Uppercase Woman

Ouch! My Boobs Are Killing Me!

Let's talk about my boobs. And breastfeeding*. And milk production.

First, we'll have a brief re-cap of my milk production as I remember it (I could look it up in old entries, but I'm lazy):

1. Immediately following Tori's birth, my boobs are drier than the Sahara. Pumping yields nothing, not a drop even. This goes on for five days. Attempts to nurse Tori fail miserably, confounding the hospital's lactation consultant.

2. Finally, six days later, I begin producing a tiny bit of milk. Tori still won't latch, so I pump and pump and pump. I get maaaaaaaybe an ounce at a time. We begin alternating breast milk and formula feedings. Out of 8-10 feedings a day, about 1/3 are breast milk.

3. We see the pediatrician who prescribes Reglan to increase my production. Tori is now three weeks old (ok, so I went and looked at my old entries). We persist in trying to get Tori to latch with occasional success. Mostly, though, I pump and pump and pump. The reglan works, but not enough. Tori is up to 50% breast milk.

4. I switch from Reglan to the have-to-order-it-from-Canada Domperidone. This finally puts me over the edge and I am getting 4-5 ounces a session, meaning a meal per session. Along with the increased meds, I try pumping a few days for every! two! hours! Finally, in August Tori switches to 100% breast milk. But no latching. She won't latch no matter what. I finally give up trying for a while.

5. Mid-August I go back to work. Pump pump pump. My supply is creeping up slightly, and I'm now able to start freezing bags of milk. About one a day or so.

6. By the second week of September, I am tired of coming home from work and having to put Tori down (or give her to Charlie) so I can go pump. I dig out the nipple shield and try to feed her. It works! She latches beautifully, nursing an hour or more. We begin an evening routine of watching TV and nursing. Suddenly, my supply is increasing so that I am able to freeze two servings a day. I'm relieved, because I'd been terribly worried that Tori would increase her demand and I wouldn't have enough milk to support it.

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This brings us to five days ago, when Tori decides she likes the boob. She latches directly to the boob, no shield necessary. Wednesday, I nurse her for all but one meal of the day, often for an hour or more each time. And now? My boobs are going INSANE. I just pumped 11 ounces, people. 11 motherfucking ounces! That's just whacked. What the hell am I going to do with all that milk? I've already cut my Domperidone dose by more than half and will probably stop altogether in less than a week. Doesn't seem like I need it, right?

Lastly, Tori has not increased the amount she's eating/drinking in a month. Which freaks me out a bit, but she's getting bigger and is plenty chubby so I assume she's alright. But surely at some point she'll want seven ounces a serving or so? Right?

Any experience you have in this area would be helpful. Did your breast milk production suddenly increase at the 16 week mark? Or is it the nursing that did it? What do you do when you run out of room in the freezer? When did your kid start eating more?

Help!

*And to those who haven't breastfed, I'm sorry. I know you don't care about this topic. And to those that struggled to breastfeed and couldn't and find this post annoying, I'm also sorry. Please don't feel like I am bragging about this subject. I'm not. It's not my intention to make anyone feel bad.

I got nothin'

Man, I can't think of a fucking thing to blog about.

I'd talk about Jesus Camp, but I'm too busy attempting to find a country I can move to that is not infested infected filled with religious fundamentalists.

I'd talk about how annoying it is that Moxie is always right, and sure enough, Tori decided she no longer needed the nipple shield for nursing (a couple of days ago I'd positioned her and was reaching to get the nipple shield and she latched on bareback).

I'd talk about how awesome it was to have yesterday off, and how Tori napped for two hours and Charlie was out of the house and I got to putter around by myself for a while and how much fun that was, but who gives a fuck?

I'd talk about how geeked out I am about Battlestar Gallactica (I just finished watching the DVDs of the first 2.5 seasons and am now gearing up to watch the web episodes before the new season starts on October 6), but again, who cares and how often can I talk about TV?

I'd talk about how Charlie and I watched the first two episodes of Studio 60 the other night and how unfuckingbelievably good the writing was and how sad I am that Studio 60 isn't a real show because it looks like it would be funny and how cool it is that they hired baby Courdrey, but I'm not gonna talk about TV.

You guys will just have to settle for new photos. Sorry.

Boring, Boring, Boring Update Post

I'm feeling kind of in limbo these days, not feeling like I have anything exciting to write about. I figured maybe I'd do a generic "where I'm at" post and leave it at that. Better than writing nothing, right? Right? Come on, RIGHT???

Tori is doing beautifully. Her only real recent change is that she's decided that she is totally going to emulate her Aunt Sarah and not eat breakfast. She eats the rest of her meals with gusto, but breakfast? Not so much. She'll swallow down an ounce or two, then it's time to smile at the ceiling fan (the ceiling fan is her bestest friend ever--it warrants a nose-scrunching smile). She'll chew the bottle, stare at it contemplatively, anything but drink from it. I've considered nursing her, but I've kind of stopped the overnight pumping session (I just needed a full night's sleep. Then I got addicted) this last few days so I'm usually bursting when I get up and she's still sleeping. So I leave her sleeping, pump, do most of what I have to do to get ready for work (everything but get dressed--trying to avoid the spit-up on work clothes. So this means my hair's done, my makeup is on, and I'm naked), and by then she's usually stirring so I can grab her and try to feed her. This morning I tried to let her play before she ate, and that seemed to help. After much persuasion (really just holding her and keeping the bottle handy while she moons over the ceiling fan), she ate four ounces.

She's the only baby I've ever seen wake up happy. It's hilarious. She stretches (god, the cuteness when she stretches) and then she blinks her eyes a few times and once she sees me (or the fan) or Charlie it's just grins and giggles all around.

The work thing is getting better. It seems to go in waves; some days I can't come to work without crying, and some days it's easy and I'm happy to be there. I scheduled a few days off so I have more time with Tori (ok, and get some dental work done) and that's helping too.

Saturday Charlie, Tori, Sarah and her daughter and I all went to New Hope for the day. It was great fun parading Tori around town in her Bugaboo stroller. Heh. We got a lot of double takes. You guys rock!

I'm a little alarmed that I seem to have brought down the wrath of the anti-adoption people. I'd link to the post I'm talking about, but I don't feel like starting it back up again. I've been having some lengthy email conversations with some folks; maybe we'll come to a peaceful place like I did with some anti-choice folks. Dunno.

Sigh. Told you I'd be boring.

I've been planning Tori's baptism. It's very exciting to me that we're doing it. My pastor and I have to work on the liturgy, but it's going to be very cool. My church is so amazing. We have several members that are African, and two of them got married there on Saturday, so while their family was in town we had an "African" Sunday. We had a guest minister (a woman!) who is African, and she was awesome. She riled everyone up. And we sang "We Shall Overcome" which was just amazing with the African harmonies. Then we all marched and sang and re-dedicated the church's Peace Pole and that was beautiful too. It was so hot I almost passed out, though, from wearing Tori in the sling AND the polyester choir robe (yes, I wear her in the sling while I sing in the choir. We only wear the robes on Communion Sundays, and NO I didn't close the robe over Tori. I left it open.). But it was fun. I'm so grateful I've found such an awesome community.

I haven't done anything about finding a therapist. I know I need to, and I have the card of a woman my last therapist recommended, but I can't seem to pick up the phone. I think it's a combination of things--I don't trust therapists (bad experience in high school--my "family" therapist and my mother started hanging out and going to movies) easily, and my last therapist (who I saw for six months after losing the boys) was just so damned awesome I can't imagine replacing her. If only she hadn't moved away...

I'm weaning off of Domperidone. My supply is great, we have a freezer full of milk, time for me to get off the drugs. Probably take another three weeks or so.

I'm gonna stop typing now before I tell you what I had for lunch (chicken pesto sandwich) and how much I pumped in my last pumping session (six ounces).

Medical Shows Can Cause Trauma

Wow. What a double header last night, eh? That is if you are a television medical show junkie like I am. Last night's double feature of season premieres, ER and Gray's Anatomy were tough. I'm feeling a bit beat up.

***SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS***

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First off, Gray's.

Lots of you seemed to like it, but I was a little disappointed. I mean, Plague? Seriously? Plague was the best they could come up with (keep an eye on the writer's blog to see if they can explain themselves)? Other than that it was great. But the whole baby-in-the-trash-can thing was tough although...

Not as tough as fucking ER. Before I discuss it, I must get one thing out of the way though. WHAT THE FUCK WITH THE NEW THEME SONG? Seriously, if I put 13 motherfucking years into a show, I want the same god damned theme song. Damn it!

Ahem.

I knew it was going to be over the top and hard to watch. And I knew the situation with Abby was going to be hard on me.

But the good things first. Jerry lived!

OK, make that good thing.

I didn't expect that Abby's situation would affect me so much. I mean, after all, my abruption is long past and Tori is here and stuff, right? But no. I was a weeping mess by the end. I made Charlie come hold me, which was awkward since Tori was nursing at that moment. When they pulled that big clot out of her uterus--the same size clot as I pulled out of the toilet the morning Tori was born, by the way--I started to freak out.

The thing that amazes me about my personal traumatic history with pregnancy and birth is that when I'm actually in the situation, I float through it with this amazing calm, almost detached, like it isn't happening to me. I mean, I spent ten minutes packing a bag to take to the hospital the morning Tori was born--while Charlie was hollering at me to get in the fucking car already. Packing while blood ran down my legs. Sheesh.

Charlie and I did a lot of yelling at the screen last night. Yelling at Abby to accept the fact that she was at risk. Yelling at her to accept the general anesthesia. Yelling about the baby having a low heart rate at the start. NOT FAIR! We all deserved a tiny little preemie cry.

There is no way I could have watched the show if Tori had ended up in the NICU. Or if I'd had a hysterectomy. Or, god forbid, something had happened to her in the birthing process.

I managed to hold it mostly together until Abby said she wouldn't be able to see the baby for 24 hours. Suddenly, the reality of my own situation hit me. I spent eight hours away from Tori after she was born. I have claimed that I was fine, that it didn't bother me, that I was so drugged up it was OK. But you know what? It's was not OK. I am injured by that separation. It sucked, it sucked, it sucked. IT SUCKED. Why haven't I been willing to admit that until now? Let me say it one more time: IT FUCKING SUCKED.

When Dr. Mama came and visited us one night when we were still in the hospital, he asked me if I was traumatized by the birth and the loss of the boys, the whole thing. At the time, I was so stoned on Tori love that I didn't think so.

But the truth is I'm a mess about all of it. I had the pleasure of reading Susan Ito's essay from the book "It's a Boy: Women Writers on Raising a Son" yesterday. She lost a son at 24 weeks due to preeclampsia. Her essay is amazing--it captures the misty feeling of disbelief beautifully--and it wrecked me. While I've felt so much less pain about Nicholas and Zachary since Tori's birth, that loss is still right there below the surface. Still very very close.

I'm thinking it might be time for some therapy. I can't keep walking around getting shell shocked from television. TV is one of my favorite things, after all.

You guys have a nice weekend. I'm going to go cry into my lunch I think.

Miscellany

I was going to write a long post about adoption in response to the comments to my last entry, but I'm not going to. Instead, go peruse Dawn's blog. She's done lots more thinking, research, and writing on the subject than I have.

I will say only this to those that defended the birth parents: most of the folks that read this blog are people who desperately want a child. So it's easier for them to identify with my friend than the birth parents. Forgive them for being insensitive. Also, I wish that your optimistic view of the birth or first parents were the truth. I can't reveal too much, but the situation for the baby is not good at all. This is a baby that is deeply loved and wanted on one end and starkly rejected on the other--and the baby isn't with the folks that love him. It's a terrible situation.

Every time I hear a story like Ellen's, I can't breathe. It feels, for a moment, like someone is taking Tori away. Is this normal? Cause it's making me crazy. If I make the mistake of watching the local news, it seems like there is ALWAYS a horrible story that makes me panic. The other day a new mother home with her newborn three-day-old baby was attacked (and nearly killed) and the baby stolen. Another mother who'd lost her baby (it was stillborn, I believe) saw the balloons outside and came over with a knife to take the baby. That particular news story almost made my head explode as a woman who has both lost a child and as a mother who has a living, breathing child. Who do you empathize with? Both mothers have now lost their children. Luckily, the baby was found and returned to the actual mother of the child (and she survived the attack) and the attacker, with any luck, will get the help she needs.

Gah.

No more local news for me.

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In other, significantly more trivial news, Gray's Anatomy season premiere tonight! I watched the season finale from last year again last night and wept like crazy, even though I'd already seen it (I'm crying a ton these days. There must be something hormonal going on with me). It's hard to believe how much I've missed these fictional people over the summer.

And don't forget ER! I swore I wasn't going to watch it this year but then they had to go and have Abby have a placenta abruption so you know I absolutely MUST watch. Luckily, they are not on at the same time. Heh.

I am SUCH a tv junkie. What are you looking forward to seeing this fall?

Heartbreak

I know I should post, and I'm sorry I haven't. But I'm too upset.

My dear friend Ellen, after years of infertility treatment, the loss of a baby to Trisomy 18, finally, finally got to meet her new baby a few days ago (they adopted domestically). For three glorious days, they learned what it's like to fall in love with a baby.

Until the birth father refused to sign the papers (after saying he would for seven months) and they had to give the baby they called their son back to the attorney.

I know birth parents have rights. But Ellen and her husband are just absolutely devastated and heartbroken. If you can spare a prayer for them, please do.

Three Things I Learned This Week

1. If you are super tired, perhaps driving to work is a bad idea. Because when you get to the parking garage, you'll find yourself driving around and around looking for parking and thinking to yourself, "Gee, I can't believe all of these spots are full!" Before realizing that the garage is NOT built in a spiral and, in fact, you have been driving around the same level for ten fucking minutes.

2. If you are going to a wedding where you will see a ton of people you haven't seen for a while, bring print photos of your new baby. Because if the only pictures you have are in your camera, you will then hand said camera over to tons of people who will proceed to scroll through your photos inevitably landing on the nude photos you shot of yourself. Explaining to them that the reason you took some nude self-portraits is because your best friend has been doing it and it's very inspiring and forcing you to reconsider your body just makes the folks who haven't seen you in a while wish it was going to be a while longer before they saw you again.

3. Taking photos of my baby is fun. New ones here!

Sick Day

I called out sick today. Even though I already took Monday off so that Charlie could go help the movers take his mom her furniture at her new place. While it's true that I've been fighting off a migraine for a couple of days and I've been sleeping badly and am really, really tired...mostly I just miss Tori.

I thought I'd made peace with going back to work. I really did. I had a big project to finish and it took up some time and distracted me. But now it's over, and I feel like I'm staring down a long tunnel of day after day of work without my baby.

It's killing me.

Surely there is something I can do part time to earn the crappy salary I earn now. Although then I'd lose medical benefits. If we had to pay ourselves for our health care it would be over $1,000 a month (work pays mine, but not Charlie's or Tori's). And I'm not sure I could get individual coverage since I've been hospitalized twice in the last two years and have asthma and am fat. Which means I'd have nothing and that's not really an option.

Sigh. I don't know what to do. I know I have a great job now that I shouldn't give up. And the holidays are looming so I'll be nice and busy again and be able to be distracted and take joy in my work again. Sometimes I view the works of art that I sell almost like pets--I love seeing something beautiful going to a good home. I do get something from the work, I really do.

But I miss her so much when I'm there. When the store is empty and the customers are gone and I've done my paperwork for the day and I find myself just waiting for the day to end so I can go home and hold my baby.

I know I'm not hiding this from my boss,either. He can see it in my face. He can feel me slipping away, knows that my heart is too full of Tori to be really about work anymore. Not that I'm doing a bad job or slipping up or anything, I swear. My head is in my work, but not my heart.

Sigh.

I think I'm also going through something hormonal. Maybe a post-pregnancy thing, maybe my period is thinking about coming back. I don't know. I crave chocolate and red meat like crazy and I am crying about everything. I just watched five minutes of Notting Hill for the gazillionth time and started crying. I'm crying when I think about going to work tomorrow.

It's going to get better, right? Cause I'm dying here.

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On a happier note, I'm very excited we've had such a good response to the new Century Club blog (in case you missed it, it's a new password protected blog for those of us with either 35% of our body weight or over 100 pounds to lose--although it's not just about dieting and wieght loss, it's about support too). I've had to turn a few folks away for being too skinny. Heh. But it's up and running and I promise to do a post there soon. If you are still interested, email me!

Ew. Seriously. Ew.

At the grocery store a few weeks back I found myself startled by the appearance of the young man ringing us up. He was probably a senior in high school, and generally good looking in a bland American youth kind of way. But he was orange—coated in a fake tan—and had used about six ounces of some sort of product on his hair resulting in an all-over spikiness. The weird thing about the hair is that it was all the same length and spiked up so that it stuck out evenly everywhere, even around his ears. This had the overall effect of him looking like a cartoon character of some sort. Oh, and his eyebrows were waxed into a beautiful shape I’m considering imitating. His shirt was too small, barely coming to his waist and skimming the top of his pants so that he flashed orange belly skin whenever he moved an item over the scanner.

The guy bagging the groceries that day had no eyes—yes, literally, no eyes at all, I think he was born without them—and I found the kid with the spiky hair more disturbing.

I’m not sure when, exactly, men started waxing. At first it was just back hair, then chest hair, and now eyebrows. I guess some people like it. I’m not above men wrangling their eyebrows into submission when they start getting all long and shit in old age, but waxing them into a pleasing shape? Not so much. Unless you are a drag queen. Which means each time I see a young man with waxed eyebrows I find myself wondering if he's a drag queen.

All the men at the strip club on Friday night looked like that check out boy. Plus oily and slimy. And the dancing… oh, the dancing. It was like N’Sync choreography as done by Arnold Schwarzenegger. So, so bad. Bad bad bad.

I’ve never seen anything less sexy in my life.

The place is called, charmingly, The Cave. So the walls are all plastered like a cave, if the cave were filled with drunken screaming women and stage lights. There were about a dozen or so brides-to-be there and a few birthday girls. There was a lot of security. They even carded me, which was hilarious. I was close to the oldest person there (there were one or two mothers-of-the-bride that were older than me. Or looked it. Heh).

The waiters were even more slimy and gross than the dancers, and get this! They were selling test tube shots that the waiters would place in their jock straps, then they would shake them up which of course made it look like they were jerking off. Then the women would GET ON THEIR KNEES to drink it. From the crotch of the waiter.

I don’t know about you, but I am NOT paying someone else for the privilege of getting on my knees. Seriously, how is that sexy for the woman?

The weirdest thing about the whole night is that even though it was men taking their clothes off, somehow it felt like I was the one being exploited. Maybe it was the obvious contempt the dancers had for the audience, maybe it was all the waiters looking they were getting blowjobs, I don’t know. But I needed a shower afterward.

There was one African-American dancer that seemed to actually enjoy dancing, and was very nice to the women he spoke with afterward. I liked him right away because he didn’t have the rock hard body the other guys did. And a few of the dancers had rather nice asses. I like a good ass on a man. But overall, ew. Ew, ew, ew.

I would much rather have watched women dance. At least those women are walking away with the cash instead of throwing it at the oily bodies of contemptous men where it sticks. Ew.

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I want to bring up two thing. First off, see that ad on the right? The one for my dear friend Nancy Falkow? Go click on it and buy her album. Seriously, you won't be disappointed. She's one of the best singers I've ever heard. That quote in her ad? It's mine.

Secondly, there's a new blog out there you might be interested in. It's called The Century Club, and it's a supportive blogging community for those of us who have 100 pounds (or more) to lose (or 35% of your body weight). It's password protected, so I can't link to it, but if you are interested in reading it OR becoming one of the blogs authors, please email me at the link at the bottom of the left column. I'm hosting the blog and will be one of the authors, but it's really the brain child of Kathleen (who until now was blogless). So email me if you want to be part of the fun!

How Cool Is Sarah?

Today is going to be my longest day away from Tori EVER. I will be at work eight hours, then it's off to a bacholette party involving a Fancy Dinner Out and then Male Strippers. It will be over 14 hours before I see my baby again *sob*.

I know, I know. I don't HAVE to go to the party. But I adore the woman that is getting married, and her hubbie to be, and I don't want to miss it. Plus I've never actually seen male strippers, except once at a gay nightclub, so I'm thinking that could make a good blog entry. Heh. I fully expect it to be slimy and silly. And it's only one night in a lifetime, right?

And just to be funny, the restaurant? It's called Swanky Bubbles. Yes, really.

Today Tori spent the better part of the day with Sarah while Charlie ran around town getting our stupid car fixed YES once again (we want to get a new car--actually, a minivan--but we keep getting turned down for the home equity loan that would make it possible. Even though we have $80K in equity in the house. What the fuck?). To console me in my Tori-less day, Sarah sent me this...just the thing to get the boobs flowing for another pump session!

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