Tag Archives: Writing

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Reading Books About Nursing: Part 1

Maybe my nesting instinct has gone into overdrive, but I realized that after all my deciding on breastfeeding I hadn’t bought any books to teach me the basics of nursing. I saw a video on my pregnancy app, and I admit I was completely repulsed and ready to stock up on formula saying “no effing way I’m doing that”. After weeks of nightmares of watching this woman “hand express” her milk, I shook it off like any other nightmare and reasserted myself back into the idea of breastfeeding. I bought some bras and pads, a pump, and I was ready for this. Then I realized I needed to buy books to read up about it, hoping to feel more knowledgeable and ready for this.

Normally, I’d just go on my Kindle and download whatever I wanted. But I was at the mall anyways, and I decided why not just stop in at Barnes and Noble. There, I stood with a few options on which book to pick. My phone’s internet wasn’t working and I was lost staring at titles. Instinctively, the first one I grabbed was the La Leche League International’s book, The Womanly Art of Breast Feeding. This is the book today’s post will be about. The other book I eventually picked, because I like second opinions, was entitled The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding. Obviously the title gives away the fact this is part of a 2 part series about books on breastfeeding. I might be inspired to get another book or 2 and if I do, I’ll share my thoughts on them as well. I might not though, because after only reading one, I might not want to read about female anatomy anymore.

I picked the La Leche League book to read first, because in every app or online site they mention this organization with breastfeeding. I figured if there was ever an informative book, those lovely women would’ve written it. However, I realized shortly after starting the book that this book wasn’t what I was hoping for. For every bit of useful information I read, I read a bunch of propaganda and patronization. For the good majority of the first part of the book, I read about how breastfeeding is the way to go and if you fail at it it’s because you didn’t try hard enough. I felt guilty after reading parts of it as if I was doing something completely wrong for questioning if I really wanted to do this or not. After the guilt, which I’ll admit passed quickly, I couldn’t help but to read the rest of the book as judgmentally as it read me.

As if that wasn’t enough, I ended up raising my eyebrows at this book. It seemed to romanticize the ideal of nursing your child. When I’m thinking about my kids, I’m not thinking of a romantic situation. The way some of the parts were written made me question if I was reading an informative how-to or pedo porn. They made it seem like the only reason someone should nurse, (and nurse for what seems like until you put your child on a bus to grade school) was to create a bond only you and your child can have. It seemed more like a sick power trip than being actually useful to your child. I’m choosing to do it because it’s the financially smartest approach and the healthiest one, not because I want a biting toddler chewing at my boobs forever. I even read parts of the story they tell in the book about a woman breastfeeding her son aloud to my husband, as if I were reciting lines from a cheesy romance novel. He thought I had exaggerated what the book said until he read it himself. Another problem I had involved the fact I was considering exclusively pumping, as the idea of a baby actually suckling from my chest and the idea my husband couldn’t bond with our child. This book gave useful information about pumping exclusively and storage, but I felt like they attacked that idea. They constantly enforced that breastfeeding is about mother/child bonding and pumping ruins this attachment and you’re an awful person for denying your child that magical love boob juice.

For every bit of good this book did informing me about different positions to feed or pumping, I felt awful after reading the book. It was like visiting an ever critical relative that made you feel like dirt afterwards because you aren’t good enough. I doubt I’m the only one who’s opting for this method of feeding for logical and financial reasons, and I doubt I’m the only one who would love to share the responsibility of feeding and would be annoyed for being made to feel like an awful mother for that. I hope the next book is less judgmental or preachy, or I may end up stock piling formula now.

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And How Was I To Know?

First item of business is about Fridays. The past few Fridays I haven’t written my normal posts, and this week will probably be no exception. I haven’t been feeling in great shape and decided that I would take Fridays off. Next Friday, as long as I’m not in the hospital I will be up with another post about single parenting and teen pregnancy. Now today’s post.

I’m 37 weeks pregnant now (well tomorrow), and I’m already coaxing the little boy to come out. I told him not too soon though, he needed to wait until his grandparents and big brother returned from the beach. I told him Saturday morning would be perfect, so let’s see if I can convince him to get out. As excited as I am to meet him, I’m more excited to just not have him in me anymore. I’ve been over this pregnancy a few months ago, I don’t think any woman really enjoys the last trimester.

Today at my appointment, the normal dip test came back positive for something I didn’t understand. The important part is the doctor comes in and he asks me, “are you having cramping and peeing more?” My response? “I’m 9 months pregnant, of course I’m having cramping and peeing more. Isn’t that what happens?” He chuckled at me, acknowledging that I was right but that he thought I may have an infection. So I end up at the lab to again pee in a cup, which bothers me on so many levels especially since I’m absolutely terrible at this. (I don’t care if I hit a TMI moment, just saying.) Now I still wait to see the results, jumping every time my email alert pops up on my phone.

This moment brings me back to when I had my 3 hour glucose test done. I looked up the symptoms of gestational diabetes, and wondered “how am I supposed to know I need to worry about this, the symptoms are the same ones of just being pregnant.” In fact, most problems that are mostly minor have the same symptoms. Are you feeling tired, sore, increased appetite? Maybe you’re pregnant… but maybe you have ____. No wonder there are a lot of hypochondriac people out there, they read something about their symptoms and think they have cancer when they have the flu.

That makes me wonder though, if that’s what makes people who under react more susceptible to not treating infections soon enough or why they make you pee in a cup every prenatal appointment. I wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with me, I just assumed I was an uncomfortable pregnant woman with a bowling ball sitting on my bladder. This is why we keep up with our scheduled appointments and get checked out regularly. We’re not supposed to know, that’s what we overpay doctors for.

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You Can Hit Rock Bottom…

Tomorrow marks 36 weeks of the pregnancy. The time flies no matter how much we like to think it moves so slowly. It only physically feels like it moves so slowly. Everything starts getting more complicated now. A few months ago the ability of sitting at a computer to play games became very difficult, recently putting shoes became difficult. Now even sitting here typing out a blog is becoming difficult, but we can move on anyways.

Sitting down isn’t easy anymore. You can’t get into a comfortable position, and if you can it’s impossible to stand up on your own from that position. Laying down to sleep or nap is awful because you can’t sleep and it’s difficult to get up or even something as simple as tossing and turning to get comfortable. I should be thankful I can still see over my growing stomach. Then you try to stand up and walk around because sitting is so miserable feeling, but you waddle for a minute before your legs and feet swell up beyond recognition. Then it becomes to uncomfortable to stay standing. There’s really no winning.

The biggest downside is now the obsessively hungry. More hungry than I have ever been in my life. I think if I really sat down to it, instead of the one jar of pickles, I could probably devour 2 or 3 jars. As if last night wasn’t bad enough that I devoured half a watermelon that my husband cut up for me, I notice the other uncut half is on my lap and I’ve resorted to eating it like a bowl of cereal. It’s an attractively hilarious sight. Just a pregnant woman with her half of a watermelon and a spoon. I think this is my rock bottom moment of pregnancy. It could be worse.

At this point in the pregnancy, I’m sure I’m not alone in any of these thoughts. Though I’m definitely hoping that I’m the only one who has resorted to eating a whole watermelon half uncut with a spoon, so glad I’m home alone so no one could see it. Somehow the visualization of it seems worse than making readers have the image of it. We have a bowling ball sized stomach that barely fits in anything and makes you look like someone who isn’t you. When we’re at this point, I think that we realize that we don’t care anymore. Nothing is going to make us feel less huge or more comfortable or more appealing to look at. So we should make the best of it and make ourselves happy by eating all the watermelon and pickles we want.

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When You Count Down The Days

Soon enough we’ll meet the ever active little boy that’s been cozily growing for about 9 months now. Well, maybe not soon enough because soon enough seemed like a little while ago when the major discomforts of carrying a child started. The idea that he’ll come when he wants to occurs to me more on days where I feel the most miserable. He’ll be here when he wants, which I hope is soon. Physically I’m beyond ready for him. Now we have everything we could need for him, so we’re definitely ready for when he wants. Which I’ll repeat, I hope is soon.

It didn’t occur to me sooner, that I wasn’t the only one who was anxious. My parents since leaving for vacation calls daily, sometimes twice daily. Each call is started with a “how are you feeling? Trip to the hospital yet?” Part of me wonders if they are anxious for him to be born or anxious that he would be born before their vacation ended. My son, who’s also with them since we didn’t think it was fair he missed our usual trip because I couldn’t go, also is excited and anxious to meet him. So anxious that he admits that he doesn’t want to be gone when it happens. He assures me that his brother will wait though, because he’s too awesome of a big brother.

Then there is my sweet and overly excited husband. This is the same person that the day after the baby shower had to go out and buy everything else we needed because “you never know when he’ll come”. Then proceeded to spend the rest of the night assembling everything even though he had to wake up early in the morning to drive across state for a class for his job. It seems every hour I get a call or texts of “just wondering how you’re feeling”. I don’t translate that as a concern for how I’m actually feeling; it’s a way to ask “are you in labor yet?”.

As the time comes closer, you realize that everyone is just as anxious as you. All your family and friends want to meet your newborn almost as much as you and your partner do. He’ll arrive when he’s ready however he’s ready. For me, I’m convinced after my first one that all my children are going to make an exciting entrance into this world. I hope I’m wrong, and the only exciting entrance he makes is the excitement of meeting him and not that I give birth on the side of the street while out for a walk.

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Deep Breathing Isn’t Just For Labor

Eventually growing up you hear “the first reaction is generally the best one”. I’ve basically applied that principle every time I face something and wonder “did I overreact?” Though I think I usually under-react, at least I walk away feeling like I handled it appropriately. At least in my adult life, I wouldn’t think half my teenage years I handled anything as appropriately as I could have but really what teenager does? The excuse of out of control teenage hormones are generally used at the excuse for that.

Hormones are the answer then. Or the excuse. Or the excuse to not take someone seriously. I suppose when it comes down to it, hormones are offered up as a blame, the scapegoat. You thought it was bad as a teenager, it apparently gets worse as an adult female. Then it gets worse when you’re pregnant. How many times do we have to listen to “must be that time of the month” when we get mad? Can’t we just be pissed because someone was an idiot without having to be accused of it just being biology. I admit though, I’ve definitely told a female or two… dozen… to “take a Midol and go away”. Mostly because when they were annoying me, I knew exactly what to say to get them angry enough to not argue with me and leave. The worst part is when you’re pregnant. You can’t cry at anything without someone comforting you and saying “don’t worry, it’s just the hormones”. Maybe I’ve just been upset and needed to vent, not working off whatever hormonal trick you think the hormones are playing on you this time.

The main point of this isn’t to say “stop accusing us of acting out because we can’t control ourselves”, I can control myself just fine pregnant and normally. My problem isn’t I think hormones are taking over my life, my problem is worrying that every emotion I may or may not feel could be passed off as nothing important just because I’m pregnant. It’s annoying when you don’t have to second guess whether you’re being rational, you have to second guess if people will act like you are irrational because they just assume being pregnant means you’re not actually feeling that way. You just think you are. I think the way people patronize you for being upset is far worse than actually being upset because you realize they aren’t being supportive, they are placating you until they think your next mood will come. I don’t like that I should feel bad because something bothered me, but luckily I’m good at keeping things quiet in my head so I can just shrug it off until it passes. Unhealthy? Yes, but I suppose I’ll take unhealthy over ending up punching someone square in the face. Which I’ll assure you has nothing to do with hormones, I’d end up punching them in the face over it either way.

Think of that next time you pretend there are eggshells on the ground when you walk around your pregnant relative or friend. If you keep pretending it’s a passing moment, beware for the glass you might have to walk on afterwards. Sure, hormones can make people a little crazy, but the idea that you treat every emotion someone has as merely a hormonal imagination makes us a little crazier. It’s more healthy to let us say what we want without judgement than make us feel like we have to keep our mouths shut so we don’t feel like a china doll about to break when we’re really stronger than that. Take a deep breath and don’t stress, it really does help. You’ll have enough to stress about soon.

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Then You’re Showered With Gifts

At some point in the pregnancy, you might get lucky and have someone throw a shower. Then you start putting on clothes to attend and criticize everything you put on because each thing makes you look fatter than the others. At least at the hair salon before hand, people said I looked small for how far along I was. I took comfort in their obvious lie for the sake of my self-esteem. Eventually you just realize that you’re almost 9 months pregnant and nothing will make you look skinny for the next year unless you’re blessed with Jessica Alba genes. I’m not; I’d be more ok with it if I were.

It’s hard to express gratitude at times like that. There are so many people and so many gifts. It’s very overwhelming when you realize the love and support you have from your family, all your family. The idea that they have to show up to an event to show their love is false, the thought is the most important. With this love and support, the day becomes overwhelming. To me, it was probably the most overwhelming point so far in the pregnancy. Luckily I didn’t have to be center of attention, that would make the situation much more anxious than it would’ve been. And I made away with only one person touching my stomach, which I’ll let slide because she’s her.

Even more overwhelming than the ritualized event, is when you see the car packed full when you leave. It then becomes, “oh crap, where am I going to put all this stuff”. You think about all the clothes you’re going to need to wash. (Take comfort, baby clothes are small and you can generally fit most of them all in one load.) Then you think of all the stuff your husband is going to have to put together, and avoid reading instructions, because that’s what men do. It was a long but rewarding and productive weekend, and now we can sit back and just wait for this little person to grace us with his presence. Hopefully soon, I’m done being pregnant. I feel like I’ve run out of room in my body for him, or I’m just really uncomfortable and hopeful. At this point, I’m sure everyone feels that way.

In the end, it’s worth it. More important than the gifts you received at the event, you realize that you have an incredible support system of people that are going to love their new family member. The more love that surrounds your little bundle, the healthier and happier he’ll grow up to be. Plus, imagine all the advice he’ll have to sift through the rest of his life. He’ll be an individual that grows into various generations and cultures, and that with love is priceless for your child.

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And One Day It Hits You

I worked a lot the first few years of my first son’s life. Some days I would get to work at 5 a.m. and work pretty much straight through until 9 p.m. Then the next day I would start again. Some days were worse; working until early morning hours only to come in a few hours later to start my next day. I did it because nothing in life is worth anything if you don’t have to work hard for it. I did it because I needed to, and even then I still needed state help. And even then, the help wasn’t enough. Kids cost money and a lot of it. I didn’t want to miss out on my son’s early life or first words or first steps… but I didn’t want him to grow up thinking that everything was handed to people. When you’re a parent, it becomes clear very quickly that every action they see from you they copy. Every little thing you do makes an impression on them. I believe you have to work hard in life at whatever you do.

At some point, I looked around at the situation we were in and realized I’m not someone who likes to settle for anything. I looked at my son and realized that I didn’t want him growing up in that place and thinking it was acceptable to settle. Then, with the help of my now husband, I realized I needed something more than the job I had. He took my belief system of not settling and told me to go to school. He was right. Plus, I needed to show my son that college was important. I needed to show him if I went to school and succeeded at parenting him, that he should be able to handle it. I did it, and I worked my butt off in school to graduate if for no other reason than to prove that I could. His pride in me was worth it all. Even more, I taught him a lesson. Just because you think you need to settle in life, doesn’t mean you should. There’s always something better you can aim for and do if you set your mind to it. There’s nothing in this world he can’t do if he wants it enough.

I hope he learns these important lessons. It’s easy to settle for how you think your situation makes you. Nothing that comes easy is worth it though. I had many moments where I cried and didn’t want to go back to school because I didn’t think I could be successful and maybe I should go back to a job that I excelled at whether or not I even liked it. Then I think, as much as I think we as parents teach our children a lesson, I think our children teach us and motivate us the most. You watch them struggle with their reading and they don’t give up, and you think “if he doesn’t quit, why do I think I can get away with it.” It’s important that as a parent, any parent, that you make sure to step up. Your children need you do show them just because you’re young/single/unemployed/poor that you can do things and you can overcome anything in your way. If you show them it’s easier to give up and settle, you’re doing both of you a great disservice. I think this is especially true when you’re a teenager, because like I felt like when I was 19, I was too young to give up now. Remember that your influence as a parent is the biggest influence to your kids. It’s what they start of learning from, and it can impact the rest of their life.

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At Least The Bruises Made Me Symmetrical

I hate needles. Hate is even putting it nicely. I’ve even refused Novocaine for minor things at the dentist for the sake of avoiding watching that needle get near my mouth. When I see people getting needles in person, I cringe and refuse to look and often get a look of passing out. I’m not ashamed… ok maybe a little ashamed to admit that I even get queasy seeing needles on TV. I suppose there are upsides to this, like being an IV drug user is completely out of the question and cheaper medical visits. I would rather pain and misery of not getting one than go through the 2 seconds it takes to have the needle go into any part of my body I can see. I got away with the tattoo merely because I couldn’t see it getting done, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

So a month or 2 ago when I went to do my 1 hour glucose screening, or otherwise known as “one more thing to make a pregnant person feel uncomfortable”, I was concerned with getting in and drinking that miserable stuff that is responsible for me never eating orange popsicles or drinking orange soda and getting my needle and being done with it. My doctor’s office is fantastic, and when test results get posted, I get it in my email and I don’t have to worry about a thing. Results came back and I hit 2 points over the max. I freaked out until it was pointed out that if there was a problem that someone would’ve called. Sure enough, no one called and nothing was mentioned of it after a few visits with my midwife. That was until last week when she realized that she sent lab orders for the 3 hour test and forgot to tell me.

My first thought jumped to “but I did everything right. I did everything wrong the first time and I was fine.. but this time I did everything right.” You can’t help but to stop and analyze every little thing you did or didn’t do or didn’t do enough. “Oh it was that glass of soda I had because I just really wanted it and figured it was ok since I haven’t really had soda.” Then you look at those meticulously picked out 5 potato chips next to your egg salad sandwich and think that you messed this up. Hopefully I’m not the only neurotic person who did this, but by looks of forums I’m not. I vowed to walk more, drink nothing but water and stick to egg whites and dried toast. Then I thought of my beloved fruit salad, and how much sugars were really in that. I went crazy, I really did.

Per my normal self though, I sucked it up and resolved that Saturday I would get it done. When it came down to fasting, I ate my last helpings of diet popcorn and started my fast 12 hours before like I was told. An hour later I realized that this 3 hour test was now “the most miserable test you can make a pregnant person go through.” Soon after I slowly realized that in support of my fasting, my husband had decided to fast too. I didn’t say anything and smiled to myself going to bed. The next morning at 8 a.m., he was up and ready to go with me. First of all, my husband being up before 11 a.m. is a miracle so this was historic. Then, he sat down in the office with me for 3 hours encouraging me that time was only up. I drank my nasty orange syrup and closed my eyes while they stabbed me with their needles. My arms bruised, like usual, but at least they matched. And I waited.

I wasn’t a patient waiter. I logged onto the website every hour to see if the results came back that day. My husband was just as happy as I was to not be fasting anymore and spent the day catching up on our eating. It felt good. Finally the results came back and I was cleared as being completely perfect. Apparently most people flunk the hour one, and have to do the 3 hours. I found it a waste of time, but you can’t be too careful when you’re responsible for another life. I would’ve rather taken the test and passed than not and have complications with my child. Unfortunately that means I just have a fat baby or the due date is wrong, which I hope is the latter. Don’t sweat these tests, they’re there for a reason.

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The Advantages the Second Time Around

I’ve decided my midwife doesn’t lie to me. She told me “you’re going to show sooner, you’re going to be bigger, and it’s not going to be like your first pregnancy at all”. She was right, and I appreciated her honesty and not making me think that I was just getting really fat too soon. She tries not to laugh at my husband, who is guilty of being neurotically overprotective normally and more now that he’s responsible for keeping me extra safe to keep his 2nd child perfectly safe. I have to admit it’s a bit endearing when before I ingest anything, he goes on Google to “make sure” everything’s safe. I won’t complain, it’s this sort of neurosis that keeps me in massages and homemade fruit salad.

Lucky for me, I’m told the second time labor is generally much easier. I like the phrase “generally”. It gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I can sneeze and there he is. My midwife informed me that if I could do it once without an epidural, the second time I won’t likely need one either. No, I don’t have a moral reason for not wanting one nor do I think anyone who has one is less of a woman or a baby when it comes to pain. My reason is more childish: I hate needles. The fact that I hate needles is only worsened by a lack of faith in a medical professional to be that close to my spine without either killing me or paralyzing me or some other unpleasant side effect because I happened to have the doctor who’s working off a hangover. Yes, I’m aware of how irrational and crazy this sounds, but you won’t convince me to change my mind. The unfortunate side of me being irrational and crazy is that I’m also incredibly stubborn.

The biggest advantage is that you know what you’re walking into. You know that your plan doesn’t always pan out the way you planned it, and you lack that anxiety of “what do I do now?” Even better, you don’t have that anxiety of “will I be a good parent?” If you didn’t kill the first one and they ended up basically decent, you’re in good shape this time around. That’s what I keep telling myself anyways. It comes back to you, every part of the labor and first year of being a parent though it sometimes comes back slowly. My midwife informed me when I told her I was afraid I’d forgotten the pain, that I never really forgot and it’ll come back to me quick. I hope she’s wrong on that front though, I would like to never remember how painful it was. If Michelle Duggar is still in pain with the amount of children she popped out, I don’t think there’s any hope for the rest of us.

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Maybe I Can Convince You Now Is A Good Time

I sympathize with people who don’t feel like the process of pregnancy is a blessing. The child is a blessing and worth it, however the process to get there is always less than ideal for most women. I repeat this a lot, and today will be no exception, but people who think pregnancy is a cake walk either is incredibly lucky or lying to themselves. Even the easiest pregnancy has issues, I saw this with my first pregnancy. It wasn’t too miserable, I felt mostly good, and aside from usual aches and pains I had no real complaints how it progressed. It wasn’t flawless, but it was easy enough where when my husband finally convinced me it was time to expand our family I hoped things would be just as fine.

Then it happened, and it wasn’t like the first time at all. The first trimester I’m pretty sure I just slept through, because I remember being that tired. The second trimester hit me, and it was a tease. I felt full of energy and things were good. I slept fine through the night, I kept up with my son’s baseball games and practices fine and things seemed pretty well. I think the second trimester only exists to give you a false sense of relief, only to smack you in the face the minute you enter into the home stretch. Then the third trimester hits and you’re big and only getting bigger. You can’t sleep, because who can really sleep well with a 20 lb. stomach that encases a child that thinks midnight to 4 a.m is the perfect time to kick you all night long. If you sit or lay down too long, every joint in your body feels like you’re 80 years old with arthritis. If you spend too much time walking around, your feet swell up so much you can’t even take off your shoes, and your knees and ankles feel like you’re 80 years old with arthritis. In fact, I’m pretty sure I constantly feel like an 80-year-old with arthritis lately. Also don’t discount how miserable those contractions are, and remember them because when you’re actually in labor they are a million times worse.

I understand the people who don’t quite feel the joys of pregnancy, because sometimes the pregnancy is more tiring than raising a child. Don’t feel bad for feeling miserable or feeling anger towards all your pregnancy books/websites for lying to you about how amazing pregnancy is. Don’t feel like you’re somehow ungrateful for the miracle growing inside your or that you don’t deserve it. Going through it is worth it, and sometimes it helps to remind yourself of that every time you wish that your child would just come now. That doesn’t mean you can’t try to convince your child now is a good time, I know I’m not giving up hope he’ll decide he’s ready or that the doctor was off by a month so I can get back to feeling like me.