no idea what to do. I felt so much pressure to make her be quiet and behave when I really had no idea who this little being in my arms was. All of her cries sounded the same and I didn't have a huge arsenal of 'this could be wrong, try this.' It was terrible.
We've been having a lot of needed time together. She has her tummy time while I pick up the scattered baby clothes and burp cloths and ditch them in a soaking tub of biz. She's gotten a more predictable schedule of being awake for a hour and a half and then we have quiet reading time as I spill out love story after love story by Nicholas Sparks while she falls asleep in my arms. I know that when a chapter is through she's generally asleep enough to be put down. I am beginning to recognize her cries as tired or hungry and it has brought relief to both of us. Her frustrated screams come less often, though they still come. Life isn't perfect, but it's better.
I will forever remember when we got back from a walk to the post office and Megan and I were the only ones in the house with Alaska screaming her eyeballs out. Seriously, those things were bulging in the way only a newborn can make them do.I don't know what I was thinking, but I half expected Megan to take her and bounce her around like she was so good at doing. I had more faith in her giving Alaska what she needed than I had in myself. Isn't there something twisted with that? I just stood there, petrified by the screaming mouth and bulging eyes that had become my baby. It wasn't until Megan offered to help me get her out of the stroller that I realized that it was my job to calm her down and I was terrified. It should have been my first instinct to scoop her up in my arms and sing her a lullaby or rock her, but instead it had taken Megan prodding me to pick her up.
Everyone so far had always reached out and taken her from me when she was bawling. Much to my relief and to my annoyance. How was I going to learn how to calm her if I never got her when she was crying and to my relief because I had no idea what to do. I felt so much pressure to make her be quiet and behave when I really had no idea who this little being in my arms was. All of her cries sounded the same and I didn't have a huge arsenal of 'this could be wrong, try this.' It was terrible.
We've been having a lot of needed time together. She has her tummy time while I pick up the scattered baby clothes and burp cloths and ditch them in a soaking tub of biz. She's gotten a more predictable schedule of being awake for a hour and a half and then we have quiet reading time as I spill out love story after love story by Nicholas Sparks while she falls asleep in my arms. I know that when a chapter is through she's generally asleep enough to be put down. I am beginning to recognize her cries as tired or hungry and it has brought relief to both of us. Her frustrated screams come less often, though they still come. Life isn't perfect, but it's better.
The Drinking Game
We took Alaska in for her two week appointment and she hadn't regained her birth weight. I'm new at this whole 'worried mother' thing and was not concerned. I've never given much weight to scales. No pun intended. They're kind of dumb and useless unless you're weighing your luggage on your way back to college because your suitcase can't be over 50 lbs without paying an extra fine. She was eating and pooping. Nothing was wrong until that scale got a hold of her weight. However, Steven was interested and asked the doctor what we should be doing to get her up to par. He's such a good dad. Of course, it was up to me to drink more water. Drown myself in the stuff and drink my lungs out. Our goal weigh-in for the next week was an ounce a day, at the very least 5 ounces as a total.
I did my best. I have never been awesome at drinking water. My mom told me in high school that I had better hope I never get in a car crash 'cause my veins would be so small due to dehydration that they wouldn't be able to stick me with IVs. She may have said that to keep my speed less than lightning. But seriously, I would always have a marathon day of drinking water before I went to the doctors, donated blood or what have you to pretend everything was fine.
On top of drinking more water I vowed to wake her every two hours to eat. She has a habit of sinking into a nap of 4 to 5 hours. At a week old I started recording her eating times and she went 6 and 8 hours without anything. I thought this probably attributed to her less than desired weight.
The next week she had only gained two ounces. If there is anything that strips all motherly confidence faster and makes a mother feel insecure about herself it's to tell her that she's not producing enough milk to feed her baby. I cried. I was the worst mother in the world, not even able to feed my own baby, the simplest and most natural and instinctive of all tasks. I couldn't understand how my body couldn't keep up. And then I got mad.
It wasn't just my fault for not drinking enough water. It was her fault, too. This whole 'feeding a child' thing is a 50/50 effort. If she would eat like a normal child we wouldn't be having this problem. Taking long naps between nursing made my body slow down its production. I had woken her up for the most part every couple of hours, but there were a few times when I hadn't set my internal timer and with her being quiet I got busy and totally forgot. I thought back to when I was engorged and needed her the most to nurse and tell me body how much I needed and that whole day she ate next to nothing. And then, of course, the part about how even when I woke her up she was usually too tired to really do a good job at sucking and it was worthless. She would cry for a hour or so from being woken up and I would be lost as to what to do to make her comfortable again since she wouldn't latch.
After my desperate tears came my mad tears and when I was all through crying I lifted my head and decided to drink more water. To pump after every feeding to simulate her sucking and cause my body to produce more than she was actually eating. And then to feed her that extra half ounce right there because the milk at the end is the fattiest and that was the milk she wasn't getting. To not rely on her at all but to let her sleep to her heart's content and pump even when she hadn't eaten. To feed her that pumped milk when she was awake. It was going to be a big job, but I did it.
Again, she only gained two ounces. I didn't let myself feel anything at this point. I figured that she may just have to make her own average weight chart and that at least she wasn't losing any weight. We weren't sliding backwards.
Steven was still convinced that I wasn't drinking enough water. I felt like I was drowning in the stuff and had gone through more toilet paper the past week than I usually did in two. I was having enough, I was sure of it.
Steven made up a chart for me to record my water intake on. Down one side is 12 am to 12 pm, across the top are the dates of the week. Every time I drink a glass of water I get to color a square. And surprisingly, it worked. It was just a job the first day and I drank what I normally did, 5 glasses. I was supposed to be drinking 12-16. Guess I wasn't doing as awesome as I had thought with drinking water, but 5 is a big step up from my usual goose egg. No wonder I was feeling drowned. As the week went on, it became a game. How many squares could I color in a day? Steven would check in on it every time he was home from lunch and therefore, the drinking game was born.
Our game plan right now is for me to color in as many squares as possible and we're offering Alaska a bottle of formula after every feeding. Sometimes she takes it, sometimes she doesn't. She always gets a bottle at night, when she's in the middle of her cluster feeding. I can't keep up with her eating for 20 minutes, resting for 30 and eating again. Not when she's such a bad eater during the day. My mom calls her a lazy nurser, but I prefer to call her a careful eater. She takes forever to feed 'cause she pauses so many times but she also hardly ever spits up. She is definitely listening to her body and its needs. I am so proud of her even if frustrating to feed her for a hour. If I try to force formula or extra breast milk into her it most often ends up coming back out. I've learned to just let her pull away when she's ready. Topping her off does nothing but make a mess to clean up.
I did my best. I have never been awesome at drinking water. My mom told me in high school that I had better hope I never get in a car crash 'cause my veins would be so small due to dehydration that they wouldn't be able to stick me with IVs. She may have said that to keep my speed less than lightning. But seriously, I would always have a marathon day of drinking water before I went to the doctors, donated blood or what have you to pretend everything was fine.
On top of drinking more water I vowed to wake her every two hours to eat. She has a habit of sinking into a nap of 4 to 5 hours. At a week old I started recording her eating times and she went 6 and 8 hours without anything. I thought this probably attributed to her less than desired weight.
The next week she had only gained two ounces. If there is anything that strips all motherly confidence faster and makes a mother feel insecure about herself it's to tell her that she's not producing enough milk to feed her baby. I cried. I was the worst mother in the world, not even able to feed my own baby, the simplest and most natural and instinctive of all tasks. I couldn't understand how my body couldn't keep up. And then I got mad.
It wasn't just my fault for not drinking enough water. It was her fault, too. This whole 'feeding a child' thing is a 50/50 effort. If she would eat like a normal child we wouldn't be having this problem. Taking long naps between nursing made my body slow down its production. I had woken her up for the most part every couple of hours, but there were a few times when I hadn't set my internal timer and with her being quiet I got busy and totally forgot. I thought back to when I was engorged and needed her the most to nurse and tell me body how much I needed and that whole day she ate next to nothing. And then, of course, the part about how even when I woke her up she was usually too tired to really do a good job at sucking and it was worthless. She would cry for a hour or so from being woken up and I would be lost as to what to do to make her comfortable again since she wouldn't latch.
After my desperate tears came my mad tears and when I was all through crying I lifted my head and decided to drink more water. To pump after every feeding to simulate her sucking and cause my body to produce more than she was actually eating. And then to feed her that extra half ounce right there because the milk at the end is the fattiest and that was the milk she wasn't getting. To not rely on her at all but to let her sleep to her heart's content and pump even when she hadn't eaten. To feed her that pumped milk when she was awake. It was going to be a big job, but I did it.
Again, she only gained two ounces. I didn't let myself feel anything at this point. I figured that she may just have to make her own average weight chart and that at least she wasn't losing any weight. We weren't sliding backwards.
Steven was still convinced that I wasn't drinking enough water. I felt like I was drowning in the stuff and had gone through more toilet paper the past week than I usually did in two. I was having enough, I was sure of it.
Steven made up a chart for me to record my water intake on. Down one side is 12 am to 12 pm, across the top are the dates of the week. Every time I drink a glass of water I get to color a square. And surprisingly, it worked. It was just a job the first day and I drank what I normally did, 5 glasses. I was supposed to be drinking 12-16. Guess I wasn't doing as awesome as I had thought with drinking water, but 5 is a big step up from my usual goose egg. No wonder I was feeling drowned. As the week went on, it became a game. How many squares could I color in a day? Steven would check in on it every time he was home from lunch and therefore, the drinking game was born.
Our game plan right now is for me to color in as many squares as possible and we're offering Alaska a bottle of formula after every feeding. Sometimes she takes it, sometimes she doesn't. She always gets a bottle at night, when she's in the middle of her cluster feeding. I can't keep up with her eating for 20 minutes, resting for 30 and eating again. Not when she's such a bad eater during the day. My mom calls her a lazy nurser, but I prefer to call her a careful eater. She takes forever to feed 'cause she pauses so many times but she also hardly ever spits up. She is definitely listening to her body and its needs. I am so proud of her even if frustrating to feed her for a hour. If I try to force formula or extra breast milk into her it most often ends up coming back out. I've learned to just let her pull away when she's ready. Topping her off does nothing but make a mess to clean up.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Take Courage
Alaska and I went on our first outing by ourselves. It's something I have been dreading. There's something super intimidating about a car seat. Those things are huge, and they're kind of heavy (guess that depends more on your baby) and they're definitely super awkward. Definitely.
The stake was putting on a woman's conference type of devotional thing at 9 in the morning. Now, that alone posed a problem since Alaska likes to sleep in late. She's usually eating her first breakfast around 9. Luckily the morning came early today at 7:40 and I fed her while frantically doing calculations in my head about how to best manage my time to get us out the door by 8:30 to get Steven to work and get us to the church and reverent by 9. Ever heard if you're not 10 minutes early, you're late? Yes, I am one of those people. With church anyways. You gotta have time to get your jacket off and get settled enough to search for a hymn book before you can be properly ready to feel the spirit. And share a few smiles with people who are streaming in. That part is important, too.
I got everything squared away and we were pulling out of the driveway right at 8:30. Of course, I can't take too much credit for that since Steven did the getting ready of Alaska. The standard clean diaper and check of baby essentials in the diaper bag. But I can take credit for having myself ready. That sometimes can be a pretty big job. Especially since lately I've had a super hard time trying on an outfit that fits right the first time. I cannot believe that I used to be so small! And I also cannot believe how big I have become. I call it invisible fat. It's all up in my legs and my shoulders where it's not noticeable until I am trying to squeeze into pantyhose, which are no piece of cake to begin with, or when I am slipping on a t-shirt. If it were muscle I could qualify as a female version of the hulk.
Dropping off Steven I was confident as could be expected from a girl about to embark on a journey with the one thing more unpredictable than chasing down a loose hamster. Taking a baby somewhere where they're expected to be polite and calm. And quiet. Most of all quiet.
I am pretty sure Alaska was asleep when I parked the car because she hadn't cried a peep. Usually she screams and hollers in her car seat, upset and frustrated at being strapped in and sitting up. Not this time. But, because this was my first time out with her by myself. My first time of getting a car seat out of the back of the car. My first time at trying not to knock the seat too hard as I pulled its awkwardness out I failed. I heard a hard grunt and knew I was going to have to use my back-up bottle sooner than I had thought.
We got in to the chapel quietly enough and it was my plan to sit on the front row so that no one would have to scoot past me and so I would have an easy exit if I needed it. I didn't think far enough to contemplate that the re-entrance therefore wouldn't be near as graceful. I quickly scanned the isles as I walked towards the front, searching for any faces that I knew and therefore requiring a smile of acknowledgement. All was clear and then I was almost there and I was losing confidence fast. Number one, it's hard to walk to the front in the first place, number two it's even harder carrying a car seat since everyone naturally expects you to sit in the back. Number three, it's hard to go anywhere where there are so many people who know each other and came together and you came alone. I'm no stickler and can make friends fast with just about anyone I sit next to, but it sure makes an awkward five minutes of sitting alone while I watch everyone that knows each other group together and I have to look like I'm fine with it that way.
Right when I was about to enter from the back door and abandon all hopes of staying and walk right through the front door I saw the cute lady from across our street. She's got quite the spunk left in her for being 80 something. I took her cookies one dreary December day and we've been friends since. She loves Alaska and had even already been over to say hello. She was a safe spot in my closing line of vision as I came closer and closer to the front. One row back from the front wasn't that bad and that's right where she was positioned. I bee-lined for her and was welcomed with a hug and a, "Let's see that cute girl."
I had thought we had gotten in pretty quietly, but as I pulled back the cover on Alaska's car seat she was already getting her quiet cries built up to something real. The organ music had totally drowned her out. I felt like such a bad mother for not even realizing that my little angel was in such distress and I immediately set her up with a bottle while everyone around us cooed about how adorable she was. What I hadn't anticipated was how much attention she needed, even when taking a bottle. I was constantly checking to make sure she wasn't dribbling or swallowing air or anything else that would be frowned upon.
We got through that ok and she was definitely the center of attention without me even trying. The program started 10 minutes late due to sound problems, which obviously hadn't been perfected as the organ blasted the opening hymn. And when I say blast I mean it could have competed with a train wreck. It startled me, which startled Alaska but no one could hear her cry because it was so loud. Our ears adjusted and by the time it was over we were both calmed down, however the quietness sent her into another series of whimpers through the prayer. We lasted through a song sang solo and the introduction of the speaker before it was just too much for her. The volume differences I think were what set her off. I walked us out of there at exactly the right time and made our loud way up and down the hall before I found the mother's lounge.
I wrapped her up tight and she was asleep in 15 minutes. We listened to the presentation from the foyer where the volume was a little more controllable with her cuddled against my shoulder.
Normally I wouldn't make a big deal of getting out to go to a devotional, but last years had been fantastic and I felt like I could use something like that again. This was not so awesome and it was perfectly fine that I had left the diaper bag with my notebook and pen in the chapel. The speaker was the director of 17 Miracles and after showing a 10 minute clip of the movie and explaining the history of those clips opened the rest of the time up for for questions. Good excuse to make a hour talk only be 10. I wasn't so impressed. But it was good to be out. It was good to be doing something I knew I ought to be doing and it was good to have my little girl with me, polite, calm and quiet. Which was more than a few of the other little girls were doing who were out in the hall with us.
The stake was putting on a woman's conference type of devotional thing at 9 in the morning. Now, that alone posed a problem since Alaska likes to sleep in late. She's usually eating her first breakfast around 9. Luckily the morning came early today at 7:40 and I fed her while frantically doing calculations in my head about how to best manage my time to get us out the door by 8:30 to get Steven to work and get us to the church and reverent by 9. Ever heard if you're not 10 minutes early, you're late? Yes, I am one of those people. With church anyways. You gotta have time to get your jacket off and get settled enough to search for a hymn book before you can be properly ready to feel the spirit. And share a few smiles with people who are streaming in. That part is important, too.
I got everything squared away and we were pulling out of the driveway right at 8:30. Of course, I can't take too much credit for that since Steven did the getting ready of Alaska. The standard clean diaper and check of baby essentials in the diaper bag. But I can take credit for having myself ready. That sometimes can be a pretty big job. Especially since lately I've had a super hard time trying on an outfit that fits right the first time. I cannot believe that I used to be so small! And I also cannot believe how big I have become. I call it invisible fat. It's all up in my legs and my shoulders where it's not noticeable until I am trying to squeeze into pantyhose, which are no piece of cake to begin with, or when I am slipping on a t-shirt. If it were muscle I could qualify as a female version of the hulk.
Dropping off Steven I was confident as could be expected from a girl about to embark on a journey with the one thing more unpredictable than chasing down a loose hamster. Taking a baby somewhere where they're expected to be polite and calm. And quiet. Most of all quiet.
I am pretty sure Alaska was asleep when I parked the car because she hadn't cried a peep. Usually she screams and hollers in her car seat, upset and frustrated at being strapped in and sitting up. Not this time. But, because this was my first time out with her by myself. My first time of getting a car seat out of the back of the car. My first time at trying not to knock the seat too hard as I pulled its awkwardness out I failed. I heard a hard grunt and knew I was going to have to use my back-up bottle sooner than I had thought.
We got in to the chapel quietly enough and it was my plan to sit on the front row so that no one would have to scoot past me and so I would have an easy exit if I needed it. I didn't think far enough to contemplate that the re-entrance therefore wouldn't be near as graceful. I quickly scanned the isles as I walked towards the front, searching for any faces that I knew and therefore requiring a smile of acknowledgement. All was clear and then I was almost there and I was losing confidence fast. Number one, it's hard to walk to the front in the first place, number two it's even harder carrying a car seat since everyone naturally expects you to sit in the back. Number three, it's hard to go anywhere where there are so many people who know each other and came together and you came alone. I'm no stickler and can make friends fast with just about anyone I sit next to, but it sure makes an awkward five minutes of sitting alone while I watch everyone that knows each other group together and I have to look like I'm fine with it that way.
Right when I was about to enter from the back door and abandon all hopes of staying and walk right through the front door I saw the cute lady from across our street. She's got quite the spunk left in her for being 80 something. I took her cookies one dreary December day and we've been friends since. She loves Alaska and had even already been over to say hello. She was a safe spot in my closing line of vision as I came closer and closer to the front. One row back from the front wasn't that bad and that's right where she was positioned. I bee-lined for her and was welcomed with a hug and a, "Let's see that cute girl."
I had thought we had gotten in pretty quietly, but as I pulled back the cover on Alaska's car seat she was already getting her quiet cries built up to something real. The organ music had totally drowned her out. I felt like such a bad mother for not even realizing that my little angel was in such distress and I immediately set her up with a bottle while everyone around us cooed about how adorable she was. What I hadn't anticipated was how much attention she needed, even when taking a bottle. I was constantly checking to make sure she wasn't dribbling or swallowing air or anything else that would be frowned upon.
We got through that ok and she was definitely the center of attention without me even trying. The program started 10 minutes late due to sound problems, which obviously hadn't been perfected as the organ blasted the opening hymn. And when I say blast I mean it could have competed with a train wreck. It startled me, which startled Alaska but no one could hear her cry because it was so loud. Our ears adjusted and by the time it was over we were both calmed down, however the quietness sent her into another series of whimpers through the prayer. We lasted through a song sang solo and the introduction of the speaker before it was just too much for her. The volume differences I think were what set her off. I walked us out of there at exactly the right time and made our loud way up and down the hall before I found the mother's lounge.
I wrapped her up tight and she was asleep in 15 minutes. We listened to the presentation from the foyer where the volume was a little more controllable with her cuddled against my shoulder.
Normally I wouldn't make a big deal of getting out to go to a devotional, but last years had been fantastic and I felt like I could use something like that again. This was not so awesome and it was perfectly fine that I had left the diaper bag with my notebook and pen in the chapel. The speaker was the director of 17 Miracles and after showing a 10 minute clip of the movie and explaining the history of those clips opened the rest of the time up for for questions. Good excuse to make a hour talk only be 10. I wasn't so impressed. But it was good to be out. It was good to be doing something I knew I ought to be doing and it was good to have my little girl with me, polite, calm and quiet. Which was more than a few of the other little girls were doing who were out in the hall with us.
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