The State of Me, post partum take 2.

After giving birth to Mia, it took me over a year to start caring about myself again. Caring about my body, my appearance, my hair, clothes, everything. I'm not sure I realized it while I was in that post-partum funk. I wouldn't necessary escalate it to PPD, but having a baby, becoming a mother and coming to terms with your new identity was difficult for me. Adding a second baby does add a lot of work, but it doesn't change who you are quite as much. Yes, there is a new person and that is certainly a big deal, but I'm already a Mom, so the adjustment was just that much easier.

Of course, I'm still nursing. That is what my body is doing right now, that is what my body is for. I decide what to eat based on that, skip my allergy medicine despite feeling congested, choose my clothing, choosing beer over wine. I suppose this will continue until she's a year old and we start to wean, but for now, it's still a huge part of me, and my life. 

I am, and have been for a while, watching what I eat. Immediately after having Lucy, I dropped all the baby weight within 4 weeks of giving birth. I was back in pre-pregnancy jeans, despite a flabbier midsection. I don't know how to explain it, but it may have been a combination of the difficult recovery decreasing my appetite, plus the round the clock nursing that did it. But, as soon as my supply regulated but my appetite did not, I gained everything back. I didn't realize it until my pants started feeling tight again, but I started low-carbing and got some very quick results. Of course, my milk supply totally tanked, and I realized that my usual method of cutting carbs out completely was not going to work out this time around.

It's probably for the best, actually. Instead of being very strict with my eating for a shorter period of time, I have to be sensible for a long period of time. It's been just over 6 weeks now, but B and I are still eating well. We've eliminated white starches (but I have to eat a starch at every meal). I've lost 12 lbs, which puts me at about 8 lbs until pre-pregnancy weight. The scale hasn't budged in a couple of weeks, but I'm hoping that Lucy will start sleeping semi-regularly again soon, and I can actually wake up with enough energy to do a little bit of yoga once in a while. The belly flab is pretty serious this time, though. It felt like it was pretty flabby after giving birth to Mia, but stretching that skin for a second time seems to have pushed its limits -- it's not bouncing back. 

Another lovely post-partum side effect that has really shown up this time around: hair loss. For a little while there, I was shedding multiple handfuls of hair during each shampoo. I had a lot of hair, and it's pretty thick, so it doesn't look bad, or thinning at all, but it is significant. I can go around my ponytail 4 times with a hair tie now, when it used to be 3. I'd easily estimate that I've at least lost 1/3 of my hair. It'll come back, and when it does, I'll have a lovely head of chia hair.

Warning: Probable TMI

**Advance warning: moments of weakness and probable TMI lie ahead. But if you are a mother or "to-be" it may be worth it to read.**

I wish I had been able to breastfeed. Even if only for a little while. Hell, even if only once. Maybe they would have handed me my little Tybalt in the postpartum room, I would have nursed once, and decided it wasn't "for" me. Or I might have tried nursing and found I literally physically couldn't. Or assuming it went swimmingly, maybe I nursed for a few months before weaning so Romeo could help in the middle of the night. Or imagine, what if I breastfed, loved it, Tybalt loved it, and instead of blogging at 1am right now, I was up nursing a 20-month-old still?

Point is, well, what is my point? I guess it's that I simply wish I could have tried it. Add it to the looooooong ass (excuse my French) list of newborn/mother experiences I feel I was cheated out of when my heart failed and I didn't even live with my son until he was 3 months old.

When "we" were pregnant Romeo and I discussed the breast vs. the bottle over and over again. It was perhaps the singular biggest decision I just could not make up to the very end. We knew that we wanted to know the gender in advance, we had a name chosen, for medical reasons (my back implant) we had decided on a c-section. It took a while to pick his exact bedding, but I knew I wanted a teddy bear motif, and I graphed out far in advance where all the furniture would fit best. I had picked his first stuffed animal and the outfit I wanted him to come home in. But how he would be fed? I just couldn't decide. And it wasn't really ever going to be a joint decision, which perhaps should have even eased some confusion and made it slightly easier. I mean how many things do you and your spouse agree on instantaneously? When it's not a joint decision it usually goes faster. Of course I looked to Romeo for his opinion, "Would he feel left out if we didn't bottle feed?" "How would he feel about me nursing in public?" "Would he be disappointed if I didn't choose to breastfeed, because all the books say it's best." And summarily he said he would support whatever I chose. But it truly was me who couldn't decide.

I knew the health benefits, yet for every article you read promoting it, there is another "consoling" you and saying your baby is potentially just as healthy on the bottle, and don't worry-- it's not the end of the world. Some even saying nursing is overrated. I also read that nursing helps prevent postpartum depression because of the chemicals released. This was to me perhaps the biggest item swaying me to nurse. With my history of clinical depression I knew that statistically I was more likely to suffer from postpartum. I was encouraged nursing might help. On the other hand, if it didn't I would still be nursing, yet unable to take my anti-depressants because of doing so, which would lead to a bitter conundrum. Perhaps I would be better off simply taking my meds and not nursing. Honestly not just for my sake, but Tybalt's as well. I knew that a depressed me wouldn't help anyone. Then there was the issue of father and child bonding. There is much literature about its importance, of course, but specifically of the fact that great bonding can occur by being involved in the feedings. If nursing, daddies should be awake at midnight as well, changing diapers and getting baby back to sleep. But some mothers choose not to nurse apparently on purpose so that Daddy can do the actual feedings and bond that way.

The closest I/we ever got to a decision is that I would plan to nurse. Assuming it went well (and I felt sane) I would go "breast only" for a few weeks to months. (My stamina without sleep, if or when I felt the need to start my meds again, and whether Romeo felt he was bonding enough yet or not, would determine whether it really was weeks vs. months.) But eventually I would start to pump and it would be bottled so Romeo and I could share the feedings, bonding, and lack of sleep.

But even though that was my "final plan" I still hemmed and hawed. Part of me didn't even want to nurse, as guilty as I felt about that, I sometimes had no interest. It wasn't just the reasons that perhaps I shouldn't (meds/ Romeo's bonding) it was, "Do I really want to?" "Do I want to have to whip a boob out in public?" "Do I want to not be able to get a babysitter for the first however many months?" "Do I want my breasts to be human refrigerators?" Ever since Romeo and I had dated he had been enamored with my breasts, as I am well endowed. In all PAINFUL honesty, I wasn't thrilled at the idea of my breasts being under "new management" and turning into my child's rather than my husband's. Romeo had been my first. (Okay, not the first to enjoy my boobs, I had fooled around as a teenager with a couple boys. But he was my first "real" sexual partner.) As a young adult I suffered from horribly low self-esteem due to my obesity. However with weight usually comes large boobs, and it was definitely true in my case. You could even say "BEYOND definitely true." Especially compared to my small framed female teenage counterparts. So the boys I fooled around with weren't really into me, except for the bonus of my top half. And I couldn't describe it while pregnant and trying to decide, and I still don't know if I truly can, but where I let those teenage boys just fool with my mind because they really only wanted to fool around with my boobs, Romeo... I don't know... treated them as a prized possession. I genuinely adored him adoring my breasts because I knew he adored the rest of me as well. He had loved the person first. I guess I was terrified that once he saw "his" boobs turned into breasts in the scientific sense--feeding and sustaining life, he would feel differently. (Not to mention the shape I have heard breasts take on after having nursed a child.) And while I was brave enough to bring these concerns into our conversations about the ultimate decision, and Romeo assured me he would not be deterred and his opinions about my body would not change, I just still had my doubts.

So, I still had not made a firm decision. The only clear picture in my head was that I wanted to nurse Tybalt the very first time. After I gave birth, when the nurse asked, I would say "Sure!" and my little boy would be placed on my chest and I would nuzzle him and I would try. [Insert pause for me crying right now as I think about what I didn't get to do.] Anyway, I figured after that I would either follow "the plan" or else if really still unsure, I would take it day by day, feeding by feeding.

But as [bad] luck would have it, I had an emergency delivery 3 weeks early, went into cardiac arrest on the c-section table, nearly died, was in hospitals and rehab facilities for 3 months, and only saw my baby about one evening a week (from what I consciously remember with all the drugs). He lived with my in-laws and was very lovingly hand-fed via bottle by them and Romeo. I didn't get to live in the same house as him until he was 3 months old. And because of complications and extended home nursing, I didn't come out from the basement and really know him until he was about 4 1/2 months. I wasn't strong enough to be full-time mom and sole caretaker (of course with Romeo, I just mean without MIL) until we moved into a new apartment and Tybalt was 6 months.

His feeding choice was not mine. It never became mine. Actually, I can't even begin to describe to you the joy I had when he was 6 months old, we had moved into our new apartment (we terminated our old apartment lease when it was obvious we had to be at my in-laws for my home nursing care and we were paying rent on an apartment no one was living in), and anyway, the joy I had in going to Target and actually choosing which canned formula to buy for my son! It sounds insane, I know. But my MIL or Romeo did the shopping when I was recovering, and they just bought the brand that the hospital had sent home samples of. Finally, I was the one in the baby aisle and I could choose.

But that's all the choice I got. And there are nights, like tonight, when my husband has fallen asleep and I can't yet, that I daydream. I lie in bed in the dark, my hand will graze my breast or my nipple as I roll over or some odd motion, and my mind drifts to 2 years ago, and how VERY, VERY, EXTREMELY SILLY I was for ever doubting I wanted to breastfeed. And I sob as Romeo snores and saws logs.

If only I could have done it, just once. Just once, God. Why couldn't you have given me just once?

Please, if any of you reading are a mother-to-be, or know one: Nurse. Or tell them to. I am not a "granola, crunchy mom." I'm not extolling the health benefits and everything else. I'm not telling you to nurse your child until he is old enough to unbutton your shirt himself. I'm just saying try it. For me.

Look, I know we are a small blog and not read by many, but if you can share my story with anyone, please do. We as humans are not omniscient and often don't even know who needs what help, so maybe you should just share it for the sake of sharing, and it will find and touch the person in the universe that it was meant for. Share the link on Facebook (the Internet is a powerful thing), copy and paste it in an email, heck-- print the screen and snail mail it. If it will be of any help-- perhaps to a woman who is still on the fence, or maybe you nurse now or have decided you are going to and need help defending your position, etc, whatever the case! And if you do choose to share it, and/or it does help you or someone you know (in any way at all) I'd be thrilled to know. So PLEASE email me at julietcap702 at gmail dot com, or even leave a comment here. I'd like to think my regret is not in vain. That as cliche as it is, when God closed that door of choice on me, sharing my story is the window he opened. Perhaps it's the point.


**Again, my apologies for the moments of TMI, vocab, etc, in this post.**

The Birth Story

I've mentioned my pregnancy induced health problems before, but for some reason I felt tonight that I needed to touch on it again. Maybe sub-consciously I need the therapeutic aspect that "getting it out" can bring. And I started to write what is now this blog post as part of my bio page. But I quickly realized it was much too complicated and lengthy to be part of my basic bio. So, here it is as a separate blog post. On another note, check out my new official bio page! Click on the "About Juliet" tab in the upper left! :)

My pregnancy wasn't difficult, but it wasn't easy. I have a bad back and it exasperated it. But aside from morning sickness in the beginning, my back was my only complaint for about 7 months. Because I'm obese my ob-gyn was even thrilled that I LOST weight in the beginning and then stayed steady until about month 5 or 6. But gradually the weight creeped up, until about the 7.5 or 8 month mark where it exponentially added up. And around the same time I was gradually having more and more trouble with my breathing. Simply catching my breath at first but then not being able to breath if reclining at all. Exams and x-rays and hospital stays and further tests all occured but there was no fluid in my lungs, no super high blood pressure or other signs of complications such as pre-eclampsia or eclampsia.

At 37 weeks my son was delivered via emergency c-section due to bleeding (still unknown as to whether it had anything to do with all the other symptoms or my final diagnosis), and I experienced heart failure on the table. I was diagnosed with post-partum cardiomyopathy. It is a rare but life threatening condition in which the pregnant mother's heart expands and causes the mitral valve to not properly control the blood flow. And all my symptoms during pregnancy? Common symptoms of cardiomyopathy. But there is no clear testing guidelines currently in place to check for the disease because of it's rarity and unknown cause. It is unknown why any woman ever develops it. Why pregnancy causes it in any woman. I was an in-patient for three months. The first few days I was touch and go in ICU. I have no memory of the first two months due to heavy sedation. The silver lining? My beautiful, healthy, blessing of a son, Tybalt.

The First Known Picture Of Mommy And Son (I Have No Memory Of It)

Tybalt Visits Mommy (Again, I Was Sedated And Don't Remember)

Family Picture When Mommy Is Finally More Alert (And Allowed To Get Fresh Air!)

A Few Days Before Mommy's Discharge

Shhhh!

Whenever anyone would ask how I, Romeo, or Tybalt were doing, my husband and I would only half-jokingly say that Tybalt was the one who came out on top. I was horribly sick; my husband was horribly stressed. Tybalt however, was healthy, happy, and had round-the-clock love and affection from his grandparents, my in-laws. And it took an additional three months of at-home (read: my mother-in-law's home where my husband moved us into during the whole hubabaloo) rehab once I was released from the hospital, but once I was back on my feet Tybalt probably thought he had four loving full-time parents between me, Romeo, Grandma, and Grandpa. This kid won the lottery when it comes to love and attention. Even then though, I spent as much time bonding with him as possible so he would know who Mommy was.

A Tradition Is Born! Tybalt and Mommy Kiss At 4 Months!

When Tybalt was 6 months old, I was able to be alone with him and take care of him all by myself, so Romeo and I found a new apartment and moved out of MIL's basement. Our "baby" is now 14 months old and I have been full-time Mommy for about 10 months. It feels...different. Wonderful but weird. Because while we have permanently and properly bonded at this point I still feel like I am playing catch-up to some extent. And I wonder if I always will feel that way because of the first months and milestones that I missed.

And now, just for fun, some more pictures of my beautiful baby boy:

One Of My All-Time Favorite Pictures. Look At Those Rosy Cheeks and That Smile!

Mommy And Tybalt Venture Out Into The "Real World" Alone Together

Tired Of Trying On Clothes!

My Son, The Flirt!

Crazy Towel-Dried After-Bath Hair

His New Specs!

"Hello, Mommy!"

???

So, I know I haven't posted since my introduction. And I swear it's not because I haven't wanted to. In fact, I have wanted to sooooooo much. I've logged on every day, if not twice most days. Hovered my mouse over the "new post" link, and then...just lost my courage. I just don't know what to post about! I wish I could say that I want to write about so many things that I actually just don't know where to start, and, perhaps, that is partly true. But in all reality it's also about not knowing what readers will find interesting. Sure, I honestly do have a million things in my brain on an hourly basis. But how much of that is interesting to the outside observer?

Then there's this fact: I suffer from depression. I was diagnosed in college but have known something was "wrong" much earlier in my life than that. And while not everything I think about and do revolves around the pessimistic life views that plague me, much does. Many of my musings are frustrations and disappointments. And I REALLY didn't/don't want anyone's first impression of me to be, "Oh my gosh, what a freak!" So, yeah, that eliminated a few of the topics I could have posted about in the last few days. I just didn't have anything super happy and upbeat to say. I go through swings.

But, all of this has gotten me thinking. I can't be the only mom, (or woman, because I believe some of our readers may not be mothers, at least not yet) that suffers from depression, right? Please, say "Right!" :P

So, while I plan on keeping most of my posts as upbeat as possible, perhaps I NEED to share when I'm having a bad day too. Perhaps it will help someone else to know they are not alone. Whether it be postpartum depression, or "plain old" clinical depression, maybe even just one reader out there needs to feel validated and know that someone else can relate. Maybe if more women and moms on more blogs shared their mood swings, their depressed moments, I wouldn't be so scared myself to begin with! Because I would know I wasn't alone as well. So, perhaps, just perhaps, being real, being myself, would be a good thing. I know, what a shocking realization, right? LOL.

[And a final note, maybe you who are reading this right now have never been depressed a moment in your life. If so, congratulations! Seriously, I wish I was you. But if that's the case, then it's definitely not about making you feel less alone in this world. But maybe sharing with you my sometimes fragile emotional state will make you see that not everyone feels great 100% of the time like you do, and open your mind to the trials and tribulations of at least this one mother.]

Lots of love to all out there! Sweet dreams!