The Grass Is Always Greener

     Next week I start a part time job.  It's two days a week, and it will take the financial strain off of our family.  It's something I know has to be done...and yet I am completely torn up inside.

     When I began my first blog, "Suck At Home Mom's Cranky Blog", it was to get out the frustration of being tied to home after years in the workforce, and to overcome the feeling of being "less than."  There were no evaluations of my performance, no raises for a job well done, etc.  As the months wore on, I called myself the "Stuck At Home Mom", because I felt like there would be no opportunity for me to contribute to society while nursing this little terror I call Rose.

     It's only now, as I face the daunting and emotionally draining task of re-entering the workforce, that I realize how good I had it.  Rose is high-maintenance, in every sense of the word.  She's incredibly smart, and therefore has to be constantly challenged or she starts building ladders out of stuffed animals to climb over the safety gate.  She's fully attached to breastfeeding, so she requires the boob more than I would think necessary at nine months old. And she hates to be alone, so when I leave the room to go pee she stands at the gate and cries, only to laugh when I come back.

     But I know all of those things, and we have a routine, and we have an unspoken agreement (since she only says "Dada", "Hi", "Mama", "Kittykitty" and "Up") that she give me lots of smiles and pictures to compensate for this high-pressure job of being her caretaker.  On Tuesday, that all ends.  My mother, who is a wonderful, caring, amazing grandmother somehow scares the crap out of Rose.  My other children, knowing that Nanna is the best spoiler in the world, find this both amusing and baffling, but all it does for me is wonder if I'm making a colossal mistake.  I'm about to unleash her high-maintenance-ness on my 68 year old Mom with a heart condition, knowing that Rose will probably scream her head off for the first few weeks.  I'm about to put Rose under the care of a loving and wonderful but to her scary grandparent.  My heart is breaking, and yet I know of no alternative.

     I can't seem to make money online.  I am in the middle of writing a book (yes, I really am), but it has nothing to do with what I blog about and it's not even close to completion--and if it were, I certainly have no money to have it published. I am grateful to be able to have this job...but I worry that for me to suddenly be gone 8 1/2-9 hours for two days per week is going to destroy our breastfeeding relationship (because even though I'm trying to gradually substitute the mid-day ones, there really is not enough time to properly wean her.)  It's a catch-22, and I know--the grass is always greener.  It should seem like the best of both worlds...but I worry worry worry.  The date is drawing nearer, and I am dreading it.  Have you had to make this decision?  What did you choose, and how did you accomplish it?

Sleep, Baby, Sleep...

     Rose has been awake every two hours for three nights.  Three times two equals cranky minus patience plus yawning! (That's the most math I can do with this brain fog I am currently standing in!)  I have tried gently sleep training her--I go in every few minutes to reassure her, then a little later than every few minutes, and usually she does fall asleep...but she wakes up inevitably at 1 am, stays up until 2, gets up at 4, etc etc.  It's driving me crazy.  

     As a suck at home mom, I'm used to struggling with the issues of raising the children--despite all my years of child care, I find that Punkgirl and Happyboy are now their own little people, complete with ideas and quirks of their own.  This leads to the occasional butting of heads, and I accept that.  But Rose is only 7 1/2 months old...and she has already shown that it's her way or the highway.  I let her "cry it out" a little--something I could never bring myself to do with the older two, but which I felt was a necessity with Rose, if only to tire her out a little before she finally gets to sleep.  

     Now don't get me wrong--in some instances Rose is pretty easy--for instance, I took all 3 kids into the Boston Common by myself, which I wouldn't have done when my eldest were younger.  But as long as I am nearby (read, right next to) Rose is a pretty happy, content baby.  Unfortunately, the instant I leave the room, the tears begin.  I try to spend a few minutes away, reassuring her ill be right back, in the hopes that she'll get more comfortable with me being away, but it doesn't seem to be working!

     So tell me, suck at home moms, do you let your baby "cry it out"? Do you have other sleep miracles?

Bub Crawl

     Some days are just meant to suck.  I spent last night getting up every three hours to breastfeed Rose, who proceeded to drink barely enough to fill her tummy but insisted on soothing her teething by clamping down hard enough to cause pain.  At 4 am, when I usually would pump, I crawled back into bed to catch a few more minutes.

     Of course a few minutes meant I woke up three hours later--exactly when Rose woke up.  I fed her again, but she wanted to play and make screechy noises instead.  Then she proceeded to look at Coffeeguy and say "Dada" over and over again. It's maddening how we do all this extra work, suffer through nipple pain, plugged ducts, milk all over...and they are linguistically pre-conditioned to say "Dada" first.  Disgusted with the unfairness of it I decided to leave her with the half-awake Coffeeguy while I hunted down my pumping kit.

     It's a miracle of the human system that breast milk is made for your baby.  Literally for them, as in their supply and demand decides how much you make, their presence (or lack thereof) makes the milk flow faster or slower.  It's incredible, but it also means that while pumping, distractions are not a good thing.  Try pumping in a room with two Tweens.  It doesn't matter how many times I explain the way it works to Happyboy and Punkgirl, they see my Rose-less body and are so happy to have me to themselves that they launch into stories of everything that has happened to them or interested them in the last 10-12 years.  Any other time, I would listen with attention, but all I can think of while I am pumping is "please stop talking.  Rose Rose Rose Rose."  It doesn't usually work, and I'm lucky if I get a scant two ounces after pumping both breasts.

     I could move the pump into the bedroom, but Coffeeguy has the same mammary--er, memory problems as my dear children.  I end up trying to drown out politics or funny stories on Facebook.

     So this morning I was fed up, and frustrated, and when Coffeeguy handed me a tea I took it and ran.  I closed my bedroom door, sat down, and proceeded to enjoy a nice hot cup with no distractions.  It lasted two minutes.

     All three non-baby relatives called me to the other room, come quick!  As I sighed and walked in the room, they all clamored to tell me that Rose had crawled.  My baby had crawled, and while I am home with her every day, she waited for that one moment of escape to show off a new trick.  It was as if she was punishing me for finding that minute alone!

     She refused to do it again, no matter the incentive.  I stand rebuked.

The breastfeeding crack hormone

     I mentioned in my very first post that Rose is breastfeeding.  I didn't mention the love/hate relationship that I have with breastfeeding.  I formula-fed Punkgirl and Happyboy ten and twelve years ago, and other than a tendency for Punkgirl to projectile vomit if you didn't burp her at EXACTLY two ounces, they were fine with it.  We had a strong relationship, we bonded perfectly fine, and my husband got to share in the feedings.

     Unfortunately Punkgirl inherited my celiac disease.  For those of you that don't know, cd is a digestive disorder that controls your life.  The only remedy is to go on a completely wheat/gluten free diet.  In researching symptoms in children (I suspect Happyboy has not escaped the inevitable gluten free--GF--diet) I found a study that concluded that if you breastfed for at least 6 months and introduced gluten in the 5th/6th month, you drastically reduce your child's chances of cd.  It was worth it to me.

     Then came Rose.  Removed by c-section, she came out unhappy that she had been removed from my nice warm womb.  She cried vigorously until the moment that my husband held her next to me and she held my pinky in her hand.  From that moment I was hooked.

     I firmly believe (through no scientific evidence) that the hormones released during breastfeeding are like crack.  They are a feel-good hormone, which I will admit, skeeved me out when I read about it.  Who wants to feel good with a baby on their boob?  But it happens, and the only way to describe it is that there is actually nothing sexual about your breast when your baby is suckling.  And she did, the very first time I put her on, she was a champ!  She knew exactly what to do and where to go, and she fed and filled her little belly, then burped and feel asleep on my chest.  It was magical.

     That lasted a day.  On day two (after your chemical mind is hooked on the love  and pride you feel when breastfeeding goes well) Rose forgot how to breastfeed.  I know, I know, how the heck does she forget?!  But she did.  She couldn't latch on, which made her cry, and thanks to complications from a spinal headache I very nearly had a breakdown over it.  But I pulled myself together (as I often do) and sucked it up and called the nurse.  I was pretty unprepared for the, uh, hands-on portion of the "breast is best" philosophy.  They don't tell you when they say breast is best that you may find a nurse squishing your boob like it's one of those stress-reliever balls to try to fit it into baby's mouth.  I looked at her in horror, looked at Rose in horror, and vowed never to push that call button ever again.  She finally decided, after twisting my breast into a mammary pretzel, that I would need a nipple shield.  The shield is a small piece of silicone that fits over your nipple to help the baby find it.  It's messy, it's a coordination nightmare, and it's going to be your worst enemy if you don't realize that it's only supposed to be temporary--which I didn't.  But it works.  And getting that milk into your baby's mouth will be your priority, so you will grin and bear it first, then cry and bear it, and then finally beat down the door of a lactation consultant despite the fact that you swore you wouldn't go there because you need to feed without the damn thing dribbling milk all over you.

     The other thing they don't tell you, after helping you pump in the hospital, is that you only need to pump both breasts until your milk comes in.  So there I was, at home, happily pumping away, saving ounce after ounce in the freezer! I was a milk machine!!  But in doing so, my breastfeeding relationship with Rose became my nightmare.  I had a massive oversupply, causing reflux, foul exploding diapers, and worst of all, it would cause Rose to choke horribly on all of that milk. It was as if I was water-boarding my baby.  I almost resolved to quit (but I swear, those breastfeeding crack hormones make you want to succeed at breastfeeding--there's no other explanation.)  The bf crack coupled with Rose's milk allergy (discovered through an elimination diet after she broke out in an itchy rash all over her body) meant we couldn't even just switch over to formula, so I scoured the Internet (after finding the first lc's direction to stop pumping completely and to block feed, switching breasts every three hours, unhelpful.  I did them, but still my milk would literally squirt across the room.)  I found all kinds of resources...but none of them worked.  As one friend put it, I had turbo boobs that just wouldn't quit.  I later rationalized that I must love Rose so much that I over-produce as a direct result of that love.  It sounds silly...but try pumping without looking at a picture of your baby, and then try it while looking at one.  You'll see a difference, because your brain is thinking "awwwww I love you" and causing your milk to respond to that.  It's a bio-mechanical marvel.

     So hours of crying--on both our parts--led me to Marie.  I was searching for any answer...I had tried uphill feeding, block feeding, I never pumped (which also meant I couldn't go anywhere if I didn't want to supplement with soy milk, because I never had reserves.)  Marie was a lactation consultant--lc-- in CA who I met online and who saved me from feeling yet again like I had completely failed at the stay-at-home Mom portion of the program.  I had felt like I was constantly covered in milk, like I had too much to feed Rose but also couldn't give it to her without a crazy dance of drink a little, splutter, cry, drink a little more, splutter, get squirted in the face, cry--and that was just me.  Marie took detailed information about Rose's poop, her sleeping habits, my pumping habits, her reflux, her fussy times....and turned it into a plan to get us back on track.  Now, I should mention, most of my bf friends had told me I would get to this point if I "just hold on a little longer", but I was slowly losing my sanity and I began to think they were lying!  (You know, fellow baby-crack addicts do lie sometimes.)

     And it sounds like such a good problem to have--too much milk? How is that a bad thing?  But it is, and it leaves you feeling like you can't even feed your baby properly.  Now, I know, I just explained that Marie saved us, so what's not to love about breastfeeding?  Try cooking dinner.  Rose instinctively screamed for milk every time I cooked.  I changed dinner time.  I tried making a bottle (back when I still had a stockpile of milk) so Coffeeguy (that's my man) could feed her.  No, Rose won't have it.  She has to either be feeding as I cook or be sitting in an infant chair watching me cook, eyeing me like a little tyrant waiting to lash me should I stop talking to her.  She has begun to follow my every move, keeping an eye on her precious milk supply as if pirates were bound to come forth and steal me.  Again, it sounds so cute, but try going to pee and having to take her with you just to avoid the piercing screech that all three of my children were "gifted" with!  

     I guess my point here is that I'm still not sure if breastfeeding is as rewarding as they say--I mean, yes...there are (now) those moments where you lay quietly feeding her in the morning, and she looks into your eyes and you feel like the Queen of the World...but I have to wonder why I have continued so long?  I've said before, I'm a suck-at-home-Mom, so it's not out of any earthy-crunchy or breast is best mentality...and it certainly hasn't been "easier" than bottle-feeding!  I have to go back to that theory.  The breastfeeding crack hormone theory.  Any of you suck-at-home Moms have a breastfeeding crack addiction?