Cannot believe it's been two and a half weeks since the baby bomb. It has been a blur of sleepless nights, crying (mom and baby), breastfeeding woes, doctor's appointments, nursing moms meetings, snuggles, baby kisses, book readings, tummy time, projectile pooping and golden showers.
Breastfeeding did NOT get off to a good start. During Vincent's first week home, my milk did not come in. Within 2 days, baby was down more than 10% of his body weight and dehydrated. A lactation specialist hooked us up with a feeding tube that, while well-intended, undermined the breastfeeding process and caused Vincent bad reactions to formula (first milk, then soy) and then gas from binge-feeding off the tube. It was hell for him, especially.
Thankfully, things turned around beginning mid-last week. My milk came in, thanks to daily oatmeal and copious amounts of fenugreek pills that I take, which makes me smell like maple syrup all the time and gives me a constant dull headache. He hasn't had formula supplements since Sunday. *whew*
He's been colicky, but we noticed that he's crying less and settling down more now that he's off the formula and strictly on breastmilk. I don't think this is a coincidence, given Bobzilla's family history of soy, corn and wheat allergies.
Now, his weight is back up. He's gained over a pound and grew over an inch during the last two weeks. And he is doing better every day. Filling out and chunking up. Looking more adorable. He's vocalizing more and can almost lift his head more consistently.
We haven't had visitors yet because of the instability. The lack of social contact is giving me a complex. I actually got excited to go with Bob to get the car's oil changed. Even wore earrings.
Yesterday, we took Vincent out for a run on the jogging stroller, along with the dog. It was beautiful out (read: gray, windy and 60 degrees) and I was chomping at the bit to get my running shoes and MOVE. Well as soon as we started running on the jogging trail, my rushed return to physical fitness was poorly thought out. My uterus felt like it was going to drop out and I peed myself. Ok then. I guess there's some truth to the whole 6 week post-partum recovery period.
Weight wise, I just weighed myself for the first time the other day and saw that I'm 13 pounds heavier than I was pre-pregnancy. I cannot fit in my size 6 jeans, but am comfortably hanging in my size 10 Levis and yoga pants. I ain't complaining. As it is, I think I'm losing weight from the breastfeeding alone. Plus, I think half of that gain is boob weight. I am practically Tura Satana proportions at the moment (RIP, Tura). I am ravenous and thirsty constantly. But, man, do I miss my workouts. Six weeks cannot get here soon enough.
Still, in spite of all of this, I would not change a thing. Not. A. Single. Thing.
Our little parasite is worth it all. Every day I look forward to new experiences with him, to giving him kisses, washing his face, changing his clothes, singing to him, wearing him in the Moby around the house, and watching him at his 6:oo a.m. feeding (it's the funniest thing ever....he throws both of his hands back like claws, bugs out his eyes, opens his mouth wide and then dives face-first into the boob).
He's my everything.
