Resurfacing

Well, we did it. It's been about two weeks already (gasp!) but I am happy to report we survived the change of address. Despite several days without Internet access or cable television I lived to tell the tale. Forgive me if I have implied otherwise by deserting my beloved blog.

Although weather forecasts predicted rain, the only earthly element we battled was wind. The sky was merciful and remained clear over the entire weekend. The only casualties claimed by the move were my hamper - some unruly screws decided to escape while in transit - and Nate's bookcase, a hand-me-down which was on its last leg to begin with. Overall, it was a success. I compare it to a festering wound that finally scabbed over. Yes, my view on moving hasn't changed. It still aspirates hardcore.

We're not exactly settled in. In fact, the only rooms that are complete are Nate's nursery and the bathrooms. I just haven't been able to muster the energy to unpack in addition to performing our everyday routine tasks. But regardless of the numerous boxes I must detour, it is slowly beginning to feel like home. It feels right.

No more third story travels, arms laden with groceries or a portly baby. No more lugging trash to a dumpster on the opposite side of the community. No more fighting over vacant parking spaces or worrying about sound travelling through paper thin walls to annoy the adjacent neighbors. We've traded a view of asphalt for a view of trees and nature galore. Best of all, it seems we've nearly doubled our living space. We will need additional furniture just to keep it from looking too bare.

Even though the positives far outweigh the negatives, I can't help but reminisce. Our apartment was where our son was conceived. I peed on the infamous test in the guest bathroom. DH took photos of my burgeoning belly in front of our bedroom door. I labored on the couch in the living room. And we brought our baby home to that apartment. As shiteous as it may have been at times, I will always have fond memories of how our lives evolved there. Call me crazy but there are times I actually miss it. All part of adjustment process.

But I also look forward to making new memories here in our new house. There's sure to be some amazing stuff in store for us.
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Nate turned 7 months old yesterday. I know I say this every month but it never ceases to amaze me as the months pass by so hastily. I hardly remember what life with a newborn was like. I often look back at photos just to recall how much he's changed since we've been properly introduced.

In the span of a month, he now has 4 - going on 5 - teeferoos. It didn't take long for his mouth to blossom with little white slivers once the first one erupted. Everyday I seem to find a sharp, new tenant in his orifice. At this rate, he'll have a complete set by his first year.

Nate is also starting to show signs of crawling. He can get up on all fours and rock back and forth. But as soon as he tries to go forward, he lands flat on his belly. It's only a matter of time until he gets the hang of it and I'll be chasing him, shooing him away from sockets and wires. I can picture the chaos now. He's getting so big on me.

I'm beginning to retire his 9 month clothes in favor of 12 month apparel. With the move, I packed up all of his 6 month clothes. I shed a few tears as I folded them and stuffed them in a big brown box. I also traded his 6-12 month socks for the 12-24 month TODDLER size. Yes, my son could now be mistaken for BigFoot. That is, if he had more than his tuft of blonde fluff upon his noggin.

Solids are still a work in progress. Nate is still not a fan of being spoon-fed and will cinch his lips closed so that no one - not even the most savvy or entertaining folk - can penetrate the fleshy barrier. We've moved beyond rice cereal and oatmeal to banana, peaches, melon, avocado and pears. Out of all the delicious aforementioned fruits, it seems pears are his favorite. But that's not saying much. Only that he shudders rather than gagging. I follow his pace and I refuse to force feed him, even if it means wasting ounces of fresh homemade food (courtesy of my trusty Beaba Babycook, to which I shall dedicate a separate post to its awesomeness). I've tried various textures ranging from thin and watery to thick, soft and chunky. But it doesn't seem to make a difference. Purees - he's just not that into you. I'm beginning to consider that he would best adopt baby-led weaning (BLW).

He seems to be breastfeeding more often than usual and I'm worried that my supply alone won't be able to keep up with his dietary needs much longer. I know Nate can sustain nutritionally on breastmilk exclusively for a year or even more. But pumping is becoming a nuisance. I can barely pump enough to satisfy his appetite for the two days per week that I am at work. I was hoping that we could rely on fruits and veggies to fill in the gaps where my pump fails. Alas, due to Nate's rejection, I fear that we'll have to resort to formula in that instance. Although I will do everything I can to avoid it and stick with mamma's milk.

I'm sure you got more than you bargained for with my incessant droning so I will wrap this up neatly by saying it's good to be back. If you'll have me.

Six Months

Nate is 6 months old today.

Has it really been half a year already? It seems like just yesterday we were driving home from the hospital with our brand new little guy, going 10 miles below the speed limit in the slow lane because we were afraid to jostle or damage our fragile newborn.

When I think of how far we've come, I am astonished. I admire Nate each day and query how he was once the size of a poppyseed inside me. Proof of his existence was just a pale pink line on a stick. And now, here he is. My baby boy - my hopes and dreams - in the flesh.

At 6 months, my little man:

• Wears 9 month clothes and size 3 diapers comfortably. Whoa. I'm expecting him to top the scales at a whopping 19+ lbs at his checkup tomorrow. He's quite the hefty load these days, which makes walking in heels risky.
  
  
• Can roll both ways, although he is much more consistent rolling back to tummy. When on his tummy, he "swims" and gets frustrated, as he can only move in circles and not forward. It's quite amusing to watch actually but I have a feeling it won't be long until crawling commences.
  
  
• Can sit without toppling over for 15 minutes. He can counterbalance himself if he starts to lean to one side. But if he looks up too high, his body follows his eyes and he inevitably falls backward.
  
  
• Can jabber like a monkey, stringing consonants and vowels together like pearls on a necklace. Mostly "aah" type sounds ("da", "ba", "ga") with an occasional "ooh" thrown in for good measure. He is currently acing the "mmm" sound, to which we are coaxing "mama". He tries to mimic our lip motions but is still a tad too immature for words. He is very observant but he is also quite social. He loves to interact with people and talk to himself in the mirror. He is very intrigued by faces and always tries to grab eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Not to mention hair. Ouch. Or jewelry. Yikes.
  
  
• Can laugh and giggle. His most ticklish spot is his chunky thigh. Trust me when I say there is nothing more endearing than a baby's chuckle. After his spell of colic for the first 3 months of life, I never thought I'd see him smile so much. It's more gratifying than I can describe.
  
  
• Can pass a toy from one hand to the other, although he's only done this on several occasions. He can grab an object, such as daddy's remote, and pull it to him in an instant. Once he gets his paws on said object, it goes directly into the mouth. Oral fixation much?
  
  
• Is cutting his first tooth. I can feel a knot under his front left bottom gumline. And he is slobbering so much that I am frightened to lay him face down out of fear he shall drown in the volume of his saliva . I can't quite see it breaking through but I assume it is a matter of time. My breasts are quivering at their fate.
  
  
• Can reach out to be held or shy away when he wants to stay put. He's developing slight separation anxiety when I am not in his line of sight. Even when daddy is attempting to entertain him, he wants to know where mommy is. Luckily, he does not have an aversion to strangers. Yet.
  
  
• Can recognize his name. He will turn toward you if you call him. But only if you are not interjecting while he is captivated by coexisting lights and/or sounds.

While I could go on and on, I should make note that this milestone isn't entirely about age and growth. I'm also proud to say that I've been able to exclusively breastfeed for 6 months. I accomplished the goal I set out to meet way back when I first decided to embark on my journey to parenthood.

I have been able to resist the temptation of formula, even when my nipples were raw from cluster feeding and I cried through clenched teeth, questioning my supply. I have been able to withstand the monotony of pumping in bathroom stalls and storage closets. I have been able to defy societal expectations - or asinine opinions - as to when to wean and begin solid foods. I have been able to fulfill my son's nutritional needs with my body alone. It feels sublime.

I took photos of him this weekend in all of his naked glory (which DH made me promise not to share). Just to remember the body that my milk duds were responsible for. Each roll, each ounce of chub, all from the milk which I produced. I wanted to document this milestone so I can look back fondly in a few years at the result of my success. Our success. I couldn't do without my little partner in crime, who has fine-tuned his latch and suction into an art. That is, when he's not too distracted by his surroundings to demonstrate his abilities.

Happy half birthday, little man. You'll never know how incredibly loved you are.

The Mama Sway and Other Developments

I am feeling quite wordy this morning, as Nate naps comfortably in his swing. But in the interest of retaining your attention rather than antagonizing you with an unorganized, jumbled bout of verbal diarrhea, I will utilize bullet points to constrain myself.

• Move over Macarena. Crank this Soulja Boy. There's a new dance craze in Chez Sticky. I've acquired the "Mama Sway". Seriously, it's impossible for me to stand still. Even without the baby in my presence, I subconsciously rock back and forth. I don't even realize I'm doing this until other people - primarily mothers - point it out to me, declaring that only mothers have "that tender sway". Perhaps we all inherit the "Mama Sway" gene as soon as we release our placentas? It's like I've been inducted into a secret society. A slow dance. A knowing nod. And I'm outed without saying a word. I guess I should praise Dr. Karp for that.
  
  
• Just like the evil that masqueraded as colic for 9+ weeks, Nate's reflux seemed to dissipate overnight. For the past few weeks, I've been able to sport brand-name gear, unsoiled and curdled-milk-fragrance free. Sure, he will still spit up now and then after a feeding but ***knock on wood*** we've had no actual vomiting incidents ( > tablespoon) in almost a month. No more waking in the middle of the night to gagging and choking. No more receiving blankets substituted as burp cloths, drenched in the contents of his stomach. I'm marveled by the difference. It's nothing short of a Festivus miracle. I guess all the hoopla about reflux resolving itself in time really was true. The cynic in me can rest assured that medication was unneccessary after all.
  
  
• We have a thumbsucker in our midst. Yes, after almost 6 months of unfettered fist and finger love, Nate finally discovered his abandoned appendage. I should say he is more of a thumbbiter, as he uses it more for teething relief than for self-soothing at this point. I've yet to capture this new development on camera but the mamarazzi is sure to catch it in her relentless pursuit of treasured candids.
  
  
• After two weeks of daily entrapment, Nate has learned that the jumperoo serves more of a purpose than to spin in circles and look pretty. He can now jump so high that I fear he may completely fly out of the apparatus. Watching him spring himself into oblivion is the most amusing, adorable thing. It could provide hours of entertainment if his legs could withstand it. His new nickname is Jumping Bean.
  
  
• With his new exercise routine in full swing, his already hearty appetite is giving me a run for my money. Nate is eating every single ounce I pump, despite my record of 21 oz. in 3 pumping sessions. I know it's hardly Guinness Book material but it sure made me proud nonetheless. I can barely keep up with him in my absence. He is also showing extreme curiosity in food during mealtimes. Meaning I spend more time keeping his sticky fingers off my plate than gobbling up my lunch. He's even taken to crying when I push my meal outside of grasping range. This is especially enthralling in the middle of a crowded restaurant, where onlookers gasp in horror at this poor, starving babe and the abominable mother who denies him one small morsel of food. I am but a week away from my goal of 6 months exclusive breastmilk and I'm hell bent and determined to get there. We will get there. Then, it can be a solids free-for-all. Until that day, you can brand me as the strict, unsympathetic, possessive, add-your-own-adjective-here mama bear that I am.
  
  
• Effective Thursday, Nate's usual whopping 3-4 bowel movements per day has lessened to a humble once a day. As a matter of fact, yesterday was completely poopless until his explosive blowout upon waking this morning. We're talking poop in the armpits, people. How exactly does that happen? I'm not sure if this is a sign of digestive distress or if his body is telling me that it's ready for more than just mundane liquids. He doesn't seem to be uncomfortable or constipated so I feel it's likely the latter.
  
  
• After weeks of a sunny disposition, a storm is brewing. The crankiness. The clinginess. I'm identifying bits of foreshadowing. A taste of what's to come. I know the 6 month milestone brings along another growth spurt so I'm donning my cloak and armor, preparing for another battle.

A big apology if you made it this far. Not even the bullets could stop me from being verbose.

Moo

A pumping mom is not far removed from those of a bovine variety.

Let's think about it. I have tubing and horns attached to my udders (okay, we call them nipples and areolas in these parts) as suction stimulates the flow of milk at mid-tempo. Even the pump motor taunts me with a continuous soft, slow "moo" .

I have to hand it to exclusive pumpers. Breastfeeding isn't exactly a picnic but it seems so much easier now that I'm in my groove. No bottles, valves, membranes or flutes to wash. No need to remember storage guidelines or watch the clock as you follow a rigid pumping schedule. Breastmilk fresh from the tap is always at the perfect temperature and requires practically no cleanup, aside from my overactive letdown that gags Little Man and sprays him in the face if he should suddenly pull off. You know that carnival game where you squirt the water at the bullseye to see who can reach the top the fastest? Yeah, well I could be a champ and I don't even need the gun.

When pumping, I find myself eyeballing the drops. Counting the ounces. Cheering on the boobies. I turn it into a competition. Which boob will give the most milk in the fastest time? Lefty is almost always the winner so I find myself rooting for underdog Righty. After a feed, I can usually get about 2-3 oz. but I've gotten as much as 6 oz. when Nate only fed off Righty and Lefty was engorged (the things I get excited about these days...). My little piggie eats about 3-5 oz. from the bottle now so I need to do a good bit of pumping to provide 4 bottles on those days I will be working in the office.

For me, the scheduling is the hardest part. Nate falls asleep after almost every feed so it is hard to put him down and pump immediately. He is clingy and needs to be held ALOT. If he wakes up shortly after I put him down, he wants to dream feed to soothe himself back to sleep. In other words, I top him off so he gets that much more milk drunk. His feeds can be so sporadic (one boob vs. two, 1 hour vs. 3 hours apart) that it makes it hard to predict a safe time to pump. I don't want to pump and then have only an appetizer if he decides to wake up demanding a 4-course meal. Needless to say, I don't have much of a stash built up for when I return to work next week. But I'm hoping to correct that problem this week. I've been drinking Gatorade left and right (the electrolytes can boost your supply!) and I'm considering getting some Mother's Milk Tea to help me out temporarily. I am not opposed to supplementing with formula, if needed, but I really want to avoid it if I can and stick with exclusive breastmilk.

It's just hard to manage all of the details and I'm hoping that, like everything else, it will get easier and more predictable as time goes on.


BTW: No more nursing strikes so far. Whew. And he is now taking a bottle quite willingly when we offer it. Go figure.

Nipple Confusion is Not a Myth

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the ENEMY. It may seem like just an ordinary feeding device primarily used for babies but if you look closely, you will see horns and a pitchfork. Allow me to explain.

When Nate was 4 weeks old, we decided it was time to introduce a bottle. Breastfeeding was going swimmingly and we needed to prepare for him to take a bottle for when I had to return to work. I bought the best pump on the market and I was determined to do all in my power to ensure a smooth transition.

Well, my son has had other plans.

He flat-out refused any nipple other than the real thing. We tried bottle after bottle and artificial nipple after artificial nipple but he wouldn't have it. Playtex. NUK. Dr Brown's. Breastflow. MAM. Nuby. Adiri. All were a no go. He would mouth the nipple - and sometimes gag himself - before contorting his face to show his displeasure as the tears began. If I made any more attempts to move the horrid silicone and plastic contraption to his lips, the crying would amplify to a shrill scream - to the point where he would be gasping for breath. Yes, all this over a "ba-ba". As you can tell, I have a drama king on my hands.

So, for weeks we have been fighting this battle. And we have made some progress after being painfully consistent. I've endured hours upon hours of wailing, hitting and hair-pulling as he demanded a boobie. I've cried tears right alongside him and wondered if I would have to tell caregivers to syringe or cup feed him in my absence. I mean, I'm flattered that my boobs are in such high demand but although they are portable, they unfortunately cannot be detached.

Over time, he has conceded somewhat. He will drink from a bottle now - but usually takes many breaks to finish just several ounces. He will even take various kinds of bottles. He still fusses and whines but at least I know he won't go hungry if I'm not around.

So, we thought we had everything under control. How foolish of us.

For the past few days, we've enlisted the help of the Soothie, to live up to its name during Nate's typical colicky hours of 8pm - 11pm. It worked wonders. I no longer had to be a human pacifier and could relax in the evening without trying to comfort an inconsolable baby.

Well, last night, after a few hours of paci love, Nate refused the breast.

You heard correctly. REFUSED the BOOB. The boob he courted for so long. The boob he couldn't resist was now being resisted full-force. He would shake his head violently and refuse to latch, all the while sucking his fingers, bobbing his head and displaying every hunger cue in the book. I was so worried that something was wrong with him that I took his temperature and even looked inside of his mouth to see if there was something causing him pain. Nothing - all normal.

Meanwhile, it is 1am and DH and I are at our wit's end after countless attempts to woo him. DH decided to fix a bottle while I did my best to comfort baby. Wouldn't you know that he sucked down 2.5 oz. in the bottle as though he were a starving orphan?

I just broke down sobbing. I felt so rejected. How could he do a complete 180 like this? What went wrong? I thought about the last time I had nursed that day and kicked myself for not being more involved in the experience. For taking it for granted. What if that was the last time I would breastfeed my son? Sure, I could exclusively pump if I had to but I wanted the bond of nurturing him with my body. I cherished that bond we had and now I felt it had been compromised.

Thankfully, the nursing strike ended overnight after some sleep. Maybe some rest helped him to affirm his affection for the boob. But all day today, I've been walking on eggshells. Hoping he won't wean too early or get confused with all the nipples we have floating around. Hoping he'll still prefer the original tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

Who would've thought it could be this complicated?