He's In The Waiting

"And now, O Lord, for who do I wait? My hope is in you."

-Psalm 39:7

As you know from the previous post, we've been waiting a while for a huge miracle and received it! Well, after the reality of that breakthrough sank in, I thought, how fun! We don't have to wait anymore!

Wrong.

It takes approximately 9 months for a baby to reach full gestation. NINE MONTHS. We had already waited over 1.5 years, so what's a few more months?

But then I began to look around my house and realized this was just going to be a full year of waiting. With the will-we-get-pregnant-or-not question out of the way, I was able to see other things that we had put on hold while we waited. Construction began on the addition to our house (which ironically we began planning for around the same time as we started trying to get pregnant), and it (still) is an seemingly endless process of waiting. They dropped the dumpster off in our driveway back in February, we cleared out the garage and rearranged our closets and guest room to accommodate the storage, but then nothing for a few months. A structural review issue. Need to submit permits again to the city. Wait some more. Then finally! In mid-April, they tore the ceiling out of our garage and floor out of the attic and began to prep for framing. Like, literally one day I came home and it was all different. But still more waiting! There's no apparent timeline for completion, and things are moving along, but still I wait until it's DONE.

I can see the progress as plain as day - it's right outside my bedroom door! I realize this is a gift; oftentimes when we are waiting, the real anxiety and impatience comes because we can't see what's going on behind the scenes (and there is most always something going on behind the scenes! See 2 Kings 6). The only hope we can hold onto is the result - or the idea of the result we have in our head - how we want it to turn out.

But even with the progress right in front of me, I'm still impatient. I'm a planner by nature, so you know that I already have to-do lists for the very moment the room is done. This furniture goes here, buy Avery a new bed, move crib to baby's room, start buying baby's furniture and decorating, etc., all leading up to the baby's due date. Maybe it's the "nesting" part of pregnancy, but honestly I just want to be settled! After 1.5 years of waiting for what our next season might be - questions hanging in the balance, the roller coaster of trust and belief - it feels good to have something concrete to hold onto. For so long we didn't even know IF God was going to expand our family, so now that we have the "go," I'm going!

Recently at church, we sang a song that was so dear to my heart during our period of waiting (and honestly still is). It was surreal, all-encompassing, full-circle experience to sing a song that you once verbally professed as "I hope this happens" but now can sing it as "this is truth."

Take courage my heart

Stay steadfast my soul

He's in the waiting

He's in the waiting

Hold onto your hope

As your triumph unfolds

He's never failing

He's never failing

Sing praise my soul

Find strength in joy

Let His Words lead you on

Do not forget His great faithfulness

He'll finish all He's begun

As the worship team and congregation sang, my throat closed up, tears streamed down my face, and I began what I call the ugly cry of connection, when my heart and God's collide. Hopefully no one was actually watching me or they might think I needed some medical attention. I was able to offer this song back to God as a thank you for his faithfulness, for the all the times I sung it cautiously, but now could sing it with confidence. What a gift!

The truth is, He IS in the waiting. There was so much we learned as a couple and as a family in that time, as our community surrounded us and prayed for us, as I saw multiple friends announce their pregnancies but learned how to respond with grace, and as we walked the road of belief and trust in the impossible. While it was extremely difficult, it was also extremely sweet. Waiting requires a lot of activity - namely, continually and actively giving over the thing you're holding onto, and releasing it to the God who created the stars and the galaxies above. I'm so grateful for that specific season of waiting, and honestly excited for this next season of waiting, as painful as it seems right now.

My hope and eyes are not fixed on that moment, that final sweet moment when I get to hold my son in my arms (here come the tears!), but on God. I'm encouraged by everyone in the Bible who had to wait as well: Abraham to see the promises that God spoke, Noah for the waters to recede (even after the sun came out!), the Israelites to be freed from Egypt, all those who were sick to be healed by Jesus, and the Jews who were waiting for their Messiah to come. As I read over these stories, I see that God give us promises to hold onto, and sometimes we get caught up in the result, but He's really more interested in the process. He wants to see our hearts cleave to His, and that process and change is worth whatever wait we are asked to endure. 

The Miracle We Have Been Waiting For

"God is not man that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change his mind. He has said, and will he not do it? Or has he spoken, and will he not fulfill it?" -Numbers 23;19

"Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you..." -Mark 5:19

I read the these two verses recently and they prompted me that it was time. Time to tell the story, the testimony, the miracle, and joy in our hearts and spirits. It's also conveniently timed with me entering my second trimester, which means I feel all sorts of better!

To begin, you need to know the impossibility in which this miracle takes place. When I was 18, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease (Wegener's), and the treatment at the time was a course of low-dose chemo that I was warned could cause infertility. Being young, single, and very sick, I obliged, and I got better. Over the years, I went in and out of remission, but with each flare up, would use different drugs to keep my immune system calm. About six months before I started dating my now husband, I was diagnosed as being "peri-menopausal," meaning I hadn't had a period for over 6 months, but they typically diagnose menopause as no period for a year. My ovaries had no eggs left and were shutting down, they said. That day was really weird - after I heard the news, I went home and laid in bed, expecting some sort of grief to wash over me. But it didn't. I even had a friend pray for me, and she felt like it wasn't a diagnosis I was supposed to receive. It all felt very foreign and not apart of me. 

Going into marriage, my now husband and I knew we wanted children right away, so my OB recommended we visit with an infertility specialist, given my history. The specialist basically gave us two options; we could spend lots of money on treatments or we could try on our own. With faith the God could do the impossible, we chose to try on our own. Miraculously, six months into our marriage we found out we were expecting a baby! It was so surreal - I actually had a hard time receiving the gift of conception because my faith wasn't very strong - I wasn't really sure He would do it! I knew He could, but I'm not sure I believed He would. On June 26, 2105, we welcomed Avery Joy Bassett into the world. Every single day, I look at her and know she is a miracle!

Around Avery's first birthday, we began talking about trying for baby #2. Knowing the odds against us but also how quickly we got pregnant with Avery, we dove head first into the process. After 4-5 months of trying on our own, I made an appointment with my OB. He tried a few medications for several months, but ultimately sent us back to the fertility specialist. This time, the specialist was shocked and in disbelief we conceived on our own, but also had the same advice this time around: you can try some expensive treatments, or you can try on your own. He even said, "I don't see how this happened. But if you want to try again, prove me wrong." We chose, again, to try on our own. 

At this point, we had been trying to conceive for about 9 months, and the roller coaster of emotions and anxiety about the future was weighing on us. We had close friends announce they were pregnant and give birth in that time period, and it was a hard road to walk. I realized we had been running head first down a road we never asked God about. So we turned to Him, and found that He not only is a miracle worker, but He also reveals himself in the process of waiting. So we leaned into the waiting, and as we did, learned more than we could ever imagine about how big and powerful God is.

During the summer, I read infertility testimonies online to boost my faith and had friends pray over me and receive words like "your next child will be from your womb," and "Avery squared ... there will be more children." I listened and latched onto songs like Yes and Amen (Housefires), More (Red Rocks Worship), and Take Courage (Bethel). I poured myself into scripture and looked up all the fertility-related promises. I experienced amazing amounts of breakthrough in other areas of my life (food, self control, and emotional freedom and forgiveness). I picked up my pencil and paper again and began to draw what my heart was feeling - alone, sitting in a waiting room, watching friends walk out of the door with babies while I just sat there. I even got to share the journey I was on during a women's brunch at my church, which was a huge faith-builditng moment for me!

But then nothing happened. By the time December rolled around, I was getting discouraged. God, I shared with 100+ women this journey of infertility - are you just going to leave me now?! What a lame story to end with nothing! But God never leaves us. He never lets our stories disappear; He not only completes them, but He finishes them better than we ever thought possible! One day in January, I was sitting reading John 11, the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. When I read the words that Jesus spoke ("Lazarus, come out!"), I started immediately bawling. I had no idea what was going on, but looking back now, I can see that God was doing something in my spirt and the spiritual realm to awaken dead things in my life and body!

I began to have regular periods again, which was a shock, but also faith building. Something was working! Ha! In February of this year, a friend of our church's, Joe Ewen, preached on Sunday morning. His text was from Isaiah 50 ("Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended... every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low... and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed..."). I knew this word was for me and claimed it as such! I also received some beautiful words from Joe and others who prayed over me: it will be a season of plundering in an orchard - taking back that which was lost, a picture of me running through a field and embracing my Father with joy, and a picture of my heart being free and able to breathe again. I came home that Sunday grateful for the revelation, but also still not sure what it all meant! As we prayed about it, my husband got a sense that God was asking us to stand up and leave the waiting room. It felt hard, but also I was so willing at this point to go wherever He was leading, kind of like how God essentially told Moses "go where I send you. When you get there, I'll tell you." I'd said YES to Him before, and never regretted it. So we did; we committed the future of our family to the Lord and said yes. I honestly was in a place of complete surrender. I was open to anything and began thinking about adoption as a possibility. I hadn't done much research, but began to build expectancy for what God had next for us. 

On the morning of February 27, I awoke with the song You Came (Lazarus) (Bethel) in my head. I even wrote in my journal, "Lord, I don't know what this looks like. It sounds exciting, so do it!" That afternoon, I got home from work early. I was two days late on my period, and so on a whim decided to take a test "just because" I wanted to know what was going on so I could track it. After the 3 minutes was up, I glanced a the test strip and froze. Two. Solid. Lines. Positive.

I probably sat there for at least 5 minutes, not moving. I got up and paced back and forth. I took another test. Positive. I called my OB and made an appointment, then sat on the couch and bawled my eyes out, heaving and ugly crying all over the place. IT HAPPENED! HE CAME! I KNEW THAT HE WOULD COME!

I foraged and finally found the "Big Sister" shirt I had reserved for Avery to wear for such an occasion (it was buried beneath tubs of clothes!), picked her up from school, and put the shirt on her. I told her she was going to be a big sister, but I'm not sure she really got it. I couldn't wait until my husband got home! When he did finally walk in the door, he was in disbelief, but also so excited! What joy we shared! It was brief, however, because I had tickets to see Jen Hatmaker and Nichole Nordeman that night and needed to leave 5 minutes after he arrived. So it was kind of a "Hi, I'm pregnant after 18 months of trying, bye!" sort of deal! But as soon as the program was over, I rushed home and we celebrated and praised God.

I'm now 17 weeks along, and baby is doing fine! Shortly after finding out we were pregnant, I had several weeks of nausea and fatigue, a few sinus infections, and had to start a round of prednisone due to the autoimmune disease. But God is my protector and He has created this little baby BOY in my body; He will complete the story and bring all glory to Him.

As I share with others the joyous news, especially those who have walked this journey with us, I'm overwhelmed EACH time by the faithfulness of God. It's so unfathomable. It's so grand and beyond what we see. I'm committed to telling this story all my days: I want to encourage and remind others just how faithful He is and above all, that HE IS GOOD. So so good! 

"I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord." - Psalm 40:1-3

The Art of Receiving

What did you get for Christmas? Was it what you were hoping for? What you put on your list? Or was it something that you thought was out of left field and is still sitting in its original packaging, waiting until you decide if you're going to donate it or actually use it?

This year, as Christmas crept closer, I noticed an interesting thought that kept pushing its way forward in my mind: if people just give me what I want, then I'll be happy. All you have to do is look at the Christmas list I sent out BEFORE Thanksgiving, giving you plenty of time to procure the appropriate items. These, and only these items are the only guaranteed way to put a genuine smile on my face on Christmas day.

Oof. It sounds even more ridiculous when I type it out! How did I begin to think like this? I used to be so appreciative of any gift I received, and all of a sudden I'm demanding specifics to ensure my happiness. As I thought deeper, I remembered all the times I received a gift that fell way short of my expectations (two Mason jars, last Christmas - yes, that was the whole gift!). I remembered the disappointment, the awkwardness in trying to sound grateful, the worry of what I was going to do with the item. In order to prevent such event from happening again, I did what a lot of us do when we are hurt - I made some rules. The rules were: only buy from my list. (Of course, this was all in my head - I would never tell anyone that to their face! Ha!) But I made sure my list was long enough to feel inclusive of different ideas, but not too long to appear needy.

I've been married for almost 4 years, and early on in our marriage I realized that my husband and I had different expectations for gifts. He is super unique and has super unique interests, so things got complicated in trying to pinpoint the perfect gift. I, however, generally appreciate any gift, but especially those that are thoughtful - those that show how deep the giver knows me. These might be things I've secretly wanted, or the giver thought I would enjoy, and they hit the mark. Conversely, if I got a gift of say, mint-flavored anything, I would feel really misunderstood. If they really knew me, they would know I hate mint! Why did they give this to me?! This present is awful! I was able to recover fairly well on the outside, but inside I was so disappointed. Obviously, they didn't know me. And one of my greatest desires is to be deeply known.

I don't think I'm that different than others, however. We all desire to be deeply known. But we also are busy. It's hard to make time to get to know someone to the level we all really want to. Even my own spouse I'm still getting to know, and we spend the most time together. So when it comes time for gifting, we guess. We take hints here and there, and maybe our mind lights up as we are shopping or we spot a particular item that reminds us of the person. We think, "oh, they'll love that!" But really its just a guess.

The other side of giving is the joy we have, as the giver, when the recipient receives their gift well. You know what I'm talking about - the anticipation of giving a gift is almost too much sometimes! We just want to see the joy on their face when they open it up! Some years I'm actually more excited to see others open their gifts from me than I am to open my own!

But back to my story. After I realized my "stinkin' thinkin'" was not going to set me up well, I did a 180 and decided I was going to be grateful for any gift I received. I would smile, say thank you, and relish in my heart how grateful I really was to receive something I didn't deserve. Because really, what is Christmas about? GIVING. God gave us His only Son. Did I do anything for that gift? Nope. But it's just what I needed.

So what if, instead of making lists and rules and expecting specific things, we all were just grateful to have people in our lives who spend time thinking about us, spend money on a gift, and spend more time wrapping and arranging a time for us to open it (oftentimes including preparing food and hosting)? Stuff is nice, but it's really the people that surround us that will enliven our joy. At the end of the day, we all pack suitcases and travel and grocery shop and stay up late making cookies so that we can spend time with people, not so we can receive gifts.

I may never know for certain how much people have enjoyed my gifts over the years, but I do know that the real point is for the joy of giving to continue. I want to know the person is grateful for the time and effort I put into the gift, and whether they use it or hate it is up to them. The real gift we can give each other is the gift of gratefulness. And you don't even have to fake it! No matter what you are given, receive it well. Say thank you. Be grateful. And see the joy continue.

To My 25-Year Old Self

Welcome to Austin!

What an exciting adventure awaits you! You may not be able to see it now, but this will be a season of leaving home, growing up, and healing your heart. There will be times when it will be really hard, like when you aren't sure if you'll have enough money to cover your bills, or when you get really sick and don't have health insurance yet. Don't worry. Don't panic. The Lord has you in His hands. He is never going to leave you! He has such great things for you - and you'll come out of it all more compassionate and whole. The pain will eventually stop.

I know you're going to resist what God is going to do, but you should say YES. He wants you to be healed and His heart towards you is so full! You're going to learn a lot about your identity, and a lot about lies you've believed about yourself. Just submit to the process. It's going to be hard, but you'll be surrounded by a supportive community of girlfriends/roommates and church. You're going to actually look and feel completely different when all is done!

Did I mention you're going to have FUN?! Austin is the best place to live, there is so much to do! When Megan invites you to play sand volleyball, say yes! You're going to meet the best people through that activity. (They're actually going to become your church family, so pay attention!) And take advantage of all the unique things Austin has to offer - swimming holes, parks, restaurants, free movie nights, etc. Explore it all and enjoy it!

And don't fret about when you're going to get married. The Lord knows your heart's desires. And he knows what needs to happen in your heart for it to grow and be healed before you receive someone else's love.

When you lose your job, again, don't fret. The Lord has you. He will take care of you, but more than that, He is working something so much deeper and more real than you know. Keep applying places - eventually you'll find a job at Starbucks that will teach you more about people and relationships than you ever could read from a book.

And then the breakthrough! Oh, how glorious and exciting it will be! Working in Cardiac Rehab again, engaged, and heart full. Enjoy that time of newness and possibility!

I don't know if I can say this enough, but don't fret about whether you'll get pregnant and bear your own child. Just give it over to the Lord, He knows and has thought about your children before the foundations of the world. He also can heal and bring life, in any circumstance.

Watch out for the first 8 weeks after your daughter is born. Those are a doozy. But it gets better! And you'll finally stand on your own two feet again.

Above all, maintain your community. They will catch you when you fall, and carry you when you can't walk anymore. God shows His love through your friends. Keep them! They may be a little cooky and different, but they're good.

God has a really great adventure for you. Hold on, it's going to be a wild ride.

Reba

Post-pregnancy and Body Image

I posted several months ago about my experiences with body image in pregnancy and how I loved the body I was in. I came across this Scary Mommy post ("The Luxury of Not Giving a Damn" - read it!) on my FB feed recently, and it struck a chord really strongly in the midst of a lot of changes. I realized there was more to this mommy thing than just figuring out a baby - it's also figuring out yourself.

Every since grad school, I have known that time is a cruel metabolism killer. The older you get, the slower your metabolism and the harder it is to lose weight and change your body. The older you get, the more your body has trouble doing normal things, too, so the fact that we all get fat and fall apart as we get older is not new (being very general here). But learning this as a young, relatively in shape person is a lot different than actually experiencing it as an adult where it starts to become reality. Sure, I counsel people everyday on how to eat well, exercise, reach their weight loss goals, but that's always been their problem. I've never had to deal with it myself and am realizing now the amount of compassion needed to really tackle the underlying issues of body image and weight.

Pregnancy was great because I could be "fat" without being self-conscious that I should look some other way. Once Avery was born, I quickly, and I mean really quickly, lost the baby weight. I did some form of nursing for first 6 weeks, and that combined with not eating or sleeping much helped to keep my weight steady. I fit into old stuff! People said how great I looked! I felt odd about their compliments because (1) I didn't do anything except have a baby, and (2) I knew that some women wish they looked that great post-partum but how do you say thanks with saying I don't know how I did it? It's just genes maybe?

Once I stopped nursing, however, I experienced a flare-up of the autoimmune disease I was diagnosed with at age 18. My doctors had told me this might happen, but it still sucks. My left eye/sinus started hurting, we tried some medications, they didn't work, we decided I needed to do IV infusions, but in the meantime (read = 1 month, the approval process takes forEVER because it's super expensive), I wasn't getting any better. My nurse then suggested what I knew was coming but was hoping to avoid: prednisone.

There are few things in life I can honestly say I have a love/hate relationship with, and prednisone is one of those.

Prednisone is a steroid. Not pump-your-muscles steroid, but another kind made in your adrenal glands. It makes me fat. It causes me to gain water weight. My face gets big and my shoulders and upper body gain weight. It increases your appetite so all you want to eat is CARBS CARBS CARBS and all the things all the time. It also gives you crazy energy, which turns out is a really helpful thing when you have a 4 month old who's congested and needs a paci re-insertion every 2-3 hours. And I did start to feel better. But I hated how I looked. In fact, I still kind of do.

One day I was putting on my scrubs for work, the same ones I work before busting out the maternity scrubs, and I just felt so uncomfortable. The pants were too tight in places they hadn't been before, and I constantly was adjusting them during the day. I didn't want to go out and buy more because that would be admitting I was fat. I work in a fitness facility and I can't be fat telling other people not to be. So, after much debating, I decided I needed to start working out again, and the time that would occur would be 4:00 am each morning.

Working out is one of my things. I love it. It's therapeutic for me. It helps me focus, destress, and re-orient my day. It also makes me feel REALLY GOOD which is what I needed. And thanks to the prednisone, I had the energy to go to bed at 9 pm, wake up at 4, exercise, and make it to work on time by 6:45, all while taking care of my baby somewhere in there.

I'm not perfect. I don't even know how long it will take to lose this extra weight with working out, weaning off the prednisone by middle of December, and trying to eat healthier. When I came across this line in the Scary Mommy article, I copied and pasted it into my reminders app.

It’s a gift not to give a damn how my body and face compares to others.

I need to remember this. I need to know that yes, the goal is to be a healthy weight and feel good, but ultimately I need freedom from comparison and looking at other moms. I need freedom from other PEOPLE looking at me and feeling the need to comment whether I look great or keep to themselves that that's what a new mom's body must look like after having a baby. I need the freedom to not worry if others are drawing conclusions about my character because of what my postpartum body looks like. I need the freedom to BE MYSELF, wear the clothes I want to wear, and know that my body is pretty dang amazing.

I had a baby, and I don't care what you think my body should or does look like. It's mine, it did some amazing things, and I hope you find the freedom to love yourself the way I'm learning to. If each of us women starts to love ourselves more and not judge other moms silently, we all just might be a little more kind and happy and understanding and not waste time comparing. We are mothers - we don't have time for that!

Nursing Avery, Part II

The Breaking Point

So we were going to try EBF for the week, and I was somewhat anxious about whether it would really work, cautiously excited it might actually be the breakthrough we were praying for. That week was SO hard. I was stressed out from family visiting out of town and Brent being at work and me at home by myself trying to entertain and take care of my newborn who I didn't know much about. Avery picked up on the stress and developed some bad gas which made her super fussy. She didn't sleep too well, either. I began cutting things out of my diet to see if it helped, which it didn't. I noticed one morning that I wasn't engorged like I usually was in the morning, but passed it off as my supply just regulating. By the time family left, it was time to go to another weighed feeding.

The Friday that she turned 5 weeks old was the worst day. She wouldn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time from 2 am on, and I was beside myself in how to get her to sleep - I tried everything we had done so far - swing, momaroo, shushing, but nothing worked and she was crying bloody murder. I fed her, then put her in the sling so she could at least be calm. She did sleep, and I ended up calling the pediatrician and explaining she just wasn't actually normally. I already was planning on doing a weighed feeding that day, and after making the appt had a realization that I would have a plan or at least answers by the end of the day. I was ready to put the week behind me and take a step forward.

I had a friend meet me at the weighed feeding, and once I got there, I just knew she wasn't going to be taking in as much. Talking to my friend really helped put all that was happening in perspective - she also encouraged me by saying that no matter what happened, I had tried EVERYTHING and done everything to make this work. There would be no shame in switching to another feeding method.

When we weighed her after 30 minutes, she had taken in only 0.8 oz, but more importantly only gained 4 oz since the week before, which wasn't enough. It was time to go to the pedi appt, and on my way over, I realized the plan was going to change. There needed to be something different. The pedi couldn't point to anything specific, but did stress she needed to gain more weight. On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, which was one of the first times that day I had peace. Peace physically because she was sleeping, but peace emotionally because I knew what we had to do.

When I got home, I fed her a bottle of half pumped breast milk and half formula, then she took a nap. After that nap, she was HAPPY. She didn't fuss during the feeding. She had a good playtime. She was back to normal. When Brent got home I told him I needed a break from EBF and was going to do the bottle thing for the weekend then reassess. The weekend was glorious - she slept well, ate well, and peace was restored after a hellish week. I extended the bottle feeding through the next week and was amazed at how well Avery was doing. Little things I noticed, too - like the blocked tear duct she had since birth was cleared up. She also would put herself to sleep once we laid her in the crib, whereas before we had to shush her to sleep in between cries. It was like I had a NEW baby. I couldn't ignore the fact that the bottles were doing wonders for her AND me.

I kept up pumping several times a day, but eventually it got to be difficult, especially when she wouldn't go down for a nap. It also was becoming much less efficient - I had to pump longer and longer to get the same amount. I eventually weaned myself from pumping and as of last weekend, Avery is now exclusively formula fed. I've never felt better about any parenting decision I've ever made.

During the week of bliss, I came across this blog and series of posts from a mother who EBF her first, but then had the same difficulties I did with her second - wasn't efficient, switched to pumping, but eventually went to formula. I cried the entire time I read her posts. After reading them, I knew formula was the best option. It was the healthiest for ME emotionally and physically, and it was the healthiest for AVERY emotionally and physically. I could've pushed through and gone crazy all for the sake of EBF, but in the end I knew I couldn't go on. It was done.

I particularly liked this quote from one of her posts:

"Some people who nurse want to nurse because they absolutely love having their baby right there any time they want for however long they want.  Some people who nurse don't actually like nursing, but they want the benefits of breastmilk for their baby.  Some other people only nurse because it costs zero money.  Some people who nurse love it for all the reasons and wish they could nurse forever. 

Some people who pump just aren't into the idea of breastfeeding.  Some people who pump would rather have the option of other people feeding the baby.  Yes, they're tied to the pump - but they'd rather be tied to that than the baby.  Some people who pump tried every blasted thing possible to get their baby to nurse, but the baby just couldn't get the swing of it.

Some people who use formula had an extremely hard time with their milk supply/nursing/etc., and always worrying about their baby's weight gain wasn't worth it.  Some people who use formula just genuinely prefer the convenience of anybody anywhere feeding their baby.  Some people who use formula never wanted to breastfeed in the first place.

This list of reasons is not exhaustive and could go on.  Bottom line:  we're all different and we're all OKAY. "

The next week I went to postnatal yoga class with a friend, where moms do yoga along with interacting with their babies - kind of a fun mom's group. Some babies were asleep and some were playing - and some were hungry. Several moms would at times nurse their little ones, and I thought to myself, "that's great!" It was then that I realized I had NO GUILT and shame about my choice to formula feed. I was happy for those who could nurse, and content with my decision to feed my baby as I felt was best. Simple as that. It was a great moment.

We've been bottle feeding for awhile now, and while it still has it's challenges (like when to switch to a different size nipple, do these bottles work well?, how do I get her to not choke?) it is tons better than the struggle that was EBF. When I think about our future children and whether or not I will try nursing again, I don't know that answer. I know that babies are different, and I also know by the time the next one comes, I may be in a different place where I could try nursing again. All I really know is that this process has made more compassionate, understanding, and tolerant of the struggles moms go through in making decisions for their babies. It's not just limited to feeding - it's everything. The amount of decisions we mothers make in a day is astonishing. It's tiring! And I completely understand the need to be kind to one another in talking about our babies and how we are raising them. I hope in my conversations with other mothers that I can tone down the judgment and pride and tune up the focus on their well-being as a mom. We're all struggling with knowing if we're doing the right thing, anyways, why do we need someone else to point out we might not be? Be nice, and those around you will be too.

Nursing Avery, Part I

The Problem

This is my journey. Whether you don't know much about breastfeeding or have struggled yourself with it or even been successful, please read. I was ignorant of the BIG DEAL it is to feed your baby; and now that I have one, I totally understand the stress of having a newborn has the least to do with sleep deprivation.

Avery Joy was born at 6 lbs 2 oz, a tiny little baby that only took 20 minutes of pushing to welcome into the world. At first, I was pleased she was so small and I didn't have much pain or extended healing afterwards. Now that I can look back, I kind of wish she was a little bigger! You'll see why soon. After she was cleaned off and they let her chill on the center of my chest, she started to bob her head to the left side. The nurse noticed and said, "she might be ready to eat!" Oh yay! I thought. I just pushed a human alien out of my body and now comes the part where she bites back on to my body in the weirdest and most foreign way possible? Let's see what this is all about.

Her little mouth made its way over and she tried a few times to grab onto my flesh. Apparently, I have flat nipples. Could be due to the fact that I was on an IV for 12+ hours, had an epidural and pitocin, but I think there was a little genetics involved, too. That combined with her tiny mouth, it didn't go so well. The nurse brought a nipple shield to see if that would help; not much improvement. I don't think she technically "latched" but we tried for about 10 minutes and then decided she was good and we could always try later.

We stayed in the hospital for about 48 hours after her birth. The first night was a daze - I was so freaked out about this thing that I was supposed to love, but had no idea how to take care of, and Brent slept the whole night! The nurse was helpful and told me to wake her every 2-3 hours to nurse. Each time, I called her in so she could help me with latching. Avery was so sleepy, too, that it took forever to get her awake and keep her awake. Added to that was the frustration that she never really was latching correctly. Again the nurse tried using a nipple shield but Avery didn't seem to like it. The nurse said she would request a lactation consultant to come by in the morning.

The next day I was still bewildered and out of my element. The lactation consultant didn't come by until the evening, and by then I was super frustrated and worried. It all seemed on my end - she couldn't latch because I had flat nipples. The LC was somewhat helpful, but I could tell she had been working all day and wanted to go home, wanted me to be a quick last patient. The second night's nurse was the worst - she was a great nurse per se, but she came in several times to remind me to feed Avery, and very urgently - "she's lost too much weight and you need to feed her!" I was doing the best I knew how! It was really frustrating. The last day we were in the hospital, I started crying. I just wanted to be a good mom! I wanted to do a good job! I understood she needed to gain weight but what else was I supposed to do? Fortunately, a kind and younger LC came in that afternoon - and by the grace of God, I think could tell I had been crying and was frustrated. She was super nice and helpful, and we pumped some colostrum, just enough to feed it to Avery through a syringe. I felt better knowing Avery had at least eaten something, so we opted to go home that evening.

Our first pedi appointment was the next morning, and it was the first time we met the doctor who would be taking care of our daughter. I remember being so nervous - what if she cried while at the appointment? Was I supposed to know immediately what to do? The pedi said she needed to gain more weight, and since my milk hadn't come in, we should supplement after each nursing with 2 oz formula. (First of all, that's a huge amount for a 4 day old! And secondly, we had no formula, so they kindly gave us some samples of ready to drink formula). We got home from the appointment, and it was time to nurse. As I was about to have her latch, I felt something wet on my stomach. I looked down and there was a milky substance coming out of my boob! My milk had come in! That was exciting. That afternoon, after she was done nursing (and asleep by this point), we tried to give her some formula. She spit it up, so we decided not to do the supplementing, mostly because my milk had come in.

That first week was rough. Her nursing sessions sometimes lasted up to an hour! I couldn't believe this was the way it worked. I was so tired. But I pressed on. We visited with a LC at a clinic and she gave some helpful advice, again with a nipple shield. She said Avery was tiny and she would get stronger and better as she grew, but couldn't promise me that would actually happen. My tiny baby just wasn't strong enough, and that was hard to hear. The clinic was located inside a specialty maternity store, and she told us you could come and weigh your baby for free anytime and also do a weighed feeding if you wanted to. We decided to come back a week later to see if she was gaining weight appropriately.

(I feel like I should also interject that I was going crazy and my hormones were all over and I had no idea what I was doing or how we got here or why was it really this hard? That makes the feeding part more stressful when you dread each feeding session!)

The next Tuesday (she was 10 days old), we did a weighed feeding and found out that she only took in 0.7 oz in 30 minutes of nursing. I was devastated. The week before at the LC appt, she had taken in 1.2 in the same amount of time. Luckily the LC was around at the time we were there, and she suggested nursing for 30 minutes and then supplementing with 1 oz formula while I pumped to get my supply up. Brent was still home from work for a few more days, so with all the moving parts we came home with a new plan. Although it was tiring, we got used to it. I wondered how long we had to do it though - was all this mess worth it if someday she would be more efficient? We did another weighed feeding that week and still the same - 0.7 oz in 30 minutes. Brent encouraged me to keep going, and I did but was so exhausted, emotionally and physically.

I talked with a lot of my friends and got all their tips for increasing my supply - power pumping, fenugreek, blessed thistle, pineapple juice, mother's milk tea 3x/day, steel cut oats for breakfast. I threw myself into it and was determined to try everything. On her 4 week birthday,  we did another weighed feeding and she took in 1.7 oz in 20 minutes. I was so excited! She was getting more efficient and I was going to be able to feed her! We decided to try exclusively nursing for the next week and then reweigh. Little did we know that week would be the hardest of this journey so far.