Validation

I've mentioned that in college, my sister and I would joke that people always wanted to win the "worst-life competition". It was like whoever had the most homework, the hardest tests, the busiest life, got some sort of prize, so there would always be one-upping conversations of who had it the hardest.

As a free-spirited Communication major, I never entered this competition. My classes were fun (at least the ones pertaining to my major), my teachers were interesting, and if my homework was hard, I just half-assed it so I could get on with my social life.

Well folks, I now find myself wanting to throw my hat into the ring for consideration of "worst life", subcategory "hard situation". And the situation I'm referring to is breastfeeding.

When my sister started having kids and I learned of all that is breastfeeding, that was only half of the picture. When you move from the cautious observing sister to the actual breastfeeder, it becomes outrageous as you begin to understand the hour-by-hour struggle. This might sound dramatic but I assure you that in my case, it's not.

Let me walk you through a typical day:
4:30am - I set my alarm to wake up an hour early so I can lay with Miles and feed him, so that I don't have to pump while I'm getting ready. This also helps me make it further into my work day without having to pump
7:00am - I rev up my smoothie with some enhancements that are known to increase milk supply - flax seed, oatmeal, brewers yeast...can I get a YUM YUM!
10:00am - I warm up a "lactation cookie", which contains the ingredients mentioned above, because, I want to be a milk machine!!!
10:30am - My alarm goes off to remind me to pump. Sometimes I get too busy and forget, or I'm in a meeting and simply can't. But, around this time, my body starts to let me know. Tingly boobs and painful engorgement is hard to ignore when you're sitting in a meeting, so a lot of times I exit early. I assume my co-workers know whats going on, but I run through a few "what would I say"scenarios to make sure I'm prepared should someone call me out on my early exits.
11:30am - Pump session over. (Bonus points if no one has pooped in the bathroom prior to my hour in there.) The amount of milk I just pumped will either break my spirit and make me sad, or leave me feeling invigorated like YES I CAN DO THIS! I AM DOING IT!
1:30pm - Boobs get tingly. Should I pump or can I wait? Should I pump or can I wait? Should I pump or can I wait? I'll have this back and forth until the tingle wins, and I head down to the room of doom, I mean, the bathroom, to pump. After this round, I'll need to wash all the parts. If you think doing dishes by hand is fun, try doing dishes by hand in the bathroom at your workplace. Woo woo!
**sidenote: this is all just a typical day. Some days are just wacky and I'm pumping in my car in the parking lot of an expo; in the bathroom stall of a museum where we have an all-day event; in the basement of the courthouse during jury duty. I mean!!!!!????
2:30pm - Get a text from the nanny "Miles has been hungry today! He already drank 4 bottles!" Well isn't that peachy. Pop a lactation cookie in my mouth and google other ways to increase milk supply
4:00pm - Option to leave now and work out to fight stubborn post-baby blubber. But, boobs are getting tingly again, and working out would be so painful unless I was wearing 3 sports bras.
4:45pm - Pick up the boys. If traffic is bad, I wish I could get a loudspeaker out and announce "Guys, if I don't get home in the next 10 minutes to feed my baby, I will literally explode. SO MOVE IT."
5:00pm - Feed Miles while fixing dinner for Max. This is one of my greatest accomplishments and although I feel like a zoo exhibit while doing it, I always take a moment to high-five myself. So sue me.
7:00pm - Once boys are bathed and jammied-up, this is the golden hour. Max can watch a show while I put Miles to bed.
7:30pm - Miles is asleep. How many hours do I have until my boobs let me know action is required?
2:00am - Answer: 6 hours. Now the question is, do I wake Miles up and feed him or pump? Pumping will wake me up and is also the worst. But waking Miles up might create bad habits in his sleep patterns. I'm low on frozen milk so I should just pump. But I hate pumping and I'll have to wash the parts.
2:05am - I'm pumping.
2:30am - I'm too awake now to go back to sleep. What should I clean?
4:15am - Ok maybe I can fall asleep now...zzzz
4:30am - Time to get up and feed Miles!

Do you see what I mean? All day long. ALL DAY LONG. I had no clue. I thought breastfeeding was just...breastfeeding.

I struggle with the fact that my boobs own me, but I'm motivated by my client, Miles, who I want to keep happy and full. I struggle with the fact that I'm doing what nature intended, but I'm still left googling "how to increase milk supply" and I struggle with the fact that I am trying SO HARD (I hate trying) but I'm still not convinced Miles will make it to his first birthday on breastmilk alone. And no, there is nothing wrong with giving him formula. But the point is, this is something I'm actually trying to make work, and shouldn't it be easier?? What if this was the year 1815 and there was no other option?? Add to that the fact that if I got to stay home with the boys and didn't have to pump, I think breastfeeding would be pretty breezy. But me whining about having to work is a whole different story.

So, I need some validation. I need people to know that what I'm doing is hard and that it consumes me. Why is that? Would it make me feel better if I was among the winners of the sub-category of "Hard Situation" at the Worst Life Awards?

As I write this I know how ridiculous it sounds. There are absolutely harder situations. I know, I know, I know. But this is my hard, in my reality.

I guess, in the future, if Miles and Max have children and the mothers of their children decide to breastfeed, I can support the crap out of them. I can validate them, I can bake them lactation cookies, I can buy them books to read while they pumps and listen to their woes. I mean, assuming they are validation-needing kind of gals like myself :)  And even if they have wives that breastfeed, Miles and Max may never full understand the nitty gritty details of the breastfeeding dog and pony show.

The conclusion I'm drawing is that I have to be fine with doing something so hard and never having it be truly understood and appreciated. And I guess that is true love: giving your full attention to something that you may never get validation for.

Did you poop?

On Sunday we embarked on a cleaning rampage. Nothing makes me happier than to be in the mood to clean. I was working my way from room to room and really going to town, while Mike was deep cleaning the kitchen - putting random gadgets in a "garage sale box", taking apart drawers and cleaning the insides, throwing out old condiments, etc. I was loving every minute of this.

Sweet baby Miles was entertaining himself on the floor with some toys, but Maxwell was all up my business. He was being mostly cute, like using his toy vacuum alongside me and my toy vacuum. But as I was scrubbing the bathroom floor, his cuteness turned to mush. He started spraying me with Windex, unraveling paper towel, stealing the duster and using it as a sword...basically anything that falls into the category of counterproductive. Finally I just turned around and said, "Max, you are so annoying!!!" And as I said it, I realized how terrible it sounds but my goodness, it was so true. Even though Max owns a very large chunk of my heart, that kid sure can be annoying.

However, he is also quite hilarious lately. Just in the past few weeks it feels like he is really turning a corner in his talking. He is learning some key words and phrases to get what he needs. The best part though is that he has now started to accuse everyone of pooping: "Did you poop?" That must be one of the most common things we say to him, as now he's really taken it and made it his own. Ha. The face that he makes when he asks this question is so disapproving, like he's just disgusted with us. I really hope that is not what we do to him...although, where else would he learn it?? And whenever I change Miles, he's the first to exclaim, "Ew!!!" while plugging his nose. Interestingly enough, he doesn't think much of drinking the bathwater that he just watched Miles pee into. I guess he is still developing his cause-and-effect thought process.

Max and his favorite tool: the pointed finger.

One of these days

I love to understand how life is full of various seasons. Each season comes with good and bad, but we know it won't last forever. That's just the way it works. With the all-consuming season I'm currently in, I sometimes forget that it won't always be like this.

I won't always have to step around a kids stool, a kids toilet, a plastic bath, and 5 million toys to get into my shower each morning.

I won't always have to draw up a Super Bowl-worthy game plan just to go to Costco with both boys in tow.

I won't always need to keep a full snack cup in my console just so that Max doesn't cry all the way home each night.

I won't always make dinner for one child while nursing another child.

I won't always know about their poop contents.

I won't always start my day with a crying toddler who doesn't want to get dressed/wear socks/get a new diaper.

And as I look forward to those days, I have to remember what I'll be losing when this season comes to an end.

I won't always be able to hold these boys entirely in my arms.

I won't always be able to hold them as they fall asleep.

I won't always be the first person they see in the morning and the last person at night.

I won't always be the one they need the most.

So even though this season overwhelms me, and leaves me in tears on the bad days, there are enough good days sprinkled in that remind me to just laugh. These tiny humans will one day be fully capable adults. We'll share meals and conversation. We'll all take care of our own hygiene.  This season is just too wonderfully ridiculous to not find it absolutely amusing.

One year ago

One year ago yesterday, I found out I was pregnant with our sweet Miles. We had just returned from a week in Mexico, and I realized I hadn't had my period yet. I was just sure of what I was about to find out, so I loaded up Maxwell and off to the nearest drugstore we went!

I grabbed a box of pregnancy tests, and to keep the trip interesting, I also grabbed some sunscreen, then entertained a 5 minute conversation with an employee about her three kids. If I was her, and noticed a girl holding a wiggly 14 month old in one arm and a pregnancy test in the other, I would probably leave her alone to let her go find out her fate. But that's just me.

Spoiler alert: the pregnancy test was positive. I laughed and freaked out a bit, then tried to have a moment with Max, who had no clue wassup.

Knowing this would probably be the last time I got to tell Mike I was pregnant, I went into a frenzy on how I would tell him when he got home later that night.  My Pinterest/internet/blog search stressed me out, so I just did a little DIY. I took a Popsicle out of the freezer, carefully unwrapped it, then wrote "pregnant" on the stick. I put the Popsicle back in the wrapper then back in the freezer, since I knew my friend Mike would come home and hit the Popsicles hard since it was a million degrees and he had just spent 3 hours at the fields. Thankfully, my artistic ability did not overshadow the big announcement.

Two days later I was on a plane to North Carolina for a wedding.  I proceeded to spend the next 2 days pretending to get drunk. I also thought I was going blind/dying 10 minutes before we walked down the aisle, but it turns out that was just the beginning of a few wacky pregnancy migraines.

Hard to believe that funny week was a year ago. Just as all the old ladies in the grocery store tell me, time sure does fly. But the fun part about that is the memories you capture along the way. Like last night, Max was so obsessed with wearing one of Miles' diapers that I had to put one of Miles' diapers over Max's diaper. I mean come on. He was a hilarious sight, so content to be wearing his lil bro's diaper.

This could become an expensive request.

I told Britt I was pregnant with Max on Addy's birthday, and I told her I was pregnant with Miles the same date she told me she was pregnant with Brynn, just a few years earlier! I love dates. Interestingly enough, Brynn and Miles look identical as babes, and Max and Addy also look strikingly similar as babies. I don't care how insignificant these things may seem....these are the things I want to sit around and force my grandkids to listen to. This is the story we are building!

My new mantra

At the end of a long day (or any day really) I can feel so overwhelmed by life's little tasks. Dishes. Packing lunches. Bathtime.

Because of Mike's work schedule, most nights I'm doing these tasks alone with the boys. It's not uncommon for all 3 of us to cry at some point throughout the night. Miles cries because I've laid him down to get something else done. Max cries because he's two and it's tough to be two. I cry because they cry and I feel like I should be able to handle it all better.

The other night, as I finished up bathtime, I repeated this in my head: "This my privilege. This is my privilege."  I must always remember how lucky I am to be overwhelmed by caring for these boys. I must always remember that doing these simple things is a privilege I've been given. Even when it's hard and even when I'm tired and even when I'm doing it alone for the millionth time, this is my privilege.

Earlier this year, we had an older woman volunteer at our office for a few months. Organization was her "hobby", so she would come in and organize various closets or cabinets. While I was out on maternity leave, I got an email that she had passed away. Even though she was in her 80's, it was still surprising. I read her obituary and realized that this little lady had led quite a fascinating life. Her family fled Germany when she was only 3, and they lived in the Dominican Republic for a few years. Because her parents needed to work so much to pay the bills, they arranged for her to live at a boarding school 6 days a week - Saturdays were the only day they all spent together. As a teen, she was sent to another boarding school in South Carolina, because her parents wanted her to have a chance at a better education.

I can't even imagine making the heart-wrenching decision to send your child away, in hopes of creating a better life for them. I can't imagine having to work so much that you only get one day a week with your child.
For me to get to give my babies baths each night, and to tuck them into bed, and to wipe up their messes and make meals for them - what an absolute privilege.

So, even on the nights when I'm overwhelmed and the only thing I feel like doing is crying, I'll continue to repeat my mantra: This is my privilege.

The story of Miles Edward

Miles's birth story really spans over a week. Since I was pretty convinced I would go into labor on March 20, my last day of work was March 19. All the stars would be aligned and that would give me a week of recovery before my big 30th birthday shindig.

Mr. Miles had a different timetable in mind.

After a discouraging midwife appointment on Friday the 20th, I spent the weekend trying to wish myself into labor. Long walks (waddles) around the neighborhood, keeping busy, etc. But the clock kept ticking and nothing was happening. Nothing! It was becoming a cruel and unusual punishment. Each night I would think, tonight is the night!!! And each morning I would wake up still pregnant and even more discouraged. I would lay awake at night and cry at how uncomfortable I felt. I was a miserable sight.

On Wednesday the 25th, the day after my due date, I had another visit with my midwife, Anne. We made a plan to induce me if I hadn't gone into labor by Sunday. She told me she expected to see me before then. I told her of my birthday party plan and how the window of opportunity had passed to have the baby and be home before the party. She told me I better lay low then =) She was on call all weekend, and I was thrilled that she would most likely be the one to deliver Miles. By the grace of God, I left her office feeling like I wouldn't be pregnant forever. I was rejuvenated and finally out of my funk.

I spent the next two days on self-imposed bed rest.  It was awesome-ish. My snoogle body pillow and I laid on the couch and watched my people get things ready for the party. Friday the 27th was so incredible it deserves a whole separate blog post! Coming soon!

Bedrest at it's finest. Did I mention I also had a cold?

On Saturday morning, I woke up feeling those wonderfully familiar cramps. I couldn't get over the fact that I was in labor just hours after my birthday party ended. Miles really knew what he was doing.

I rode the contractions out for a bit, just to be sure. I showered, and tried to snuggle Maxwell a little bit extra before his world got rocked. After an hour or two, I knew it was going down for real (#gdfr) and I started to get a little panicky.  Because, as everyone had told me, 2nd babies come so quickly!

(False.)

Me: "Ok Max, I'm about to leave so I can give birth to your best friend"
Max: "Cool but can you turn on Netflix before you go?"

I gave Anne a quick call to let her know wassup. She told me to head her way. With spring kickball leagues starting on Monday, Mike started rushing around with final preparations, knowing he would be a little occupied over the next 48 hours. Max left to hang with his cousins, so I sat on the couch and breathed through each contraction while watching Mike race around the yard/garage/house/etc. 

On the way to the hospital, I held on to the door handle to bear the bumps in the road on Monaco Pkwy. I cursed the city of Denver for not taking better care to fix potholes. 

We pulled up to the hospital and I huffed it inside. It was like an obstacle course to get to the right place. We took the wrong elevator so we had to go back down and find the right one. All I could remember from our hospital class was "follow the green line". Once we found said green line, I had to pause every so often along the way to hunch over and breathe through some serious contractions. It was such a great feeling to know that IT WAS ALL HAPPENING!!!!

Finally we arrived on the right floor and we were met in the hallway by Anne and a red head who would be my nurse. Nurse Red followed me into the bathroom as I went in to change into the hospital gown and she pelted me with some unexpected questions: "Is there anything you don't want your husband to know? Any patterns of abuse or any problems at home?" I guess this is what happens when your sister and her friends aren't your labor and delivery nurses.

Nurse Red got right to work with me. I issued her Strike 1 when she used the term "blood bath" while administering my IV. I issued her Strike 2 with her incessant questioning during each of my contractions. I thought she might take a clue when I went silent but she did not.

Because I was GBS+, they were acting fast to get my antibiotics flowing, as they wanted me to have two doses in before I delivered. And as we all know, we needed to get cracking since 2nd babies come so fast.

(False.)

It wasn't long before I was epidural'd up and able to just sit back and relax. That is such a magical time...there is a whole bustling world outside the hospital window, and they're oblivious to this huge life event that is about to take place in this room. Even though I'm not the first or the last to give birth, it feels like I have this special secret going on. Mike and I napped, watched Netflix, listened to Brendan James (of course I was on a serious B James high from the night before!!!)

At 5pm, there was a shift change.  Out with Nurse Red, in with Carrie and...Aaron. A Murse. When he first walked in I thought, oh hell no! I can't have a murse! Then I remembered that a man ultimately ended up delivering Max and what's the diff? So I was over it in about 1 second and soon, my new nurse gang and I were having a great time!!! These two were awesome. Funny when they needed to be, professional when they needed to be...I was so happy to have these two around.

Just me, my nurse friends, and a giant yellow ball called
"peanut" that was supposedly helping get the baby out.

By 6:30pm, my final dose of antibiotics were in, so by 8pm, it was time to start the pushing. We had the Kentucky/Notre Dame game playing on TV, and I thought, oh cool! Miles will be born during the game!  You know, because 2nd babies come so quickly.

(False.)

They turned on the warmers in the baby bed so that it was ready for Miles when he arrived. He'd be here in no time, since we all know, 2nd babies just slide right out!

(False.)

It was like Maxwell's birth all over again. Me, pushing in every position ever imagined. Me, wanting to see excitement in the faces of the nurses, but instead seeing them try to stay positive and try to keep me motivated. I kept thinking, why am I so bad at pushing?! Isn't this how it's supposed to happen?!  I was exhausted, frustrated, starving, and thirsty. I was begging for water, ice, anything!! I felt like I had been crab crawling through a desert for a week. Anne allowed me to have small "champagne" sips of water, but was pretty hardcore about limiting my fluids. (I later learned it was because they were nervous I was on my way to the OR.)

After two hours with little progress, they decided to give me some time to rest. It was discouraging to see them turn off the warmers in the baby bed, since it wouldn't be holding a baby any time soon. I hated this. I was frustrated and I just wanted it to be over. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to keep trying. They gave me an injection to relax my uterus (or something?) and told me to rest. I laid there and tried so hard to not be upset with my body. Sweet Carrie came over to me and I told her I was nervous I was headed for a c-section. She said, "Okay listen...I don't mean to get all 'granola' on you, but you need to imagine your baby coming out. You need to visualize it and send good thoughts to him." I absolutely loved her and was so glad she had put it that way. I started to only focus on Miles being born in that room, not in an OR.

Around 10:30pm, I sent Mike to the nurses station to see if I could start pushing again. I was anxious and determined to have Miles before midnight. They came back in and agreed that it was time. I was in a fog of nighttime hospital room lights and just needed this all to be over. I pushed and pushed and pushed again with all my might. I pushed so hard I felt like I would pass out. Anne promised me a glass of cold, icy fruit punch once the baby was out. Again, I looked for signs of progress on the faces of the nurses. Soon, it felt like I was finally getting somewhere, and Anne began to realize that this was a rather large baby. There was talk of his shoulders getting stuck and what they would do if that happened. It sounded scary and I felt like I might freak out if I thought too much about it, so I had to just ignore the instructions. A NICU nurse came in, just in case. A few other people came in, just in case. Really all of this was a blur. I couldn't focus on the "what-ifs"...I just had to get him out.

With each contraction, I felt more and more pressure, and felt like it was finally happening. Anne asked if I wanted to reach down and feel his head. I was like, absolutely not!!! I felt like if I moved, I would lose the progress I had made. In between contractions, I was miserable, I knew I would only get relief once he was out, but that I would have to wait for another contraction. I just had to surrender to the pain.

Then, at 11;47pm, our sweet Miles was placed on my chest. Any concerns that Anne had were gone, so he was able to lay on my chest while they cleaned him off.  I didn't get to do this with Max, and it was just as incredible as I imagined. He let out his teeny, adorable little cries, and I just stared at him. It's a funny thing to see the face of the little baby that you've just spent the last 40+ weeks with. I was so amazed that he was finally, finally, finally here. Anne and the nurses were guessing at how big he was, and were just sure that he was at least 10 pounds. I don't know much about appropriate baby sizes but I was positive that I wasn't capable of growing and birthing a 10 pound baby.

(False.)

Miles Edward
March 28, 2015
11:47pm
10 lbs, 4 oz | 21 inches

Needless to say, we all love this little fella. It's like he's always been here. Max calls him "brother", loves to give him kisses and appropriately says "eww" every time I change a diaper.

Life is good in this hood.

Dear Baby M

Dear Baby M,

Right now I'm on self-imposed bed rest. I have a cold so I have Kleenex stuffed up my nose, a tub of Vaseline next to me, and each cough worries me that I'm going to set off labor.

You're two days overdue, and we are now in the danger zone. If you decide to arrive now, I will miss my birthday party. Who plans a birthday party for the week of their due date anyway??

Your dad is being a busy bee in the basement. We have a musician coming to play in our backyard tomorrow night and he has a few humble green room requests so your dad is making sure the guest room is all set for him. I love when your dad really takes on a project, because he does things with such care and precision.

I have been a maniac this week. I have been praying and begging for labor, have cried each day that I dropped Maxwell off at Nana's, cried in the shower at the discomfort of my body, cried in the middle of the night as my stomach gets Charlie-horse cramps....then, your due date came and went, and I went from feeling hopeless to feeling invigorated. I'm sure your dad was happy to see that crazy train park. I had a great appointment with my midwife and we made an induction plan for this weekend. The sun kept shining on our backyard and I started to realize that still being pregnant was now a blessing and not a punishment.

I tell ya...the final moments of pregnancy are not pretty for me. I'm a disaster. Bless my village (your dad, Britt, and Jocey) who just know what needs to be done and know how to somewhat manage me and my brain. 

So now, I lay on this couch, propped up by a million pillows, and I wait. I think good thoughts and hope that each cramp is just because of how I'm laying and not a sign of labor.

I remember that a beautiful baby boy is on his way and I am so lucky to have this life and these "problems". Tomorrow all of my best friends will be in my backyard  enjoying a musician who's music has framed my 20's. Life is so good. No matter what.

So little guy, the story of your birth is already interesting! Thanks for keeping us on our toes. If this is an indication of your personality, well shoot-I can't wait! I love you so much already. Now just stay cozy until tomorrow night, then there are a few people who want to meet you 😘

Love,

Mom