Michael Phelps, the Michelle Duggar wannabe, and a few other things weighin' on my mind...

This week for Mama Kat's Thursday Writer's Workshop, I could have written a poem, told you about a talent I have, shared a lie I told, or - OR - I could choose to do one of my most favorite hobbies - write a list. The list must be made up of ten things that were on my mind this week. That shouldn't be a problem, since the wheels are always turning up in this noggin. So, let's get on with the list, shall we?

Ok.

1. Michael Phelps. What the hell, Michael Phelps? You let someone take a picture of you smoking pot? Your a friggin' celebrity, dude. Have you not heard about Paris Hilton's little snafu? And now you're trying to pass this off as a youthful mistake? You used up your stupid youthful mistakes quota when you got your DUI at age 19. Knock it off, dude. Like you NEED something to give you more of the munchies - you already eat 80 bajillion calories a day and have zero percent body fat (for that I hate you, by the way). Quit being such a cotton-headed ninny muggins, you stupid fool.

2. The lady who had 8 babies at once. Ok, so at first I heard the story and I was all, "WOW. That's so amazing - the babies were all born healthy! What fantastic news - this is such a miracle." Yadda, yadda, yadda. Then I find out she already HAD 6 kids and now she's asking for $2 million before she'll give any interviews and such. Father of the babies - not involved, apparently. Two words, people: NUT CASE. Why are such stupid people allowed to keep having babies? She's on the fast track for the Michelle Duggar plan, I guess...

3. It's great to be done nursing, but I forgot about the fact that I no longer burn 500 - 1,000 calories a day for being a dairy cow. Dammit. My pants are starting to be too tight. Now I actually have to do workouts that make me sweat. Someone pass me a tissue, I'm about to cry...

4. I've been a little nervous that maybe Kaylee will start to walk soon. She is now pulling herself up to a standing position like it's nobody's business. And she crawls faster than her little legs can keep up with sometimes. I think it's only a matter of time until she discovers that there's an even faster way to move. Well, tonight I find out that my husband and his sister each walked at 9 months old. Now, what has become a nagging thought in the back of my mind for the past week has become a potential case of severe heartburn. For Pete's Sake, I'm still trying to child proof my house appropriately for a crawler. God help me, but I'm going to push the kid down (ever so gently) when she stands without support. I will do it. And you will not stop me.

5. What the FRICK is up with all these "tell us 25 things about yourself" facebook tags? Holy jeepers, people. I think I've received 875,326 requests to tell you 25 random things about myself. Everyone and their brother is doing this (well, except me, and my brother now that I think of it - I don't think he's done it...). And I'm not. So keep sending me your requests all you want, but I'm not doing it. Even if a teeny weeny part of myself wants to do it, just because...

6. I continue to think about my decision to stop breastfeeding Kaylee, and I continue to have more confidence that I made the right choice. At the same time, I was a little overwhelmed with all the comments that other women had in response to my post about being done. Holy crap, people. Every comment talked about a struggle with breast feeding in one way or the other. Never in one place have I read so many open and honest struggles with the issue. It has really got me thinking, and in fact - I've gotten a little upset that the issue of breastfeeding induces so much guilt among mothers. Guilt that they don't breastfeed. Guilt that they DID breastfeed, but not long enough. Guilt that they could breastfeed one child and not the other. Promoting breastfeeding is a great and all, but it's become a bit more clear to me that SOMEONE had better start sending out the message that if you don't breastfeed you're not a bad mother, and that if you don't have problems along the way, well then - guess what? You're in the frickin' MINORITY, people. *stepping off that soapbox*

7. I've had the chance to have a few consecutive days off of work, and I'm realizing that I'm beginning to feel more confident and comfortable in my role as a mother. I'm starting to loosen up a bit. I don't worry quite as much about if I'm doing things the right way. I'm having more FUN, and I'm not taking myself so seriously or being as hard on myself. Most of the time.

8. Money. This always seems to be on my mind these days. Whether it's trying to balance the checkbook, pay the bills, figure out new ways to save, clipping coupons, or worrying about not having enough days of work this month, it's always there - always in the back of my mind. Sometimes I wish that it weren't an issue - that it was not something that caused me stress. But, if I had so much money that I wasn't stressed out about money, I think I'd have a whole nother set of issues, and frankly - I think I'd rather worry about not having enough.

9. I've also been wishing that I had more time to catch up on all the shows I have DVR'd. I love that stinkin' machine - I just wish I wasn't so far behind on my shows. And I wish I had a pair of 3-D glasses so I could watch Chuck. It looks funny this week if you're not wearing 3-D glasses. Anyone know where I can get a pair?

10. Ok, so remember my post about cleaning my house all day while my mom watched Kaylee? I got my kitchen, living room and dining room all cleaned? Well, we're approaching 2 weeks of keeping those rooms clean, and I'm still scratching my head about how we're managing to pull it off. I guess it's not so bad when you can just maintain it on a daily basis. I kinda feel like giving myself a quick pat on the back. But then following that pat, I feel like giving myself a swift kick in the pants because I still have 2 bathrooms, 2 bedrooms, an office, a car, and a garage that need cleaning, too. Ahhh, cleaning, shmeaning. Always on my mind...

Let's hear it for the girls!

This post is a part of a weekly feature called Tuesday's Tribute - the one time each week that Jay and Deb challenge bloggers to write about something other than ourselves, to shine the light elsewhere for a change. If you only have the time to check out one other Tuesday's Tribute this week, make sure it's Jay's because he's up to something pretty cool over on his blog. Thanks for stopping by, and enjoy!


A Jay and Deb Production.

This week my tribute is to "The Girls."

I won't beat around the bush. "The Girls" is pretty much just code talk for my boobs.

Now, I know Tuesday's Tribute is all about paying tribute to someone/something other than yourself, so I'm clearly stating here that this is a tribute to my boobs (oh my gosh, this is making me laugh just typing it...). BUT, you need to understand that we've been through a lot together, so in order for you to fully comprehend why they're worthy of their very own tribute, I need to share our journey with you.

After breast feeding for 9 months, "The Girls" are finally mine again, and I've got a few things weighing on my mind about the whole issue of being done.

You must understand that I am a very determined and goal-oriented woman. So, before Kaylee was even born, I had my mind set on breast feeding her for 12 months. No ifs, ands, or buts. It's what the experts recommended, so doggonnit, that's what I was going to do for my baby.

THAT was when I was just a silly little pregnant lady who didn't know squat about what to expect when it came to breastfeeding. I was naively ignorant and terribly optimistic.

Call me crazy, but I thought this is how it would go down: I would manage to make it through the labor and delivery of my child, and as soon as she was born, they'd put her on my belly, I'd get to cuddle her, and she would instinctively latch on with no problems. That's what the 80 bazillion books I read about told me should happen. If there were problems (highly doubtful), I'd just have the nurse help me and that would be that. We'd return home after 24 hours in the hospital, I'd nurse her every 2-3 hours, and life would be fine and dandy.

Ha ha ha ha ha. Silly little pregnant woman.

Here's how it actually went down...

We DID make it through the labor and delivery just fine. She didn't latch on at first, and to be honest, I wasn't too worried initially. It happens. So what, right? Well, it wasn't just a one-time deal. She wouldn't latch. Period. I felt like a complete and utter failure. I couldn't breastfeed my own baby. Of course I knew it wasn't my fault, but I still blamed myself. It was something I'd thought about and hoped for the past 9 months. I cried. and cried. and cried.

Every 2 to 3 hours we'd attempt to get her to latch for 15 minutes, and when it didn't work, we resorted to "finger feeding" Kaylee. It involves using syringes and tiny little tubes to feed the baby. You line up the end of the tube with the tip of your finger and then slowly push the milk/formula out of the syringe. It's supposed to help babies develop a stronger sucking reflex. Here's a visual for you because it's pretty hard to picture otherwise. Please excuse my puffy and shiny 2-week postpartum face.


We had a routine labor and delivery, so I could have gone home after 24 hours, but since she wasn't nursing, it was recommended that we stay 48 hours to get extra support and help with it before we went home.

We should have just gone home. All it did was exhaust me and frustrate me more. God bless all the people who tried to help us. At times, there were 3 nurses in there at once. They were so patient with me and wanted to help us make it work so badly. But, it just. didn't. work.

I began to develop a really good relationship with the lactation consultant, and by the time we were discharged home, I had decided that I would pump for Kaylee until she was able to latch, however long it took.

So, after 48 hours, we went home. Thus began my love/hate relationship with pumping.

Meet Mr. Medelapumpinstyleadvanced (I figured we spent enough time together that he was worthy of having a "Mr." put in front of his name) - my 5th appendage for the first two months of Kaylee's life.

Now, don't get all crazy and go buy one for yourself just for the sake of having a little extra fun. I mean, I know that this picture makes you want to hook it up to your boobs and have a grand ol' time just pumpin' away. Trust me. It frickin' SUCKS to be hooked up to it and it's not fun. Really. You will literally feel like a dairy cow. Plus, if you want to spend $300 to have fun, figure out a better way to spend your money (but if you will need a pump, I'm telling you this one is the best there is).

At first, I loved Mr. M. He made it possible for my baby to get breast milk. But, it wasn't long and I started to despise this damn machine.

We had a date every 3 hours around the clock for 2 months solid. I began to dread it. And I began to have problems.

When you pump all the friggin' time, it's not as effective as having a baby nurse, so it can cause a host of problems. Not only that, but I was producing enough milk to literally feed two babies - which I was actually doing (Go check out this website - it's amazing. Women who have a surplus milk supply can donate their extra milk to premature babies who need all the extra immunities and goodies that are only found in breast milk). With the pumping and the oversupply combined, I got chronic clogged milk ducts and even a damn boob infection. Can you believe that? And I didn't think I'd have any issues whatsoever.

So, in addition to being attached to that effing pump for what felt like 24 hours a day, I was now doing warm compresses and a host of other remedies to make the clogged ducts go away. At one point I remember thinking the pain was worse than contractions (I'm pretty sure I was just overreacting because contractions are indescribably painful).

By now you're probably wondering why the hell I didn't just give her formula. I don't know. I really don't know. It would have made my life a lot easier.

In addition to Mr. M. I had accumulated what my lactation consultant termed lots of "paraphernalia" - product upon product to help Kaylee latch on. Some stuff helped - sometimes. But mostly, it didn't work. And because I love torturing myself, I was still 100% committed to pumping for her.

We met with the lactation consultant every week and checked Kaylee's weight 1-2 times/week. She was steadily gaining, so that made me feel good. I knew that what I was providing her with was making her itsy bitsy little self grow big and strong. But I was still really, really sad about not being able to nurse her. The lactation consultant told me that babies usually latch on by 8 weeks. That seemed like an eternity.

But, wouldn't you know. My sweet little girl decided on the day she turned 8 weeks old that it was high time she latched, and we never had an issue with it from that day forward. I was absolutely thrilled.

I went back to work after 3 months, and I pumped at work. It worked out quite nicely. I used my two daily 15 minute breaks to go pump, and I'd read a book or a magazine, or doze off. It was a nice, quiet part of my day that I looked forward to. (By the way - here's my shameless plug for the The Milk Memos: How Real Moms Learned to Mix Business with Babies - and How You Can, Too. It's a phenomenal book written by 2 IBM employees who pumped at work. If you are going to pump at work or know someone who is, this book is an absolute MUST). Eventually, though - I got sick of it. Real sick of it. So, one day I just quit pumping. It was fabulous!

I continued to nurse Kaylee while I was at home, and I pumped a bit at home so she could still get milk while she was at the babysitter's, but eventually the supply wasn't keeping up with the demand, and I had to supplement with formula.

I have nothing at all against formula, but we had been on such an emotional roller coaster with the breast feeding that I really, really, really struggled with having to supplement her with formula. I think it brought those feelings of failure/Mommy guilt right back. I felt like I was failing to provide enough for my baby.

Thankfully, I got over that. I realized it just wasn't worth the stress, and Kaylee didn't give a rip what she ate.

Then, we hit another fork in our nursing road. Kaylee got a tooth. And then another tooth. Click here for a humorous little ditty about our first biting incident.

Along with the occasional bite, we were starting to battle what I called boob-induced ADD. Every time I'd sit down to nurse her, she'd latch on and then pop off and look at the light on the ceiling and start to say, "Ooooh! Oooooh! Oooooh!" just as if I'd presented her with her very own pony. But then she'd latch back on. Approximately 6.3 seconds later she would notice the window blinds and decided they looked fun to bat at.

It was getting to be a bit much. You've heard the phrase, "Shit or get off the pot," right? In my head I kept thinking, "Eat or get off the boob!"

So, when I realized how frustrated I was getting 95% of the time I was nursing her, I realized it was time to be done. My goal of 12 months had just gotten tossed out the window, and that was okay.

To be honest, I'm feeling really good about my decision, and sometimes I question whether or not that's how I *should* feel or not. I always thought I'd be really sad about being done. But, I'm not. I'm pretty happy to have my boobs back. Even if they don't feel like my boobs. Let's just say I'll definitely be trading my nursing bra in for a push-up bra...Just doesn't seem fair...after all I did with these boobs they go from making me look like Pamela Anderson to looking like a 4th grader. Well, SHIT. Shit, shit, shit. What can you do? Now I know why some women get boob jobs after they have babies. And I no longer judge them.

So, boobs. I salute you. You have done an incredible job. You've provided for two sweet babies and helped them grow, you've survived an uncanny amount of time with the pump, and you persevered through terrible, horrible, no good, very bad clogs and infections, and you never leaked on me in public. You are my heroes. You deserve a good pick-me-up, and a much-needed rest. So, soon and very soon we will go on an excursion to Victoria's Secret (a.k.a. Wal-Mart because that's what I can afford - but you DESERVE to go to Vicky's Place...) to get you a new wardrobe since you've downsized. Enjoy that rest while it lasts because I'll be calling on you again in a few years. I hope you're up to the task. And if you're not, then screw you. I'll just buy formula.

A Little Peace in the Midst of My Chaos...

When I started this blog, part of my intent was to share my struggles during my first few weeks as a new mother. I did more of that toward the beginning - I've talked about postpartum depression, such fun activities as fishing for turds and struggling to have a clean house, and suffering from moments of mommy brain, but there's so much that I haven't shared yet, and today it's time to talk about it some more.

I am so glad Dennis snapped this picture of Kaylee and I. She wasn't yet a month old. Those first 2 or 3 months are pretty much a blur to me, and I don't have a ton of fun memories of that time. Mostly, I remember being tired, cranky, weepy, putting on a happy face when, in all reality, I was freaked out and in way over my head, exhausted, and unable to function in many ways.

I wanted to share this picture because when I look at it, it reminds me that I did have some moments of peace in the midst of all the chaos of those first few weeks. I did have sweet moments with my baby girl. And believe it or not, apparently I did manage to get some sleep here and there.

I've talked to my mom and some of my friends about those first few weeks, and I usually end up in tears by the end of the conversation. I get so sad because I honestly don't remember a lot of what happened, and I feel like I missed out on some really precious time in the earliest days of my baby's life. I truly felt like I missed out on moments that I will never get back, and I think I'll always be sad about that.

In order for you to understand the whole picture, I'll start at the beginning.

I had a normal labor and delivery course, and could have gone home after 24 hours, but we were having trouble getting Kaylee to nurse, so I was encouraged to stay an extra day to get more support with breast feeding. I agreed, but one sleepless night in the hospital turned into two sleepless nights.

I was exhausted from giving birth. I was in awe at this sweet little being nestled in a handmade, white, crocheted blanket in the bassinet next to me, and I couldn't stop looking at her and checking on her as I lay in that hospital bed. I was tired of being bothered all the time so the nurse could check my vitals. I had what felt like everybody and their mother in my room trying to help me breast feed my baby every two hours - seriously, at times there were 2 or 3 nurses in there at once trying to help us. And every time I tried, I failed. I was really, really, really sad that my baby wouldn't breast feed. I felt like a freak - like something was wrong with me - that I couldn't do one of the most basic tasks of motherhood.

And I was in pain. The ice pack and pain meds were wearing off, and I was beginning to realize how much trauma my body had just gone through. Episiotomies frickin' suck - and Kaylee was only a 5 pounder. My body eventually decided that it didn't like the codeine that was in the Tylenol, so I proceeded to ralph up all my pain medication in the middle of the night, and had to wait several more hours before I could get any other form of relief, and from then on my pain was never really under control. That's when things really started going downhill...

When I was finally discharged, the doctor said something about taking Aleve at home. Somehow, I managed not to catch the part about how I should take several Aleve to equal the amount of medication I was getting at the hospital (sleep deprivation, perhaps?) , so I went home and proceeded to take 1 capsule of Aleve. I was on 800 mg tylenol and narcotic pain meds at the hospital to manage the pain, so 250 mg of Aleve didn't even touch the pain once I got home.

I literally could not get in and out of bed - my husband had to get me to the bathroom and back. It was quite possibly worse than the pain of contractions, and my dignity had flown the coop. I was in so much pain I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I wanted so badly to just settle in and enjoy my baby like I assumed every other new mother did, but I couldn't.

We ended up calling the doctor and I was able to get on a regimen that effectively managed my pain, but it took at least a day for it to kick in.

Those first few weeks I know I freaked my husband out. I was not myself. My house didn't feel like my house. I felt like I couldn't enjoy my baby because I was so dang tired all the time that I couldn't function. And, as ready and willing as I was to pump milk for my daughter every 3 hours, that took a toll on me as well. Each time I got hooked up to the milk machine I got sad that I had a damn machine hooked up to my boobs instead of my baby, nursing peacefully. I was happy I could at least provide her with breast milk, but I still felt crappy each time - it was time spent away from my baby and time spent thinking of how I STILL couldn't breast feed her. The day she turned 8 weeks old she decided that it was high time to latch on, and she's been a little nursing pro ever since. Anyway, back to what I was saying...

4 days postpartum I had the first anxiety attack of my life. I'm a relatively laid back person and don't really get worked up about stuff. After I realized what happened, I was determined to figure out what triggered it so it wouldn't happen again. I quickly realized that it all began with food. I couldn't get it out of my head that the nurses at the hospital told me I had to consume between 500 and 1000 extra calories daily to sustain breast feeding. I wasn't really eating like I normally do because, well, I was either trying to sleep, remembering that I hadn't taken a shower in 2 days, wincing through pain, or listening to my baby cry. So, in the back of my severely sleep-deprived mind, there was something telling me that I had to eat A LOT, and I needed to eat a lot NOW. So, I started eating really fast - I felt like I hadn't eaten in days and shoot, if I wanted to breastfeed I had to eat, eat, eat, right?

Suddenly I was having trouble breathing. I was suddenly ice cold. I was trembling. And it was all completely out of my control. I was scared out of my mind and didn't know what was happening to my body. We called the doctor and he talked me through it - telling me that I was having a panic attack. I can't tell you how embarrassed I was, and what a WIMP I felt like at the time. I was mortified that my family had witnessed all that. But, I still remember my dad, standing behind me as I sat in the glider in the nursery. He would gently pat my arm and kept saying, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay" over and over. And over. And over. Because I told him not to stop saying that. He calmed me down and helped me get through it. I'm sure he was scared sh*tless, too, but he didn't let on that he was.

I'm getting better about it, but I can't even begin to describe to you how much I've beat myself up over the fact that I have had such a hard time adjusting to motherhood. I really didn't think it would be this hard. But it is. Thank God it's getting better, and thank God for medication. I'm slowly learning to cut myself some slack and not be SO hard on myself. A huge part of my being able to get through this is talking to people who have been there before, or who are going through this now. Because I realize that I'm not the only one.

I'm not a freak. I'm not a basket case (well, okay - maybe some days I am), and I don't need to be locked up somewhere and put in a straight jacket (not yet, anyway - although I did have a conversation with some of my mom friends one day and we all informed each other that we would like sparkly, rhinestone straight jackets if someone came to take us away...).

I'm a mom. A new mom. One that loves my baby tremendously and is living a dream that I always wished for. And, I'm wreck some days. And that's okay.

(This post is part of Wordful Wednesday, sponsored by 7 Clown Circus - head on over to check out more Wordful Wednesday work.)

Don't Bite the Boob That Feeds You

Dear Kaylee,

My boob is not a chew toy. I mean it, little missy.

Last night I nearly shot through the roof with the excruciating pain that accompanied your attempt to slice off my nipple with your jagged tooth. I know you feel the need to knaw on something, but please - I beg you. Use the cold, wet washcloth that I give you. Use a sock. Use your toes. Use a teething ring, for Pete's sake. Just please, keep your jagged little tooth off of my booby. It still hurts and you bit it over 12 hours ago.

I've been kind enough to open the booby bar 24 hours a day for you. The least you can do in return is NOT BITE THE BOOB THAT FEEDS YOU.

Now, I'm going to have to look this up to verify it, but I'm pretty much 99.99 % positive that my health insurance will not pay to have my nipple surgically reattached if you bite it off. I'm sure the out of pocket cost for such a procedure is not cheap. Your dad and I are not made of money. Not only that, but biting off my nipple will rob your future sibling of the boob, and that's just plain mean of you.

Do you want a cookie? A pony? A puppy? Just tell me what you want, and if you promise never to bite my boob again, it's yours in a heartbeat. Seriously.

Welcome to the Chaos

I've wanted to be a mama ever since I was old enough to tote around a doll.

This blog is all about my journey through motherhood. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. My daughter brings me more joy than I could have ever imagined. I just wish I had a clue how hard it was going to be. No one ever told me. I thought I'd have my baby, come home, breastfeed her, experience the usual sleep deprivation, deal with poop and puke and other bodily fluids, all the normal stuff you expect.

I had no freakin' clue that my baby would decide not to latch on for 2 months and that I would tirelessly pump around the clock - every three hours for that entire first 2 months- because I was so stubbornly set on providing her with breast milk.

And I didn't realize that I would feel like such an emotional wreck, and even somewhat of a failure, for not being able to breast feed my own child.

I had no clue that the physical recovery from child birth would be so painful.

I had no clue that sleep deprivation isn't just some silly phrase - it can totally mess with your body and your mind.

I had no clue that I would turn into such an Ice Queen, and that you can have postpartum depression even if you don't feel "depressed."

I had no clue that antidepressants (which I have fondly nicknamed "ABP's" - short for "anti-bitchy pills") would be my saving grace and bring the real me back into existence (have I mentioned I have the world's most patient husband?).

And that's just to name a few of the things I didn't have a clue about.

I feel like there are so many things no one ever told me. I'm learning that there are certain aspects of motherhood that too many "been there, done that" mamas don't like to discuss. But these are things that need to be put out there, because if they're not, then that means there are too many of us sitting at home thinking we're crazy, or that we're just not cut out for this gig.

I'm coming to realize that most of what we go through as moms is utterly and completely normal - but there's just too much of it that no one is really willing to talk about. Well, I'm ready to talk about it. Humor has always played a big part in my life, and to be honest, I think it's all that gets me through some days.

So, I can promise you that this blog isn't going to be a downer just because I talk about my struggles. I believe that humor is an incredible tool for dealing with the tough stuff, so, just like the title of my blog implies, you'll get to read all about how I laugh through the chaos that is my new life as a mother.

If no one ever comments on my posts and all I do is blabber on and on about my life, so be it. That's fine. At least I'll get a few things off my chest. But, I really, really encourage you to comment - let's get a dialogue going and share the ups and downs of motherhood together.

If I manage to make it to my bedroom without tripping over a bouncy seat, jumperoo, pile of laundry, stray shoe, or random breast pump part, I'll be back tomorrow to write more. Until then, I hope you get more sleep than I do tonight.