Yesterday was a rough day in Mama-land, and through my (admittedly irrational) tears, I penned this Facebook post: Afterward, many friends–all of them mothers, old and new–offered advice, love, and support. So far today (it is only 11am, but we’ve been up since 6:30), Lydia has been eating every two hours solid and she just woke from a 45 minute nap: small, but marked improvement on both accounts. The same thing happened when I sought breastfeeding support through an earlier blog post. Immediately following the outreach, Lydia’s latch got just a little bit stronger, she nursed for just a minute or two longer, and we both felt better. This is not a coincidence, and it’s not in my head. When I feel nervous and overwhelmed, Lydia feels it. She becomes more needy and irregular, and I grow more nervous and overwhelmed. But when I ask for support and receive it, I feel held. I feel calmer. I feel loved. And just as before with my negative emotions, Lydia responds to this, and we cycle together towards a happier rhythm. We are the definition of symbiotic. And good days and bad days will happen. We will spiral out and spiral in. I will inevitably end up more sleep-deprived than usual, reading baby blogs and feeling inadequate. But I will also find myself understanding her cues and responding to them in a way that makes me feel joyous and powerful. I never spent much time around babies until I pushed one out. And the feeling of winging it–of learning as I go–with something so amazingly important can be downright scary. So, to all the Mamas out there who have shared your light, what I really want to say is thank you. Lydia and I both love you, and we feel held by your support.

We have so many reasons to celebrate this year. Please join us for one final extravaganza to celebrate our marriage, Nico’s graduation, and the birth of our sweet baby Lydia before we depart for Yellowstone National Park just a few days later.

The Details:
Cocktails 5:00pm
We will be serving local beer and wine, sparkling water and appetizers. Please bring anything else you may like.

Ceremony 6:00pm
Yes, we are already legally married, but this is our chance to do it our way.

Potluck Dinner 7:00pm
We ask that our local friends please bring a dish to share.

Open Mic 8:00pm
Share a performance, poem, funny story, speech, or song. Celebrate Rafal and Nico or anything else!

Drinks, Dancing, and Dessert 9:00pm
Set up a tent or find place on our floor, if you’d like to stay the night!

PLEASE RSVP BY MAY 1 so that we can make seating arrangements. ❤

Yesterday morning, I attended my first yoga class in months. The last time I went to an actual class it was sometime during my second trimester. I continued to practice yoga throughout my pregnancy, and I have practiced a bit at home since giving birth, but it’s just not the same as being in the studio, away from the baby, doing yoga for a full 90 minutes. It was bliss.

It was also super hard.

Alongside all the challenges of newborn baby-rearing, sits another obstacle: getting my groove back–or–overcoming my shitty self-esteem.

I strive to be body positive and find beauty in all shapes and sizes. That said, I really want my body back. The body that could do hand stands and arm balances and gorgeous chatarungas. The body that felt strong and healthy and good about itself. The body that did not have tons of stretchmarks.

So now begins the arduous two-pronged journey of exercise and acceptance. Because being strong and capable is important to me, but so is loving myself no matter what. Luckily, yoga helps me with both. And although I did struggle to stay present (like when one of my breasts started to leak), I have never been so appreciative of my precious 90 minutes on the mat.

Anyhow, my yoga practice was due for a little humbling. As with many areas of my life, I have often let my ego drive my growth. But yesterday, in the back of the class, I did not compare myself to other students, and I did not allow my pride to keep me from resting when my body said it was time.

This morning, I feel less hunched over while nursing, and my hamstrings are wonderfully sore. I also feel just a little bit better about myself.

Namaste.

photo credit to Auntie A.B.

outfit credit to Auntie Tracy

getting the baby to nap credit to me

Tomorrow marks seven weeks. Um . . . wow.

[A quick note: I am typing one-handed while nursing. Almost every post has been composed this way.]

I have been trying to nail down just exactly what is so difficult about breastfeeding, trying to isolate my problems so that I may seek advice, trying to put it into words so that I might understand it myself. For now, I’ve narrowed it down to my four most pressing concerns.

1. six minutes in heaven

When Lydia is good and hungry, I can get a very good latch and she will actively suck in a regular rhythm for almost exactly six minutes (sometimes seven). I have clocked it so many times.

After this six minutes, she often falls asleep. But if she is awake (or if I keep her awake), she becomes agitated and won’t stay latched. If she does latch, she will only perform shallow comfort nursing sucks, she slides down the nipple, she clamps down, she pushes away with her hands, and she constantly breaks suction (making clicking noises).

At this point, I usually burp her, check her diaper, walk around a bit to calm her, and try again. Sometimes it helps to switch sides at this point, but I’m worried about her not getting enough hind milk. All of this maybe buys me another minute or two. But in general, after those six sweet minutes, it is mainly me fighting with her and her tearing up my nipples.

If instead I delatch her, she cries and seems like she wants to keep nursing, but if I distract her for a minute she usually drops it. Then, of course, she wants to eat again in 30 minutes or less.

And then again sometimes, she won’t drop it (especially if she’s crabby). She demands to comfort nurse, but she will only give me a shallow latch and she won’t take a pacifier.

It has become easiest (though, I’m not saying best) to let her actively nurse for 6-7 minutes and allow her to fall asleep (rather than keeping her awake, as I had been doing). And then doing it all again 20-30 minutes later when she wakes up still hungry. This is clearly not an efficient method, but I don’t know how effective it is to fight with her either.

Maybe she is just a snacker? Maybe I should try different types of pacifiers (I’ve tried a couple)?

I wouldn’t mind as much if I didn’t start teaching two classes this week. I have to leave her for 3.5 hours per day, and I’d really feel a lot better if I knew she had a full belly when I left. But . . .

2. she never seems “full”

Related to the above concern, but also a little different, she never really “stops” nursing on her own. She either falls asleep or gets fussy or lapses into comfort nursing. I have to manually delatch her, and she usually cries or fusses, and continues to exhibit hunger cues, even if she’s been at the breast for a looong time. I can either work to distract her and calm her down or allow her to comfort nurse all day (even though she’s giving hunger cues, she’s not really eating). I switch between both of these methods depending on how much time I have and how sore my nipples are.

3. pumping is for the birds

I pump three times a day: once in the morning, once in the early afternoon, and once in the early evening, always while nursing Lydia on the other breast. I yield only about 0.5-1.25 ounces per session, for an average of 2.5 ounces a day total. I am only leaving a 2 ounce bottle of milk* with the babysitter when I go to work, so this is technically “enough,” but jeez, it’s not really that much. And it doesn’t leave any extra for Rafal to give her a bottle once in a while, or for to me to ever be apart from her. (Furthermore, the few times we have given her a bottle at home, she has demanded to nurse afterwards, even though she “should” be full. I truly hope she is more satisfied by bottle milk when I am not around.)

I eat oatmeal every day and I have for years. I drink tons of water. I eat almonds every day. I have been taking fenugreek supplements. I eat fruits, veggies, protein, and whole grains. I have been wanting to make lactation cookies, and I bought the ingredients, but for fudge sake, who has time to bake cookies??

The good news is that I have noticed a tiny increase in my pump yield–like 0.25 ounces per day–over the past few days. So here’s hoping that I’m doing something right.

*Note: Does 2 ounces seem like enough to you? At first I read that I should be leaving 1-1.5 ounces for every hour I will be gone (which would mean leaving 3.5-5.25 ounces, but that seems like a lot, and I’m not pumping that much). However, La Leche League leaders, the lady at the WIC office, and L’s pediatrician all said that if I nurse right before I leave (and right when I get back), I should only need to leave a 2 ounce serving. But despite three reliable sources telling me this, I CAN’T LET IT GO. Which leads me to me next point . . .

4. being the baby’s only food source is heavy, man

I have a primal, instinctual need to keep the baby fed, which often manifests as an irrational fear of her going hungry. And my physical body is her only source of food. And she never seems all the way full, even though I’m nursing all the time. And I’m terrified to leave her, even for an hour, even if I have a bottle to leave behind, because when she’s hungry she seems inconsolable and I don’t want to do that to her or the person taking care of her.

And when well-meaning people suggest that I “take a break” or “go get a massage,” I want to laugh or cry because that would be impossible. (Like I said, it’s irrational, but at the same time, kind of true.)

We’ve been at it for over six weeks now, and it has gotten and continues to get better. The fact that I can even articulate some of the challenges we are facing in a cogent way–rather than just a blur of “holyshitwhyisthissohard?!”–is a huge step forward. And bottom line, she is gaining weight. So I know I’m doing something right. Now please, experienced mommies of the world, give me your advice! ❤

Yesterday I tackled one of my all-time favorite trails wearing Lydia: Trillium Trail in Giant City State Park. This felt like a huge victory, as it’s a rugged trail with an intense incline at one point, and I am dying to get back in shape.

Its pretty much impossible for me to find time to work out just yet (with Lydia’s sleep and feeding schedule still so sporadic), but Lydia and I have been trying to go on walks/hikes at least 3 times a week. Last weekend, we did Pomona Natural Bridge on Saturday, and both Bell Smith Springs and Jackson Falls on Sunday. On cold days, we also walk the track at the rec.

But Trillium was special. I hiked this trail constantly during my second trimester. I had some of my first conversations with Lydia on this trail. I felt some of my first baby movements there. I even wrote parts of my dissertation under a tree on this trail. It is one of my absolute favorites. And although it is not really that difficult, completing it made me feel more like me again.

And afterward, we had a picnic on Rafal’s and my special sunbathing spot on the rocks:

It was a great way to spend a Sunday.

#1 – January 31 – Birthed a Baby!

You’ve met her. She’s cute.

#2 – February 20 – Got Married!

Jackson County Courthouse

#3 – March 6 – Defended my Dissertation

Wearing baby Lydia!

What a whirlwind! When people congratulate me in the grocery store, I don’t even know which event they’re referring to! I don’t really know how all of this happened, or how to let it all soak in.

I started dating Rafal almost immediately upon starting graduate school for my masters (6.5 years ago), and I may never have found the confidence and fortitude to finish my dissertation if it wasn’t for little unborn Liddie, so this crazy confluence makes some sense.

The title of my name is now Dr.

If I ever get around to filing the paperwork, my last name(s) will be Wood Kos.

And within a few months, my first name may as well be Mommy. In other words, these events are so performative, so momentous, that they have literally changed who I am.

In still other words, this calls for a big ass party.

So . . . I couldn’t really find the time or strength to blog for the past few (read: four) weeks. Who’s surprised? I bet the mommies out there are not.

The initial new-baby-energy wore off and the weeks of sleep deprivation set in–compounded by the worry and hypervigilance of new parenthood–and wow, I just could not get anything done.

If I had known, truly viscerally known, how difficult all of this would be–pregnancy, birth, caring for a newborn, BREASTFEEDING*–I don’t think I would have gone through with it. And so I am very grateful that I did not know.

And it’s not as if people didn’t warn me: friends, parenting books, and basically all of popular culture indicated that these things are difficult. But maybe it’s just not possible to (capital K) Know it until you’re in the thick.

And then I think, “Maybe I’m just weak. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe it’s not this hard for other people.”

But then I take a deep breath and remind myself, “I’d probably be better at coping with all of this–the worry, the boredom, the doubt–if I were getting enough sleep.”

And I study the cold hard facts: she sleeps enough, she poops enough, she is gaining weight, and we have even caught glimpses of a few seemingly responsive smiles.

I try to follow the sage parenting advice of my friend Shannon and forgive myself. I try to be patient with myself and my baby, and remember that we are both still learning. I try to be grateful for my amazing partner. I try to listen. And it is getting easier, or maybe just better, every day.

*Dude, breastfeeding is bonkers hard for me. I will cover this in more detail in a separate post.

My high school was, in general, a shithole. A poorly funded public high school in a town where the sub in suburban was not a noteworthy distinction. As you can imagine, fine arts funding was especially miniscule. We did not have classes in pottery or photography. Our “stage” was a platform in the school gym (what lovely acoustics!). Police officers (real ones) guarded us from exiting the building, under the auspice of protecting us from malicious intrusions. Bremen High School. What. A. Shithole.

But we did have one shining achievement: a course in TV Production.

The woman who taught TV Production was called Doc. I can remember neither her first or last name, but everyone in school called her Doc. She was the only human in that building to have earned a Ph.D. and no one would let her forget it.

I can’t find her on the internet, but I want Doc to know that I will soon have a Ph.D. as well. I want to have a cup of coffee with the woman and say, “So you wrote a dissertation, too” and just stare at her. And then thank her for making sure we had Mac computers and Final Cut Pro and digital video cameras. TV Production showed me I could be an artist, which was a realization that changed the course of my entire life. I want to say, “From one Doc to another, thanks for everything.” And then turn around and never look back again.