Interesting Development

The other day, Julie at A Little Pregnant discussed the fact that her four month old son has just now figured out how to latch. This afternoon, grumbling at the thought of attaching my breasts to that infernal machine yet again, I thought, "What the heck" and put Anna up to my breast.

And the child latched on and started sucking like there was no tomorrow.

I thought, "Hmmmmm, interesting. But it was probably a one time occurance." I tried again an hour later, and she did it again. And then the rest of the afternoon. I am in a state of shock.

There are a couple of big differences. For one thing, it hurts this time. It feels like my nipples are being sucked off. I'm assuming that is what it was supposed to feel like from the beginning. She is also gulping and swallowing. She even spit up milk. Also different than before.

I was afraid to call Jason to tell him because of the hell I put him through eight weeks ago. I knew he'd think I was nuts for even trying. I was right. He said skeptically, "Did your mother put you up to this?" (She didn't, although she was very proud of Anna despite being a "slow learner," as she put it.) Then he said, "Well, go ahead, but I am not dealing with any more emotional breakdowns."

So there is where that is. I am treading very lightly, and not building up my expectations. But right now, she is sleeping peacefully in front of Baby Mozart with a full tummy.

For Pete's sake.

Smelly Green Mystery Poo

I think that would be a good name for a rock band.

Down

I can certainly see how post-partum depression gets started.

I was really doing okay until this mastitis thing happened. I still feel like I've been hit by a truck. Mastitis is probably no worse than the flu (except maybe the burning breasts), but different in that there is still a baby to take care of. And you aren't getting the sleep needed to properly recooperate (Anna and I were up from 1:30 to 4:30am last night. She was having "issues." She projectile spit-up on me. I've never seen anything like it. It was a geyser.) My car is still out of commission (not that I really feel like going anywhere right now), but it adds another dimension to the cabin fever isolation I'm starting to feel.

Needless to say, I've been pretty down today.

And now my mother wants to come again. I have one of those types of moms that you can't tell your bad stuff, because then she insists on coming in to save the day. And she doesn't take no for an answer. I appreciate the help, but when she comes, I feel like a child again.

I would just like things to start finally being normal. I'm not meaning "normal" as in pre-baby. I like the baby. The baby can stay. I just mean "normal" as in non-crisis mode. No big feeding decisions to make, getting at least five straight hours of sleep at night, no mastitis, no colic, no smelly green mystery poo-- that's what I would consider "normal" right now. Maybe a trip to the mall with a happy, non-screaming baby to get a cookie at the Cookie Hut.

Normal.

If You Want To Know What A Screaming Banshee Sounds Like...

This morning, someone in our household (cough--not me--cough cough) got the Purell alcohol hand sanitizer pump mixed up with the diaper rash cream pump.

Back to Ugh.

I have a 101 degree fever again. I don't see how, because I am taking enough antibiotics for a mule.

I kind of thought it was coming back, because last night, my mind was spinning with so many things, I couldn't sleep. Usually I am out as soon as my head hits the pillow. When I am sick, my head gets obsessive. I don't know if anyone else is like that. It was spinning about my car, Anna, money, work, breastmilk, my burning boobs. I just couldn't turn it off.

One thing all that obsessing did get me was a possible answer for some of Anna's problems. (I obsessed online until midnight.) I am now pretty sure that I have a foremilk/hindmilk inbalance, or "oversupply syndrome colic." I kept reading about reflux, and it didn't seem quite right. But this oversupply fits perfectly. I've always known that I am a big milk producer, (I usually get twice as much as she needs-- hence the 100 bags of breastmilk in my shrinking freezer) but I thought it was a good thing. But apparently, it is not neccesarily, because I am producing too much foremilk.

I have been making sure I completely empty my breasts for the past few days, to get all the hindmilk. Then I put it in the fridge to coagulate. I guess most women's milk separates into about 1/4 hindmilk. Well, all I get is a tiny microscopic film on the top. It's always been this way, but I thought I was normal.

[The symptoms fit perfectly: appears colicky, fussy, gassy, burps "like an adult" or burps poorly, passes large amounts of flatus, spits up frequently (often appears to be large amounts), gains weight quickly, grunts frequently between feedings, may have hyperactive bowel sounds, wants to nurse very frequently, has a stuffy nose after feedings, has many (10-15) wet diapers per day, frequent diarrhea like green stools that may appear slimy and have and acrid smell due to fermentation of lactose in the infant gut, constant diaper rash.

And I have: persistent sore nipples, pain deep in the breast between feedings which may be from nerve irritation, repeated engorgement, plugged ducts and/or mastitis.]

The problem is what to do about it. All the solutions that I've read have to do with getting to the hindmilk, but I don't seem to be making any, for some reason.

Honestly, I'm getting closer and closer to just giving up this whole stinkin' mess and going to formula.

Bah.

Bad Momma

I am a bad mother of a different sort. A bad cat mother. My poor kitties have been starved for attention for seven weeks now. Schaeffer and Elizabeth had gotten used to living in the lap of attention-luxury, and now they are desperate. If I have a free couple of minutes, I will go into the Cat Room (we sectioned off our T.V. room for them to live) and resolve to pet them each for ten full minutes. Invariably, that's when Anna starts wailing. Oh well.

I guess I didn't realize how much I groomed them before(they are Persians). Elizabeth is a walking matt-ball. My sister and I attempted to take the scissors to the matts, but it was hopeless. I made an appointment with a pet groomer, which I never thought I'd do, for Tuesday. She may have to be shaved. Horrors.

In other news, my poor '91 Honda may have kicked the bucket. Awhile back, I compared my Honda, in life stages, to a newly retired person. A little creaky, but still pretty reliable. Well, it's entered the nursing home. It's been in the shop twice in two weeks (which reminds me that I didn't write about my horrendous car experience last week. It involved me stranded on the interstate at night, in the rain, with a screaming baby, with the entire phone system shut down in our small town, and with a cell phone that could barely find a signal. Very awful.) Then it died again while Jason and I were out on a much needed, and very short, date. I spent the whole dinner fretting about the car and worrying that Anna's colic was driving her babysitting aunt and uncle to an early grave.

I've been delusional, for awhile, that my Honda was just fine, thank you very much. After the Stranded Ellen incident, I decided that my Honda could stick it where the sun don't shine.

It's interesting that I am usually very clear-headed in emergencies-- medical, emotional, and psychological. But when a car enters the scenerio, I panic. I have some weird car emergency panic-disorder. And last Tuesday night was my nightmare. Alone on a highway with my baby, with huge semi-trucks whizzing by. And when I think about having to go car hunting, and deal with car dealers and car prices and down payments and all of that, it just about makes me want to hyperventilate. But I've got to face the fact that my 200,000 mile two-door car probably isn't the most reliable or logical vehicle to be toting my seven week-old most precious cargo around town in.

Life has gotten complicated.

Double Ugh.

Okay, I am going to be honest.

I am not enjoying myself right now.

And I am going to complain about it for awhile so read at your own risk.

The child cries all day long. Well, at least from noon until 10pm. If she isn't sleeping (which she rarely does during this time-- no naps for me, boo hoo), she is crying. She even cries while she eats. Right this moment, she is screaming in her swing, because I just cannot do anything for her right now. She has been crying non-stop for four hours. Actually, make that five weeks. But what can I do?

Is it "colic"? Is it reflux? Am I not producing enough hind milk? If I have a free moment (that I don't use to take a bathroom break), I am on the internet trying to figure out what in the heck is the problem.

And I am not angry at her for it...I just feel helpless because something is obviously wrong, and there seems to be nothing I can do for it. I know that I'm not a "bad mother" but I sure feel like it a lot. I think any person would if faced with four solid hours of a crying baby.

Colic. I have some things to say about that. It's the "expert's" catch-all phrase for "We don't have any idea why your baby is crying." Some say that it's sensitive bowels, some say it's just gas. The expert's half-hearted solutions make me want to laugh. "Try placing a pacifier in the baby's mouth." Have you tried to place a pacifier in a screaming baby's mouth? HA. The book The Happiest Baby On The Block even says that colic doesn't exist. You just aren't trying the right things-- the five S's: shushing, sucking, swinging, side/stomach and swaddling. Which each sometimes work, but not on a regular basis. Actually, that book made me feel a little worse, because then apparently, I'm just not doing the "right things." Listen, Happiest Baby, I am here to tell you-- colic EXISTS. In the end, from what I've read and gathered from other people, you just live with it and try not to go insane.

It just saddens me because they all say that it sometimes lets up by the third month, which is exactly the point when I will be going back to work. So I get screaming, miserable baby for three months, then daycare gets sweet, cooing baby. Unless, of course, this doesn't let up. In which case I will take up drinking heavily and often.

There. Done complaining. Had to get it out.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Ugh.

Word to the wise: if you ever have the choice between having mastitis and not having mastitis, choose the latter option.

I developed a clogged milk duct a week ago, and managed to get it worked out. Then a few days later, I got another one. I got it worked out, also. Then I got another one in the first breast. This time I wasn't so lucky, and it started getting tender. I started having some aching in my legs and I thought, "Uh oh."

I have been on antibiotics since last night, and today I finally feel a little more like a human being. Yesterday was awful. Mastitis ranks up there with any flu I've ever had. I had a 102 degree fever, chills, sweats, aches and vomited up the small amount of food I had eaten at lunch. I don't know what I would've done without Jason last night. Despite having a cranky, fussy (yet damn cute) baby, last evening was the first time that I have thought, "I just can't do it." She would cry, and I would think, "Sorry." Of course, I was laying on the bathroom floor at the time.

So, for any women out there who have been sick with a newborn, and done it all anyway, my hat is off to you.

Mastitis and More

I got the mastitis real bad-like. Bah. My boobs just suck.

On a positive note, Anna has been great today. She went three whole hours between feedings, and SLEPT, so maybe mastitis milk agrees with her.

I have now watched "When Disco Ruled The World" twice on VH1. Boy, that Studio 54 was a den of sin. Whoa nelly.

Another thing to add to the list of things I never thought I'd be doing, before becoming a mom, is goggling "Green Stool."

Still watching this Terri Schiavo mess on T.V. Not sure how I feel about it.

Mother Vindication Moment: Coming home from Wal-Mart last night, having a screaming baby thrust into my arms and being told, "I give up." Then getting her to stop crying (with one of my many tricks) in ten minutes. Ha ha!

Drugs

Someone, awhile back, asked me to say something about my pregnancy and anti-depressants. As I have a few moments right now, I thought I would expound on the subject.

Back when I was first starting to try to get preggers, I was on Lexapro, an SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor.) Most of the new anti-depressants fall into this category-- Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Celexa, etc. They are Class C drugs for pregnancy, which means they are thought to be safe, but the researchers don't have enough long term studies to rule for sure. I had been on these type anti-depressants since 1998.

Midway through my pursuit of pregnancy, I decided to switch to Wellbutrin. Mainly for an improved libido (and how), but also because it is a Class B drug (it's not an SSRI.) After I got through the nasty start-up effects, I loved Wellbutrin and have been very happy with it.

I thought long and hard about quitting vs. staying on anti-depressants, with regard to pregnancy and breastfeeding. But when it came down to it, the benefits, for both Anna and I, greatly outweighed the risks. Researchers are pretty darn sure that there is no risk to the baby, and I was pretty darn sure that I would wind up with post-partum depression if I didn't take them.

It's a personal decision, to be sure, but I don't regret taking them in the least. Anna is just better off with a rational, non-depressed mother.

A New Trick

We found one other thing that Anna likes besides her bath. Wal-Mart. We took her last night for the first time (you know, a rite of passage...) and she quieted down immediately. She didn't like sitting in her infant seat, so we held her the whole time. She stared up at the big florescent lights and the local hillbillies. Hey, whatever works.

That Baby

Well, I was informed twice in one afternoon that I apparently have a "difficult" baby.

The first time was when my mom and I were driving in circles around the neighborhood trying to lull a screaming baby to sleep (no such luck.) My neighbors flagged us down to see Anna, and I rolled the window down, mid-scream (Anna, not me.) They gushed about how adorable she is (she is pretty damn cute) and then the wife said, "Oh, our first granddaughter was colicky and difficult, too. We preferred to call her 'sensitive.' It gets better eventually." Thanks.

The second time was when my brother-in-law's sister came to visit (is that a sister-in-law-in-law?) She has a little 15 month old. She sympathized as I bounced a still screaming Anna around the house. "My son was difficult, too. He had bad food allergies and reflux. It gets better eventually." Thanks.

The thing is, I didn't know that I had a difficult baby. But this week it has been dawning on me that, perhaps, Anna is a tad difficult. Part of it is that my mom spent her spring break here. I've been watching her get more and more exhausted this week. I thought it was just me, because I've been getting one hour of sleep at a time, but I don't think so. Anna just isn't happy (except her bath...loves the bath) with the world. I try not to blame myself, but sometimes it's hard.

I told my brother-in-law's mother (mother-in-law-in-law?), "Well, God certainly has a sense of humor. I read tons of baby books and breastfeeding books before I had her, and I had decided what kind of baby I was going to have...a quiet, cooing, angelic baby."

"This," I said, "is not that baby."

"Well," she said, "God has to put those babies somewhere."

For some reason, I found her comment oddly reassuring.

Musings from the World of Cabin Fever

1) I both loathe and am addicted to "Celebrity Fit Club" on VH1. How did they find eight of the most self-centered and egotistical people on the planet and convince them to stand on a giant scale? I think that they have lost a total of about four pounds, because everyone refuses to do what the dietician and exercise instructor tell them to do. I hate this show. Yet I cannot turn away.

2) The other day, the thought suddenly occured to me that I was no longer suffering from morning sickness. About the same time that my husband realized that he was still scooping my cats' litter box for no good reason.

3) I've decided that no one is allowed to give me advice about nighttime feedings unless they are willing to get up with me.

4) For the first time in my life, I find myself pondering which is more important to me...75 bags of frozen breastmilk or rainbow sherbet?

5) Stupid romantic dumbass movies. I found myself sucked into and crying at the end of "The Notebook" against my better judgement. Argh.

6) At four in the morning, this whole "getting one hour of sleep at a time" seems like a big cosmic joke. Are you allowed to slip Ambien to a five week old? No?

7) My boss recently told me, "I really miss you. Hurry up and come back to work." I said, "Can't find anything, can you?" "Er, no...." he muttered. Ha ha! My work is done. I have job security. I have rendered my boss useless without me. My plan worked.

8) I have got to get out of this house. Or I may go mad.

Viewmasters

My friend, Rebekah, hung out at my house yesterday. We were pregnant together at work, and she had her daughter about six weeks before me. We sat in the living room and fed our kids and talked for a couple of hours. It was refreshing to be with someone who knows where I am at right now. Not just looking back on the newborn stage, but actively in the trenches.

It's interesting how God gives people different experiences, for whatever reason. He lets you muck through some of the tough ones, and gives mercy in others. From what I can piece together of Rebekah's motherhood experience so far, things have been pretty smooth. I mean, she's got the rough patches, but Melody took to breastfeeding fairly quickly and was sleeping through the night by two weeks old. During the times I've been around her, Melody is quiet and happy. Yes, I'm a wee bit jealous. However, Rebekah had an exhausting pregnancy and tough labor. And I can honestly say that, from my experience with pregnancy/childbirth, I would do either again without hesistation. Breastfeeding, on the other hand.... I don't know.

People keep telling me, "Well, I bet it will be easy with your next one." (First off, it's presumptuous for me to think that there will be another one, but that's another kettle of fish.) But experience clouds our little mental Viewmasters so much. From what I experienced of breastfeeding, I can't imagine what it would be like to have an easy time with it. My friend, Mindy, stopped by my house last September with her two week old second child. As we stood talking in the driveway, she actually squatted down, and breastfed her baby under her shirt, all while never breaking the conversation. Wow. I cannot even FATHOM that. But yes, it's true. Maybe someday, I too will be a driveway-squatting-breastfeeder. Some women have such nasty childbirth experiences that they cannot fathom going through that again, or at least in the respective manner that they chose the first time. And some women get post-partum depression so badly that they cannot fathom deciding to have multiple children.

And I think that's okay. God gives us our specially designed Viewmasters for a reason (though at the time, I often have no clue why.) Somewhere down the road, hopefully I'll be able to pinpoint and say, "So that's why I was meant to go through that." Maybe in our little world, it was important that Jason was able to share in Anna's feedings. Or maybe I'll be in some hostage situation in the future where my very life depends on me being able to pump five ounces of milk out of my breasts in five minutes. Who knows.

Eureka!

I think I may have it. The answer to all my prayers (well, maybe not all...) And it was sitting there the whole time!

My Baby Bjorn.

I bought this thing off Ebay way back in the day, like three years ago, when I was foolishly planning on having a baby "in the next year or so." I bought a New Native sling a month before I had Anna, as my one cave-in to Dr. Sears. I tried that thing a week or two ago and Anna effectively gave Dr. Sears the proverbial finger. (i.e. not a success.) Well, today, I saw that Bjorn again for the first time. I thought, "Hmmmmm...maybe..."

It is perfect. I feel freedom!!! I could tap dance! It is so comfortable, Anna is in snugbug heaven and I am typing. With BOTH HANDS! Woo hoo! I may sleep with this thing on. I may take a shower with it. I may marry it.

Now I am going to go make myself a sandwich. With BOTH HANDS!

Boo Hoo

Okay. Dumb question. Are babies supposed to cry this much? If she's not eating or sleeping, she's crying. Isn't there supposed to be some pleasant awake time? Time when she's not pissed off about something? Jason thinks it's because I ate garlic bread.

I'm getting much better at letting her cry, though. It doesn't distress me as much. It's probably because my MIL told me about a hundred times, "Babies cry, Ellen." Thankfully, she's still pretty darn cute, even when she's crying, so that has saved her little butt from being thrown to the wolves on several occasions.

On a positive note, she let me sleep for four whole hours straight last night. I haven't had that much sleep in a row since...well, the night before she was born.

Not much else going on. Feeding, burping, rocking. Oh! My microwave died. Kaput. That was the most exciting thing in my world this week.

Getting On With It

Well, if there's some initiation into motherhood, I think I had it. Today, while changing Anna's diaper, she projectile pooped on me. We are talking poo shooting out of her rear with such force that it spewed at least two feet. It was absolutely nasty, but pretty funny.

Things are going well. I have accepted my position as a member of the Exclusive Pumpers Club. Apparently, there are a lot of us out there. I've been checking out tips and questions online. I guess I have a pretty good breast milk supply. I usually get about 48 ounces out a day. I end up freezing quite a bit, so we're going to need a little deep freezer soon.

There are definite benefits to pumping. For one thing, it gives me some freedom to be separated from Anna for a few hours at a time (though not my pump, due to my breasts potentially exploding.) Also, Jason is able to be much more involved with the feedings, which he really seems to love. His family was here this past week and they gave me a real break for a day or two. Anna spent a good deal of time being schnoodled by my mother-in-law and sister-in-law (while I took some much appreciated naps.) My SIL even got up with me during Friday night feeding sessions to feed her, while I pumped. Before she left, my sister-in-law said to me, "Thank you for letting us have Anna so much." Which I find highly amusing, as they joyfully changed many a stinky diaper. Hey, no skin of my back there. But apparently her sister-in-law (on the other side) has always "hovered" whenever she tried to help.

And I have always secretly wanted to be a bartender, and measuring all that breastmilk in the bottles makes me feel a bit like one.

"Everything I Needed To Know I Learned From My Trashy Magazine"

One thing I have become an expert on, in these past few weeks, is celebrity gossip. During this time in my life, my brain has been unable to handle any information more strenuous than whether Brad and Jen are back together or not. I have read about fifteen gossip/trash magazines since Anna's birth (and prior to birth, as half of these were read while I was in labor.) Here is what I have learned from People, US Weekly, InTouch, Star and Life & Style:

1) If you need to feel smart, but don't actually have any real knowledge, work a gossip magazine crossword puzzle. (Sample question: "George Lucas's film, Star _____")

2) If you are a new hot celebrity couple, never trust the flattery of a gossip magazine, for they will eventually turn on you like a boa constrictor on a rat. One minute, you are the love of a lifetime, the next you are the worst coupling in the history of the universe. (Examples: Bennifer, Brad Pitt/Jennifer Anniston, Nick Lachy/Jessica Simpson...)

2) Also watch out if you are the next It Girl. Eva Longoria, I am talking to you. (Past examples: Tara Reid, Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, Winona Ryder...)

3) I don't care what "Fashion" says, celebrities cannot dress themselves. (PRIME example: Mary Kate Olsen. When did the "Bag Lady" look become fashion? Frankly, it smacks heartily of the parody in "Zoolander," if you ask me.)

4) Weight-wise, you cannot win with the gossip magazines. The balance between being judged "fat" and "anorexic" is razor thin.

5) For that matter, do not read gossip magazines if you struggle with your weight AT ALL. When someone like Kate Winslet is judged as "hefty," you know that you are in trouble.

6) And don't you DARE gain more than twenty pounds while pregnant. And you'd better lose it in a week post-partum. (Of course, having four personal trainers and seven nannies helps a bit.)

7) After childbirth, no celebrity seems to suffer from sleep deprivation, post-partum depression or breastfeeding problems (sorry, had to throw that one in.)

8) Pregnancy seems to be easily obtainable (and very hip), if you are a celebrity. Infertility doesn't seem to exist, or at least nobody fesses up to it (Courtney Cox and Brooke Shields being the exception.)

9) If you are feeling lonely, just read your trashy magazine horoscope, because love always seems to be in the air, whatever your sign.

10) The more expensive your purse, the higher you rank. If your purse costs more than $1,000, you are probably A-List status. If it is from K-Mart, chances are you were a reality show ejectee.

...That's really all I've learned. But I am grateful for the past few weeks of mental unstimulation. Thank you, Wal-Mart checkout line.

Relief

I've felt a great deal of relief since making my decision two days ago to just pump. A huge relief, actually. Yet...still disappointed that nursing didn't work. But oh well. I've got to stop thinking about it and move on. I am going to take Selzach's advice and check out those pumping sites.

The difference that making that decision had was huge. I felt in a holding pattern for three and a half weeks. The thought of taking her out of the house seemed impossible until I had made a decision to pump, or at least gotten good at nursing. Yesterday, though, MIL and I actually went to the mall with her!

MIL shopped and I slowly pushed Anna around the mall in her stroller while she slept. The mall was crawling with stay-at-home moms with their strollers. I've never seen so many strollers in that mall. But then, I'm usually sitting in a meeting or such at 2pm on a Thursday afternoon. Actually, I felt a bit like an imposter, with my stroller chock full o'baby. Like someone was going to jump out from behind the Baby Gap sign, and yell, "I banish thee!" But then, in the Dillard's bathroom, giving Anna her bottle, in walks another girl my same age with a stroller and also toting her mother/MIL. She had that same "I'm an imposter" look to her eye, also. She asked how old Anna was, and I said "three and a half weeks." She said "Mine too. When was yours born?" "February 6th." "Mine too!" Turns out that we had our babies an hour apart in the same hospital. She, during the Super Bowl pre-game show; me, in the first half. Very odd.

I wonder when you finally start feeling comfortable in the Mom Skin.

The Real Question

Tigger had a very good question a post or two ago. Why do I want to breastfeed so bad? If I am pumping, she's still getting the breastmilk, which is sort of the point. (By the way, we decided against going the formula route. I figured that I am already producing about a free gallon a day, so I might as well save that money for diapers.) Interesting that she should ask me that, because my husband has been asking me that for about a week now.

Answer: I am not sure. Truthfully, it's not for her sake. She is well-fed, and actually much happier with the bottle. It's really all about me. Part of it is that in my dreams of motherhood, breastfeeding was part of the scenario. I guess giving that up is giving up a dream of mine. I know that even when the breastfeeding is working like clockwork, it isn't always sunshine and roses. But it's just something that I always wanted to do, peer pressure having nothing to do with it.

Another reason is simplicity. I would love to be able to take out the middle man ("middle man" being that pump and all the bottles to wash.)

But honestly, a big part of my anxiety and frustration probably lies mixed up in my lifelong struggle with depression. People who have dealt with depression will probably know what I am talking about...with depression, there is a fair amount of emotional self-battery that goes on. Through therapy and medication (and let me say, you would be seeing a whole different Ellen entirely if I wasn't still taking my Wellbutrin), I have managed to combat the negative self-talk. I learned to start saying to myself, "That's not true" when the little voice in my head (metaphorically-- I am not going crazy) tells me that I am hopeless or worthless. But motherhood opened a whole new can of worms. Every time, since that first day when she refused to latch, I've had a little voice saying, "FAILURE." Rationally, I know that this is not true. But depression and all it's nastiness is not rational.

Which... is leading me to believe that, for my own sanity and to ward off possible post-partum depression, I should probably just let it go and accept the situation for what it is: a healthy baby who is still getting breastmilk. Part of accepting the situation is accepting myself yet again-- the Ellen who has a "not normal" aspect to consider when making "normal" decisions. Not falling into the Depression Pit.

Because trust me, that would suck ten times more than having to pump seven times a day.

One More Thought

I've just got to say that I have never in my life discussed, and had so much attention focused on, my breasts. My husband actually declared today that he was sick and tired of my boobs. That's a first for Mr. Handsie (as he was known when we were dating.)

Boobie Boot Camp: A Summary

On the whole, Boobie Boot Camp was a resounding failure. However, it has now gotten to the comical point, so we've at least passed that hurdle.

Some of the things we tried (many thanks to everyone for their suggestions):

1) Stripped her to her diaper. This one actually helped a lot. She hates being naked, so she definitely stayed awake (If anyone watches Arrested Development, I foresee her turning into a "Never Nude" like Tobias, complete with the cutoff jeans.)

2) Every different kind of hold there is. Cradle, cross cradle, football, lying down...

3) Jason rubbing her head. And her feet, back and tushie.

4) Squishing up my nipple into all sorts of different contortions to get it in her mouth.

5) Holding her arms behind her back.

6) Bribes.

7) Slathering my nipples in chocolate ice cream. (Just kidding, but really did consider it at one point.)

8) Dribbling breast milk in her mouth and on my nipples.

9) Stood up, and Jason got a running start to jam her head on my boob. (I am actually not kidding about this one.)

Needless to say, we're back where we started. Our last hope is this lady that my friend, Shelley, knows (and had help with her daughter) who is known as a breastfeeding miracle worker. If she can't help, then I will officially see nursing as a loss, and just continue bonding with my Medela pump.

All I've got to say about this whole breastfeeding experience so far is "Oh poop." (Now that I am a mother, I've got to watch my language a little more.)

Boobie Boot Camp

I have decided, though it will probably take a lot of crying on both of our parts, to put Anna through Boobie Boot Camp this week. I'm only going to do the bottle as a last resort.

Pray for me!!

(Last night was much better, by the way. She had her colicky period at her normal 7pm to 10pm time slot. And I gave her to MIL and took a shower. ha ha)