2 months

My baby is more than 2 months old. When I look at photos of her when she was brand new and helpless, she seems like a completely different baby. Now, she's a fun, interactive ball of energy with "smiles and crocodile-iles" as Dano says. I asked him what it means, and he wasn't sure. I figured since he made it up, he should know. I figured wrong, apparently.

Lilah's 2 month appointment was yesterday. She weighed 11lbs, 4oz. That's 3 pounds and an ounce in 2 months, and more than an ounce a day! She's 23 inches now, 3 more than last time. She charmed all the nurses and Dr. Hatfield. She more than met all her milestones, and she's in the 50th percentile for height, and 55th for weight. She's just a perfect little baby. Dr. Hatfield also explained a possible cause for Lilah's habit of throwing her head back and howling for a few minutes, completely unprovoked. She suspected a little bit of reflux - a little acid flaring up now and then, burning her throat. She said it will go away as her muscles mature.

My poor baby also got 4 shots. She was supposed to have 5, but we opted out of pertussis because of the risk of seizures later in life. It's part of the DTaP series, so she's still getting diphtheria and tetanus, but not until her next appointment. I felt like an absolute traitor holding her leg while the nurse stuck her. I watched her little face (staring at me trustingly) go from her normal expression of pleasantly amused to concerned to a scream so hard nothing came out for a few seconds. Then we did it 3 more times. I still tear up thinking about it. When the nurse was finished, she told me to take as much time as we needed calming down (she probably figured I needed just as much time as my daughter did), and to try feeding her. Lilah threw her arms around my neck and cried, and I cried with her, and told her I was sorry, and it was all over. She would eat for a few minutes, then scream when she tried to frog-kick her legs like she usually does. She wasn't too hard to console, but even today she's not my happy, cheerful baby. She's unusually morose and she cries for no reason. That's not my baby. She barely cries when something's wrong, let alone for no reason.

I've noticed a strange thing about my parenting. My guilt level is pretty high. I've heard all mothers feel guilt about odd things, but mine seems unusually high. Most likely I'm just crazy, but sometimes I think of all strong women who have come before us, the wonderful mothers who have spent their entire lives empowering their daughters to become great women and in turn, wonderful mothers themselves. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing penance for the women in my family. I feel ashamed of the bloodline I came from, especially because of the great women in my life now. Between my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, aunts, cousins, and friends, I have chosen to surround myself with women who are examples of strong, godly females and mothers. It's not feeling like I fall short of them. I *know* I'm capable of greatness, that I'm strong and empowered to do my job as a mother, regardless of the questionable stock I come from. Through some miracle, the crazy skipped a generation. I love my daughter and dedicated the next score of years to be her mother. To me, that doesn't just mean someone to feed, clothe, and educate her. There's more to motherhood than keeping your offspring alive. You can do the same thing with a goldfish, and that's no impressive feat. To me, motherhood means being her confidante when she wants, and not taking it personally when she likes her friends better. It means knowing someone else and I can say the exact same thing to her, and she'll look at me like I'm crazy when I say it, but it will be gospel coming from anyone else. It means biting my tongue when she "loves" a boy in school, listening to how great he is, and letting her cry the following week when it all falls apart. It means constant love, support, and equipping her for the greatness that's sure to follow my beautiful baby wherever she goes. I owe it to Gaiman's "Ladies of light, Ladies of darkness, and Ladies of never-you-mind. This is a prayer for a Blueberry Girl. First may you Ladies be kind...Help her to help herself. Help her to stand. Help her to lose and to find. Teach her we're only as big as our dreams. Show her that fortune is blind. Truth is a thing she must find for herself, precious and rare as a pearl. Give her all these, and a little bit more - gifts for a Blueberry Girl."

The most anxious day of my life as a mother.

Last night, I went back to work for the first time. I had everything arranged perfectly. Lilah would stay with "Grandpaman" (the name for Dano's dad started by the very first grandchild, Zedd. It stuck) from 2:30 to 9. Dano would pick her up on the way home from work, and have her from 9 to 11:15, where he would pick me up from work (the Saturn is still in need of some TLC and neither of us have the time currently, so we're down to one vehicle). I was fine most of Tuesday. I packed, unpacked, and repacked her bag with anything I thought she might need. I had 12 ounces of milk pumped, which should have been enough to leave 3 ounces left over. I decided I would just brace myself and be brave.
1:45 rolled around. I was talking to Dano online. I fell apart. "What if she needs me and wonders why I don't come? What if she runs out of milk? What if she's miserable for 9 straight hours?" Dano assured me she would have a good time, and if she ran out of milk somehow, I only worked 3 miles away and would be pumping on my breaks.
Fears about my child's well-being quelled, I moved on to fears about my job, like any reasonable person would do. "What if I forgot how to be a nurse? What if *gasp* State comes to do their survey and follows ME?" Dano said nursing was probably like riding a bike, and my supervisors would never let State follow me on my first day back.
So I went to work, after holding a sleeping Lilah and crying, and watching Larry drive her away while biting my quivering lip. At first, my head was in a complete fog. I kept having to have the off-going nurse giving report repeat things. I forgot who my diabetics were, who had MRSA, who was mobile, and who had died. When I met with my staff (my facility has all nurses meet with their staff before a shift, which I really like), I gave them report, and reminded them that they knew the floor better than I did at this point. I believe my parting words with them were, "If you see me doing something stupid, or not doing something I should, cut me a little slack and tell me. If I take my 15 minute breaks (I usually only take my 30 minute lunch, since the short breaks are for smokers), it's because I'm breastfeeding and need to pump. If you find me in the linen closet crying, it's because this is the first time I've left Lilah for more than a couple hours. Just grab what you need and carry on."
All in all, the night went pretty well. Some of my residents remembered I had been pregnant ("You're not as fat as you used to be! Did you have that baby?"). Some did not ("You look different." "I'm not pregnant anymore." "No, your hair's longer. Honey, you people are always getting pregnant. I can't keep them all straight anymore."). My med pass took about 8 years to complete because so much had changed, and I was lucky enough to acquire yet another PEG tube feeder, and I had 3 colostomy bags explode or be exploded by their owners, but overall it was good. I did have a man who had a severe stroke in the morning and was rapidly dying all night, but it was his time and he was courteous enough not to pass away until midnight shift came on to relieve me. I was so busy I only had time to look longingly at the linen closet from time to time when I got sad about Lilah, but it could have been much worse. I even conned one of my more agreeable residents into watching the season finale of NCIS so I could pop in to see how it ended. I thanked her, and she said, "Oh honey, don't worry about it. I love these actioned-packed thriller shows, with gun-fighting and explosions. Keeps me young." My staff and coworkers asked for pictures and cooed and awwed accordingly. All in all, I had forgotten how cute my residents are, how competent my staff is, and how much I enjoy doing what I do. It was a good time.
Toward the end of the night, the following pictures were texted to me.
Lilah and her daddy were obviously having a blast watching the Wings win, and texting me the score. Right before they picked me up, I got this one.She was sleepy and content. I made it, and she obviously hadn't missed me nearly as much as I missed her. That''s exactly how it should be.

What's free time?

I realized that I hadn't updated in quite a while, and had a grand total of five minutes in which to do so. I'll try to keep it brief and to-the-point.
Lilah is nearly 2 months old. She took her first road trip downstate this month, and was very pleasant and easy to travel with. She's smiling regularly, cooing, chuckling, and working on an epic belly laugh. She still eats very well.
While in Detroit, I left her for 2 hours so I could get a drink with friends. *That* was an ordeal. She was sleeping soundly when I left her, and still sleeping soundly when I picked her up. Kalli, her caretaker, told me she had fussed briefly and had a lot of gas, but had been wonderful other than that. Although my mind was at ease, when she fussed later that night, totally irrational thoughts went through my mind - "What if they were mean to her? What if she hates me for leaving her? What if she was scared?" I had to take a deep breath and realize I was insane.
Today, Dano is watching Lilah for the day, during the hours I'll normally be at work. We're doing a practice run so I can make sure I have enough milk pumped, and work out any kinks before I actually have to return to work, which is this Tuesday. Yes, it's only two days a week. Yes, Lilah's going to live through the experience. But I'm still a nervous wreck about leaving her. It'll be nice to have adult time and 16 hours a week without having to care for a baby. I just can't imagine anyone else caring for her as well as I do. There is it - it sounds arrogant and egotistical, but that is the major concern I'm dealing with now.
We'll see how it goes.

Alive for a month

Lilah has been a blessing to our family for going on 5 weeks now. She has accomplished so many things. Obviously, I think she's extraordinary, but I've been told she's pretty advanced. She smiles all the time, and she tries to laugh. She has this weird, quiet sort of chuckle. She also tries to talk to us. If we hold her in front of us and talk to her, she smiles and opens her mouth, moves her tongue, and makes strange noises in reply. She always looks like she's very proud of herself, too. Lilah's main fault is a short temper (which she inherited from her mama) and intense jealousy of anyone near her who happens to be eating.
I've already noticed strange traditions we've started with her. Dano calls her Bean, Smiles McGee, Chubs McFace, and many other things. We all watch NCIS in the evenings. We have weird names for certain outfits of hers - the "chili pepper" outfit, "short-bus bunny" sleeper, and the "fluffy-puff marshmallow" suit. She tries to hold her head up, she can roll over, and if we put her on her stomach, she army crawls away. It's been a crazy month. She slept in her basket for two whole hours last night before demanding to be put back in bed with us. She's gone from being a few minutes old and just lying there all the time to having such a fun, crazy personality. We're planning on going to see "X-men Origins" in a week or so, to leave her with Dano's parents as a practice run for me going back to work. I'm scared to death to leave her alone without us, but I know it's necessary. As much as each new stage scares me and makes me miss my tiny little baby who needed me for everything (okay, so I admit to crying when she slept in her basket without crying to be held right away), I love each stage more than the last, and watching her grow these 5 weeks has been the most rewarding labor of love I've ever experienced. I can't wait to see the rest of it.

"Are we old people?"

Adjusting to life with Lilah has been an ongoing process. She's a little bit of a mama's girl, which blows my mind. There are times when other people are holding her and she's crying, and I get ready to feed her, assuming she's hungry, and she stops as soon as I take her. She just looks at me with her huge, blue eyes, and that's all she wanted. She loves when I hold or cuddle or sing to her. I'm not trying to be all "poor me, my life sucks", but my relationship with my mother was far from close, and I don't ever remember a time when we were affectionate with each other. She would always say things like, "I'm just not a girly girl", or "I'm not the emotional one, Dad is". I remember the whole family watching Finding Neverland and bawling at the end, and me looking at my mother and having her say, "I don't get it." At the end of Ladder 49, she "comforted" us all by telling us it was just a movie, and not worth crying over. One of the few times I remember her hugging me was when I was leaving their house after a family intervention begging me not to get married. She cried too, and said nothing I could ever do or decide or say could change how much they loved me, and I'd always be welcome in their house. A week later, when I told her I hadn't changed my mind and was still getting married, she suddenly "wasn't comfortable" having me around the kids anymore, and that was the last time I saw the inside of their house. Any and all trust I had in a word she said was shot to Hell that day, and even if our relationship improves someday, I'll always feel like that hug, those tears, the promises were all a ruse to get her way.
So to have a little daughter who just likes being in my arms and staring at me is mind-boggling. I love her dearly, and I *am* an emotional girly girl who likes shopping and crying at sad movies and cuddling. It's just sometimes an effort to relate to her as a mother, even though our personalities are similar, because it's so foreign to me.
Our 3-mile walk outside yesterday was a success. She either slept in her stroller or looked around with interest the whole time. I overdid it a little and am paying for it today with really sore hips and legs, but I feel good, and we both got some good doses of Vitamin D (Lilah has a funny-looking hat line to prove it).
She's also gone from waking up around 3:00 AM to eat to 5:00 AM, which is more hours of uninterrupted sleep for mama! She doesn't cry when she wakes up. She either grunts and squirms around until she comes unswaddled and can roll around happily between parents, or she scoots over to me (I always sleep on my side facing her) and sucks on a breast through my shirt until I wake up to find those big blue eyes staring at me, and her open-mouthed like a baby bird with a mouthful of shirt. It's much better than waking up to a squalling infant. Her bedtime is between 11:00 and 11:30, so we always go to bed at a decent time these days. It makes me feel pretty old, but it's completely worth it to get a good night's sleep!

Challenges

As many of you know, I spent quite a bit of time during the last few weeks of my pregnancy worrying about my milk-producing abilities. Out of the six kids my mother had, she wasn't able to nurse any of them for long. She didn't attempt it with the first handful, and when she tried it, her milk wasn't able to sustain a baby. They tested it, and I can't remember exactly what was wrong with it, but the baby would eat and eat and not get fat.
So when Lilah came out, my doctor helped me with the first nursing session, getting her latched right and sucking. I was told that she might only want to nurse for ten minutes or so, but that was okay. When she came back in about 45 minutes later, Lilah was still going at it and had switched to the other breast. Everyone was very impressed with her.
My milk came in about three days after giving birth, and I didn't have much engorgement to deal with. I mean, they swelled up and made it look like I'd visited Dr. 90210 for implants and was planning on stripping my way through college, but they never hurt like people had told me they would. Lilah was gaining weight, milk kept on coming, things were good.
About eight days in, I noticed a spot on the outsides of both nipples that looked raw, for lack of a better word. It burned a little when she'd latch on, but no big deal. As the days went on, the raw areas cracked and I'd cry every time she started nursing. I asked a few people for advice, and was told it was normal, would go away, and to grit my teeth and be patient.
A day or so later, it was so bad that I would literally cringe and tear up when she'd cry to be fed. Dano would sit by me and help me get her latched properly, and rub my shoulder or hold my hand while she ate ravenously and I cried. Finally on Sunday night, I asked him to call his sister for help. I couldn't do it anymore, and felt like a complete failure as a mother for it. Kim told us that my nipples had fissures, and it was important to rest them for a few days or they could get infected. Her friend Danielle asked to talk to me. She has a three month old, and had experienced the same thing. It was so nice to talk to someone who hadn't just been a naturally perfect food source right off the bat, not a seasoned mother who had already been there and succeeded. Dano went out at 10:00 that night and lowered himself by going to Wal-mart (he refuses to shop there, on principle) to get me a breast pump. I was able to pump about five oz right away.
I started bawling again when I saw her attack the bottle. I know my milk was probably being affected by the stress of how painful nursing was, and she wasn't latching right because of my nipples having those cracks, but to see my baby take food from something that wasn't me broke my heart. I had no idea how emotional nursing was for the mother, not just the baby.
It's been three days, and we're going to try nursing again as soon as she wakes up from her nap. Pumping has gone really well, but I still feel an actual ache inside when I'm holding her and she opens her mouth and turns toward my chest, and I have to give her a bottle instead. I know it's still my milk, but it's so different. She's been more clingy, too. She wants to touch my skin at all times. When she's sitting there sucking on her bottle and staring at me with those big, blueberry eyes, I feel so judged. I know it's just hormonal weirdness, but I'm imagining her thinking, "Why won't she feed me like she always does? Why do I have to take this weird thing instead?" and I feel like an awful mother.
Wish me luck, and prayers for healing would be great. I'll let you know how it goes.
Update: SUCCESS!

Adjustments

I hope no one takes this as complaining, because it's really anything but that. I have a baby who is incredibly easy-going, sweet, and agreeable. There are just some aspects to caring for even the easiest newborn that are challenging to say the least. I had always heard there's no harm in letting a baby cry for a few minutes if you know they're not hurt or in need of anything. Those "experts" obviously don't have any children. As soon as I hear so much as a whimper from Lilah, I'm jerked out of a dead sleep (usually to find she was just dreaming anyway). I read this week that the cry of an infant is genetically designed to agitate her parents, mostly the mother. I guess that's how even the stupidest parents have managed to keep children alive. We as mothers are engineered to do anything to quiet the cries of our babies.
In school, they told us something that made much more sense to me. Our OB instructor said comforting an infant immediately is not only all right, it's a good thing. By ignoring the cry and letting the baby "self-soothe", you're basically telling it to meet its own needs, and that can damage the trust it has in its parents. There are obvious exceptions, like colic, where you just can't do anything to meet the needs of the baby. But to let it sit there and cry can even hurt the parent-child trust relationship later on in life.
I just hate that, since she's so new to the world, Lilah can go from happy/content/sleeping to completely frantic in seconds. I know in my head that she's just not used to feeling like she needs anything, since she just came from an environment where all her needs were met without her knowing it. But to look at her poor little face when she's crying, especially when she's just made herself overly tired and is too upset to fall asleep, breaks my heart when I'm trying everything I know to make her happy again. I know it's a temporary phase, but it makes me feel like a horrible parent when I can't do anything for her.
On a lighter note, Dano and I had a semi-serious discussion about how we need to take a break from the Hazards of Love album before we wear it out and ruin it forever. Every day since the talk, he has either caught me sneaking it with the excuse "Lilah likes it", or I've gotten in the car and seen him surreptitiously taking it out of the cd player and inserting something else.
It doesn't help that the end track makes me cry *every* time I hear it. I'm well aware it's a silly story set to gorgeous music with well-written lyrics. William, the prince of a magical forest called the Taiga (ruled by a jealous queen who rescued him from death as an infant and gave him the power to shape-shift into a white fawn) falls in love with a river-daughter named Margaret. Their encounter ends in pregnancy. The queen is enraged and gets a murderer called the Rake to kidnap Margaret and take her across the river, thinking her son would be too scared to cross it. William frantically promises Annan Water, the river, his life if he's allowed to cross once. He rescues his love and attempts to cross back when he's reminded of his promise. As Annan Water comes to claim his life, William and Margaret exchange marriage vows and die together in the water. It sounds like a story you'd read to a little girl before bedtime. It is, really. Colin Meloy, the lead singer and writer for the Decemberists, has a passion for melodrama, tragic love, and drowning. For me, it's just impossible to listen to the hour-long musical tale and not be moved by the ending - " 'With this long last rush of air, we speak our vows and starry whispers.' When the waves came crashing down, he closed his eyes and softly kissed her." Dramatic, yes. Beautiful, absolutely.
The best part of it all - watching Lilah stare at me questioningly every time it makes me cry.