Reassurance and excitement

Today a lactation consultant confirmed that my nipples do indeed look like they are recovering. Also, I got the appropriate dosage of nifedipine (30 mg/day slow dose), which is reducing the episodes of burning pain and nipples changing color. I have to continue the diet for a few weeks after I stop the diflucan, but signs are indicating that perhaps, maybe, I’m close to returning to normal.

I asked the consultant about our trip away next weekend, thinking that perhaps I could/should try to start pumping and see if I could get enough for a night away. She advised against it, saying that if Willow hasn’t even taken a bottle yet, then I suddenly leave for almost 24 hours, that could cause a nursing strike. She said I didn’t need any additional problems to deal with, and since I’d have to pump while away anyway, perhaps it’s not so different to have her there. So she’s coming along, but I feel better that it’s the best thing to do in the circumstances.

I also received some helpful information on pumping. We are planning to travel for the month preceding my return to work and I know from experience that I’m not going to keep up regular pumping while traveling. So I basically have the next three months to start building up a supply in the freezer.

The consultant suggested starting out with pumping once a day for 20 minutes, so I did so when Willow took her afternoon nap. I have an old hospital-grade Lactina Select that I purchased off Ebay when I was about to lose my supply with River. I sat on the couch, watched TV and got just over two ounces. Not bad.

It’s been a while since I’ve heard the whir of the breastpump. It’s a noise that lodges in your brain, a constant vroom, whish, vroom. I recall the moments spent pumping in the passenger seat of the car, in the driver’s seat, in a classroom with an unlocked door, in bathrooms, where I cringed with embarrassment at the loud noise that could easily spook someone who is not thinking about breastfeeding. I’m not too thrilled to spend a lot of time attached to that thing, but I also need to be able to get away, so I’m glad it’s available.

In other news, the trip we planned to Wisconsin Dells has now turned into a month-long journey. I received a brochure for a conference the other day and almost threw it right into the trash. This was the same conference I went to when River was eight months old and almost lost my milk supply during the nine days away. I wasn’t going to do that again. But instead of throwing it away, I held on to it just to read through, in the same way I flip longingly through the dessert cookbooks. Food porn and intellectual porn.

Then I realized that the dates weren’t so far off from our planned trip. We changed the plans a little bit, my parents agreed to take River for the week, and I did a little research that leads me to believe I could take Willow with me, getting enough childcare to give me plenty of time, but being able to feed her at night, in the mornings, and perhaps even once during the day.

A month away is a long time and has its stresses. But I figured I should use the freedom while I have it. Granted, we aren’t going to any exotic destinations, but I’m super excited to be able to see family, to spend some family time as tourists, and to be able to do something of interest to me, while still caring for Willow. It’s as close to an adventure as I can get these days, so I plan to make the most of it.

Our scheduled escape, or not

Before River was born, I purchased a night away for Mark and I in early March. I thought I’d start pumping early and that two months would be plenty of time to store up enough supply for a night away.

Two months after her birth and one week before our scheduled escape, I haven’t pumped once.

My excuse is that I’ve been waiting for the thrush to go away. I didn’t want to infect the equipment, nor did I want to add the time it takes to pump to my to-do list.

The signs of thrush are beginning to diminish and I’m hopeful we are getting better. Yet I still find myself reluctant to pump. Looking at the big blue box, which looks like it might contain a construction worker’s tools, I’m brought back to what inspired the purchase – nine days away from River with a defective pump, during which I lost a good deal of my milk supply.

Thinking I’d be on “vacation” away from him, instead I set my alarm for every two hours at night, pored over the internet looking for ideas on how to increase supply, and finally contacted a local hospital and rented a hospital-grade pump for a few days. I felt miserable, desperate, as though I was failing him, despite the fact that I rationally knew then, and still know now, that not breastfeeding him is not the end of the world. Though I managed to continue breastfeeding another 3-4 months, I felt I was just hobbling along for that period, getting him a bit each day, but not much more. I thought I’d screwed things up.

This time I find myself frightened to do anything that will mess with my supply. As long as she gets all of her milk from breastfeeding, I’ll make enough and she’ll get enough. Once I start pumping and there is milk in the freezer, whoever is caring for her may turn quickly to a frozen pack, whereas now, there is no choice but wait until I return. I’m scared to mess with the cycle, for fear that I’ll goof things up again.

I have no choice but to pump, eventually. I’ll have to start a supply that can be used when I return to work. Since it looks like we may be traveling for about a month shortly before I go, it’s probably a good idea to start building that supply soon.

Nevertheless, I’m hesitant. I don’t want to do it. As much as I’d like to get away and have a bit of a life, for now, I’m OK with carting her along with me and being available to her. Just as we are maybe, hopefully, coming towards the end of a long battle to get breastfeeding on track, I’m scared to do anything that will throw it off again.

Which may mean that Willow will accompany us on our anniversary night away.

The 6 a.m. Morning Wake-Up

I’m writing this at 6:43 a.m. Believe it or not, I’m up at 6:43 a.m. every day, weekends included. But River is not. How did that happen?

For quite a while, River woke up at 6 a.m. on the dot. So I started to get used to it, though I didn’t like it. Then he began to sleep a little later, until 6:30 or so. I realized that if I got up at six, I could get a couple of ounces of milk by pumping, and maybe I could get something done – like prepare myself tea or breakfast.

Recently, River starting doing me the favor of sleeping until 7, 7:30, sometimes even 8. But I’m still up at 6 a.m. on the dot. I argue that it’s because I want to pump. That’s true, I do. I’m able to get a few ounces, which eventually goes into the freezer stockpile, and there is still plenty for River when he awakes.

But what really gets me up now is the Time to Myself. Even when I’m pumping, it’s quiet and peaceful. When I finish, from 6:20 until whenever River awakes is my time. I make myself a cup of tea. I surf the web. I write. I do the little things I’ve been meaning to do but can’t find time for. I plan my day. But I refuse to do household work. This is me time. And I love it.

My husband takes his me time in the evening. From 8 p.m. on, often into the wee hours of the morning, the shared office is his. Once I go to bed, I’m sure he basks in the quiet calm and in the knowledge that no one will bother him.

He gets more time than I do and his might be of a better quality – he knows that his quiet time is unlimited as long as he remains up. My quiet time can end at any moment – as soon as River needs me. But that’s OK. I get the benefit of the early morning sun – something I always wanted to enjoy. I feel like I’m ahead of everyone else by a little bit by being up and interacting with the world before most are even conscious. Most of all, I have glorious me time with no distractions. No one is going to stop by, call, or probably even email at this hour. My mind is free to focus on the things I want to think about. What a treat.

If I Had to Do it Over Again

If I had it to do over again

If I had the opportunity to go through pregnancy and first childbirth again, knowing what I know now, these are the things I would do differently, and the things I would do the same.

Things I would do over:

• I would restrain my intake of sweets and other junk food during the third trimester and after the birth. Then again, maybe that indulgence was what got me through the experience emotionally. However, it also left me with some extra fat cells that are feeling at home in my body.
• Start pumping earlier – I didn’t start until six or seven weeks, when my supply was probably already established at just the level River needed. As a result, I never had excess and I didn’t get much pumping. I imagine it would have been hard to return to work and continue breastfeeding at 12 weeks. But I did enjoy the one-on-one time with baby, without having a machine attached to me as well. Maybe I’d start a bit earlier if I had it to again, but not a lot.
• Get a hospital grade pump right away – I didn’t research pumps and didn’t even realize there is a difference between hospital grades and those you can purchase in stores. I’d buy one used on ebay (as I ended up doing when River was 8 months old). Lactina Selects are now running about $350 used and seem to maintain their value pretty well.

Things I would definitely do again:

• Hire a Doula
• Have a good swing available from day 1
• Arrange for household help for the first two months – especially, someone to pass the baby off to in the mornings after sleepless nights
• Use cloth diapers
• Do prenatal yoga
• Treat myself to prenatal massages
• Get out of the house and continue on with life, taking baby along for the ride
• Have at least five months maternity leave
• Involve my husband in as many aspects of the experience as possible.

Nine Days Without Baby - Day 6

I’ve started to think that I traveled to Iowa to pump instead of to study. With a minimum of eight sessions per day at 20 minutes each, I’m pumping two hours and forty minutes a day. With at least one middle-of-the-night pump and a six a.m. pump, my fantasies of full nights of sleep remain elusive.

My schedule is determined by pumping. I’d love to get up early in the morning and go to a wonderful local coffee shop, with dim lights and a deep interior full of wooden tables and soft chairs. Instead, I stay home until I must be somewhere so that I can pump as long as possible.

I can feel that my breasts are full, only I still get two ounces or less with each pumping. I’m sure if River was here he could find himself a satisfying meal after the pump is no longer able to get another drop. It’s a shame that I can’t find a pump that can extract more, but I’m crossing my fingers that I’m maintaining enough of a supply that we can get back on track when I got home. If not, I’m wasting a lot of time.

When I called home I got to hear River babble into the phone. Mark says he isn’t acting any differently.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you when you get here,” he said. “He’s excited to see me when I get home. But he’s not the kind of guy to let the absence of anyone keep him from enjoying what he has at the moment.”

I think that is one of the first lessons my child is teaching me by example. Maybe we’d all be as continually happy as he is if we could only find joy in whatever the present brought and not worry about the things we were missing at the time.

Nine Days Without Baby - Day 4

I think this could be called panic day. As my milk supply remained low, and went even lower, I wondered how I could possibly maintain it for another week. I feared losing the supply, returning home and not being able to breastfeed anymore.

I’d been rather lax about pumping lately. I thought he’d passed the six month mark, he’s healthy, and I need time to be a person too. So he’d been receiving breastmilk when I was around, formula when I wasn’t. I knew that if he grew out of breastfeeding soon that he’d be a healthy and happy baby.

However, being away from him and suddenly faced with the thought of my supply drying up made me realize that I wasn’t ready for the intimacy of breastfeeding him to end. I considered flying home. I spent all evening reading articles online, looking for products that could help me. For the first time, I realized there is a difference between my Medela Pump-In-Style and the pumps women rent from hospitals (hospital grade pumps).

I cringed when I read women writing about their milk “drying up.” It’s such a horrible term, connoting withering, dryness, age and barrenness. Even though I rationally knew there was nothing wrong with starting to focus on my own life and interests now, emotionally I felt that if I returned home “dried up,” I’d be a failure as a mother. I would feel so guilty for denying him any more access to breastmilk, for breaking that bond of intimacy between us, so that I could pursue my own interests for a week.

I upped my fenugreek to three tablets three times a day, I downed water and Nursing Mother tea, I pumped, I tried to get more protein and rest, I researched hospital-grade pumps, I even researched medicine said to increase milk supply. Someone told me I should pump at least eight times a day for 20 minutes each time. That’s not easy when I need to be outside of the house sometimes. So I ended up pumping in the bathroom.

I knew the whirring noise probably freaked people out. And it wasn’t very comfortable for me on the toilet either. Once a woman asked, “What is that noise?” When I called out “a breastpump,” she told me my baby would sure appreciate it, that both her daughters had nursed, and they had never had to use a bathroom stall.

Mom hikes the cloudforest

Yesterday I took a long hike through the cloudforest, a 12-kilometer mostly uphill trek between Boquete and Cerro Punta. The Sendero de los Quetzales, or Quetzal Trail, was the first trail made by the indigenous inhabitants of this region and was used to facilitate trade between these two towns. It runs along one side of the Baru volcano (the only active volcano out of 64 in Panama – one of its three craters is active). It’s also supposed to be a place where one has a good chance of seeing the quetzal bird. According to our guide Alvaro, this bird is one of the most beautiful in the world.

The area was beautiful, with all kinds of mushrooms, ferns, plants and flowers growing alongside the trail. The thick forest surrounded us with vines, ferns and trees, some new growth, others remants from the primal forest. As we walked, the sound of various bird calls rang through the silence and we breathed in the scent of decomposition and fresh moss.

I’m sure the forest contained all kinds of treasures. Most unfortunately, our guide didn’t seem to be familiar with them at all. He clearly wasn’t an avid birder and didn’t even know how to use the binoculars someone lent him. So while he pointed out a few things to us, I know we passed by a lot of the forest’s secrets. And we didn’t see a quetzal, though we heard their calls.

The trail was fairly difficult. Much of it was uphill. And while there were stairs in some places, they weren’t in very good conditions. Some had rotted out, requiring large steps upward. That, plus the gain in elevation, eventually became very tiring. Just as we reached the halfway point, at 2200 meters, I began to wheeze.

Luckily, some rest, some juice, and the guide slowing down the pace helped. I felt a light pounding in my head, which I associate with altitude, but it wasn’t too bad and felt better during the rest of the way. I did stop then to pump – my first time pumping in a cloudforest.

A beautiful view greeted us at the end – bushes flush with white flowers with purple-shaded centers, which Alvaro said were called novios (or couples). Their scent perfumed the air. Up upon a hill stood a statue of a virgin. And we could look out over the agricultural valley and down into the town of Cerro Punta.

The start of the hike wasn’t too far from Boquete. And we only hiked 12 kilometers. So both the other woman on the tour and I were surprised when the return trip was well over an hour, through the town of David. Apparently, because of the national park, there is no direct road. The need for the trail to facilitate trade became much more apparent.

Coming down from the mountain, we passed a bunch of stands selling strawberries, which grow here year round. I bought a dish of strawberries with cream (a very sweet sticky cream) for a dollars, as well as strawberry bread, homemade granola, and from a neighboring vegetable stand, plump orange carrots and top-like magenta beets. They were also selling a variety of fresh honey and jams made from the various local fruits, including tomatoes.

I was so exhausted in the evening, both from the hike and from the fact that River has been waking up repeatedly at night that I didn’t do much besides care for River, go to bed, then get up throughout the night to feed him. The family took care of him while I was gone. When I returned, he was grinning and they were enchanted with him. They are babysitting today as well, for the first time giving me the chance to get some work done and stroll through the town.