My son is beautiful. He is perfect, mostly well behaved, full of smiles and has giggles that make my heart melt.
He's also screaming right now, so this blog post has had to be cut off. Here's a photo instead. Sorry!
Dear Baby Stoat,
The following is a list of things that are not baby murder:
-Putting you down to get a bottle
-Putting you down to prepare dinner for those of us with teeth
-Putting you down in your cot/swing/bouncer/any other bit of baby gear designed by clever baby scientists to cradle, nurture, stimulate and support you
-Putting you down to change your nappy
-Changing your nappy
-Changing your clothes
-Listening to music that is not Devin Townsend or the looped classical music on your baby swing
-Baths without Grandma to help
Please work on a more appropriate reaction, since the neighbours have now put child services on their speed dial. Thanks!
Breastfeeding sucks. And I do not mean that in a cute, literal way because I am watching my son chow down on milk straight from the tap.
Instead of this magical bonding picture (that I have experienced for all of 15 minutes since Baby Stoat was born), I am sitting here with the low fever, chills and "flu-like symptoms" of a plugged milk duct, which is yet another of those "Things they don't tell you about breast feeding." If breast feeding is an area that requires a whole industry to explain and support it, the things they don't tell you about it is the dark side of that Force.
I know breast feeding is best and that formula feeding turns magical, rainbow-pooping babies into axe-wielding maniacs who blame their parents for their failings in later years. As a formula-fed axe murderer myself, I get it. It's just that when you've been through D-MER, a c-section, bad latches, tongue tie and nipple confusion that axe murderer option starts to look pretty good. Believe me, it's looking even better since I came down with this plugged duct and all of the accompanying crappy feelings that go along with it.
I feel like I have the flu and yet I am Mum, so I have to not only allow a small, pointy (need to file those nails!) flailing person access to my aching ta-tas, I have to continue my fight to get him on the breast with more screaming and flailing (from him, not me). When I am not continuing that uphill struggle, I have to sit with my breast pump -- a machine I now spend more time with than I do with my husband. My LC says we *will* get it and reminds me that I am an excellent mother, but holy God in heaven I am tired.
I continue on the path of the not-really-too-militant lactivist because let's face it, if I formula feed and he *does* turn out to be the next Raoul Moat, I *will* blame myself. And probably be first on the hit list.
I don't know a single mother who has not had a problem with breast feeding. That has to make you wonder how we've managed to survive as a species.
In about twenty minutes, I will have been a mum for one whole month.
If this were a normal mother's blog, this next space would be full of how much life has been changed, cute anecdotes about things the baby did and how being sleep deprived is funny and fun.
I am glad this is not a normal mother's blog!
Life has gone on at the Stoat's Nest with remarkably few ripples. Yes, there is an extra person here full time, and that person demands constant food -- apart from that, Baby Stoat isn't too different from the cats. He likes cuddles, sleeps a lot, wakes me up at night, poops inappropriately (sorry, Christian!), has sharp nails and occasionally does cute things. When we first brought him home, the same people who delighted in regaling me with tales about how pregnancy was going to get so much worse (it didn't) took great pleasure in telling me how much life would change. Like the pregnancy, I keep waiting for these changes and, as life settles into a routine, can only hope it's just as much their need to juxtapose their own crappy experiences onto my relatively placid ones as it was during pregnancy.
Being that I am one month in, here are a few further meandering observations on motherhood that have occurred over the past few weeks:
-Babies are psychic and even a calm Baby Stoat somehow knows it's time to start making stoaty little "I want food!" squeaks just as I get cozy under the duvet again.
-Breastfeeding is aargh. I'll probably be crucified by rabid La Leche League-ers and Natural Mamas carrying flaming torches and pitchforks for making that statement, but it's true. It may not be aargh for magical women who have perfect boobs, perfect babies and who own a pet unicorn, but I have yet to meet these women (probably because I don't go to La Leche meetings). Everyone else I know has had some form of problem -- tongue tie, preemies who won't feed, excessive weight loss (for the baby), colic...This isn't to say I haven't breast fed -- Baby Stoat is getting breast milk, but it is through my tireless devotion to a nipple shield, a breast pump and heavy antidepressants that I can even manage this at all. Baby Stoat is tongue tied in a way the paediatrician refuses to recognize (so correcting it will be at our own expense), he cannot get enough milk using the nipple shield so I *still* have to pump while a hungry baby cries, I am the wrong shape for many "traditional" breast feeding positions and I have raging D-MER. A lesser woman would guzzle more Wellbutrin and buy stock in Enfamil, which is pretty tempting at times. I am persevering despite the panic attacks, pain and continual need to be milked using a professional grade breast pump because not breastfeeding makes one into a social pariah -- all so Baby Stoat can, as a teenager, remind me that he didn't ask to be born. ;)
-Breastfeeding does let you get more sleep. It also burns two Hostess cupcakes worth of extra calories a day. Maybe I'm betraying the sisterhood by admitting this, but my reasons for sticking with it may not be entirely altruistic.
-Baby nails are sharp. Ow.
-Baby manuals are designed to be helpful and impart guilt at the same time.
-Breastfeeding manuals are also designed to be helpful while imparting more guilt than a room full of elderly Catholic nuns.
-Thinking I was going to be able to balance working and parenthood without the help of a full time nanny/Daddy Stoat/grandma was ambitious, to say the least, and Baby Stoat isn't even that demanding.
-A "travel system" is cool but I am looking forward to $15 umbrella strollers.
-It's tough to worry about wee now, except when it is squirting all over the freshly painted walls. You may also want to be careful when sitting on our sofa, too.
-Six weeks is a long time.
Now I must return to gazing adoringly at Baby Stoat...happy birthday, little man. <3
