Outtakes

For Father's day, Emme and I decided to try out a little DIY project I had seen on Pinterest as a gift for Chris. It turned out pretty cute, and Chris loved it. Here's the finished project:

But my favorite part is the memory we made, it was so much fun! I could not stop laughing at the way Emme interacted with the big letters. I couldn't even really capture her cuteness on camera, but here's a few of the outtakes:

Father's Day

On this exact date, also Father’s Day, eleven years ago, I watched my father take his last breath.  My family and I were huddled around his bed, as we had been for most of the day. The Beatles were playing quietly on a small boombox nearby when the air seemed to suddenly get thin, and we somehow knew it was almost over. When it finally happened, that moment when we realized he would not exhale, a tremendous amount of feelings flooded my heart and mind; panic, pain, heartbreak, guilt, agony, fear, helplessness, and the instinctual, fleeing thought that if I do something, I might be able to save him. I relived this memory every year on this day, struggling to keep it together while remembering every detail as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. Until last year.

On this exact date, one year ago, on the tenth anniversary of my father’s death, I discovered I was pregnant. As if that day wasn’t heavy enough, as if it hadn’t already been the host of the most life-changing event imaginable, I now had this to deal with. Because I had such a hard time initially accepting my unexpected pregnancy, it felt like a blow, like salt in a gaping wound. I tried to understand the significance of this unlikely coincidence, keeping it close in mind and visiting it often throughout the last year.

It took me the entire year, and not a minute sooner, to realize the meaning, the beautiful lessons here. I finally see the connection, so obvious to me now. I see it in the way Chris looks at Emme, and how her face lights up, smile stretching from one ear to the other, when she sees him. I know that this is how my dad looked at me, how he loved me every moment until his very last. Until Emme was born, I only understood our relationship from my perspective, and when I lost him, I felt as if I lost that relationship and a huge part of myself. But now I see that I can continue to learn about him, and that our relationship can grow and change as my understanding of it changes, eliminating the overwhelming sense of finality associated with his death. 

And then there are the incredible moments when I discover tiny resemblances of him in Emme. When he died, I remember people kindly suggesting that “he is alive in all of us”, but I could never find comfort in it. But with this new life, it is wonderfully heart wrenching to realize that she may just have his nose, or the sweet way she seems to bite her upper lip when she’s really focusing, just like her Grandpa Gary. I can truly see now, that he is, in fact, alive in all of us. And that his memory and presence will continue to grow with our growing families, not fade.

So today, and every Father’s Day that follows, with these exciting new realizations in mind, I will no longer mourn his loss, but celebrate his powerful presence. I will smile at the wonderful, brand new relationship that Chris and Clementine have just begun. I will be confident that the subtle tears I still get every time I hear, and say, the word “dad” are tears of joy, not sadness.  And I will know, with certainty, that he is watching us, and that he is proud of what we have become. And lastly, I will finally let the empty space in my heart, the hollowness that I ardently protected in fear that I would forget him, be filled with new love, and new life. 

The Breastfeeding Battle

Breastfeeding has been a struggle for me from the very first day. Like all new moms, there was a learning curve with the whole process. But instead of being patient and confident that everything would resolve itself organically, I jumped at the first suggestion I received from a health professional. This decision led to a series of events that eventually resulted in my breastfeeding defeat.

It all started when it took two days post-partum for my milk to come in. This is completely normal, and perfectly fine for newborns who can absolutely survive on the colostrum that is produced before the milk. But at the time, I didn’t know this. So when I was told by our pediatrician at our 2-day checkup that Emme had lost a whole pound since birth, I panicked. Again, it is totally normal for newborns to lose weight in the first few days following delivery, but again, I did not know this. So the doctor sent in a lactation consultant who made sure Emme’s latch and position was correct, which they were. She told us that just like anything else, practice makes perfect, and we’d have it down in no time. Had I left the office at that point, the outcome would have been different, but after the lactation consultant left, the pediatrician returned with some rigid instructions: “Start pumping excessively and feeding her with a bottle as often as she’ll eat until your 2-week checkup, when we’ll weigh her again to make sure she’s back to her birth weight.”

The thing is, I had bottles at home, but we had no intention of using them until I was back at work and she was 3 months old. We had heard about nipple confusion, etc, and we didn’t want to introduce them until she was nursing like a pro. But the pediatrician’s voice and demeanor had just enough urgency in it to concern me and I immediately threw all previous plans right out the window.  From her very first bottle, Emme was a happier little bug. It’s not that she was unhappy before, but nursing for her was frustrating, (crying, thrashing her head, kicking her little legs) and I don’t think her belly was getting completely filled. But after crushing that first 4 oz. bottle in a matter of minutes, I really don’t think she ever had a chance of going back to nursing. After that, her belly was constantly full, and feeding was quick and easy. So after 2 weeks, she was back (and far beyond) her birth weight, and we were cleared to re-try nursing. And boy did we try. But at this point, she was spoiled rotten, and it would have taken a miracle. 

And that is how I became an exclusive pumper. I realized over time that there were definitely positive aspects of pumping exclusively, such as the ability to feed Emme anytime, anywhere. And anyone could do it (although I selfishly owned this task so that I could have the same bonding time with her that I would have had if I had been nursing her.) And I was producing enough milk to freeze at least two 5oz. bags a day. We had a great system going so that at any given moment, we had a fresh milk ready for feeding, two refrigerated bottles ready to be warmed, and ample frozen bags in the extremely unlikely event we would need one.  We had milk coming out of our ears. 

And then I got lazy. Because of our overabundant milk stash, and the fact that no one was dictating my pumping but my own self-motivation, I would miss or skip pumpings. I stopped waking in the middle of the night to pump. But even during the day, it was impossible to pump while taking care of Emme, so pumpings got pushed back and skipped. I completely lost my schedule, and slowly, just as it should, I started to lose my milk. It was then that the uphill battle to re-establish my milk supply began. It was a constant, stressful, emotional roller coaster. When I first began pumping, I could fill an 8oz. bottle with no problem after one pumping. When my milk supply began to lessen, I had trouble filling a 4oz. bottle. To aggravate the situation, Emme was starting to eat more, so I was barely producing enough to feed her. I did everything I could to increase my milk, accepting even the strangest suggestions. Some things helped a little, some things had no impact. I was pumping every 2-3 hours, sometimes only getting a single ounce. At the lowest point, we would pray that Emme would sleep long enough for me to produce enough milk to feed her when she woke.  A couple of times, I found myself fighting back tears; there is no worse feeling in the world than not being able to feed your child. But she never once went hungry, thanks to all the frozen milk we had stored.

At this point, many of you are probably wondering why I didn’t just use formula. From the very beginning, I have felt very, very strongly about not using formula, for many reasons. First of all, I believe that breast milk is the perfect food for babies. It is truly fascinating that this substance is so complete that it is the only thing human infants need to grow and develop. There are hundreds of properties and ingredients in breast milk, most of which cannot be re-created. Breast milk changes over the course of the day and year, to accommodate the changing dietary needs of your baby. Statistically, breastfed babies are healthier overall: Formula-fed babies are 14 times more likely to be hospitalized, and twice as likely to get ear infections, diarrhea, and to die from SIDS. These facts are no doubt the result of the process in which formula is created. It has been reported that things such as the highly explosive neurotoxic petrochemical solvent hexane are being used in the manufacturing of baby formula. Reports like this are always controversial, but I would just rather err on the side of caution and avoid formula if possible. Babies are so incredibly pure, new and precious, I hate the thought of giving them a substance that we really don’t know the origin, or even the ingredients. And finally, formula is expensive. Very, very expensive. So for all of these reasons, my goal was for my little bug to never have formula.

But my poor body could not keep up.  With the help of our frozen stash, we lasted 4 whole months on breast milk. It was Monday, at exactly 16 weeks old, that we lost the battle. With no more frozen milk, we had no choice but to give Emme her first formula.  I did my research, and chose the best possible organic formula I could find, the least of all the evils. It was a little tiny consolation that Emme seemed not to care about her new meal. And so far, she’s only had to have one bottle of formula a day. But I’ve had a hard time shaking the feeling of failure.  

In the end, the only thing that really matters is that we are all healthy. I am not giving up on my breast milk plan, and continue to down as much Mother’s Milk tea as I can handle and pump like it’s my job. With a little luck, I hope to get my milk supply back up enough to not have to use the formula. But for now, it is what it is.

Next time, there is a truckload of things I will do differently. Like most new moms, I am learning as I go. But I must remember how incredibly blessed I am that Emme is as healthy as can be, and that whether or not to use formula is the biggest of our worries.

I may have lost the battle, but I did not lose the war.