Confirmation

My friend and I went to visit our friend in Philadelphia last week after news arrived she just had a baby boy.  This is baby #2 for our friend.  J and I brought different things for E and her family…food, presents.  We were so excited to be meeting this baby in the hospital.

Wow. Newborns are just so tiny! Even when they aren’t tiny for newborns, they are so small compared to the children we are raising at home.  I love the smell of newborns before sour milk settles into their folds.  They snuggle right on your chest/shoulder and just sleep.  Exhausted from the birth, traumatized from his circumcision, this baby was OUT COLD!  Even better is a sweet sleeping newborn.  When I passed him off to J or E, his smell lingered on my clothes.  It’s like clothes fresh from a dryer.  I could smell it all day long.

Best of all, holding this baby completely confirmed 100% that I was not going to have my own baby #3.  I loved this little boy.  He felt like the son my husband and I always thought we were going to have, but never did.  He was that sleepy newborn that makes you think…Goodness, how did we create this miracle!  Before the fussiness and work around the clock really settles in.  E looked great for having just given birth the day before, but she and her husband just looked so tired!  I didn’t have any longing as I held him.  I just felt happy.  Happy for my friends, happy for my family.  God gave us 2 beautiful girls.  I could have dealt with less attitude and drama and all the things dealing with special needs!  But I got what I got, and everyday we are grateful that at the very least they are thriving, happy girls.  What more could we really ask for?  (A lot, I know, but lets keep this real.)

Isn’t that the best part?  We got to hold this newborn, and then gave him back! Hooray!  Congratulations E and family!!!

Marriage with kids

I’m going to take a detour from the kids and focus on the “we” in my blog.  My husband.  I think the world of him, and truly love him.  We met in college. I was 18 and he was 19.  We were 19/20 when we started dating.  We had bumps in the road, but stuck it out together.  He gave me the space to figure out who I was, and what I wanted to do with my life.  Marriage was a natural, inevitable step for us.  We wanted to wait a few years to enjoy being together before having kids.  We worked, went out with friends, traveled, did all the things people told us to do before having kids.  One event changed us and really pushed us forward to becoming more family minded.  He had a 9am meeting at 1 World Trade on the 40th Floor on 9/11.  His PATH train was the last one in.  He saw the 2nd plane hit Tower 2, and walked all the way up to E. 89th Street to meet me.  Those 3 hours I had no idea if he was alive or not.  After that, we said we couldn’t waste time.  We were going to make life what we could and have the family we hoped to have.

All this focus comes on the kids when they arrive.  And we forget to take the time to appreciate each other.  When you are sleep deprived, and only have each other to lean on, it can be really difficult.  You lose yourself in the hustle and bustle of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning, making meals, making lists of the people you needed to call back or write thank you cards to….the everyday grind.  You aren’t even thinking of you.  How can you think of the other?  For a long time, I think we saw each other as the extra hand who was picking up the slack.  Okay, mabe not “we”…I saw him as such.  Terrible, I know.  But I can’t make a quick dinner or eat it if someone isn’t helping on the side.  When they are babies, I just thought, when the kids are older, we’ll get the time back.  But we are still busy.  Driving around, dropping off activity to activity, our weekends are filling up with their things.   When does the grind end for you to finally look up and say, “Oh, hey!  There you are.” ?  Through those stages, conversations began to go wayward.  There wasn’t much communicating.  He wouldn’t know what we did day to day, and he stopped asking.  I wouldn’t really know what he was dealing with at work, and I told myself I was too tired to ask.  The drifting doesn’t happen suddenly.  But small bits would fall over time.  And that’s when we know we are in some trouble.

I remember a few years ago seeing Dr. Phil on Oprah.  He was scolding a lady who went on crazy shopping sprees for her kids.  Over $1000 in hairbows for her daughter.  All because she was missing something in her own life, her happiness, her partner.  He would roll over to her in bed and want to get busy, and she was tired.  But she admitted, she just didn’t feel connected to him.  Gone were the nonchalant touching of the hip or shoulder as they passed by each other, or gentle touch of the hand as they walked around.  The absence of small but meaningful gestures (and granted, a long, long absence) led her to spending his bucks…which brought about a HUGE strain between them.  

I can see where people think kids can bring 2 people closer together.  My husband and I share 2 beautiful girls between us.  That bond can never be broken.  The rest of our marraige can fall to pieces, but we will always share those 2 girls.  Nothing melts my heart faster than seeing theirs and his excited faces when he comes home from work, or when they share a special moment outside on the swings.  However, if 2 people are not on the same page of how to run the home, raise the kids, on life, it can really be a rough strain.  Add a child with special needs in the mix, and it can really unravel.  You no longer have a basis of comparison to the friends around you.  It takes 2 people to do all the research and roadwork for what’s best for the needs of your child.  And many times, there is an added financial cost when dealing with therapies and services for that child.  Compromising your beliefs is never easy.  Heck, compromising on what toppings to put on the pizza when you really aren’t in the mood for sausage can be difficult.  What about on life issues?  What about on the daily issues of best way to run the household?  And who’s way is the best way?  

There aren’t any easy answers.  And no way is the best way.  But I did find out one thing along the way.  We had to make our way back to each other.  I needed him. Even if he needed me less (which he says is absolutely not the case), I NEED him.  This family doesn’t function without him. and I, personally, don’t function without him in my life.  A little vacation for a few days, a week, yes.  but not indefinitely.  I’ve been with him almost 1/2 my life.  He grounds me, and makes me a better person.  He infuriates me and drives me insane!  But most days, I believe I am better with it than not.  We had to start making time for each other.

 It started very simply.  A 1/2 hr a day where there was no tv, no internet, no phones.  us and a bowl of fruit.  We talked of little things first.  It made the harder topics easier to talk about next time.  Somedays, we don’t have that 1/2 hr. but most days we try.  And at least 1 meal per week, is our night.  My husband comes home as the girls are going to bed.  Dinner has to wait until about 8:30pm.  Tuesdays, I always wait for him.  (I need a snack, or 2, or 10 around 6pm but I wait).  We started looking forward to that time together.  We still go wayward from each other, still aruge.  Somtimes we come to an agreement and often, it’s a stalemate . But we are forced to talk about it.  We are  stronger as a couple, and we try to lead a happier life with our kids.  I need to be happy with myself, of course, to start.  But we need to be happy as a couple, and that whole trickle down effect to others around us seems to be better.  We recognize that although in essence we are still the same, we are not the same teens/young adults that fell in love.  Our love and relationship has evolved, and it takes a lot of work for us to maintain it and keep it moving forward.  Marriage, like life, is yet another journey.  With all its ups and downs, we still navigate it blindly with hope.

Postpartum #2

As I said before, the 2nd time around has always been a completely different experience.  M’s birth was the ideal birth.  Quick, painless, and absolutely no surprises.  I almost missed my window of opportunity to receive an epidural with S.  Too many people needed the anaesthesiologist, and I was nipping at the bud waiting.  This time, he was right there to offer me one.  I didn’t feel like I needed it at the moment, but heck…it was 1:30am.  He wasn’t waiting around for me to be ready or not.  So I said okay.  My husband wasn’t allowed to be there for it like the first time.  Liability, they said (I hear a lot of men pass out at the sight of it and with birth…what did they go through to earn the go unconscious pass?).  

My mom and husband brought S to see me and her new baby sister in the morning.  Melted my heart to see her come in with such a big smile for me.  She held her little sister in her arms, and gave her a kiss.  We wanted to give S ownership, and always called her S’s sister, M.  S had mild interest in M, and M was just about sleeping and eating.  She nursed well from the beginning, and rarely let out a cry.  Biggest difference, too, was that I was ready for visitors!  I didn’t have tons, but I had a few great ones.  

I was eager to come home this time.  This time, as much as time concentrated on when M needed to nurse, I still had to take care of S.  She was okay with my mom and my husband, but when I nursed M, she was stuck to me.  And to be completely honest, my focus was more on S than on M.  There were other hands around to help, and I had this already established relationship with S.  I worried about her adjusting to a new baby, so I put my energy there.  Whenever anyone was around to help, M would get pushed off on them, and I would take care of S.  M was a so so nurser and actually seemed more satisfied with formula.  I wasn’t producing nearly the amount of milk as I had been with S, and I couldn’t keep up with her demand.  After a month, she was 100% bottle fed.  Anyone could feed her and tend to her.  

M got fussy around 6-8 weeks.  It would start around 6:30pm.  She would cry, sometimes unconsolably, but for 20-40 min spurts.  And then again around 9pm.  It could take anywhere between 20 min-1 hr to calm her down to sleep, but she did! and she would go 3-4 hr spurts.  It’s not like she never cried or fussed.  Some nights she would fuss from 2am-4am.  But we aren’t talking 6 hrs of pacing and absolutely unconsolable.  She took to a pacifier, too, something S never did.  It took a lot of the edge off.  I could be walking around, helping S, having a conversation with a friend, and look down to find M completley asleep in my arms.  I wasn’t even trying to get her to sleep.

My friend told me that my baby wouldn’t remember being left crying for a few minutes while I tended to my toddler.  But my toddler would remember having been put off for me to tend the baby.  If I was giving S a bath, and M was fussy in her take along swing or bouncy seat, I was told it was okay to let her cry for a few minutes while I finished with S.  S was held within 5 seconds of crying out (with the exception of when we sleep trained her).  M was left for minutes at a time…next to me, and in sight, but had to wait.

Finally, M was born at the end of March.  The weather was warmer and nicer, and we were out much more.  S dictated our schedule much more so, and still does.  But because we weren’t holed up so much, I felt more social.  It was a happier experience all the way around.  And because of the challeneges with S as an infant, our mantra really was “This too shall pass.”  We knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel of these infant phases.  We were a lot more relaxed about M.  She was a more relaxed baby.  And we knew by then that not every theory, book, routine, etc. was going to fit our child.  It was a huge expectation taken off our shoulders.  And the difference for my husband and myself as parents and as a married couple was tested so differently this time.

Postpartum

I read through some of my posts, and I realized I had forgotten to address a very important part of my process.  Most of my posts have dealt with how we handled what was thrown at us with our children, but not necessarily how I felt.  And how that impacted everything around me, and the people around me.

Postpartum triggers different responses for each person.  The actual definition is “occuring immediately after birth”.  Also knows as postnatal.  But I don’t think that things always happen immediately after the birth.  Sometimes there are delayed reactions…days, weeks, even months.

When I was pregnant with S, I thought after seeing my nephews and nieces through babyhood and toddlerhood, after spending 7 years teaching, I was as prepared as anybody could be for motherhood.  I’m not saying I was raring to go, but come on….I knew it was going to be hard.  But I was super excited over this little baby in my belly. I had so many plans and hopes.  I have heard of how incredible it is when your baby is born, and you have this immediate connection.  The love was going to be overwhelming, and I would vow to be the best mom ever.

After S was born, my body was so battered and swollen, I felt like everything was going to fall out if I stood up.  The thick pads, ice packs, and that mesh underwear (who thought of that?!  The first time, I thought it was the ugliest thing EVER, the 2nd time, I thought it was totally ingenious.  Again, different perspectives).  I was afraid to go home.  At least I was a button away from needing any help from multiple people.  Going home, it was going to be me, my husband, and my mom who stayed on for a month.  I was definitely in awe, but I thought that maybe I was just so tired to have that enthusiasm I anticipated.  I should have known I would have challenges when I realized I was wearing my maternity clothes home.  I didn’t know that it takes 9 mths to get your belly as big as it was, and it would take 9 years to make it go down.  Well, maybe not 9 years, but I wasn’t going back to what I had been. I didn’t know.

To be completely honest, I was just horribly overwhelmed by everything.  I had help, and I can’t tell you how much I loved my mother after this experience.  I apologized for every last thing I made difficult in her life, including being a colicky baby myself (for 6 mths…I figured I was getting back my paid dues).  Life was so beyond different than it had been 4 days before.  The demands of nursing were driving me insane alone.  S would take 30-40 min per side to feed, and would cry to eat again 2 hrs later.  It was killing me.  There were no breaks.  As soon as I had a moment where I was going to eat a quick 2 min meal in peace, S would start to cry.  My mom tended to her and told me to eat.  I ate with tears dripping down my face. 

I felt guilty but I mourned my life.  I was carefree and totally took for granted that I could go when I wanted to go, talk on the phone as long as I liked, went out to eat or walked around the city alone or with friends.  I could look forward to the weekends of sleeping in and enjoying being married to my husband.  I didn’t know how to be a mom. I couldn’t be the me that I had grown into over the years.  I couldn’t be the friend, even though they were great and supportive, I was before S was born.  And they weren’t having babies, yet.  So I was the one left behind.  My husband went to work and started an MBA program when S was 6 weeks old.  He got away from all this for 12 hrs a day.  His hometime had changed, but the rest of his life went forward.  And how do you explain any of these feelings, positive and resentment, to anybody?  When people told me, “you just have to have a child and go through it to understand,”  well, that smacked me right in the face.  And my friends were getting ready to have babies.  They wanted them, some were pregnant.  How do I possibly say anything at the risk of scaring them or making myself sound crazy and ungrateful.  It was the dead of winter, and getting out and being out was not happening.  I was spiraling in a world I didn’t recognize.  I would look in the mirror, and not recognize myself anymore.  I should have been ecstatic at big boobs, but when they are constantly dripping milk, how is that attractive?  I thought of stuffing my bra in my teenage years, but here I was stuffing them with pads for real, but just to not have shirts with soaking shirts.  It was like being in a perpetual wet t-shirt contest, but I was the only participant.   It wasn’t something to cheer about.

I felt like I was drowning and alone. Never once did I think I had Postpartum depression. NEVER.  I just thought maybe I was a wimp and something was wrong with me.  I wasnt’ meant for motherhood and maybe I didn’t love my child.  Now you can really imagine my silent guilt.  I cried several times a day, and blamed it on hormones. 

Meeting a few moms through my lactation consultant is what really started to save me.  When S was 5 weeks old, I met 2 friends whose babies were 2 weeks older.  Each baby had a different temperament, we were strangers, nursing together.  But finally, someone else understood where I was coming from at that exact point of time.  I didn’t divulge in any of the negativity, but they understood how tired I was, how on demand feeding felt, how since we decided to breastfeed, we were always “on”.  We met every so often, and as the weather got nicer, we started going on walks together around the neighborhood.  We would talk about all the highs and lows of raising our first babies.  Definitely, food for the mothering soul.

I often think about how I could have done more for myself.  Was I just being negative, whiny, complaining?  Here was a beautiful baby girl, healthy, and I was trying not to wallow.  I felt I was an ingrate.   My father tried to tell me to see the big picture.  but I was missing it completely.  I might have said to get out there and look for other moms, or tell my friends how I was feeling.  But I wasn’t one to ask for help or say, “hey, I feel left out.”  It seemed childish at the time.  So I did what I thought I was supposed to do.  Sit on it and hope it all got better.  Am I better now because I went through the hardship?  Who’s to know.  But we are who we are because of our experiences.  If anything, I believe it’s what made me want to reach out and start this.  To find parents who have been where I have been, who are where I am now, who are where I want to be.   It’s a tricky road, and there is no right way, just a bunch of different ways.  What worked for me doesn’t work for everyone.  What worked for my friends isn’t the universal way.  But even if we follow different paths, it seems to help to talk about it and know that we weren’t and are still not alone.