When Mommy Needs a Mommy

On Friday when Max was barfing, dinner was burning, the kitchen was a mess and Brett was at school I thought to myself- “I would love a day where I could lay in bed”.
The Fates listened and granted my request.

Unfortunately, The Fates are a bunch of assholes.

I spent all of Sunday in bed but it’s wasn’t fun or relaxing. It was fucking miserable.  I got the stomach flu.

I don’t have to tell you how much it sucked.  Besides the normal ugly stomach related issues I was hit with full on flu-like symptoms as well.  Chills, headache, body aches, high fever, ect.  If someone offered me a million dollars but said I had to walk to the mailbox to get it, I probably would have told them “No Thanks”. Rolling over in bed was a chore.

Brett was wonderful both taking care of Max and doing his best to make me comfortable (which was pretty much an impossible task).  He kept me alive with large amounts of Fruit Punch Gatorade and Tylenol and managed to keep Max pretty happy too, even though his upper tooth was erupting.

We had grand plans for my Monday recovery.  Brett would bring Max to day care and I would spend the day recouping so I could go back to my SuperMom (Ha!) self. Those plans went to Hell around 8PM when Brett crawled upstairs, clutching his stomach moaning “I think I got what you have…”. 

At that point I had mentally put our house up on the market and wondered which neighborhoods in Akron or Chicago that might have a good school system.  We couldn’t call our friends to help out since they all work.  Our retired neighbor is always willing to help but she was out of town.  What we needed were family members we could beg for help without feeling guilty or imposing. We needed people who were required by blood to help.

I thought seven years ago that by moving to Savannah, 800 miles away from home was proof that I was growing up.  It showed that I was an adult and that I could make it on my own. I was an independant woman.

But now that I have my own family I realized one thing....

Screw independence.  I need my Mommy.

Sadly the nearest mommy was a plane ride away so we made due.  Max spent most of the day in baby jail his pack-n-play or exersaucer.  He didn't enjoy it all that much but we all survived though my diet hasn't advanced beyond saltines.

Still, the whole experience made me realize that maybe it's time to seriously consider moving a little closer to family.

Not close enough that they can show up without calling mind you but close enough that they don't need an airplane to show up for an emergency.

Until then, I ask you -How do you stay healthy when your kids are constantly bringing home germs from the monsters kids at school or day care?

One of those days

It was one of those days.

The kind where everyone complains when you are just trying to do you best.

Where you needed a hug when you walked though the door but the husband had a post-work event and the baby prefers screeching and back-arching to cuddling.

The kind where mashed avocado ends up in your hair, on the floor, ground into the highchair and up the baby's nose....but not in his mouth.

Where powdered formula covers your kitchen and your favorite work skirt.

And the cat puked. And you step in it.

The kind of day where you take off the baby's diaper and discover a terrible rash that wasn't there this morning.

And, not thinking, you start to bathe the baby, and he releases a painful scream when his bum hits the water. You feel like the world's worst mother.

And you forget to bring a towel into the bathroom, so you become towel instead.

Finally, after screams and squirms, rash cream is applied, a new diaper is secured and pajamas are buttoned.

After settling yourself and the screaming baby into the rocking chair you feed him.

With each gulp his breath slows and his eyelids droop.

When you pull the empty bottle away from his lips the baby shuts his eyes and his muscles unclench. He falls asleep in your arms, something he hasn't done since his first week of life.

And even though the kitchen's a disaster, the phone is ringing, the garbage needs to go out and you have a blog to write, you remain in the chair.

Your breath slows and your eyelids droops.

And you try to savor the moment because every one keeps telling you these moments go by fast.

Before you finally lay the baby in his crib you say a prayer of thanks to God for such a wonderful day.

Max's First Fever

Hot forehead. 

Bright red cheeks. 

Constant cuddling. 

Doesn't want to eat. 

The most heartbreaking cry you've ever heard.

Saturday morning visits to the doctor.

Blood tests at the doctor.

Sunday night calls to his answering service.

Projectile vomit.

"The thermometer goes where?"

Ibuprofen that smells like bubble gum.

More cuddles. 

No naps.

Multiple outfits.

Multiple loads of laundry.

Sad parents who just want to see him smile.

This is not how the way Max should have to spend his 6 months birthday.

Writer's Workshop: Time Out!

This week, I haven’t been Captain Happy Pants. Rather, my pants were incredibly cranky. For Example:

I’ve shouted obscenities at other drivers.


I’ve sent mean vibes to the staff at my child’s day care for parking the 18 passenger school van in the small drive during the busiest pickup time.


I gave the evil eye to the woman at Sam’s Club who’s job it is to accost you at the front door, trying to get you to switch to Direct TV.


I almost read the riot act to the guy on the treadmill next to me who kept grunting.


I made a nasty Facebook status update about the perpetually *effervescent* radio traffic lady who kept chirping “the highways are clear” when in fact I had been sitting on the highway at a complete standstill for 30 minutes.


In my head I ranted at the guy at the gym who turned the TV to Fox News when I was perfectly happy watching Oprah. He didn’t even ask, jerkface.


I mentally composed a long post about why Gisele Bundchen needs to STOP TALKING ABOUT PARENTING. Then I decided not to actually write it because I didn’t want a debate.

If Max lashed out with similar behavior, I’d put him in “time out”. Actually, I would be really impressed because he’s only four months old. Still, when he’s older and displays cranky pants behavior, time out is where he would go to cool down. For him, it would be a punishment. For me, my own time out sounds like paradise. A Mommy time out is just what I need to curb my road, gym and Sam’s Club rage.

My “time out” would not require a tropical paradise but rather, something more practical. I just need three things. A hotel room, a Jacuzzi tub and a bottle of red wine. Bliss would be a night all alone in a hotel room, sitting in that tub, drinking that wine. No offense to my husband. It’s not that I don’t want Brett there. I do. He’s wonderful. It’s just- if Brett is with me then someone else would be watching Max. And though I have many trustworthy friends I wouldn’t be fully comfortable and I wouldn’t sleep well. The goal of this “time out” is to sleep.

The hotel doesn’t have to be something fancy. Just a moderate priced room (with a Jacuzzi tub) is fine. I can compromise on the tub too. It doesn’t have to have Jacuzzi jets. It just needs to be deep. And the wine? A $10 bottle of Cabernet will suffice. I’d relax in the tub with a tabloid magazine good book and the wine. Then, at an obscenely early hour, I would crawl into bed and drift off for a full 8+ hours of uninterrupted sleep. That one night could instantly end my cranky streak.

Mommy desperately needs a time out before I verbally assault another Savannah driver.


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The End of a (Very Short) Era

My breastfeeding relationship with Max is over. It's been hanging by a thread for weeks now and this weekend made me realize I need to end the fight.

I worked so hard breastfeed Max.  I've mentioned before how pre-pregnancy I was planning to breastfeed exclusively for a year.  Ha.  But after lots of tears, sore boobs, hours on breastfeeding message boards and multiple visits to the lactation consultants, I did eventually feed him breast milk exclusively. 

Then I went back to work.

My supply dropped immediately.  I went from pumping 8-9 oz to 2-3oz.  That's total, not per side.  I took fennugreek and drank dark beer with no results.  I tried pumping frequently but I was cramming 40 hours of work into only 24. Breaking away for 20-30 minutes was hard.  I found myself missing a pump without realizing it or getting called into last minute meetings screwing up my schedule. My frozen stash ran out and I eventually had to start supplementing his day care bottles

Max, getting more and more bottles at day care started to prefer them.  Getting him to nurse because increasingly frustrating and as of this weekend he just plain stopped. He screams when I try to nurse him and won't stop screaming until he gets a bottle

So today I realized it was over. After struggling to get him to nurse for 10 minutes I remembered what I vowed to myself when I went back to work.  "I'll breastfeed as long as I can.  When it's over, it's over and I won't drive myself bonkers trying to get it to work". So I gave him a bottle and I cried.

I cried that I couldn't be the "super mom" who worked, breastfed, cloth diapered, cooked organic meals every night and still managed to keep her regular eyebrow wax appointment. I cried because I now had to deal with smelly poop, constantly washing the ten million piece Dr. Brown Bottles, and the added formula cost to our budget. I cried because I don't get those extra 500 calories a day. I cried because I felt guilty. I cried because I felt like a failure.  I was a sobbing, mascara running, snotty-nosed hot mess. Hell, I'm still a hot mess as I write this post.

Most of all I cried because I felt that the special bond that Max and I shared had come to an end.  That final bit of physicality of our relationship that started when I was pregnant was over and I wasn't sure that I was ready for the end.

As my little cries turned into big sobs, Max reached up and put his tiny little hand around my pinkie finger and looked into my eyes. Then he spit the bottle out of his mouth and smiled at me. 

Maybe it will be okay after all.

Must. Get. Sleep.

Preface:  This post is a bit of a downer and admittedly a bit defensive.  I promise the next one will be more sunshine and rainbows. 

I have officially reached the end of my rope and I don’t know what to do anymore. Max has gone from 4-6 hour sleep stretches to 1-2 hour stretches, both day and night.  He only naps 3 hours during the day no matter how many times we try putting him down or coaxing him back to sleep.  I absolutely cannot function like this much longer. It’s one thing when after the 5AM feeding I can go back to bed for short stretches and can veg a bit during his short daytime naps.  However, now I’m up at 5:45 and during the day I have to be perky, cheerful and on my best behavior.  That’s too bad because my lack of sleep is making me want to tell perfectly nice people where to shove it. It’s not really the impression I want to make on my first week back on the job.

I’ve received all sorts of unsolicited medical diagnosis’s including apnea, reflux, and colic. I know none of those are the issue. I’ve run the gamut of food elimination to rule out allergies and my pediatrician says Max is fine expect for the lack of sleep.  I’ve tried the tips and tricks from No Cry Sleep Solution and it helped at first but now even those are failing me.  The book promises that if I stick with it things will get better, but over the past 10 days things have started really unraveling.

Tonight starts a new strategy that will have LLL members and lactation consultants around the world screaming "Nooooooo!".  I'm supplementing with formula.  Yes, I'm a terrible mother.  Sue me. I refuse to feel guilty about it.  Regular pumping has shown I'm obviously not producing enough milk, even after a week on fennugreek.  I'm not going to go on about it but Max has made it clear he isn't getting enough from me.  Perhaps some formula mixed with breastmilk will help kiddo stay full enough to not wake every 60-120 minutes starving and pissed.

So, lets hope this new strategy will bring both Max and I a little peace.  We both need a bit more shut eye.

Not the Best of Days

I'll admit it. Yesterday was not a good day with Max. Actually it was pretty terrible. We think his 12 week growth spurt started a bit early and he has been inconsolable. He had maybe 2 hours total of happy moments and the rest of day was fussing or, even worse, full on screaming.  And when the screaming started, NOTHING I could do would calm him down.  No amount of bouncing, swaddling, white noise, swaying, breastfeeding or vibration would work. He just screamed.  And screamed.  And screamed some more. I'm not a fan of the cry it out philosophy.  Yes babies cry and of that fact I am accepting but when Max gets going, it sounds painful.  It actually sounds like he is being hurt. It's heartbreaking and I just can't take it.

Yesterday though, I had no choice. When I exhausted every resource possible I just had to put him in his crib, shut the door, put the timer on for 10 minutes and give myself some mommy time. Trying to calm him was frazzling my nerves and sending me into a spiral of tears and frustration.  I haven't mentioned this to a ton of people, but after Max was born, I suffered serious postpartum depression.  More than just the baby blues that accompany the hormone soup of just giving birth.  Luckily, my Midwife Group has a psychiatrist on staff and my husband, Saint Brett the Awesome, convinced me to see her immediately.  Working with her, I learned coping techniques and I also learned my warning signs for when it's time to step back. Yesterday I had to step back.

Those ten minutes were the perfect amount of time to refresh. Those ten minutes helped me to remember that Max is just a baby and only knows how to cry when communicating his needs.  Those ten minutes were enough for me to combat the creeping thoughts of "I'm not a good enough Mom" and "Maybe having a baby was a mistake".  I knew those thoughts weren't my true feelings but I needed to just let my son cry while I banished them from my head. 

So, to all other moms out there, especially new moms who have no idea what they heck they are doing, when you have bad days, you are not alone. For some reason, many mom's, myself included feel like they need to put on a happy face at all times. We are expected to spend all day and night staring lovingly at our child and think that each little thing they do, including scream for an undetermined reason is simply precious.  Well, I'm here to admit that sometimes I look at my screaming baby and think "When the heck is he going to stop?!". That doesn't mean I love him any less or that I'm a bad mom.  All it means is that I am human. 

Photo by Teresa Earnest of Memories n More. and {really fun} workshops  Great Photographer.  Great Friend. Great Mom.