Dear Sabrina,
Today, my love, you turn one. Where the last 365 days have gone is a mystery to me. The seconds started flying by the minute you were born. From the minute I heard you cry, strapped to the surgical table in the OR, you had my heart. There have been some bumps along our journey together, but never once did they make me doubt my love for you.
Someday, you will hopefully become a mommy yourself. And I will long since have forgotten the struggles and the hardships of those first 365 days of motherhood, so I am writing this to you so that you will not feel alone. I will be there for you in every way I can, but time heals all wounds, and I will have moved on from these memories to those of you growing up, blossoming into a young woman and beyond. But I need for you to know, to understand, to have a record of what I felt like being your mommy, and what you will likely feel being a mommy yourself.
You will feel the highest highs and the lowest lows in those first 365 days. The most joyful moment I think I've ever felt was hearing your cry for the first time. You were real, you were here, you were all ours. Those first days, I felt like I was in a dream. You were perfect. But then the crash happened. We went home. You cried. A lot. You hurt me breastfeeding... badly. And things started to unravel. I cried, every single day, sometimes for hours at a time. I felt like a failure, like you deserved a better mother. Those were some of the hardest, darkest days of my life. I hope, my love, that you never feel anything even close to what I felt. But in the event that you do, know that mommy went through it with you, and while it was harder than I ever imagined, I made it, and so will you.
Being a mom is hard at any and every point in a child's life, but that first year is especially difficult. You used to cry and cry, especially in the evening, and there was no way for daddy and I to know what you wanted. We would take turns holding you, walking you around the house, praying that the hardwood floors wouldn't creak too much. Praying that the dog wouldn't suddenly see a cat and bark her head off. Praying that you would find some way to comfort yourself since we rarely seemed to be able to comfort you. Some nights daddy and I would have to wake each other up for help because you just wouldn't settle down. We prayed for some relief, for some kind of magic to calm you down. Patience and time was all that seemed to work. Sometimes you will be at your wit's end with your own little one, having no idea what to do. In those moments, remember that mommy went through it too, and that sometimes taking a deep breath and having a good cry can help release tension. Singing helps too.
Remember to have fun in those first 365 days, especially those early ones. I will always feel like I wished our early days together away, because I felt so utterly depressed, so tired, so alone in so many ways. I look back on that with such regret in my heart. You were and are such a gift to me, my sweet baby girl, and I wish I had enjoyed you more in your first days of life. You spent 9 months growing inside of me, yet when you were born you were a stranger in so many ways. If your little one's first days are difficult, don't beat yourself up sweetheart. You didn't come with instructions either.
Finally, my love, don't be too hard on yourself. Being a first time mom is a HUGE adjustment, one that cannot be overestimated. Change is hard, even good change. Be kind to yourself and allow yourself time to adjust to being a mommy. Someone else depends on you for EVERYTHING now. It is a huge, scary, awesome responsibility. Cut yourself some slack, ask for help, remember to do things for yourself too. YOU matter too.
Sabrina, the joy that you have brought to our lives this past year is immeasurable. Your smile, your giggle, your babbling, the way you walk through the room like a bull in a china shop... You have a way of making everyone around you happy. You have made me a better person. You have challenged me to have patience, to let go of my perfectionist ways, and to just go with the flow and enjoy life as it comes. My world, our world, is so much better because you are in it. I will spend every moment of the rest of my life trying to give you everything, trying to teach you everything I can, trying to make you as happy as you've made me. Never ever will you know how much I love you, until the day when you have your own little one. Maybe then you can understand the deep, overpowering, dizzying love that I feel for you with every breath I take.
To quote our favorite song, one that I've sung to you probably a hundred times in your short life, "I love you in the morning, and in the afternoon, I love you in the evening, underneath the moon..."
All my love, ALWAYS,
Mommy
My daughter is nearly 1 year old now. She is the light of my life and I could never fully explain the joy that she brings me. I am happily planning her first birthday party, enjoying this new phase of her being more independent, more toddler like.
But guess what? I'm exhausted. Not like "lack of sleep" exhausted (things have been getting better in that regard), but rather exhausted from the busyness of life with a 1 year old. In addition to my mommy responsibilities, I work full time, which mostly entails me running from one meeting to another, sometimes in a different building altogether, answering endless emails, and just generally running around like a chicken with my head cut off.
So when people ask me "So when are you guys having another one?" I do my best not to either laugh hysterically or smack them in the back of the head (a la Leroy Jethro Gibbs on NCIS). Do not get me wrong, I want to have another child. My husband would do it tomorrow if I were on board. But quite honestly, I'm just not there yet.
There are many reasons why I'm in no hurry for Baby # 2. Baby # 2 for me is child # 3 for our family, since Chris has a 15 year old daughter from his first marriage. As I've written about before, life with a teenager and a toddler has its challenges. Chris's daughter is with us full time now, so that means we are responsible for most of the transportation that goes along with having an involved, intelligent, responsible teenage daughter. Swim practice every day, religious education every Sunday, outings with friends, high school football games, swim meets... The list goes on and on. Factor into this equation having a toddler, one who gets cranky in the late afternoon and goes to bed by 6:30 every night like clockwork. Bedtime every night is a three ring circus of my husband and myself giving her a bath, drying her, brushing and combing her hair, putting her PJ's on, and finally putting her in her sleep sack, all the while trying to keep her shrieking to a minimum (bath time is okay, everything else is torture) and praying that she will lay on the changing table long enough to get her diaper on before she starts flipping over, grabbing for us to hold her, etc. By the time she goes into her crib at 6:30, we are exhausted!
Selfishly on my part, I also want more time with just my Sabrina. I want to shower her with love and attention and let her continue to be the center of my world. She is getting to such a fun age, one where we can really start doing things with her more, taking her places and allowing her to begin to explore the world beyond her house and her Nana's. We plan to take her to Disney World next October, when she will be almost 2, which I am absolutely ecstatic about and cannot wait for. I want to give her that time, with just us and her grandparents, to feel like she is the center of it all.. because she is!
Recently Buckingham Palace announced that Duchess Kate is expecting again. Kate and I were pregnant at the same time for our first pregnancies; Prince Georgie was born in July, Sabrina in November. It was really neat to watch her pregnancy unfold in the press, all the while my own pregnancy was unfolding. But when I heard that she was pregnant again, my knee jerk reaction was "What was she thinking?!" Then I remembered that she is a Duchess, has a staff likely at her disposal, although I do think she is a very involved mother to her son.. and then I realized why she would want to do it all again so soon.
Kate, you and I differ on this one. I am so eternally grateful to have my daughter, to be a mother, and I can't imagine my life without her. But I am not yet ready to do it all again. I did not love being pregnant the first time, and I anticipate that would not change with pregnancy number 2. And I didn't even have morning sickness! But the constant exhaustion, the GI issues, the shortness of breath, the muscle weakness... While some people glow and love every minute of it, for me it was a means to an end. (A wonderful, lively, smart, strong-willed end that I love with all my heart.)
But more than any of that, I am terrified of having postpartum depression again. I haven't yet researched statistics on the re-occurrence of postpartum depression with baby # 2 when the mother had it with baby # 1. I don't want to know, quite honestly. I am so scared that I will bring another life into this world, and spend the first months of his or her life falling down the rabbit hole of depression yet again. Because this time, I wouldn't only be affecting one child, but two. It was hard enough to get through the first time, but I can't even imagine how hard it would be with two children to care for instead of one.
One thing I know for sure, that I'm sure people will judge me for, is that I will not even attempt breastfeeding with baby # 2, whenever the time comes. I can't do it again. I can't face the pain, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, the waiting... I can't face hooking myself up to a breast pump, I can't face taking on the sole responsibility of providing food for my child. I just can't do it. I don't think breastfeeding caused my postpartum depression, but I think it sure as heck didn't help anything. I was exhausted, beating myself up for my lack of success with breastfeeding, my baby was miserable and hungry... it just was a recipe for disaster. I can't put myself in a potentially harmful situation again. While I agree that breastfeeding is absolutely best, for me it's just not worth the risks.
So I'm going to take my time and enjoy life with my darling daughter for awhile longer, before we give her a brother or sister to love. (And fight with.) I know that when the time is right, Baby # 2 will come into our world and we won't remember what life was like without them. I look forward to that day, but for now, I'm happy with life the way it is.
Gotta love the internet. Bet you didn't know there was a National Cheesecake Day (which was this week), A National Eye Exam Month (which is August, incidentally), or a National Ice Cream Sandwich Day (which is tomorrow, so eat up!). The internet also told me that today starts World Breastfeeding Week, which is always the first week of August.
For those that know me, or those that have read my blog, you are probably questioning why I am posting about Breastfeeding Week, considering my hate/hate relationship with breastfeeding.
I have been very up front about my struggles with breastfeeding. It was the single hardest and worst experience of my life. I don't say that lightly, and I don't say that to pass judgement on those that do breastfeed their child(ren).
I, in fact, support breastfeeding 100%. I strongly believe that it is the absolute best way to feed your baby. The positives of breastfeeding are well documented. There is much information out there about all of the benefits of breastmilk, both to mother and baby. Boosts immunity, less issues with colic/reflux, helps mothers lose weight faster... This much most mothers or mothers to be know. So breastfeeding your baby is a no brainer, right? Wrong.
I think part of Breastfeeding Week should be education around the difficulties of breastfeeding. Being up front about the hardships that mothers WILL face in those early weeks. The pain, the cracked nipples, the bleeding, the engorgement, the fact that you will be lucky to get 1-2 hours of sleep in between feedings while recovering from giving birth. Those are the facts of breastfeeding. They aren't pretty, but they are real. And it's time that we empower new mothers (first time or otherwise) with the information that it is going to be hard and it is going to kick them in the butt, but that if they possibly can, just to hang on a little longer. Just give it one more day. And then one more day. Hopefully, as the days progress, things will get easier. The pain will lessen hopefully, the process will become more routine.
But if they can't give it one more day, if the pain is too great, or their recovery is too hard, and they can't bear the burden alone, then those mothers should not be shunned or looked down upon. Those mothers should be celebrated as well, because sometimes you have to make those hard decisions that you may not want to make.
To those mothers that are breastfeeding, I celebrate and commend you. You have made a wonderful choice for yourself and your child. To those mothers that tried to breastfeed, but couldn't, I commend you and have been in your shoes. We wanted to, I know we did, but as I remember saying to myself, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. But we are not weak. No matter if we use formula or breastfeed, or maybe a little of both, we are strong women, raising our children to be loved, strong young men and women.
So rather than looking at World Breastfeeding Week as a time of exclusion, since I myself am not a breastfeeding mother, I choose to look at it as a time of togetherness. A time to come together as mothers to celebrate a difference between us, some breastfeeding and some not, rather than letting that difference divide us.
Lastly, to breastfeeding mothers during this World Breastfeeding Week, take a few moments while feeding your baby and realize that there are many women in the world who envy you in that moment. Women who long to breastfeed. Women who long to be mothers. For some, maybe it isn't a possibility, but for you it is. That is a wonderful gift, something to be cherished while you still can. This Tired, Happy Mama will always envy that you were able to have that gift and that I wasn't.
After taking Sunday off from the blogging world to grocery shop, relax, watch my Buccos sweep the Rockies, and watch my kid hate napping, let's return to our regularly scheduled blogging topic. My life and journey as a Tired, Happy Mama.
Breastfeeding is such a polarizing topic of conversation. No one is opinion-less. "If you don't breastfeed your baby, you are feeding it shards of glass in a bottle and they'll be sick their whole lives." "If you breastfeed your baby, the public will shun you in case you accidentally have a nipple slip." "People who use formula are obviously lazy, bad parents." "Women who breastfeed are clearly hippies."
I actually have gone back and forth on my opinion of breastfeeding over the years. Formula did always seem convenient, and I honestly didn't like the idea of my breasts producing the sole source of food for my child for at least half of his or her life for the first year. But once I got pregnant, and it wasn't a theoretical discussion any longer, I decided that I was going to be a breastfeeding mama. It's healthier, FREE, and seemed the right thing to do. It couldn't be that bad, right?
OH DEAR GOD WRONG.
Now I will preface this by saying that this is my story. I'm sure people already have their opinions of me and my choices, but so be it, I am here to share the good and the bad alike.
During my hospital stay, I did a decent job at nursing Sabrina. I asked for help from the nurses and they did what they could to help me. Unfortunately most of the time that was just positioning Sabrina's head and letting her suck. She was born Monday evening and I went home Thursday midday. I can honestly say that that first night home was the hardest night of my life. The hours passed so slowly. Sabrina wanted to eat constantly, my milk wasn't really in yet, and she and I were both miserable. Somehow on the trip home from the hospital, she had turned into a ravenous little vampire with ouchy pointy teeth, but instead of sucking my blood, she sucked breastmilk. Every time she wanted to eat, I would try to get her latched, and the pain of it was so excruciating that it made me cry. Every. Time. I dreaded every single feeding, because the pain was just too much to bear. I didn't have my pump yet so it was either suffer or do formula, and you'd have thought I signed a contract to breastfeed in blood the way I was acting. I wouldn't entertain the notion of a bottle. So from Thursday until Monday, the day Chris was supposed to go back to work, I suffered through feeding after feeding. I called a lactation consultant on Monday and begged for her to see me. Chris took the day off work because I was a mess, crying constantly, Sabrina was jaundiced and needed another heel prick and a doctor appointment, and life just kinda sucked.
We picked up my pump (which was on order but we didn't have it yet since Sabrina was 3 weeks early) and hightailed it over to the lactation consultant, who I fully credit with helping to get my sanity back. She looked in Sabrina's mouth and decided that she wasn't tongue tied (yay) and asked me to take off my shirt and bra and feed her so she could see her latch. When I took off my shirt, she made a small yet audible gasp. My nipples and breasts were in the worst shape she'd seen in a long time. So she told me I needed to pump and let myself heal. She showed me how to use my new pump, and I got a few ounces out... not bad for my first attempt she said. I was still hardcore into breastfeeding and hating on formula, so she told me to pump every 2-3 hours just like Sabrina's eating schedule, and just give her the milk in a bottle until I was healed. And then we'd work on correcting her latch once I was healed. Needless to say, never again did I breastfeed her.
Pumping turned out to be time consuming and fruitless. That very night, at around 2 in the morning, I only got about 1.5 ounces total from 30 minutes of pumping. Sabrina was eating 3 ounces at least, so that left me 1.5 ounces short. I woke Chris up and we made the decision to introduce formula. I continued to pump for another week or so, but finally gave up and went to strictly formula, because getting less than 2 ounces just wasn't worth the aggravation.
Would my supply have increased if I had stuck with it? Would her latch have been corrected if I had tried hard enough? These are questions that I ask myself all the time, 8 months after the fact. I still feel as though I have failed Sabrina. The part of my story that I haven't gotten into detail with yet is that I had fairly serious postpartum depression, which started to affect me around the same time that I came home from the hospital (3 days postpartum). I will share much more on that in the future, but it played a huge part into why I had to give up breastfeeding. Aside from the physical battle that I was fighting at the time, I was fighting a far harder battle inside, and something just had to give.
Recounting this story opens those wounds as if they were fresh. I still feel and always will feel that I failed Sabrina by not breastfeeding her. I still feel like I took the easy way out. The logical side of me knows it was the right thing to do, but the mommy inside me knows Sabrina deserved better. Tears are burning my eyes at this very moment. This is something I will struggle with for a very very long time.
So for those that choose to criticize moms who use formula for being "lazy" or for giving into convenience, stop for a moment and remember that you don't know the whole story. There is no criticism in the world that is worse than how I've criticized myself.
In closing, be kind to new mothers. Those early days are some of the hardest they will face, and every single one has their own unique struggles. They are Tired, and maybe less Happy Mamas, but the happiness will come with time.. and maybe a little sleep :)
