Category: Baby days

Underachievers anonymous

I think I’m an inherently lazy person. Given the choice between action and inaction, I’ll often default to inaction. It’s just easier! Not that I don’t get things done when I have to, but in general I’d rather be understimulated than overstimulated and have lots of leisure time rather than having activities scheduled back to back to back all day long.

So you’d think that mothering a newborn, with all its sitting around doing not much except holding the baby would appeal to me. In fact, it’s driving me batshit! I’m good for one solid activity per day, and I have no idea what happens to the rest of the day. How the laundry remains unfolded for three days is a mystery, and the question of when the floor was last washed perhaps remains best unexamined. The post with Lucas’ birth story is stuck at six paragraphs, which if you know my long-winded style at all barely covers the drive to the hospital.

Yesterday my activity-du-jour was the payroll forms for the nanny’s taxes (itself a bit of a bureaucratic nightmare — you’d think after nearly 20 years with the tax department I’d find the forms and processes a little bit less intimidating!) and the day before that it was an expedition to Service Canada to complete the paperwork for my maternity benefits. (We’re actually drowning in paperwork right now, between registering Lucas’ birth and registering Simon for junior kindergarten and tax time and getting my maternity leave in order.) If there’s an appointment, the day is a write-off. Same for a trip to the grocery store. One activity is all I’m good for, and the rest of the day passes in a blur of baby wanting to be held, baby being fed, baby being changed, and loads of laundry being done (oh my sweet lord, the crushing amounts of laundry) but not folded. And then there are the two other patient, sweet and understanding boys who occasionally demand if not equal time, at least the occasional game of Uno or Candyland as recompense for continuing good behaviour.

I know I should look at all this as valuable nurturing time — not to mention an excellent chance to catch up on the rewatching of all my favourite movies on DVD while Lucas either nurses or snoozes contentedly in my arms — but I can’t help but get agitated over all the things that aren’t getting done. Like blogging. Or blog reading. (I’m actually afraid to look at my bloglines account right now!) Or Scrabulous on Facebook. Oh, and you know, dinner and housekeeping and personal hygiene and stuff. Yeah, of course I meant to put those first.

I think the third child is especially challenging this way. I’ve gotten pretty good at the multi-tasking required to keep a household of four running smoothly, and while I enjoyed the respite that came with being ridiculously pregnant and unable to do much for myself except waddle around the house and take care of things I could reach without bending over, now it feels like I’m supposed to step up and get back to business again. Except there’s this absolutely adorable and engaging little guy who sucks up even more of my time (gasp! it’s true!) than the Internet ever did.

Meh. I guess checking only one thing per day off the to-do list is not too bad. I’m just afraid that I might get used to it!

Edited to add: Ha! It’s like she was reading my mind. This may explain things. From Lee’s Doodles today:

2008_02_20_plan_vs_reality_pe

Doodle by Lee. The code for this doodle and other doodles you can use on your blog can be found at Doodles.

In which my four year old observes the wonders of human anatomy

I was walking around the house after my shower without my shirt or bra on, giving my poor beleagured bits some fresh air to help them heal. (It’s getting better, but still not great. Lucas is spitting up a bit of my blood when he nurses on one side, which has happened with all three boys and yet never fails to completely freak me out, but I also think it’s less painful and that his latch is improving.)

Simon, who has seen me naked plenty of times, took a long look at me and said something I didn’t quite catch. I asked him to say it again and he said, brightly, “Double!” I was just puzzling over what he meant, as he was obviously looking at my chest, when he asked with a tone of amazed curiousity, “Baby can eat from TWO sides?”

Yes, the human body is an amazing machine indeed.

Breastfeeding sucks

Ouch.

No really? Ouch.

I’m not sure you’re getting the message here. I mean it. Ouch.

It gets better, I know. I nursed Tristan for ten months and Simon for 16 months, so I know it gets better, but holy fuck does it ever hurt right now. I’m lumpy and engorged and bruised because the milk has come in but the supply hasn’t regulated yet, and my nipples are cracked and raw. Even my shoulders are aching from being rolled forward and from tensing up with the pain. I swear, the shock of pain when Lucas latches on is as intense as the worst of the labour contractions — just focused to a laser point one centimeter wide across my nipple. Luckily, it eases to a dull throb after the first few sucks, but it still takes a conscious effort on my part not to clench my hands and squeeze his poor wee skull as I hold him to the breast.

It would probably be funny watching me getting him ready to latch, if it didn’t hurt so damn much. Only five days old and already he recognizes when we have assumed the position — nursing pillow on lap, blanket on pillow, baby on blanket — and he’ll settle down and open his mouth in anticipation. He’s pretty good about opening his mouth wide, but still gets his hands up in the way as often as not. I’ll tease him a few times just to make sure his mouth is open as wide as possible before stuffing the boob in, but every now and then I’ll flinch in anticipation of the pain and back off. He’s not overfond of the teasing, go figure, and has given me an earful if I feint too many times.

One of the midwives has expressed concern that he may be tongue-tied, which only makes nursing more difficult and painful, but the others are not convinced. I guess we’ll just have to wait it out and hope it gets better soon. There’s no doubt in my mind it’s worth it in the long run to endure what is hopefully a short term pain, and I still have lots of tylenol and ibuprofin left over that I never had to use after the delivery. In the interim, can someone tell me why I keep having new babies in the coldest season of the year? Because in addition to all the other aches and pains associated with breastfeeding, it’s just cruel to add the extra pain of the effect of a cold draft on wet nipples, if you get my meaning.

Ouch!

Beyond Day Three

When I was pregnant, I read something on someone’s blog about Day Three, and how it’s a well-known fact (at least in some circles, it was news to me but made a lot of sense) that Day Three postpartum is one of the worst, hardest days. It’s a perfect storm of dismay: you’ve lost the last of the endorphins from the birth experience; the ‘newness’ of having baby has worn off but you haven’t yet established a workable routine so everything is still topsy-turvey; your milk is coming in (ouch!); and, worst of all, you’re a hormonal mess. In fact, the midwife was telling me that a newly postpartum woman has less hormones than a post-menopausal woman, as the placenta has been almost entirely responsible for hormone production during the pregnancy.

All that to say, Day Three is a mythically scary day. Day Three or no, in my previous pregnancies I’ve always had a particularly rough time in first few weeks after baby is born – emotionally, physically, and especially in dealing with the sleep deprivation. That’s why the whole “Day Three” thing resonated with me; except, in my case, it was more like the first three (or six!) weeks, not days.

And here we are on Day Four, and you know what? Not so bad! Maybe it’s a new level of self-awareness, maybe it’s an easier labour (story to come, I promise!), maybe an easier baby, or maybe just third time’s the charm. Yes, I’d say yesterday was the most difficult day so far, but as the worst, it was better than a lot of the best days from the postpartum days following the arrivals of Tristan and Simon.

It’s been way easier physically. I think my milk coming in yesterday and the sore nipples (not yet as battered as they were with the other boys, but still bruised and cracked) have been far more uncomfortable than the residual aches and pains from the delivery. Because Simon was born with his hand thrust over his head, the tear was way worse then than this time — it’s amazing how much the simple ability to sit comfortably improves one’s demeanor!

We were doing pretty good with the sleep deprivation, too. Lucas had been sleeping a LOT, which helps, but last night that went out the window. I’d been getting maybe six hours of sleep a night altogether, which while three hours less than my ideal, is still manageable. Last night, he was up for most of the night and I couldn’t get him to settle for love nor money. Even sucking on my fingers, the way I’d soothed him to sleep a couple of times the night before, wouldn’t do it for him. I think my milk coming in might have upset his stomach, and am hoping that he adjusts to it through the course of the day today.

Emotionally, well, that’s just been easier, too. I dunno why, but I’ll take it! I think it’s a combination of the wisdom of experience and the knowledge that this is the last time I’ll be doing this that helps. Part of my brain is whining “I feel like crap and I’m sooooo tired and oh my god, I wish you would just go to sleep” but another part of me remembers how truly short this time period is and how quickly it passes. (And no, I don’t really expect that serenity to last even to the end of today, let alone for any great length of time. But it’s nice while it lasts.)

So, if that was Day Three, and that was the worst of it, I think we’re golden!

And with that, my little one is awakening from his four hour mid-morning nap (how cruel is it that his best and deepest sleep of the day exactly coincides with my most alert and unable to nap time of the day???) and will be demanding second breakfast (actually, I think we’re up to elevenses) any minute now. If we get another long nap like this tomorrow morning, you may yet get that birth story…. or not!