I'm at my parents' house today, having taken a day off to hang out with my brother who's home for a week. Brother and Mom are at the grocery store, and Annika is finally down for a nap, so I have a few minutes with nothing pressing to do.
This is a very weird feeling.
Not really sure what to do with myself.
Borrowed a few books from my parents' bookshelf to read on the train: "Blue Blood", the memoirs of a NYPD cop, and "Eggs in the Coffee, Sheep in the Corn", an account of a city girl turned farmwife.
I'm almost done reading "Crime and Punishment." I bought it in one of those moments when I felt that I should really read more classic literature, that was probably at least a year ago, but now I'm finally reading it. Why are Russian novels always so gloomy?
Yesterday Dooce.com announced that they're pregnant. I gasped and got choked up about it, and then spent the rest of the afternoon pondering how it's possible that I can feel so emotionally invested in someone I've never met or spoken to personally. I definitely don't have more than a passing interest in celebrity pregnancies or babies. Then I realized that if closeness is created by the sharing of information - what are you doing? what do you like and dislike? how are you feeling and why? Then I have a lot more information input from Heather than I do from most of my close friends and even family. The internet is a strange and wondrous thing.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Lucky 13
I hit the polls early this morning, and was the 13th voter in line. Hopefully this is a good omen, not a bad one.
For me, it was certainly convenient - it meant that I only stood in line for about 10 minutes, and crossed one item off of my day's "to do" list before 8 am. Not bad.
Now, the mantra for the rest of the day:
Must not obsessively check election results.
Must not obsessively check election results.
Must not obsessively check election results.
For me, it was certainly convenient - it meant that I only stood in line for about 10 minutes, and crossed one item off of my day's "to do" list before 8 am. Not bad.
Now, the mantra for the rest of the day:
Must not obsessively check election results.
Must not obsessively check election results.
Must not obsessively check election results.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Snippets
Usually, I only bother posting on this blog when I have some big news, or at least something to ramble on about, at length.
I'm going to try posting shorter bits, more frequently, about more day-to-day things.
For example -
This morning on my way to the train station, I heard two songs on the radio that were a good start to the day: Weezer's "Troublemaker" and Jack Johnson's "Bubble Toes".
Sometimes I think it's odd that with all the different ways to get a music fix these days, I still listen to the radio a lot. I like not knowing what will play next (not just my iTunes library shuffled, but songs I don't own) - and also it's maybe the main way I keep in touch with mainstream pop culture, since I don't watch TV or movies much.
I'm going to try posting shorter bits, more frequently, about more day-to-day things.
For example -
This morning on my way to the train station, I heard two songs on the radio that were a good start to the day: Weezer's "Troublemaker" and Jack Johnson's "Bubble Toes".
Sometimes I think it's odd that with all the different ways to get a music fix these days, I still listen to the radio a lot. I like not knowing what will play next (not just my iTunes library shuffled, but songs I don't own) - and also it's maybe the main way I keep in touch with mainstream pop culture, since I don't watch TV or movies much.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Not exactly on the ball
So. I posted my monthly Annika-letter over on the dedicated Annikablog, and it's only two weeks late. Only. I think from now on I'll put most of the babynews over there, along with pictures (I wanted to upload more pictures but kept getting error messages last night).
Here, I'll keep rambling on about life, the universe, and everything. When I actually manage to think up a topic, write down my thoughts, and then type it up. That's a big accomplishment, lately.
Although I'm not writing much, I've been reading. Mostly on the train to/from work.
Since Annika was born:
Tangled Webs (Anne Bishop)
Operating Instructions (Anne Lamott)
Merle's Door (Ted Kerasote)
Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen)
The Ill-Made Mute (Cecilia Dart-Thornton)
and currently reading: The Briar King (Greg Keyes).
I think I'm forgetting at least one book somewhere in there; I'm not counting books about how to deal with babies, of which I've read or skimmed several. Frustrating. Maybe I'll remember it later.
Here, I'll keep rambling on about life, the universe, and everything. When I actually manage to think up a topic, write down my thoughts, and then type it up. That's a big accomplishment, lately.
Although I'm not writing much, I've been reading. Mostly on the train to/from work.
Since Annika was born:
Tangled Webs (Anne Bishop)
Operating Instructions (Anne Lamott)
Merle's Door (Ted Kerasote)
Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen)
The Ill-Made Mute (Cecilia Dart-Thornton)
and currently reading: The Briar King (Greg Keyes).
I think I'm forgetting at least one book somewhere in there; I'm not counting books about how to deal with babies, of which I've read or skimmed several. Frustrating. Maybe I'll remember it later.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Letters and Adventures
We're back from our 4th of July trip to Oregon, and I will blog about that in more detail soon.
For now, what I wanted to do is to post the first in what I hope will be a series of monthly letters to Annika. I'm shamelessly stealing this idea from Heather over at Dooce.com (a wonderful blog in general, but especially when she's writing about her daughter). I like the concept of not only writing regularly about each month's new developments, events, joys and sorrows, but to address it to the person who's most likely to be interested later on. I'm starting with Month 3, because I found it easier to write than months 1 or 2.
______________________________________________
Dear Annika,
At the start of this month, you started "Trena-care" and I went back to work. This required some adjustment for both of us, but all in all, it seems to be going well. Aerik has repeatedly declared his love for you, and Trena has negotiated with your dad so that Aerik may ask you on a date when you're 25. Anyone else must wait until you're 30. Kira is not sure whether you are something that might be good to eat, something to play with, or just a thief of Trena's time and attention.
When you look up at me with your sapphire x-ray eyes as you drink from a bottle, I wonder what it is you can possibly see in me. You look so knowing, so wise - and then you forget to coordinate swallowing, sucking and breathing, and start coughing and spluttering. The expression on your face says that you're a little annoyed that the bottle is trying to drown you.
Sometimes when you smile, you scrunch your nose and gasp in glee, and you look as though I just told you the most outrageous, juicy piece of gossip imaginable. It must be fun to watch grown-ups get so giddy every time you grin at them, and then make absolute fools of themselves trying to coax another grin out of you. But the best smiles are the ones you give me for no other reason than that I've magically appeared at your crib in the morning, or after a nap when you've started fussing.
According to the Authorities, babies your age should get "tummy time" to encourage upper body strength. You have a goodly amount of strength, you can hold your head steady, you can support your entire weight on your legs, but being placed on your stomach makes you grumpy. First you squirm, then you start making frustrated little noises, then you start to fuss - it's like you know you can't justify really crying hard, so you just go "Wah. Waawaah. Wah. Weh. Wehwaawaahweh." All the while, trying to use your legs to crawl, but not succeeding because you haven't yet figured out that your lower half won't move forward unless you use your arms to move your upper half forward at the same time.
This, obviously, is not your favorite activity. Your favorite? It's a close call between having a boob in your mouth, versus lying on the changing table kicking and squirming. You get so excited, and jerk all four limbs around so emphatically that it always puts me in mind of a marionette whose strings are being pulled by some kind of maniac. At times you look as though you yourself aren't sure who's controlling all this activity - your eyes get really wide and surprised-looking, and your solemn expression doesn't at all match the flailing and kicking.
You've gotten very good at cramming your entire fist into your mouth. Your dad and I look at the fist, and then your tiny rosebud mouth, and wonder how you do it. And recently, you made the astonishing leap of reasoning that if you can put your hand in your mouth, and if you can grasp an object in your hand, then that object can also be shoved into your mouth. You put a fuzzy toy alligator into your mouth the other day, and then made the most awful face, probably because fuzz on your tongue offended your aesthetic sensibilities. Those are some big words for someone who can, at best, say "ah-goo".
About two weeks ago you started sleeping through the night. At first, we would only speak those words in whispers, lest they turn out to have been simply a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a one-time deal. But now, we can reliably get you to sleep sometime between 10 and 11, and you sleep until 6 or 7 am. After the first two months, the sleep deprivation that made us feel more dead than alive, this is our idea of heaven.
I wonder if there is such a thing as too much affection - I have to fight the temptation to squeeze you too hard, to eat you alive with kisses. So far, you don't seem inclined to protest being gobbled and tickled and cuddled, and I intend to make the most of it before you're old enough to say "Aww Mom, stop it!" and push me away.
Love,
Mama
For now, what I wanted to do is to post the first in what I hope will be a series of monthly letters to Annika. I'm shamelessly stealing this idea from Heather over at Dooce.com (a wonderful blog in general, but especially when she's writing about her daughter). I like the concept of not only writing regularly about each month's new developments, events, joys and sorrows, but to address it to the person who's most likely to be interested later on. I'm starting with Month 3, because I found it easier to write than months 1 or 2.
______________________________________________
Dear Annika,
At the start of this month, you started "Trena-care" and I went back to work. This required some adjustment for both of us, but all in all, it seems to be going well. Aerik has repeatedly declared his love for you, and Trena has negotiated with your dad so that Aerik may ask you on a date when you're 25. Anyone else must wait until you're 30. Kira is not sure whether you are something that might be good to eat, something to play with, or just a thief of Trena's time and attention.
When you look up at me with your sapphire x-ray eyes as you drink from a bottle, I wonder what it is you can possibly see in me. You look so knowing, so wise - and then you forget to coordinate swallowing, sucking and breathing, and start coughing and spluttering. The expression on your face says that you're a little annoyed that the bottle is trying to drown you.
Sometimes when you smile, you scrunch your nose and gasp in glee, and you look as though I just told you the most outrageous, juicy piece of gossip imaginable. It must be fun to watch grown-ups get so giddy every time you grin at them, and then make absolute fools of themselves trying to coax another grin out of you. But the best smiles are the ones you give me for no other reason than that I've magically appeared at your crib in the morning, or after a nap when you've started fussing.
According to the Authorities, babies your age should get "tummy time" to encourage upper body strength. You have a goodly amount of strength, you can hold your head steady, you can support your entire weight on your legs, but being placed on your stomach makes you grumpy. First you squirm, then you start making frustrated little noises, then you start to fuss - it's like you know you can't justify really crying hard, so you just go "Wah. Waawaah. Wah. Weh. Wehwaawaahweh." All the while, trying to use your legs to crawl, but not succeeding because you haven't yet figured out that your lower half won't move forward unless you use your arms to move your upper half forward at the same time.
This, obviously, is not your favorite activity. Your favorite? It's a close call between having a boob in your mouth, versus lying on the changing table kicking and squirming. You get so excited, and jerk all four limbs around so emphatically that it always puts me in mind of a marionette whose strings are being pulled by some kind of maniac. At times you look as though you yourself aren't sure who's controlling all this activity - your eyes get really wide and surprised-looking, and your solemn expression doesn't at all match the flailing and kicking.
You've gotten very good at cramming your entire fist into your mouth. Your dad and I look at the fist, and then your tiny rosebud mouth, and wonder how you do it. And recently, you made the astonishing leap of reasoning that if you can put your hand in your mouth, and if you can grasp an object in your hand, then that object can also be shoved into your mouth. You put a fuzzy toy alligator into your mouth the other day, and then made the most awful face, probably because fuzz on your tongue offended your aesthetic sensibilities. Those are some big words for someone who can, at best, say "ah-goo".
About two weeks ago you started sleeping through the night. At first, we would only speak those words in whispers, lest they turn out to have been simply a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a one-time deal. But now, we can reliably get you to sleep sometime between 10 and 11, and you sleep until 6 or 7 am. After the first two months, the sleep deprivation that made us feel more dead than alive, this is our idea of heaven.
I wonder if there is such a thing as too much affection - I have to fight the temptation to squeeze you too hard, to eat you alive with kisses. So far, you don't seem inclined to protest being gobbled and tickled and cuddled, and I intend to make the most of it before you're old enough to say "Aww Mom, stop it!" and push me away.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Parenthood Part I - The Birth
I'm finally sitting down to start writing about the journey into mommyhood. I'll do this in several pieces, since it would be a gargantuan post if it were all in one.
I started my maternity leave on Wednesday, April 2nd. I hoped that not too many days would go by before the baby was born, although I did have grand ambitions of getting the house clean and organized before her arrival.On Friday at about 7pm, I had the first indication that things were starting to happen - a phenomenon called bloody show. This means that labor will start soon, but "soon" might be hours or days. I told my husband that if he wanted any more pregnancy photos, he'd better take them soon, and we spent part of the evening doing belly pictures. We went to bed as usual, but while I was waiting to fall asleep, I felt a contraction. Probably just practice... but it was followed by another, then another, around 10 minutes apart. I waited a while to see if they'd keep coming, and they did, although not at precisely regular intervals. They were somewhat uncomfortable, but not too bad at all.
At around 2 am, I woke the husband, and we finished packing our Birth Center bag, I called the midwife on call, and we got in the car to head down to Wilmington to the Birth Center. When we got there, I was disappointed to find that I was only 1 centimeter dilated - in other words, I had a looooooooooooooooong way to go.
We went to my parents' house 10 minutes away, and later in the morning, contractions started to seem more intense, so back to the birth center we went. But still, I was only about 2 centimeters dilated! Still, I thought I'd feel more comfortable staying at the Birth Center; with each contraction, I could feel myself sort of fighting it even as I tried to relax, maybe because of some subconscious fear that if I just relaxed and let go, things would happen too fast. Maybe if I settled in at the Birth Center and made myself comfortable, things would speed up.So, for quite a few hours we stayed there - I laid on my side on the couch, then I sat on the birthing ball, then I kneeled on the bed with my arms holding me up on the birthing ball, then back to the couch with one leg hanging over the side to try to get the baby to turn around. She was facing my front instead of facing my back as would be ideal.
Eventually, Katie told me that I might want to reconsider camping out there, because I was still dilating only very slowly. Because the Birth Center is a short-term care facility, they can't keep a patient there for more than 24 hours. And if my labor didn't speed up, I might end up having to transfer to the hospital just because of the time limit. I hadn't known about that before, so back to my parents' house we went. The plan was to take some Benadryl and try to sleep for a few hours, to give my body a chance to rest before "real" labor began.This was sometime in the afternoon. I decided I would take a shower to try and relax, and then take the Benadryl. But by the time I got out of the shower, contractions were getting more intense and closer together. Instead of taking the Benadryl and trying to sleep, it wasn't long before we were heading back to the Birth Center. Now, just breathing wasn't enough to get me through a contraction; I had to hold on to something or somebody, especially if I was standing up when one hit. Trying to climb up onto the examining table was really difficult, because the change in positions caused a contraction, and on top of that I had the shakes. Katie said "That's good, the shakes usually mean you're at least 4 centimeters!" At this point, I didn't feel especially great about the whole thing, but at least things were moving along, and 4 centimeters it was.
After a bit, I started having a lot of pain in my back, and Katie suggested trying the Jacuzzi. I climbed in, and immediately felt better - the contractions still hurt, but the back pain in between contractions was gone, and I could relax more easily. My husband sat by the tub and held my hands during each contraction, and during the worst ones, he helped me stay calm by telling me to breathe with him. If I focused on trying to match my breathing to his, it helped me stay in control.
Time no longer had any meaning; contractions came and went, and I started to take mini-naps between them. They started to become further spaced apart, but more intense when they did come. Finally Katie had me get out of the tub because the contractions were slowing down, and because things were moving so slowly - it was early dawn on Sunday morning, and this had started Friday night around midnight!When I got out of the tub, I was getting ready to insist that I couldn't do this anymore and needed drugs to hurry things up and take away the pain. Katie told me that all women say they can't, at some point. But I think she was just about getting ready to agree with me. She examined me and said, "Do you want some good news, mama?" I nodded. "You're at 10 centimeters... you're ready to push this baby out!" I wasn't sure whether to sigh in relief, or to cry. Push? PUSH? You've GOT to be kidding me, my body said.
I didn't feel much like pushing; unlike many women, I didn't have the urge. Those muscles were just too tired. So it was a battle of wills, me against this THING that was stuck inside me and was the cause of all my troubles. Contractions were far apart, and sometimes I napped between them; sometimes I caught my breath and then got bored and tried pushing in between contractions. I tried different positions: sitting on a birthing stool (which terrified me because I was sure I would tear if I let her come out too fast), on the bed on all fours, on my left side, on my back. Peggy (one of the nurses) took a set of handles with rope attached - I held onto the handles and pulled, while she provided resistance. This forced my tired abs to help with the pushing, but it also made my arms tired. Katie and Peggy switched my iPod playlist from my soothing labor playlist to a lively, upbeat, somewhat random and eclectic selection. They were greatly entertained by my music collection; I was too tired to really be amused.
The shift changed; Katie left and Dorinda came in. I was getting really close now; a tiny patch of the head showed with each push, but I couldn't seem to get any farther. I switched to my right side, with someone holding my left leg up out of the way. They tried to motivate me by saying that soon I'd get to see my baby; at that moment though, I didn't care about any flippin' baby, I just wanted it to be over. Finally, the tiny patch of head got bigger, very slightly bigger, and I got mad. Godf*^&ingdamnit, I had had ENOUGH - if I had to rip myself in two to get rid of this thing that was tormenting me, I would do it. So I pushed like I was going to turn inside out, and that head slowly came out. I remember feeling that it was out, and realizing "Oh shit, now I have to get the shoulders..." but that wasn't so bad; another gargantuan push and she was out, and I can't really say what happened next; they suctioned her nose and mouth, she cried, my husband cut the cord, and then after a bit they put her on my chest.
I sat back against the pillows, and paid only minimal attention to what was going on around me; I vaguely remember getting a pitocin shot to help my uterus contract, and one last push to get the placenta out, and lots of other activity. But mostly, I was busy looking at my new baby. She was tiny, and wrinkly, but surprisingly pristine-looking considering what she'd just been through.
One thing that was funny about the birth is the music selection: I hadn't intended that particular playlist to be used during the actual birth, and the song that it happened to play at that moment is definitely NOT what I would have selected, but I was too busy at the time (go figure) to change it. It was Eminem. Slim Shady. Dorinda politely commented, "I've never birthed a baby to Eminem before." Apparently, this has become somewhere between a legend and a joke among the midwives at the Birth Center, since it's more usually folk music, or spiritual music, or New Age. Not... Eminem. Sigh.
But the important thing was, she had arrived, she was healthy, and... not least... I did it! I had survived a 32-hour labor!
I started my maternity leave on Wednesday, April 2nd. I hoped that not too many days would go by before the baby was born, although I did have grand ambitions of getting the house clean and organized before her arrival.On Friday at about 7pm, I had the first indication that things were starting to happen - a phenomenon called bloody show. This means that labor will start soon, but "soon" might be hours or days. I told my husband that if he wanted any more pregnancy photos, he'd better take them soon, and we spent part of the evening doing belly pictures. We went to bed as usual, but while I was waiting to fall asleep, I felt a contraction. Probably just practice... but it was followed by another, then another, around 10 minutes apart. I waited a while to see if they'd keep coming, and they did, although not at precisely regular intervals. They were somewhat uncomfortable, but not too bad at all.
At around 2 am, I woke the husband, and we finished packing our Birth Center bag, I called the midwife on call, and we got in the car to head down to Wilmington to the Birth Center. When we got there, I was disappointed to find that I was only 1 centimeter dilated - in other words, I had a looooooooooooooooong way to go.
We went to my parents' house 10 minutes away, and later in the morning, contractions started to seem more intense, so back to the birth center we went. But still, I was only about 2 centimeters dilated! Still, I thought I'd feel more comfortable staying at the Birth Center; with each contraction, I could feel myself sort of fighting it even as I tried to relax, maybe because of some subconscious fear that if I just relaxed and let go, things would happen too fast. Maybe if I settled in at the Birth Center and made myself comfortable, things would speed up.So, for quite a few hours we stayed there - I laid on my side on the couch, then I sat on the birthing ball, then I kneeled on the bed with my arms holding me up on the birthing ball, then back to the couch with one leg hanging over the side to try to get the baby to turn around. She was facing my front instead of facing my back as would be ideal.
Eventually, Katie told me that I might want to reconsider camping out there, because I was still dilating only very slowly. Because the Birth Center is a short-term care facility, they can't keep a patient there for more than 24 hours. And if my labor didn't speed up, I might end up having to transfer to the hospital just because of the time limit. I hadn't known about that before, so back to my parents' house we went. The plan was to take some Benadryl and try to sleep for a few hours, to give my body a chance to rest before "real" labor began.This was sometime in the afternoon. I decided I would take a shower to try and relax, and then take the Benadryl. But by the time I got out of the shower, contractions were getting more intense and closer together. Instead of taking the Benadryl and trying to sleep, it wasn't long before we were heading back to the Birth Center. Now, just breathing wasn't enough to get me through a contraction; I had to hold on to something or somebody, especially if I was standing up when one hit. Trying to climb up onto the examining table was really difficult, because the change in positions caused a contraction, and on top of that I had the shakes. Katie said "That's good, the shakes usually mean you're at least 4 centimeters!" At this point, I didn't feel especially great about the whole thing, but at least things were moving along, and 4 centimeters it was.
After a bit, I started having a lot of pain in my back, and Katie suggested trying the Jacuzzi. I climbed in, and immediately felt better - the contractions still hurt, but the back pain in between contractions was gone, and I could relax more easily. My husband sat by the tub and held my hands during each contraction, and during the worst ones, he helped me stay calm by telling me to breathe with him. If I focused on trying to match my breathing to his, it helped me stay in control.
Time no longer had any meaning; contractions came and went, and I started to take mini-naps between them. They started to become further spaced apart, but more intense when they did come. Finally Katie had me get out of the tub because the contractions were slowing down, and because things were moving so slowly - it was early dawn on Sunday morning, and this had started Friday night around midnight!When I got out of the tub, I was getting ready to insist that I couldn't do this anymore and needed drugs to hurry things up and take away the pain. Katie told me that all women say they can't, at some point. But I think she was just about getting ready to agree with me. She examined me and said, "Do you want some good news, mama?" I nodded. "You're at 10 centimeters... you're ready to push this baby out!" I wasn't sure whether to sigh in relief, or to cry. Push? PUSH? You've GOT to be kidding me, my body said.
I didn't feel much like pushing; unlike many women, I didn't have the urge. Those muscles were just too tired. So it was a battle of wills, me against this THING that was stuck inside me and was the cause of all my troubles. Contractions were far apart, and sometimes I napped between them; sometimes I caught my breath and then got bored and tried pushing in between contractions. I tried different positions: sitting on a birthing stool (which terrified me because I was sure I would tear if I let her come out too fast), on the bed on all fours, on my left side, on my back. Peggy (one of the nurses) took a set of handles with rope attached - I held onto the handles and pulled, while she provided resistance. This forced my tired abs to help with the pushing, but it also made my arms tired. Katie and Peggy switched my iPod playlist from my soothing labor playlist to a lively, upbeat, somewhat random and eclectic selection. They were greatly entertained by my music collection; I was too tired to really be amused.
The shift changed; Katie left and Dorinda came in. I was getting really close now; a tiny patch of the head showed with each push, but I couldn't seem to get any farther. I switched to my right side, with someone holding my left leg up out of the way. They tried to motivate me by saying that soon I'd get to see my baby; at that moment though, I didn't care about any flippin' baby, I just wanted it to be over. Finally, the tiny patch of head got bigger, very slightly bigger, and I got mad. Godf*^&ingdamnit, I had had ENOUGH - if I had to rip myself in two to get rid of this thing that was tormenting me, I would do it. So I pushed like I was going to turn inside out, and that head slowly came out. I remember feeling that it was out, and realizing "Oh shit, now I have to get the shoulders..." but that wasn't so bad; another gargantuan push and she was out, and I can't really say what happened next; they suctioned her nose and mouth, she cried, my husband cut the cord, and then after a bit they put her on my chest.
I sat back against the pillows, and paid only minimal attention to what was going on around me; I vaguely remember getting a pitocin shot to help my uterus contract, and one last push to get the placenta out, and lots of other activity. But mostly, I was busy looking at my new baby. She was tiny, and wrinkly, but surprisingly pristine-looking considering what she'd just been through.
One thing that was funny about the birth is the music selection: I hadn't intended that particular playlist to be used during the actual birth, and the song that it happened to play at that moment is definitely NOT what I would have selected, but I was too busy at the time (go figure) to change it. It was Eminem. Slim Shady. Dorinda politely commented, "I've never birthed a baby to Eminem before." Apparently, this has become somewhere between a legend and a joke among the midwives at the Birth Center, since it's more usually folk music, or spiritual music, or New Age. Not... Eminem. Sigh.
But the important thing was, she had arrived, she was healthy, and... not least... I did it! I had survived a 32-hour labor!
Monday, June 9, 2008
Vaccinated
Friday, Annika had her 2-month visit to the pediatrician. She's now 10 lbs, 13 oz., and nearly 24 inches; in other words, she's growing just as she ought to be, and the doctor was impressed by her muscle control and her vocalizing - while the doctor asked me questions, Annika carried on her own monologue of coos. I think she intended to distract my attention and re-focus it on her. It worked well, I have to admit.
But then, after all the happy fun stuff, she had her first round of vaccination shots. Four of them, in the thighs. Baby skin is tender, so maybe I shouldn't have been shocked and horrified when she bled. But I was. As soon as the nurse was done, I picked her up and held her, but that didn't do much to quiet the screaming. So I put her to my breast, and like magic, she stopped crying and nursed instead, and soon had apparently forgot her trauma. I, on the other hand, walked around for the rest of the day with a bloodstain on my shirt and an ache in my throat whenever I thought about it.
But I confirmed, then, that all the struggles I've had with breastfeeding, the pain and the tears and pumping and the exhaustion and questioning my own sanity and pumping and guilt and frustration and lost sleep and did I mention pumping? Yes, all of that (I'll write in more detail in another post) and finally I'm certain it was worth it. Because even though the breast isn't her only or even main source of food, it's the one thing that is guaranteed to comfort her. It's hard to even express how much that is worth.
But then, after all the happy fun stuff, she had her first round of vaccination shots. Four of them, in the thighs. Baby skin is tender, so maybe I shouldn't have been shocked and horrified when she bled. But I was. As soon as the nurse was done, I picked her up and held her, but that didn't do much to quiet the screaming. So I put her to my breast, and like magic, she stopped crying and nursed instead, and soon had apparently forgot her trauma. I, on the other hand, walked around for the rest of the day with a bloodstain on my shirt and an ache in my throat whenever I thought about it.
But I confirmed, then, that all the struggles I've had with breastfeeding, the pain and the tears and pumping and the exhaustion and questioning my own sanity and pumping and guilt and frustration and lost sleep and did I mention pumping? Yes, all of that (I'll write in more detail in another post) and finally I'm certain it was worth it. Because even though the breast isn't her only or even main source of food, it's the one thing that is guaranteed to comfort her. It's hard to even express how much that is worth.
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