Breast efforts ...

I can't believe I haven't blogged in so many weeks. I can't believe I haven't written in Nora's baby book. I can't believe I haven't documented every detail of this incredible experience ... She's already gone from being this wee little thing, moving her head and arms in baby slow-mo, her unfocused gaze gliding into places unknown to us earthly mortals. (Seriously - these new babes are like messengers from another place ...).

She smiled for the first time at five weeks (at daddy - I missed it - and then at Aunt K, a wide, knowing, gorgeous grin that spread right around the edges of her bink ... we all exclaimed and oohed and laughed and thrilled at the occasion!). She gave us a full-blown, lower-lip-pushed-out pout around the same time. And the cooing! Oh, the cooing is the best, best, best sound in the whole universe. Who needs to chant "Om" - this, surely, is the first sound of creation!

Yesterday, I put her on her tummy (I am sure I don't do enough of that. Add this to the list of new worries in my head.) and propped her arms beneath her, and she pushed herself right over. I don't know if that counts as rolling over, since I positioned her for good leverage, but - hooray!

She is so funny and beautiful and good. I think I have what my grandma would call a "Good Baby." She is pretty predictable and relatively easy to soothe, she sleeps for 4-5 hour stretches at night already, and always around the same times. Daytime naps are another story - she will only sleep in the Snugli or Bjorn. Her little head does the bob and weave and she whimpers and peers at me with sleepy, bleary eyes if I try to get her down in the bouncer or her cradle. Oh, transition!! I see that my life will now be about easing this little one through every transition.

Breastfeeding is a long, long story. I am so sad today, so frustrated and desperate.

N was so little at birth, and then lost more than 10% of her total weight, which set all the medical professionals into a flurry. She'd latch on fine, and the milk was there, but she'd fall asleep almost instantly. Tickling her feet, undressing her, etc etc, would get a few little sucks out of her. But mostly, she'd go noodle limp, and sleep. At her second weight check, a few days after we brought her home, the nurse handed me a bottle of Nutramegen formula and very matter-of-factly (with a smile, even) told me to supplement her. My heart did a loopty-loop of despair ... it was scary, we were so exhausted, everything seemed covered in grey fuzz. And I stood there in the NICU (where the weight checks happened - which led to the overall feeling that Something Was Wrong), with N in her car seat, and put my finger in her mouth and watched her swallow Something Other Than Breastmilk.

We taped that tube to our fingers, and fed her with it from a syringe, for a couple of weeks. I was able to pump just enough breastmilk, just barely, to get the ounce required for each feeding. I was so proud of that ounce - it meant no formula. We stood there breathless, watching each suck, praying that the plunger would move down, down, down and she'd get what she needed into her little belly. Then I'd put her to breast, and hope.

Then there was the horrible series of events at the hospital's lactation clinic. A long story, but their disorganized process, vague instructions, and finally what I would call negligence sent me storming out in tears, DTB following behind with N in the carrier, me furious and feeling that Mama Bear instinct for the very first time. (They had given us one syringe - not telling us we needed a new one every few days because the plunger would swell after being boiled, and get harder to move ... my mouth flew open ... so that's why my little baby hasn't been able to pull her sustenance out of the tube?! We thought she was too weak, we were drowning her by taking out the plunger and feeding her by gravity ... I was furious ... and then they sold us the wrong sized Haberman nipple ...)

She got better at sucking, but was still sleepy and needed prodding. The every two hour schedule was killing us. It meant no sleep for us, and no sleep for Nora, which just didn't seem right. So we edged it toward three hours. And at her next weight check, we were so sure she'd have gained. We were sure that our decision, at the gentle encouragement from my parents, to "listen to Nora" and follow a rhythm that felt right, would work. And it didn't. And she didn't. That's when we packed the three of us into the car and drove 30 minutes to buy her "Fancy Bottle" ... and took a deep breath and bought organic formula ...

For eight weeks, I've offered her the breast every single time before the bottle. She did great sometimes. She fell asleep a lot of the time. (Oh, and did I mention I've used a nipple shield, due to my flat nipples, from the beginning? As advised by the lactation nurses and specialists and so on. And did I mention the spitting up? Or maybe it was vomiting sometimes. Huge gushes. All that nutrition, all that effort, would come pouring down her chin. We worried it was reflux, we worried even more that it was pyloric stenosis. None of the above, they told us. Maybe it was overfeeding ... overfeeding?!). I saw an independent lactation consultant. I pumped and took Fenugreek and drank tea for lactation, took warm showers and did breast compressions. With the supplements, and the improved nursing, she started gaining. More than once, I'd wake up with a damp shirt, or feel a trickle running down my stomach as I stood at the sink. The milk was there! She was nursing! And then - she went on strike. She screamed and pushed away whenever I offered the breast. I'd try coaxing her little wailing mouth onto the nipple, and she'd get worse. This lasted 24 hours that I so tearfully believed would be an eternity - I turned the Fancy Bottle onto it's lowest flow so she'd have to work at it, just like the breast - I held her close to me, skin to skin, while I fed her. And finally, she latched back on. For a week, she'd latch on, and do her thing - sucking a little, falling asleep, sucking a little more when I rubbed her back or tickled her chin or blah blah blah ...

Her weight had been climbing steadily, about 8 ounces at a time, for a few weeks. This last week, it slowed again. I stared at the growth chart presented by our nurse. She's in the 2nd percentile for weight and height.

My friend's baby was born 5 days ago, and she weighs the same as Nora at eight weeks.

Then, yesterday, she went back on strike.

I've been able to trick her into latching on by either offering while she was still half asleep from a nap (in which case she sucks a little, and falls back asleep), or putting a tiny bit of breastmilk or formula on the shield, and offering while she is totally calm. Still - her sucks have become less and less productive. Yes, I've tried the football hold, I've tried playing music. I've tried positioning her and latching her to the closest millimeter as described in the diagrams. Still, she jsut hangs out there. She doesn't eat. And after doing this for - who knows how long? - I'll offer her the second breast, and she'll scream.

I give her the bottle (first an ounce of precious breastmilk, earned at the pump through sheer determination and rationed throughout the day - then 2-3 ounces of formula - thank god she's had no dairy allergies), and she sucks away happily, until she's sleepy with fullness, her cheeks glowing pink. She nestles her small, warm head into my shoulder and breathes her purring little baby breaths, content. A picture of sweet, quiet mother-baby time. And then she lets loose a roaring belch, and I laugh so hard.

3:00 am, and I'm standing in N's room, with the pump sucking away at my chest. Every drop that appears, I inwardly cheer. "c'mon, c'mon ... more." I hope for an ounce total. I get almost nothing. The pump has always worked. Why isn't it working? Is my milk disappearing?

N wakes, I offer the breast, and she screams and looks at me with wild, pleading eyes. The pumped milk stores are almost gone. Why do I feel so agonized at the thought of 100% formula? Could it be everything I've read and learned, not to mention my own motherly desires? There is a bumper sticker down the street that says "Human Milk for Human Babies." It feels like a personal attack.

This morning, I sat on the porch, N asleep in the Snugli, me staring at the blue fall sky. I called my friend V, who is always rational and supportive. "If it just isnt' working for either of you, it's okay not to nurse any more. You can pump, and if that works, give her what you can get. And if it doesn't - don't kill yourself trying. You've tried harder than many, many people would have. You aren't failing."

I feel like there is a committee of Perfect Breastfeeding Mommies sitting behind a table, frowning and murmuring to one another about The Mommy Who Didn't Do Everything She Could. I'm waiting for the gasps of disapproval when "people find out" that my baby only got breastmilk for a few months. And got mostly formula from the beginning. I keep hearing our infant care instructor running down the list of disadvantages for formula-fed babies. Weaker immune system, higher chance of leukemia, more vision problems, constipation, allergies ... and so on.

Oh, N, we've tried so hard at this. I could call our wonderful lactation consultant again. But I am so afraid she is going to tell me that we haven't tried everything, that there is yet another extreme measure we can take. I think we are both so tired and frustrated from all of this. I don't want to hold my breath with anxiety every time I go to feed you. I don't want to worry that you aren't gaining weight. I want to see more fat rolls added to your cute little legs, I want to see you full and content, always.

And so I've made the decision that I am not going to offer the breast for awhile. Maybe not ever again. I'm going to keep pumping as much as I can, and hope for the best, and try hard to be totally okay with the fact that most of your food is formula. And when it's time for solids, I'll make it up to you somehow.

Oh, the mommy guilt. V told me that it doesn't get better as they get bigger, this deep knot of fear that you aren't doing something right.

But oh, the pure joy of this! She's the most perfect, special thing in my life, I'm honored and humbled by the responsibility. I feel so lucky to have her.

Becoming a mama ...

Coming up for air ...

Asleep on my chest, in the Snugli (the red corduroy one that was my own mom's waaaaay back when I was born), is the new center to to my universe. Miss Nora, Nora Bean, Bug, Tootsie Roll, Baby ... seven weeks old tomorrow and I am utterly amazed at what a different baby she already is from the day she was born!

I've decided to continue this blog as a mama blog, for now, since it seems to me that the act of becoming a mama sure doesn't stop with the birth of your baby ...

And with that - baby cries. Guess these posts will be short more often, now ...