|"And then she put a new diaper on and I pooped AGAIN!"|
Modern disposable diapers are ridiculously advanced. The moisture wicking technology keeps Walter very dry and comfy and that's very good for his sensitive bum. The disposable diapers are so good and comfy that Sean's thinking we should switch to cloth when potty-training time comes as a motivator. But, for now, we are Pampers people. Size three (although those are starting to get a little snug.) Movers for the day, night-times for the night. Walter's timing for peeing right on Mom and Dad: impeccable. Blowouts: frequent. Baby's face when he's peed on Mama while she cleans him up after a blowout: so proud. But where does all that poop come from?
|A little privacy here, please?|
Definitely a touchy subject. Walter is exclusively breast milk fed. I can't tell you how lucky I feel to be able to say that. It makes me superstitiously nervous to even put it down in words, just in case something happens and I can't keep breastfeeding him. Breastfeeding has not been easy, but like I said, we've been lucky. The most persistent problem I've had is over-supply and fire hose levels of pressure which makes him cough and gag when he's eating. Sometimes he has green poop and other signs of GI distress that's probably related to this problem. But even this problem could be worse (*walks around the house frantically knocking on wood*) and usually our mealtimes go well. I love feeding Walter. It's so relaxing for both of us, it makes us both so happy. At 3:30 this morning I picked Walt up to feed him and he did his happy shimmy, gave me a hug (he really does give hugs. It's incredible!) and then planted a kiss on my cheek. He's been working on his kisses for awhile, but this was the first time I realized what he was doing. Previous to the kiss I got this morning I was pretty sure he was just hungry and trying to eat my face. But, this time, he touched my cheek with his open mouth, then brought his head back and said, "Mwah!" I kid you not. It was unmistakably a kiss. This is a long way of saying that I really look forward to mealtimes, and Walter does, too. He's very good with a bottle and Grandma and Grandpa and Daddy have all had great bonding times feeding Walt. But nursing is very special Mommy/Baby time, no doubt about it.
I have an office with a solid door that I can lock, the flexibility to pump when I need to and a safe, easy place to store the pumped milk at work. I have a flexible enough schedule that I can nurse Walter once during the day at daycare. I have a spouse and family members and colleagues and church staff and congregation members who support breastfeeding and who specifically support my breastfeeding. I have a really nice breast pump which is an expensive piece of equipment that makes it possible for me to keep my supply up and Walter's bottles full while I work full time. I am undeniably, unimaginably blessed. And lucky. And any of those things could have been different and led to us needing to switch to formula. And it could still happen. And I would be sad, but I would not feel guilty.
At Walter's one-week visit to the pediatrician, Dr. L said this: "I think you know the benefits of breastfeeding. I don't want to understate those. But I don't want to overstate them, either. If breastfeeding is not working and your relationship with your baby is suffering, then breastfeeding is not the best thing for you and your baby. Don't be hard on yourself. Whatever works best for you and your baby is what is best for you and your baby."
And a sigh of relief was heard throughout the land.
Dr. L recommends we put off introducing solids (including cereal) until Walt is 6 months old, because that seems to help with preventing some food allergies. Two more months seems like a long time to wait, especially considering the intense interest he's shown lately in everything Sean and I are eating and drinking. My favorite recent moment was at coffee hour at church. I was eating a cookie. Walter watched me intently, folded his hands very politely and gave me a "please?" look. I smiled at him. He smiled back and reached for the cookie. When I yoinked it away he barred his tiny teeth at me.
Two tiny teeth, to be precise. They showed up right in the front on the bottom on Friday, March 2, which was also the day of his 4 month well-baby visit. His stats: 20 lbs, 4 oz; 26 3/4 inches tall. 95th percentile for everything including noggin size. Charmed everyone in the doctor's office with his big smile, even giving some big smiles after getting his vaccines. Dr. L said: "He's healthy, happy and growing like a weed. If I tell you to do anything different than what you're doing now, ignore me."
Which brings us to ...
We take the literature we get from the doctor's office pretty seriously, and our 4 month take home sheet said we should gently let Walter know we're there when he wakes and cries at night, rather than rocking, holding or feeding him. We tried it out and had good success right away: a full almost 8 hours of sleep with a couple wakings that were easily met with an "I'm here, baby" here and an "It's OK, baby" there. Since then, though, not a lot of luck with this approach. He's been waking up really angry--every hour or so early in the night, then settles down a bit--and we scoop him up and comfort him with rocking, feeding, lullabies, limericks ... whatever works.
|So many things wrong with this picture|
Just thinking about all the conflicting advice out there about babies and sleeping makes my head hurt. I don't know if Sean and I really subscribe to any particular philosophy on this. We don't co-sleep because we're big people and heavy sleepers who do a lot of rolling around ... and the idea of it just makes us nervous. We try to follow the anti-SIDS guidelines but Walter seems to breathe and sleep better on his side than on his back, and sometimes there's a blanket involved, and the blanket inevitably ends up right up by his face where he seems to take immense comfort from it. We always respond when he cries. When I have the time and the opportunity, I like to hold him while he sleeps. Sometimes we snooze a little together in the rocking recliner I like to nurse him in. He sleeps much better when he's held than when we put him down in his play yard. When I put him down in the crib he grabs my arm to stop me from pulling away; often, he wakes up and cries. We try to keep him up and active during the day, but if he sleeps and stays sleeping, we let him, even if it means a more wakeful night.
There are probably things we could be doing better or should be doing differently. I've gotten great advice and lots of help from friends who have been there and done this before. We try new things, we try to be flexible and responsive, we try to pay attention to what's changing with Walt. Funny story about that. We read somewhere sometime before Walt was born that he could/should sleep in a bassinet in our room until he was 6 months old. Great! Plenty of time to get the nursery ready after he's born! At about 2 am on March 1 I woke up to some squeakings from the bassinet. When I investigated, I found Walter had rolled over onto his belly and was doing tummy time exercises, lifting his little head and shoulders proudly. "Oh no," I said. "No more bassinet for you." As I scooped him up, he gave me a huge smile and a look that said clearly: "Accomplishment, Mama! Accomplishment!"
The nursery is almost done, thanks in large part to help from Auds and Curt and a young man from our congregation--B is coming back tomorrow evening to help Sean assemble the crib and get some final basic things together so we can make the big move by the end of the week. For now, Walt is sleeping in his playyard in our room (in the bassinet setting, which is deep and wide enough that we're not worried about him rolling out/tipping the whole thing over.) Some nights are hard, some nights are pretty great. Almost every night, something funny or wonderful or absurd happens. One night last week, I sang Walt his lullaby and it worked. Like in the movies or on sitcoms. As soon as I started singing he stopped crying, listened intently, and then his eyelids got heavy and he did this perfect slow blink right into sleepyland and 7 straight hours of independent sleeping. Glorious. The next night I tried it again and he laughed at me. Not just little giggles--big, huge belly laughs. Almost maniacal. I think there was at least one "bwha ha ha" in there.
Tonight I came home from midweek worship sad and worried (see this post from earlier tonight.) But I also came home to a hungry baby, who nursed sweetly (no biting!), fell asleep, stayed asleep for the arms-to-bed transfer, and is still sleeping. I can hear him snertle-ing away, not too far from me. I was able to pray while I nursed him and rocked him to sleep, and that somehow made me feel more connected to my dear ones far away, and to God who is nursing us and cradling us and watching over all of us tonight.
Sleep well, children of God. And blessings on all of the other important parts of life, too.