Not an easy thing, nursing.

Today I don't want to pour my heart out about the economy falling apart, even though I fear for the future of my family. I don't even want to pour my heart out about Luke's upcoming surgery that we just scheduled for September 2, and how I'm dreading it every day that it gets closer.

Today I want to pour my heart out about something dear to me, that probably won't be to others. I want to rant about how my baby is becoming less and less of my baby. Every day.

Any avid followers of my blog probably know of the difficulties I have had with nursing my children (overactive letdown, etc.), but that I stick with it because I'm a huge breastfeeding supporter. However, I'm not the one who will stop you in the grocery store if you're giving your baby formula and try to give you a lesson on why that's so bad for your little one (yes, that actually happened to me with my first). I have been on both ends and don't judge anyone for how they decide to feed their baby, but for me, personally, nursing is all I wanted.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was determined, but I had no idea that anything could go wrong or that it would be such Hell. But it was. And I started making all the wrong decisions from hour one of his life, and it snowballed. I tried everything to make it happen. Everything. Everything that I knew, anyway. But I was naive, and even the experts I had helping me seemed to be, too. No one--not even the six lactation consultants--could figure out my problem. They said it was him, that he was just too stubborn. They said he had colic. They said nursing just wasn't for some babies.

I found out years later that they were wrong, about everything. But, in that time, I trusted them. After all, they were the experts. And I was just a first time mom. So we continued to try, trying every little gadget and technique in "the book," and the process was torturous.

By the age of six weeks, Sam gave up completely. No more staying up hours in the night trying to get him to suck while he screamed bloody murder. Because he just. wouldn't. do. it. Because he was too miserable--and so was I.

And because I didn't know I was the one with the problem, I didn't know how to help him. I felt helpless. I felt like a failure as a mother. And there was nothing (that I knew of at the time) I could do to change it. And when I knew I wouldn't get to nurse my baby like I'd always dreamed, I cried. For days, I sobbed. So I did the next best thing: pumped until he was six months old, so that even though we couldn't have the bonding that comes along with nursing, he could get the nutrients. (And, man, that was a pain in the ass.)

Then  I was pregnant with Josh, and the whole subject of nursing scared me because I was worried the same thing would happen with him that happened with Sam. I wanted to nurse him so badly, and I wanted it to actually be a good experience. Then a very dear friend of mine was an answer to my prayers. She revealed to me that she used to be a La Leche League leader, and when I told her the problems I'd had, I actually saw the light-bulb above her head turn on. Because she had had the same problem with both her kids. And so do thousands of other women, come to find out. Finally, I didn't feel alone! Finally, I knew it hadn't been colic that made Sam cry all the time.

She gave me information and a website so I could arm myself with knowledge and learn how to work around the issue. (If anyone wants it, let me know. It's literally a lifesaver. Whether you have nursing problems or just want to know more about nursing in general.)

And I spent hours and countless hours on that website, finding answers to every single question I ever had about nursing and why, no matter what I'd tried, it hadn't worked for me.

And I became an "expert" of sorts (quiz me, I dare you). And when I had Josh it was difficult, as I knew it would be (a woman with overactive letdown will have it with every child), but I was actually able to manage it. I worked around it, and it was a miracle. And I was able to live the dream I had of nursing my baby and sharing that special bond. He was a five-minute nurser, which made having a life difficult, especially since he ate that way until the time he was 13 months, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Because I was a mom, and my baby was my priority. Nursing him was my life.

Then I had Luke, and again I spent hours on the website, re-arming myself with knowledge. And just like with Josh, it was extremely difficult those first three months. He was miserable all the time, and just like Josh, he was a five-minute eater. Five minutes, with only an hour and a half between each feeding. Because that's all his poor, tiny tummy could handle.

But then he grew up and his tummy could handle more. And unlike Josh, it began to be insufficient. Five minutes wasn't enough. But because that's what my body was used to, that's all I would produce. I tried letting him eat on both sides then (usually, I'd only nurse on one side at a time, with both Luke and Josh), and that worked for a few months. He'd eat for five minutes on one side and five on the other.

Then by six months, that wasn't enough. And he would struggle and fight, and cry, cry, cry. But not in the same way he did as a newborn. This time there wasn't enough. And last month, the first time I realized this was a problem, I cried. I stayed up late at night in the rocker and cried with him--him because of hunger and me because of my failure to again provide for my baby.

I didn't want to give up. I kept offering him the breast, but he didn't want to work for it. He didn't want to wait for that letdown that wasn't coming, even after five minutes of sucking--that same letdown that only four months ago came too forcefully and too frequently. I don't know how it happened, and why it didn't happen this way with Josh, but for some reason, I was losing my supply. Probably because he didn't want to keep working so hard for something that was so lacking.

So I gave in and gave him his first bottle of formula. (Because regardless of the opinion of some people, babies will not eventually get hungry enough to give in and nurse. Instead they will give up. Instead they will cry themselves to sleep and starve. I know this because this is what I experienced with my first, and what a good friend of mine (who is a nurse at a NICU) experiences at work on a regular basis. And my baby's health is more important than hanging onto the hope of nursing.)

And Luke loved it. He loved that it flowed so easily and never stopped coming unless he stopped sucking. And for the first time in weeks, he was actually satisfied, actually happy.

So over the last month I have had to supplement, mostly before bed at night (as well as give him solid food 3 times a day, because he loves to eat). And it's been hard for me, but I've dealt with it.

And then over the last week, it's become an every-feeding thing. I nurse him first, let him get all the breast milk he can, and then, since he'll only nurse for about 3 minutes before he gets too upset to finish, I'll give him formula. And it's been this way at every feeding for the last week, with the exception of the feeding in the middle of the night, every night. At least I still have that.

But now he is drinking way more formula than he is breast milk, and I know it won't be long before he won't be nursing at all. And I'll lose my milk completely.

He is only seven months, and I'm so not ready for this to be over. I feel like he is pulling away from his baby-hood. Way sooner than I'd like.

But this time is different than my first. Even though I mourn that connection to him, I'm also knowledgeable and experienced enough now to know I'm not a failure as a mother. That I can still have just as good a bond with him if I cradle him as he sucks on that bottle and his little blue eyes are looking into mine. I'm not going to go into a depression over it, or cry for days over it. I know that formula isn't evil (I never thought it was). I know that just because I don't breastfeed doesn't mean I'm a horrible mother. At all. I don't think anyone who decides not to nurse is a bad mother. At all.

I'm just saying that for me, it's all I wanted to do. And it's hard that I can't.

But I have tried my best, and either way, I know Luke's still my baby, and I'm still his mother. And even though the only thing that makes my bond with him different than the one with his daddy, or anyone else, will be taken from me, no one can take my place as his mother.

And I'll remember that at least I was blessed enough to have that special, precious bond with him for these first seven months, and with Josh for thirteen.

So for now, I'll hold onto those middle-of-the-night feedings with all my heart. And I will never complain about waking up to feed him in the night again.

The Simple Things...

*Post inspired by Mama Kat's writer's workshop prompt, "The Simple Things..."

I like the simple things. The simple things are what move my day forward, give me the boost to last through the not-so-simple things. And today my day was full of the simple things. The kind that remind me just how blessed I am and just how happy (and on some days, how happy I should be).

Like the fact that the baby let me sleep eight straight hours without interruption both last night and the night before, which is a miracle. Knock on wood.

Like the fact that I was able to pump some breast milk this morning after feeling down in the dumps all week about losing my milk. (Turns out I'm not. Turns out kids go through growth spurts, or something like that.)

Like the fact that the boys both wanted the same breakfast this morning, which makes my life that much easier.

Like the fact that Dave took over disciplining a very strong-willed four-year-old on his lunch hour, just to give me a break from it. (I think slamming the child's door and saying the naughtiest of naughty words under my breath is a cue that it's his turn.)

Like the swelling emotion all throughout me, emerging in the form of chills and goosebumps, just from watching a moving, heartfelt dance routine. (Thank you, So You Think You Can Dance.)

Like blond curls and blue eyes, that remind me children are beautiful angels and not demons. 

Like the thirty minutes I got to myself to write today.

Like freshly cut grass, done by none other than my husband.

Like phrases from my two-year-old, such as, "Mommy, you get spanking," because they show me just how far he's come in his speech.

Like the precious swatting of a tiny hand on your behind after said phrase.

Like the fact that my four-year-old can still hug me and tell me he loves me after I've just punished him in the worst way I could punish him (taking away his computer privileges).

Like my two-year-old saying, "I you, too," because that's how he says he loves me. 

Like cold cereal for dinner.

Like the visit of a good friend, because it reminds me I'm an adult and can still have adult conversation.

Like my husband retelling the story of how we met, even though I've heard it a million times (after all, I was there), because the part about how he felt when he first looked at me makes my heart skip a beat and makes me feel, in some small way, a part of some romantic movie. 

But mostly, it reminds me that aside from the frumpy sweats, the greasy ponytail, the stretchy tummy skin, the PB&J sandwiches, and the yelling mommy voice, I was once--and maybe even still am--a beautiful, strong woman, who has the love of a caring, amazing man.

The simple things.

I just might lose it.

I've never taken part in Shell's PYHO (Pour Your Heart Out) Wednesdays, but I figured I should today. Before I explode. And this will be my last post for a short time, since we are leaving for Idaho tomorrow! Woo-hoo! If I get the chance, I might blog from there, but I'm not counting on it.

It's just been one of those days. You know, the kind where you've procrastinated things all week and decide that you'd do it all in one day--one day before you leave on a ten-day vacation? Or the kind where your kids are unbearably cranky, extra whiny, extra bratty, and cry at the drop of a hat? Those kinds of days suck on their own, but to have them both on the same day is just downright annoying.

I admit that the procrastinating is my fault. I've always been really good at that. I always think I'll have plenty of time in the future to get certain things done, and I'm wrong. Every. Time.

So instead of getting things ready for our trip this week, I've been using my few minutes of free time here and there to rewrite my first manuscript (the one I don't really consider a manuscript at all because of how absolutely horrible it is). I've always loved the characters, but felt a little ashamed of the story, and even more ashamed of the writing. So, I thought, why not rewrite it all, start from scratch?

It's something I just started doing for fun, because of the fact that I'd written it off a long time ago, but now that I'm back into it, and I'm seeing that it actually has some promise with the way I'm rewriting it, it's been hard to step away. It's been hard to find that balance, as it usually is when I'm into something I'm writing.

So that little thing I decided to do for fun has now turned into a passion that fills nearly every moment of my free time, which isn't much. And between that and a screaming baby (which I explain below), I have been a procrastinating whore.

It's a problem. And the first step is admitting it, right?

Anyway, I'm suffering from the consequence today. Here I am, with a massive to-do list and three kids that are driving me BONKERS.

It took me an hour just to fold laundry. Yes, an hour. Because my two-year-old's favorite thing to do is laugh when I pull my hair out and scream destroy a good ol' pile of freshly folded laundry. Twice.

And cleaning up the toys in the family room and their bedroom? Well, that was a two-hour job. After gathering all the puzzle pieces and having the kids put them together again, Josh also decided it would be fun to act like the spawn on Satan throw them all in random directions when I wasn't looking, including, but not limited to, behind the couch, behind the TV, on the shelf, and in the laundry (which was still destroyed at this point).

He also got a kick out of the fact that when I finally got their room clean an hour later (it was absolutely horrific, I tell you) and I put him in timeout, he locked himself in and destroyed everything I just cleaned while I begged from the other side of the door for him to unlock it. (After that episode, I messed around so much with the lock that I accidentally broke it disabled the lock on their door to prevent future episodes.)

And perhaps the most horrifying of all is that I have an almost-six-month-old who is the most high-maintenance individual I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. And people, I promise I'm not over-exaggerating this one. I am literally at my wit's end. If there is anyone out there who has a baby like this, any pointers will be helpful!

The constant soundtrack to my day (unless I am holding him) is a high-pitched scream that makes my head hurt. He cries ALL. THE. TIME. And I don't know why. I love the baby to death--really. He is so cute and fun and when I'm holding him, he is pleasant and happy and oh-so-kissable.

But I put him down and it's like I'm dealing with a starving, neglected, raging demon. (Those of you who are judging me for my word choice, come to my house for an hour and you will share the same opinion, I promise you.)

There is something about that screaming that not only hurts my head, but makes me grumpy, on edge, and triples the stress in the air. It makes me not want to do anything during the day (which is why I procrastinate in the first place) because listening to that in the background is torture. It's in the background to everything I do. EVERYTHING.

Doing the dishes: screaming. Sweeping/mopping the floor: screaming. Bathing the two older boys: screaming (and of course the crying from my older kids because they hate water). Giving my older kids lunch: screaming.  Disciplining my older kids: screaming. Dealing with an unruly, whiny child: screaming. Trying to unlock the children's door while pleading and nearly crying myself on the other end: screaming.

And it's not just the screaming that's getting to me, but the nursing, too. I've never enjoyed nursing with Luke. Never. And that is really sad to me. He's a miserable nurser. He squirms and fidgets the whole time, not to mention claws. I have scratches and abrasions all over my boobs, ribs, and chest because he doesn't know how to lay calmly when he eats. I have to use one hand to hold the boob in place (it comes out if I don't, thanks to the pulling, the squirming, etc.) and the other to try and keep his hands down.

And part of his behavior is out of habit, I think, since in the first few months of his life he suffered with my over-active letdown problem. But now it's just irritating. And it saddens me to say that I can't wait until he's older, when I'm ready to wean him.

So, you may be asking to yourself, why is she blogging if she has so much to get done?

And the answer is because I want to. Simple as that. I needed a break, the baby is asleep, and it's quiet.

Ah, that quiet.

And I'm tired. I'm tired of a fussy, needy baby, and I just want him to be happy. So there's my venting for the week.

And I just want to add that as I type, I can hear Josh throwing all the toys out of the drawers in his room again. For the third time. After the two hours his mom has spent cleaning it. He is supposed to be asleep.

And I'm just too tired to care now. It's why I don't clean on a usual basis.

Did I mention I'm tired?

Keep your unsolicited advice to yourself.

*Post inspired by Mama Kat's writer's workshop prompt, "List 10 things you wish you could say to strangers who share unsolicited advice about your parenting skills."


Beware, all. Remember, this post is things I wish I could say. So they might be mean. But that's why I don't say them. I also thought it was funny that after I made this list, I realized that a lot of this stuff is centered around Walmart. I guess that's when I get the most unsolicited advice.

1. "What are you looking at?" Yes, I notice your daggers when I'm walking through the store with a baby, toddler, or child (or all three at once) throwing a temper tantrum. You don't have to say anything, because your old, judgmental eyes say it all. What do you want me to do--beat them? I would, trust me. I'd spank those little bums in public if I knew I wouldn't get reported to child services. So instead, my threats of spanking them "when we get home" will have to do.
2. "Yes, high fructose corn syrup is bad!" I know you think that because we had it when we were little and we're all still alive that it's okay, but they didn't have the research they did back then. It really is one of the worst things we can ingest into our bodies (and I know because we have done research and know the effects). And I want my kids to be healthy. I know, I'm horrible for letting him miss out on pop-drinking at age two. He just might have to go to a support group for it someday.
3. "Wait...where's your kids? Oh yeah...YOU DON'T HAVE ANY!" So until you do, please stop acting like you know anything about what it's really like to have and raise a child. I promise you, they're not that easy to control.
4. "My kids watch TV. So kill me." You say they might end up mindless, ADD children, but I say that my son learned his ABC's from Brainy Baby videos when he was fourteen months old and learned how to count to ten in Spanish from Dora when he was eighteen months old (Though I do loathe Dora). So, no, I don't feel guilty for using the TV as a babysitter when I'm in desperate need to get something done. Like dishes, or showering, or laundry. Or sitting on my back porch with a margarita and a romance novel. Ha!
5. "No, ma'am, my baby isn't hungry. No, ma'am, I'm not neglecting my child." So maybe only the first sentence applies, but when my baby is crying hysterically and you ask me if he is hungry, isn't that what your saying anyway--that I need your helpful prompt to remember that I have a baby in need of me? Lay. Off. He's tired, sick of being in his car seat all day (because to go anywhere we have about three hours of driving time), and basically cries every time I'm not holding him. So if one more old maid in Walmart asks me if my baby is hungry, I'm going to punch you. Okay, maybe not. I'll probably just smile and shake my head, but know that inside, I want to punch you.
6. "Don't talk to me until you do your research." Because I promise you, I have. And I know I'm doing what's best for my children. Even if that's different than what's best for yours. Even if that means you think they're disease-infested, germ spreading children because they're on an alternate vaccine schedule.
7. "Yes, dummy, breast is best." I don't judge anyone for their decision not to breastfeed, and I understand not everyone can--heck, I couldn't breastfeed my first child. So don't tell me I'm not doing what's best by nursing my child. Because, really...your argument sucks. Other than your claim that I need to put myself first and take care of me, and get more sleep at night so I can enjoy my children more during the day, you have nothing to back it up. And I'm sorry I put my baby before me. I'm a mom. I nurture. I nurse. That's what me and my boobs were made for, and that's how I love it. So, lost sleep, sore nipples, and all, I won't stop. And going off of that...
8. "Since when did you become a lactation consultant?" Yes, I have tried everything, and I mean everything, to nurse my baby (speaking of my first). That includes countless nurses, grandmas, aunts, and three real lactation consultants. And everyone was stumped. I spent hours and countless hours up in the night and meeting with people to try to get my baby to nurse. He hated it, no matter how many tears I spilled and how many prayers I prayed--so I could be the mom I wanted to be. So I didn't feel like a failure. In fact, after six weeks of constant refusal from him, I pumped all day, every day, until he was six months old, just so I could feel like I was doing what was best. So do not tell me that you have the magical solution. Because I guarantee I've heard it and tried it. And no, they will not just give in when they get hungry enough. I promise you. And I will not let my child suffer from malnutrition. Just because your babies were good nursers doesn't mean everyone's baby can be.
9. "Talk to me when you have a fussy, high-needs baby." Until then, don't even pretend to know what it's like. It's great your children are angels, sleep when, where, and how you want them to, and are happy laying by themselves, but letting my baby "cry it out" isn't going to change a damn thing. No, I did not make him this way by "loving him too much." My kids have been high maintenance since the second they came out of my lady parts. Baby, they were born this way.
10. "You're right...I am too stupid to realize my child is danger!" Thank you so much for telling me he might fall out of the grocery cart. I don't know what I would do without your eyes. After all, I'm just a mindless breeding machine with a baby wrapped to her chest, a child sitting in the front of the cart, another child in the back, and every other inch of space occupied with groceries. 

Oh wait...I just realized my child is standing because I told him to.  

Because I don't have four arms and can't push two carts to carry all the millions of groceries I buy, and because of those millions of groceries there just isn't enough room for him to sit, and because I live an hour and a half from the nearest Walmart and have to stock up on groceries on the rare occasion I get to go, and because I have to make these long, obnoxious trips to town by myself, and because I don't want my kids to run away from me in the grocery store (I swear, if I did let him out of the cart, he'd be gone in a second)... And because, because, because...

I do what I can. Even if that means one of my children will stand in the back and hold on. 

But what do I know? I'm just a mindless breeding machine.

Whew. Felt good to get that out.

Passion or Hobby?

*Inspired by Mama Kat's writer's workshop prompt, "What are you passionate about?"

I have a lot of things I am passionate about. My children, my family, my God, the gospel, creativity, individuality, writing, nursing my children (I know that sounds strange being squished in with the rest of that stuff, but it's true--with all I've learned and experienced, I'm passionate about nursing my babies...and the subject of nursing in general).

But I picked this prompt because of the way it got me thinking. I mean, you can tell just from the "About Me" section on my blog that writing is my greatest passion...but is it really?

Put everyone and everything out of the picture and focus on only me, then, yes. Writing is my passion. I know I love it deeper than any hobby. It makes me feel alive and like...well, like me. It's the one way I can express myself. Joy, love, satisfaction--all those come to mind when writing. And, as I've admitted before, it sometimes haunts my thoughts and I find myself yearning to escape life and do only that.

Only sometimes though.

Take my "self-indulgent" side out of the picture and writing leaves the equation. Yes, I want to share my writing with the world, want to show the world what I labor over. But when everything is stripped away and it's down to the wire--the wire that asks the dreaded question, "If everything was taken from you, except for one thing, what would you want it to be?"--my family easily tops the list of my passions.

Easily.

Nothing else matters, really. If I didn't have my family, I would have nothing. Be nothing.

My children are my life, the very thing that keeps the blood pumping through my veins and the inspiration in my heart. Without them, I couldn't write like I do. I didn't even find the passion and courage inside me to write until I had Sam. Because it was then that I knew I was a strong woman who could do anything I set my mind to. Suddenly, I had something to write for. They say to write what you know, and what I knew was the greatest love humanly possible--a love that everything else can be built upon.

And inspiration was born.

My children fueled my passion, thus making them the greatest passion.

And in the next life, my family is what I want with me. Even more than my most beloved manuscript.

Here I am. In a Nutshell.

My life is full of happiness, joys, blessings, and lots of great days. I'm aware that I have a great life and a wonderful family, and, really, when it all comes down to it, I have no reason to complain. I just want to point that out.

And get it out of the way.

Because due to some recent spikes in less-than-happy things in my life (one of our kittens dying tragically, to name just one), I’ve been kind of a buzz-kill the last few days.

I know, I know. I need to be positive and move on, despite the extra lack of sleep (Luke is teething and back to not taking good naps or sleeping well at night. Nor letting me put him down without that trademarked high-pitched screaming that says, “How dare you think you can actually get anything done around here?!”).

And, despite the few--okay, lots more than a few--extra pounds I’ve been wallowing about lately. No more using the excuse that I "just had a baby." What happened to the whole claim that nursing moms lose weight faster?

To me it’s looking like a fairy tale, ladies. And I can only use the elliptical for so long before I realize my kids are destroying things while in the absence of my attention. So throw me a frickin’ bone here [insert whoever I feel like directing this at] and at least let me get back to my pre-baby-growing size.

Okay, moving on from that. In light of my loss of vigor and optimism, I feel like making a list of some things that make me me (some inspired by recent events and others at random placement). Good, bad, embarrassing--I don’t care. I am who I am, and on most days, I actually like that.

So, just in case you ever get quizzed...

• If I actually let myself, I could probably eat a whole cake in one sitting. Beyond any food, even chocolate, cake is my downfall.
• I still mourn my Dyson and have a little buyer's remorse for my Kirby.
• The romantic fluff is my favorite substance in movies and books. If there isn't any, the rest of the content better be damn good.
• I swear sometimes. Okay, more than sometimes. But--to all you gasping for the innocent ears of my children--I do watch myself around my kiddos. And church members.
• The judgement, naivety, and close-mindedness from church members is the highest pet peeve on my list of pet peeves.
• The whole mumbo-jumbo of religion and doctrine in general, and who's right and wrong--even in my own religion--is really tiring me out.
• Pictures of posey teenage girls taken by themselves are high on the pet peeve list, too. Maybe even #2. Especially ones with the crooked pout and the sideways peace gesture.
  
  
  
• Doctors are climbing really high on my hit list right now. All except my kiddos' pediatrician, who I found after a rigorous search and is wonderful. As far as I'm concerned, besides her, there aren't any left with good hearts in this world, who truly care about the patient and figuring out what's wrong with them. Since when does someone whose services we pay out of our butt for feel they have the right to treat us like we're wasting their time??
  
  
  
• I hate corned beef. I only eat it on the special occasion that we make it because it's my husband's favorite food. There's nothing right about it.
  
  
  
• Dora the Explorer is the bane of my existence.
• I am horrible at anything crafty. I don't sew. I don't have a nack for home decor, and am basically clueless when it comes to knowing whether or not something looks good. And I'm only a decent cook. So, basically, I fail at the Susy Homemaker test.
• My passion involves a laptop and solitude, and sometimes, I admit, that writing is all I want to be doing.
• At this given moment in my life, if I was given the opportunity to spend twenty-four hours doing whatever I wanted, I'd go to a hotel completely and utterly alone, and write.
• I want other people to read what I have labored over. Regardless of whether or not I'm good enough, I want to be known for writing--and maybe even make a little dough on the side.
• Grammar mishaps really bother me. Like, a lot. Irregardless is not a real word, people.
• Sometimes my kiddos still see me naked. And that's not good, since Sam is almost four. But that's what happens when you have three small children, a busy husband, and you are shower-deprived. Sometimes, it's unavoidable. So sue me.
• I nurse in front of my kids because I want them to be accepting of it. It irks me when mothers are so hush-hush about breastfeeding and don't even speak of it. It's not a sexual thing, ladies, no matter how much society wants it to be. It's a beautiful thing and a God-given way to feed and nourish our babies.
• Though I know it's not (do I really?), sometimes I feel like praying is a waste of time.
• Next to losing a child, my biggest fear is my children losing their father, or me, and having someone else raise them.
• I Hate bugs. Hate with a capitol H. And one of the biggest offenders are moths. There, I said it. I'm "afraid" of moths. And crane flies.
  
  
  
• If asked, I'd say the Book of Mormon is my favorite book, because it is, yet I haven't really read it in almost four years.
• I love dry humor. I love anything comedic.
• I'm addicted to late night comedy/talk shows and DVR some of them regularly. Conan is my guilty pleasure.
  
  
  
• I'm socially awkward sometimes. And physically awkward all the time.
• I have the worst temper in the world, thanks in part to the genes of my father. It almost prevented my husband from marrying me. And now I see it in my kids. Uh-oh.
• The best sound to my ears isn't rain or waves or anything emo like that. It's the word "Mommy" on my two-year-old's lips.
• I truly feel that with all of these things aside, my children are my greatest blessing in life. They are the best part of me, an extension of who I am--my flesh and blood. And my life would be nothing without them. Poop, screaming, annoyances and all.

Three Weeks and Counting (almost)...

The first week CRAWLED, but for some reason the last week and a half have flown. I can't believe Luke is almost 3 weeks old! His 2 week checkup went well...I guess. Okay, it really didn't, but that was just because he also got his circumcision at the same time and it was extremely traumatizing for him and me both. But he is healing up great and now I can put that hell behind me!

He now weighs 8 lbs. 12 oz., which is a lot more than I was expecting, since at his 4-day checkup he'd lost almost a whole pound since birth. His pediatrician and I were pleasantly surprised! He is also 21 inches now, 1 inch more than he was at birth. So he is thriving and getting plenty of mama's milk!

Today is one of those days I just want to sleep, cry, vent, etc. But don't worry, I'll only scratch the surface. Of all the 19 nights since Luke was born, all involving about only 3 hours of sleep on average, last night was by far the worst. On top of his usual constant nursing and fussiness, I'm pretty sure he's going through his 3 week "frequency days," or growth spurt, because ever since yesterday afternoon, he has been eating CONSTANTLY. And not the normal, fussy, I-have-a-tummy-ache-so-I-need-comfort nursing. He's actually eating a lot. For the first time ever, he sucked me totally dry last night, which is a huge surprise, considering I have an over-supply of milk usually. So last night consisted of feeding, feeding...feeding. Then trying to get him to sleep. Then crawling into bed. Then just as I was drifting to sleep he'd wake up again and...feeding, feeding, feeding. All night. Every hour. I literally didn't get more than about 30 minutes of sleep.

And it's all catching up to me. And I'm too tired to care about anything, and all I feel like doing is crying, but I'm even too tired to do that. And then I feel like I can't vent to my wonderful husband because his automatic response is that I should let him "cry it out" so that I can get some sleep--an idea that I completely, utterly disagree with at this young newborn age. So to Dave, I bring it on myself (in a nutshell) because I shouldn't let the baby "manipulate" me and shouldn't be coming at his every beckon call, or even feeding him as much as he needs.

Basically, the way he feels is completely against everything I feel and believe in my heart and that makes this all the more difficult. I went through this with Baby Josh, too, and unfortunately during his newborn months, our marriage was rocky because of how opposite our newborn parenting styles are. I'm the nursing mom, so in the end I get the say, but it doesn't make it easy. While I know it is important for babies to have their crying time, I also know it's important for them to know at this age that their parents will be there to comfort and protect them. Does anyone have any suggestions on how to see eye-to-eye with a spouse whose parenting opinions and styles are completely opposite from your own??

At least I know that once the newborn phase is over, we will see eye-to-eye again, since this is the only area we disagree in. Anyway, here's a great article on the LLL website that supports my opinion on the subject and gives a little background and explanation. There are also a billion other helpful articles on this website to anyone else who shares similar views.

Anyway, I love my supportive husband dearly, and am SO grateful for my family and my beautiful children. I cherish them and know how extremely blessed I am. Everyone needs to vent sometimes though, right?

Family of FIVE!

I know I'm WAY behind on this, but it's better late than never, right? One week ago we welcomed our little Lucas James Davenport into the world! HOORAY! He was born on Thursday, January 6, 2011, at 8:04am, weighing 8 lbs. 2 oz. and measuring 20 inches long.

He looks almost exactly like Sam did when he was a baby (same nose, same serious brow, etc.), but not quite as "old." Sam's always had an older face, even as a newborn, and though Luke looks like a little old man sometimes, he's still got a lot more "baby" in his face than Sam did. He also has brownish hair! Dave thinks it'll stay brown, but I think it'll end up blond.

He is doing very well and other than an undescended testicle that they can't find and slightly elevated Bilirubin levels, he is very healthy! The testicle thing is something they aren't concerned with yet and said it's something we and his pediatrician just need to monitor over the next year because it will probably come down on it's own eventually. And though the whites of his eyes are yellow, the Bilirubin levels weren't even elevated enough for them to give me a number. They just said to keep nursing him, put him in sunlight when we can, and it'll go away on it's own. So along with that, and the fact that it was a very smooth delivery, I am feeling pretty darn blessed.

So for anyone wanting more details of the labor/delivery story (and anyone who doesn't mind the glorious details of child birthing), here ya go...

Anyone who knows me knows I was really stressed and nervous about the whole induction and how it was going to go, but it turns out I didn't even need to stress! The night before, I got everything ready and felt 100% prepared, then went to bed that night as anxious as ever. I kept thinking, "Wouldn't that be awesome if I went into labor on my own on the way there tomorrow morning..." Well, I didn't go to labor on the way there, but instead woke up at about 2:45am with my first real labor contraction!

As with my other two kids, I knew right away that it was real because it was painful enough to wake me up. But, wanting to be 100% sure before I woke up Dave and rushed them to the Sipes's house, I let three more contractions pass, each about 10 minutes apart. During that time, I got up and finished getting together some last minute things, then woke up Dave. At that point it was pretty obvious it was real labor.

So after dropping off the boys at the Sipe's (by then it was about 4am...Tara, you rock), we were off to Prescott Valley, speeding the whole way so I didn't have the baby in the car. But I was still only about eight minutes apart on the way there, so I felt completely safe. And actually, it turns out I had more time with this one than I did with Josh! Crazy how things work. And I am so grateful for the Lord answering my prayers, even though I didn't pray them. I never prayed that I'd go into labor naturally, only that whatever is best would happen. But He knew how stressed and nervous I was, and so I feel like this was a HUGE blessing, and just one way for Him to show me that He loves me and is actually aware of us and cares about our concerns.

Anyway, I was dilated to about a six when they ended up getting me in and checking me (about 6am), but as soon as I got changed and in the bed, things started progressing pretty quickly. Within the hour I was almost completely dilated, so my OB told me I could go along with my body and do whatever I felt was necessary, whether it be pushing or just waiting through the contractions.

At one point I was laying on my side and I felt like I'd hit the "transition phase" (for anyone who's ever done natural childbirth, most will agree that this is the WORST part) and my contractions were so painful, intense, and right on top of each other that I felt like it was the end of me. At that point point I felt the unyielding need to push, so I did, and told the doctors it was time and it was happening NOW.

BUT as soon as I got off my side and got into "delivering" position, the contractions regressed back to the way they were before and the doc told me to stop pushing because apparently my cervix wasn't ready. WHAT?!?!

So after waiting and waiting (with the doc, the nurses, and all the equipment ready and watching), the doc finally decided to give it more time and he'd come back in fifteen minutes. Of course almost as soon as he left, I hit that transitional phase again. They gave me 1 mL of pitocin (which is a tiny dose) to speed things back up and then had me turn back on my side since that's the position I was in before. And not even a minute later, that unbearable pain came again, along with the horrible, uncontrollable need to push. Only this time it was ten times stronger.

Besides Dave, there was only one nurse in the room at the time and I told her (I guess you could really say I was yelling at her) I HAD to push--and I actually started regardless of what she said because I couldn't help it. After checking me and seeing that his head was actually coming through, she frantically called for the doc to come back in and while waiting told me to keep him inside and pant instead of push. So I did...with the top of his head sitting almost outside of me...and as soon as the OB came back in and got on his gloves, I had to start pushing again.

Anyway, about 30 seconds later, tiny Luke was born. And I have to say that though I am extremely proud of myself for doing it without medication and wouldn't change anything about that, it was HELL. Excuse the term. I don't remember my experience with Josh being that painful, but this time around there was a moment where I slipped into a place of feeling like I wouldn't make it through. It's a feeling I'll never forget.

...One more reason (besides the crappy pregnancies I have) I feel like I never want to have kids again. I know I never want to have an epidural with any of my kids, yet the whole pain and crappy feeling of delivering a baby is enough to keep me from having more. Hmm. We'll see how I feel about it in a couple years or more...when it's not so fresh.

Anyway. I do have to say that though it hurt like Hell and I never want to do it again, because of the result it was a joyous experience. There is nothing like the immediate physical relief once that baby comes out. And then the spiritual bliss when hearing the first cry. And even though I just underwent misery, as soon as they laid him on my chest, all of that vanished and I felt like the luckiest mom in the world. He was so beautiful and perfect. And at that moment, for the first time ever, Dave got teared up. For some reason he didn't with Sam and Josh.

He was so perfect and all the nurses and doctors kept commenting how perfect his head was and that they never see such perfectly shaped heads on newborns unless the baby was c-sectioned. Anyway, I just feel like a proud mama.

And I really liked the new birthing center. They let me keep him on me, skin to skin, for as long as I needed right after, leaving me and Dave alone with him while I nursed. Then about an hour or two later is when they finally took him and did all the routine stuff...which they actually did right there in the room (everything is done in the room).

I also like the birthing center because if mom and baby are doing well, they let you leave after 24 hours, vs. the two-day thing they used to do. I really liked that, seeing how I am always SO uncomfortable in the hospital after (hate the beds and the constant interruptions, etc.). So that next day we left!

Life here has been...different. It's always an adjustment with a new baby, especially one that can be difficult, but I know it's something that will become routine. And from day one we felt like Luke was the greatest addition to our family and we wouldn't have it any other way.

As I knew would happen, I've had some nursing difficulties. I expected it. I prepared for it. But it still doesn't make it any easier. As with all my kids, I produce too much milk and have what's called overactive letdown, which means because there is SO much milk, it comes out way too forcefully and strong, causing a chain reaction of numerous problems for baby and mother...resulting in constant engorgement and pain for me (nothing relieves it because I produce it too fast) and constant tummy problems for baby.

I had this with both Josh and Sam, though I had NO idea about the problem with Sam and didn't know what it was or how to control it, so Sam eventually stopped nursing. But with Josh I figured out the problem (thanks to the HEAVENLY La Leche League website!) at about 3 weeks old. By then, it'd already been going on for a while so I had a late start at getting it conquered. But eventually, by about 3 months, I was finally regulated.

But because Josh had gotten so used to only being able to eat for about five minutes at a time, it was an eating habit he held right up until the end, which was thirteen months of age. So I am praying that because I am trying to tackle this early enough, that it regulates sooner and that Luke goes back to eating beautifully and normally, like he did his first two days of life. I have high hopes, but I'm not counting on it, because I know this is life. And sometimes I feel like I've been cursed with difficult newborns and that I just need to accept that they will all be like this.

...another reason I shy away from the idea of having more kids. I know it sounds selfish, and I know in a few years I'll feel differently. Like I said, when it isn't so fresh...

So anyway, thanks to that issue, I feel like utter garbage, Luke feels like garbage, and neither of us are really sleeping. The most hours of sleep I've gotten a night since we got home has been 4.5 hours, collectively, though usually it's just been 3 per night. And I feel horrible that the reason my baby isn't feeling well and not sleeping is because of an issue I have...not him. But I know there's nothing I can do immediately to change it and it's something that we just have to get through until things get better. I love my baby so much, but a lot of the time I wish I could fast-forward to one month from now.

The boys have taken to him REALLY well. Josh has actually surprised me, since he was the one I was so worried about. But they love their little baby brother, and Josh has even learned to say "baby" since then! :)

And Luke already has such a sweet personality. He is SO cuddly and SO soft (and really fuzzy, too). And I love that we spend lots of time gazing into each other's eyes. Even though things are difficult right now, I am extremely blessed and I couldn't have asked for a more wonderful family. I thank the Lord for my wonderful, special boys every single day, and for my wonderful, supportive husband who is a lifesaver to me. I love them so much and I know that being a mama is a blessing and the greatest thing I could be doing.

And I have to say thanks again to all the wonderful people who have been so helpful! Thanks to the Sipes's for taking my kids that first day and night (and taking them so early in the morning!), and for the Quists for taking them that next morning and afternoon until we got home! Thanks to everyone who's offered themselves, and to everyone who's made us meals! You are all angels and we appreciate it more than you know!

I've posted all the pictures on my facebook account, but here are some of them. And here are the links to some videos we took as well:

Little Squeals
Under the warmer
First Bath1
First Bath2
More squeaks












Also, here are two other cute videos of Sam and Josh. This one is of Josh saying "baby." We had to get it on video, since he never talks! And this one is of Sam explaining how you check your temperature when you have a "favor" (fever).