Pictures of the menagerie

Alice, an African grey parrot. Yes, she talks. ALL THE TIME. She’s about to turn five but will perpetually act two. Is frequently in time-out. Naughty, funny, sweet, brilliant. Enjoys peanuts, flying, temper tantrums, destruction, and cuddling with Daddy.

Siblings Tang and Pudding. Twelve years old. Very sleepy. They like sleeping in sunshine, eating, vomiting, escaping, and being petted. Big fans of the nursery. Pudding (the grey one) is Baby’s best friend in the world.

Ah, Loki. Handsome, loving, immense (140 pounds). Kind of lazy, super affectionate. Loves bones, eating in general. Can sit, shake, lie down, stay (can, not necessarily will). Incredibly gentle with children. Thinks Baby smells neat.

His sister Freya. Shy, vigilant (way better than Loki as a guard dog), a little sad, sweet. Really quite gorgeous and smart. 60 pounds (“the little one”). Loki and Freya are almost five.

We also used to have rabbits. The last one, Inga, went to live with my mother when I was pregnant because we just had (have?) too many pets. I, inexplicably, adopted the rabbits in college. Inga’s main interests are eating and destroying things. She used to jump from the floor onto the washer and dryer and eat their knobs. That’s when she wasn’t eating the wooden quarter round or the trim on the door or the electrical wires or the baby gate keeping her in her play area. Yes, God love ‘er.

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This is my 100th entry! Wow! This post was inspired by this pretty girl.

My babysitter has PCOS!

For about three hours a week someone besides me or my husband has to watch Baby while I am in class for my graduate degree. My mother has been driving two hours each way to do it since Baby disdained the in-home daycare we tried, but I’m thinking a backup caregiver is in order.

I posted an ad through a local college and had several young women contact me. Since I used to babysit in college, responding to the exact same kind of ad, and I’m not that much older than the students, it feels a little strange to be on the other side of the babysitting relationship. What’s funniest is that I recall my absolute, uninterested, unthinking adherence to whatever the parents wanted me to do to care for their children–and how I was totally unaware of the politics and opinions that drove the parents’ requests. Like requiring the children to cry themselves to sleep, or feeding a two-month-old rice cereal in a bottle, things I now feel are inappropriate for my own child. I wonder, as I describe my practices to the applicants during their interviews, if they will remember judgmentally what I do with Baby when they are raising their own children, if my preoccupation with not wasting my milk will ring in their ears as neurotic or sensible.

Both of the girls (as they call themselves) I’ve seen so far want to be doctors (I don’t know if more people want to be doctors nowadays or what, but it also seems like everyone I went to college with is in medical school now, too). The first one I saw wants to be a pediatrician, “because babies are always so happy.” Hahaha! She was a little awkward with Baby, too, so no to her. The second babysitter I liked quite a lot. Confident and experienced, she was smart enough to mention how adorable Baby is numerous times.

We also talked a little about her plans. She is a sophomore in college now and plans to become pregnant in the fall of her senior year, have a baby, take a year off, and then do medical school at the normal pace. Hahaha to that, too (which I kept to myself). I always get a kick out of people that say when they want to conceive since my plans involve the word “if” rather than “when”. I have a good friend who will say, “We’ll get pregnant again in [month] next year.” Of course, she’s fertile so she’s usually pretty right about that.

But this poor girl also confided to me that not only does she have PCOS, but due to this, she lost an ovary. Now, I’ve absolutely never heard of complications from PCOS leading to an ovaryectomy (I looked it up, that’s what it’s called), so I don’t know what’s going on there, but the poor girl has irregular cycles (which with PCOS could very well be anovulatory at that) and one ovary and has given herself a four-month window of conceiving?

I tried to be positive with her about this plan of hers but was compelled to confide it had taken us 2.5 years and Metformin (which she has been prescribed but neglects to take since it has a “risk of sudden death”) to conceive. I also mentioned to her that my milk supply issues are likely due to PCOS, that one third of women with PCOS have too much milk, one third have the right amount, and one third too little. That’s right, Goldilocks.

I couldn’t stop myself from telling her about the milk supply PCOS angle: I just so very much wish I had been able to be mentally prepared for my problems–and even more than that, wish that I could have done something to ameliorate them during pregnancy, like take Metformin the whole time, or the various pregnancy-safe lactation-supporting herbs. It almost seemed my duty not to keep this knowledge from her. Of course she may not even care about breastfeeding, but at the very least, I might have gotten her to take her Metformin so she can get pregnant and launch her insane medical school/small baby plan with ease.

In the end, if I were going to hire a babysitter, it would probably be PCOS Girl. But I just don’t think I can do it. I keep planning to have her come over for a test run, but I can’t get myself to call her. The worst part of having been a babysitter (and at one point, a full-time nanny) is that I know how much less a sitter would care about my baby than I–not that they would be abusive, but that they would not be properly awed by Baby’s excellence in the way my immediate family is, the way I am.

…wow, Baby’s not going to be spoiled AT ALL, huh?

A personality for pumping

You have to be a certain type of person to pump exclusively, or to pump at all. It’s really, I believe, above and beyond the call of duty to pump, and requires a lot from a person, from a family. That’s why, despite what some assume, given my dedication to providing my milk to Baby by pumping, that I don’t get all judgey about people who choose not to do it, or who aren’t able to (financially, physically, logistically, emotionally, or personality-wise). This goes for at-breast supplementers, nipple shield users, etc., too–anything more difficult than simply nursing.

There’s a certain obsessive-compulsiveness necessary to keep up with the scheduling, the measuring, the logging, the washing that come with pumping, and not everybody is in a place to do it. And of course that’s fine. The stars aligned so that exclusively pumping is relatively easy for me: it fits my personality (thanks, generalized anxiety disorder!), and plus, I’m at home all the time with a baby who is a good sleeper and no other kids; I can pump hands-free and play on my laptop; I can afford all the pumping paraphernalia, the galactagogues, and the pump itself; I have a supportive husband and a good IBCLC and excellent online and real life friends who encourage and advise me. All these things make a huge difference.

Unlike many women, especially women with breastfeeding issues, I didn’t suffer from post-partum depression. Oh, I had the baby blues in the first couple of weeks, mostly because I was having so much trouble breastfeeding, sure. I called my mother and cried about how I couldn’t carry a baby to term, how I couldn’t birth a baby (c-section), how I couldn’t breastfeed. But I recovered relatively quickly, and built my maternal self-esteem through throwing myself into my lactation efforts. I can’t imagine launching into my grueling pumping schedule, coupled with the usual difficulties of newborn care, while seriously, darkly, depressed–all the while at home alone with a confusing newborn with her endless, unclear needs. It would have made things worse, I am sure, seeing how little milk I was making, how slowly the increase came, coming to terms with not nursing my baby like I had planned, expected, deamed.

I’ve been depressed–I had a psychologist and a psychiatrist and Lexapro, all a result of my infertility–so I know how debilitating depression can be. If serious post-partum depression had been an issue for me, pumping would have been an impossibility–as it was for a friend of mine. Her son didn’t latch on, and she, like me, couldn’t pump very much in the beginning. When post-partum depression kicked in, she had to abandon breastfeeding, and her son is thriving nonetheless. It was the right decision for her, like I feel continuing pumping has been for me. It’s just not a big burden for me as it was for her.

There are other reasons not to get on my high horse about exclusively pumping when others chose to go to 100% formula in the wake of latching or supply issues: in some ways it’s not good for my baby that I pump, that I have persevered so with my lactation efforts. Sometimes it takes me away from her, and back in the early days, the entire breastfeeding enterprise made me frustrated with her. If either of those had become more serious, lingering problems, all the human milk in the world would not be worth the emotional price.

I consider my baby lucky, on the whole, to have a mother just crazy enough to pump exclusively, especially through low supply–just imbalanced enough, in just the right direction, to keep on keeping on. That’s what exclusively pumping takes.

The world as a village of a hundred people

Go here to learn things about your fellow homo sapiens sapiens and various factoids of interest about the world’s population distributions (this website is called Antropologa, after all).

The graphics are a little annoying in a couple of different ways, just FYI.

I first learned about these disparities when I volunteered for Heifer Project International, which I totally recommend you support by the way.

P.S.: More nipple-shieldless nursing!

P.P.S.: I am not totally delighted with the things that people are googling to get to this site. You know, things that juxtapose “dad*y” and “play*ng” and “my nip*les.” Ew!

Things we like at our house

Children’s music:

Philadelphia Chickens from Sarah Boynton. This is a children’s book/CD combo. Clever and catchy.

Quiet Time and Baby Beluga from Raffi. Classic. Husband hates ‘em.

What kind of cat are you?! by Billy Jonas. More cleverness, catchiness.

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Chocolate Stout Cake.

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Dr. Hale’s Breastfeeding and Medications Forum. Want/need to take something and breastfeeding and want to make sure it’s safe? (Breastfeeding mothers includes exclusive pumpers! That might seem obvious, but EPing can screw with your head and make you forget you count as such). This, NOT your doctor’s Physician’s Desk Reference, is the place to check out the safety the medication if you don’t have access to Dr. Hale’s book, Medications and Mother’s Milk. (Though any pro-breastfeeding online forum will have some lady with this book who can look it up for you, too).

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Websites about letting baby lead the introduction of solid foods (Baby’s still just on milk, but we are thinking about introducing solids like this, to counteract the mother-led feeding she is getting from the bottle):

Baby led weaning (thanks K at Intrepid Murmurings for the link!)

That Dutch site (in English).

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Motherlove milk supply-boosting tinctures, which, though grody-tasting, DO STUFF!

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Websites about avoiding environmental contaminants at home:

Avoiding hormone disruptors (good for PCOSers).

Avoiding toxic chemicals.

And tips from J at the Leery Polyp. And her post on kids’ stuff in particular.

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In honor of all the info about avoiding plastics I bring to you a picture of my baby (something we like very much) enjoying same.

I am pleased to report…

…that Baby nursed this morning WITHOUT the nipple shield for a couple of minutes and, judging from my pumping output immediately thereafter, got about 3/4 of an ounce (leaving about an ounce in the breast)!

I felt I should try to nurse but wasn’t up to wrangling with that darn nipple shield, so I did my best to latch her on, confidently and nonchalantly, and she sucked and did stuff (I don’t know how nursing is supposed to feel so I don’t know how “right” we did it) and got some milk! I don’t think the latch was good (or she would have gotten more milk–but then she did refuse the bottle afterwards, so maybe she got all she wanted) but I don’t know how to improve it. It didn’t hurt at least. And she got the feel of real breast in her mouth, and a nice, strong, morning milk flow, so maybe we can do it again sometime!

Baby: 8/19/06-1/18/07

I made a slideshow of Baby’s first five months (for the in-laws, who live in Sweden, to enjoy, but you can enjoy it too, if you like looking at INCREDIBLY ADORABLE babies, that is).

In other news, I hate Flickr. What do they have against chronological slideshows?

A day in the life of an exclusive pumper

Over the past couple of months we have gotten into a comfortable rhythm of pumping, housework, and of course, baby upkeep and entertainment.

I have cut down on the frantic pace of pumping 12-13 times a day and usually do it 8 times a day now.

And Baby has a fantastically enjoyable little schedule going. She fell into the schedule all by herself; I just had to pay attention and do what I could to respect it. It wasn’t until she was three months old or so that this came about, though. All times are “-ish”.

8 AM: Baby wakes up talking, sometimes crying if I don’t get with it fast enough, but as she has gotten older, she is more content to talk to herself for a while before I get out of bed to exchange good morning smiles. I sleep in the same room so I hear her easily.

Then she eats a little bit–usually not all the I pumped during the middle-of-the-night feeding. She is not a morning eater.

8:30 AM: I pump while Baby entertains herself in her swing. She’s in a good mood in the morning so can play with her favorite cube toy for the half-hour or so the morning pump takes. Sometimes, like this morning, she is propped up in bed beside me, playing with my tubing for my pump, instead. This is fun for all involved–until it’s not.

After that, she has a diaper change and is put into her clothes for the day. I still wander about in my nightclothes.

9 AM: We go downstairs, talk to all the animals, Mommy has food. And coffee. Baby might sit in her swing while Mommy does housework.

11 AM: Baby starts her morning nap in Mommy’s arms downstairs, with her pacifier in her mouth in the cradle hold, and is eventually transferred upstairs to her crib.

Sometime during the morning nap I pump, maybe shower.

12-1 PM: After Baby awakens, she’ll eat, have a diaper change, and we usually have an outing or play- and storytime at home. Yesterday we went to the park with a friend and her daughter, for example. I will wash my pump stuff sometime and pump again.

Every time I wash my pump stuff, I take my galactagogues (plus once in the middle of the night).

1 PM: If Baby’s morning nap was short, she’ll take a second nap now, often falling asleep in the car if we’ve been out and so I’ll pump then. If she had a good nap before, she may play in her Exersaucer or in her gym or swing while I pump, or we’ll play or Baby will supervise my housework.

Then, more eating on the part of Baby (she eats every three hours or so during the day).

2 PM: A diaper change, and Mommy requires food. Baby sits in Mommy’s lap attempts to swipe my fork at every turn, or she sits in her high chair and practices holding her spoon and sippy cup (or banging them together and flinging them on the floor–you know, whatever) while I look at cookbooks and we talk to the birdie.

2:30: Pumping? Maybe an outing? Outings in the cold weather seem to be trips to various stores where we usually just window shop, but sometimes we get together with friends at parks or for shopping.

3-4: Another nap. Pumping. Diapering. Then playtime, then food.

Playtime means wandering around the house looking at the animals, or floortime, or a walk, or dancing around with Mommy, or getting the mail and then sorting it and playing with the envelopes, or sitting and bouncing on the bouncy ball, or storytime, or, and this is pretty frequent, Baby sitting in Mommy’s lap exploring various objects, like books, stuffed animals, toys, bits of cloth, whatever, while Baby and Mommy comment.

These late afternoon hours can be a little boring for Mommy, trying to find things to do to entertain Baby. Luckily, the animals are always fascinating. Pudding can usually be counted on to come around and cause Baby to lunge towards her, repeatedly, trying to “pet” her.

6 PM: Daddy comes home! Playtime with Daddy while Mommy pumps. Daddy is super fun.

Often then we all go to the grocery store or to a home improvement store while Daddy ponders a new grill or something.

7:30: More food for Baby. Diaper and night clothes.

Then bedtime around 8. This may not stick (the falling asleep bit) but it still isn’t a long drawn-out process, so that’s good.

Wash pump stuff. Then Mommy pumps.

8:30: Mommy has dinner, maybe watches some TV and/or talks to Daddy, then pumps, then goes to bed. Hopefully Baby has stayed asleep.

Daddy washes bottles and pump parts. Yay Daddy!

2-4 AM: Baby awakens for food; usually this is her mostly-formula feeding as the human milk for the day has been consumed, and then goes back to sleep (hopefully without delay). Mommy pumps, goes back to bed.

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I love having a schedule and so does Baby, and I know that sleep begets sleep. And sleep also begets happy Baby! But it’s not so much a schedule as a regular sequence of events. knowing when Baby is going to be hungry or tired has helped me to understand her signals better, and I am no longer frantically casting about wondering what is wrong.

I’m so happy Baby goes to bed pretty easily now; it’s good for my mental health. And all the naps (short as they are–about 40 minutes) are great. We’re lucky. If I had a baby that didn’t sleep as well, or wouldn’t tolerate my putting her down sometimes (I think I bought her acceptance of being held in contraptions occasionally by holding her the vast majority of the time), I’d never be able to exclusively pump.

5 months old

You’re now five months old. Five! What a big girl. There are so many things you can do now: you’re starting to be able to sit unassisted, you can hold your head all the way up when you’re on your tummy and use your hands to play with toys, you can talk and talk and talk (AHHHH, ehhh), you make friends with strangers when we’re out and about, you can drink from a sippy cup (well, you tried it once, and it went well, at least), and you can grab at everything you see!

This last one is your obsession. First you were grabbing your feet all the time, and toys, but now all things are fair game: Mommy’s hair, Mommy’s cup, Daddy’s fork, Mommy’s glasses, Daddy’s shirt, Mommy’s book, Mommy’s telephone, Daddy’s beard, Daddy’s computer, Daddy’s watch, Mommy’s necklace, and on and on. You especially like paper products, like crinkly envelopes, paper towel holders, and magazines. And sometimes you’ll get two things in your hands (like a cup and spoon—you’re still just on milk, but we’ve given you food serving items to play with so you get used to them) and bang them together over and over. You like to pat things, too, like the couch, or Mommy, repeatedly.

Besides grabbing things, you like sticking things in your mouth and exploring them there, particularly your hands. There was a period of time where your hands were constantly in your mouth, so much so they were getting wrinkly from being wet!

Sometimes I’ll notice when you’re having one of your firsts, like going to your first birthday party; your first time in a mall; your first experience of a thunderstorm; your first time sitting in your high chair; your first time in a playground swing and on a slide. Other things have happened gradually as you’ve gotten older, like gaining control of your head, starting to drool, being more alert and aware of your world, sleeping longer at a stretch, and how big you are (almost 15 pounds now!).

You love to watch our animals and are always reaching out trying to pet the cats, especially Pudding (she’s your favorite). Sometimes you’ll grab a big fistful of her fur and hold it tight, though! You like to stare at Alice, the parrot, and watch her fly across the kitchen to her cage. And when the puppies playfight, you always observe carefully, like a little wildlife biologist.

You’re a friendly, playful, smart, delightful, strong little girl. People always stop us when we are out to tell us how beautiful and adorable you are, and we always tell them “We know!” You’re constantly amazing us with your new talents and interests.

Right now you think a lot of things are very, very funny, like Mommy’s face in your hair, or diaper changes, or when Mommy pretends to eat your feet and hands, or Daddy kisses your tummy, or when Daddy helps you to fly, or Mommy buzzes and pokes your nose, or Daddy makes funny noises. We love to hear you laugh! And you are very, very loud right now—squealing, shrieking at the top of your lungs. You love to hear the sounds you make!

Keep up the good work, little lady. We’re proud of you! You’re such a curious little thing and we love the new perspective on the world you show us. We can tell how much more interested you are in the world around you because when we carry you now you always want to be held looking forward, and will whip yourself around so you can see what’s going on!

With love,
Mommy

Playthings

Public pumping

Last night I had to pump in a public place for the first time (besides the hospital).

Usually I just don’t venture too far from home, but I’ve started back to one graduate class this semester, and what with the commute and the long one-night-a-week-class, I’m out of the house for five hours. So I need to pump.

There really aren’t any breaks during class so I just quietly made my way out about halfway through with my big black bag with my Lactina and accessories. I wasn’t sure where to pump (I figured an empty classroom), but popping into the bathroom before I decided where to go I discovered that they had recently renovated the restrooms in the building. It had a spacious anteroom that was clean, had covered benches, an outlet…it looked good.

I put the nursing cover-up on that I had bought in pregnancy (another item, like my nursing bras that I use for hands-free pumping, re-purposed for my own peculiar lactational needs) and hooked myself up. It was hard to do compressions without good access through the cover-up or being able to see, and I couldn’t really tell when I was done, not being able to see if I was still dripping and not having a watch–plus, feeling kind of rushed since I was missing class. I ended up not collecting as much as I should have for the time lapse since my last pump, but it was fine. Nobody even walked in; there were no confused coeds to calm, no irate grandmotherly types to ignore. Pretty boring story, really. I never thought I would consent to pump in a public bathroom but really it was just fine. The only thing I’ll do differently next time is bring some paper towels to set pump parts on as I dismantle the horns to cap the bottles.

However, the whole experience (packing the pump, deciding when to leave the room to pump, where to pump, whether to pump, wondering what was I missing in class, fretting over does the professor remember giving me permission, deciding what to do if somebody walks in, etc.) was anxiety-provoking and did mess with my output. I hadn’t realized how comfortable I feel pumping at home (like right now), with Baby right here in her swing, trying to eat very toys, and able to pummel my breasts freely and openly.

My sympathies go to those who have a hard time pumping at work: finding the time, finding the space. I get now that I’m so lucky to be able to spend my time pumping at home for the vast majority of the time; it makes it so much easier. I now understand better why my good friend stopped breastfeeding at five months when she went back to work as a nanny and had to try to keep up her milk supply in a tiny residential bathroom with a manual pump while hooligan children banged on the door outside. And I am more in awe of my friend who is still pumping for her toddler from an unlocked supply closet in a hospital lab.

We women work so hard for our babies and public life (work, school) is so little accommodating.

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I’ve several times pumped in front of friends and relatives who are over to visit (NEVER MEN, though, except Husband. I have my limits.) I like having the help with Baby while I pump, but I still feel a little awkward about it sometimes. It’s different from nursing in front of other people; certainly less soft and dreamy.

One of my best friends, poor thing, was alarmed after seeing me pump the first time. “Your nipples don’t always look like that, do they?” What, you mean huge and long and purple? She was worried her regular-size and -shaped nipples wouldn’t make milk if that’s what lactating nipples look like! No, it’s just the pump, honey.

I have to say, though, that the LESS your breasts and nipples have in common with mine, the better it probably bodes for your future breastfeeding success. Still, I am very proud of how my breasts have met the challenge of milk production over these months. My LC likes to say that you never know what your body can do until you ask it, so I just keep asking it and asking, and over time it has indeed responded.

To make you happy/to make you angry

–First, the good news.

I realized that I had received by mail order the incorrect tincture galactagogue from Motherlove (this is the one whose bulb syringe I mangled accidentally). I had ordered More Milk Special Blend (alcohol free because the last time I had a tincture galactagogue made with alcohol it tasted absolutely miserably disgusting). But they sent me More Milk Plus (same thing minus the goat’s rue). Goat’s rue is good for ladies with supply problems due to PCOS as it is supposed to build glandular tissue.

When I called Motherlove today to see if I could send back the More Milk Plus and get the tincture I ordered, they not only said I could just keep it, and that they would express ship me the correct stuff, but they also were going to give me a new bulb syringe and various other products for mamas’ nipples and babies’ bottoms. Excellent! What great service.

–Now, the angry-making news.

A former exclusive pumper, now nursing mother, wanted to sell her old Avent bottles on Mothering magazine’s forums (motheringdotcommune, MDC).

They wouldn’t let her.

Apparently they don’t want any bottlefeeding paraphernalia associated with their ethos. You don’t have to be an exclusive pumper to think this is asinine, exclusionary, and insulting. What about mothers pumping for NICU babies, or at work, for crying out loud? Pumpers work extra-hard at giving their babies breastmilk, and the accessories to do so can be expensive and hard-to-find–and the support can be nonexistent.

As a pro-breastfeeding group, you’d think Mothering forums should be more than usually OPEN to helping pumping mothers. It’s very sad that they are not.