Boobjuice Heroes: Mama Cameron

Hello Dear Readers!

Okay so when I say "boobjuice heroes," I should really say, "Suzi's heroes who breastfed," because so far that's who I've lined up. Y'all can read about Mama Rachael, who is an amazing doctor and friend and mama and cook and seamstress and urban homesteader and I could go on. Well, Cameron is another one of my sheroes. She is brilliant and freaking hilarious and totally fearless and eloquent. She is an accomplished attorney and makes absurdly complicated cakes for her kids. And, she is also a triumphant boobjuicer. Here is her story, as she shared it with me an embarrassingly long time ago.

Cameron is a Medical Malpractice Attorney, and her husband Joe works two hours away by car and train. When they had Robert, she took off three months, went back to work from home part time and in the office part time. Cameron's mom and a lactation consultant who is a part time nanny provided child care when both Cameron and Joe were working, and Joe stayed home one day a week to be with the baby.

She went nominally part time when she started to have children, but last month billed 170 hours... you can never really have an idea of how many hours a case is going to take, and one case took 150 of those 170 hours - sometimes that's just the way it happens. Unfortunately one month sets expectations for the next month. If you don't make things clear all the time you may as well just agree to having your life taken apart bit by bit.

Cameron's second child, Max, adopted clusterfeeding at 3 days old until five months old. So for example, in post partum sculpt class, she would feed before, twice during, and right after class. He was a fast eater – a hungry hungry, fast growing little guy. “One of the things I was so happy I learned when I had Robert and got force-educated on how breastfeeding can be: Every kid is different, all have different schedules and needs, and it's ridiculous to think adults can dictate to the kid. With Robert, everything went wrong with delivery into the breastfeeding relationship. That was really hard, sad, frustrating, and scary. I'm really glad we made it through, because had we given up and gone to bottles would have been hard for me and worse for him.”

Robert was induced 3 weeks early. Cameron had gestational diabetes and hypertension, and an ultrasound found low fluid. Being in the hospital on magnesium sulfate was a nightmare. Her main obstetrician was out of town, the on call OB having a bad weekend and being a big jerk. He was insulting, it was scary and awful, but once she got the epidural all was fine. Except for the magnesium sulfate. Baby came out - he was in pain, something was wrong, his jaw was really pulled back. So she dutifully did the skin to skin, and the IBCLC said looks good. In the pediatrician's office three days later, he had dropped weight, so she forced a bottle of formula into his mouth and there was a lot of crying. The doc sent them to the hospital, where an IBCLC said it was fine, meanwhile Cameron's milk came in "like I had triplets." (She said the oversupply was nice because she was able to donate a lot of milk.) His latch was no good ("chompie the destroyer") because his jaw was pulled so far back. After a couple weeks she tried calling around to private lactation consultants, they would all say it was fine and Cameron was worrying for no reason.

Finally at five weeks she snapped, she and Joe were fighting, she was in pain, Robert was having difficulty. So she went to the last name on her list of LCs. She hadn't called this person because she thought it was a guy, her name was Jay. She was fabulous. She came to the house, sat down with Cameron and the baby for about four hours. She was the first person who actually picked up the baby and looked in his mouth, and said this is not good. She felt in his mouth, found and uneven palate and a bubble. Jay referred Cameron to a neuromuscular therapist, who managed to relax the baby's neck and shoulders to get his jaw to release about an inch forward, and then he could nurse fine. Not even the pediatrician really examined the baby. So it took about six weeks to get things going well. Cameron also has that lipase problem where you have to scald milk if it's not going to be used within 12 hours. When she pumped at work she would take it home and scald it and then refrigerate it.

Job and pumping:

"Ah, I pump everywhere. At least my office has solid doors and no windows interior to the office. A lot of offices are glass. So when out and about, doing depositions and such, it can be a trick to create a safe place to pump. Think I've only pumped in the car once." Cameron has pumped in the shower room of a surgery center at UCSF, various bathrooms at various law practices. What's really tricky is making the time to do it. In her industry, attorneys' days are scheduled so that you get in at 9, depositions start at 10, don't know when your case will be called. "I had to get really good at saying 'I need to take a break,' but people didn't hear that, so I had to overcome squeemishness, mine and others', and say, 'I need to pump breastmilk now.' Fortunately I haven't had to confront many others' squeemishness, but I have heard, 'Well how long are you going to do that for?' Sometimes I need to educate people."

She had a court case where she was second chair, and had to tell the clerk about that and explain what she would need - a clean safe place, sink, door that locks, and she would need to use it at these times. They were really good about that, but Cameron had to be sure she made the effort to explain that and do it "for my kids and to make it available to other women who think it's not possible to do this work and breastfeed at the same time." She lives in Northern California, and found that folks are generally pretty easy about it. There are a lot of older men in this field, and not a lot of women, but they all know Cameron at this point, as she had been at it for about 8 years. "So I'll make a joke about it and everything is okay. I do feel like I spend part of my time making them uncomfortable enough to get them accommodate me and then making enough humor about it to get them to accommodate me."

"It's just sort of part of every minute of every day. I find I get really stressed out and anxious if I'm filling up or I've gotten engorged - like its own egg timer." Day care was 2 blocks away from the office so she could go at lunch time and feed the little guys. She felt that with Robert she was actually better about staying put for about six months - didn't go out and do a lot of depositions and assignments until she had been dealing with office scene for six months. With Max she dove back in faster, and it was more challenging. With her husband working so far away, she had to be within 20 minutes of the daycare at all time. She was still striving to make partner at her firm, and wanted to take on more responsibility. It's a small firm, so no formal partner track per se. She started talking about it at three years, but didn't feel financially responsible to do so at that time, knowing she wanted to start a family. Salary is also more secure than profit sharing.

"I think I did much better this time in that six month maternity leave, just being able to sit and hold the baby, and being better about that, not worrying about vacuuming and errands." Being able to get the breastfeeding thing down right away was such a relief. She had a lot of anxiety about whether it would be hard again. Robert nursed until 18 months, he quit at Christmas time, when Cameron was newly pregnant with Max. He was only really nursing in the mornings and at night, and then just in the morning, and then one day he just didn't do it. And about three days later he seemed kind of interested in starting it up again, but Cameron was really busy and not feeling great and said no, and he was cool with it. She felt a little sad about it, but they were so close otherwise, that she didn't feel like she was missing something. Then she was pretty happy to not be nursing later in the pregnancy, because she got "pretty big and uncomfortable."

"I first thought, I'll do this for six months and then switch over to formula, but as it became such a struggle and I learned more about it, I got more invested, not only for me and my son but also to help other people make a difficult situation work. It was so much harder than I though it was going to be - less instinctive than one would imagine. Then once things were working, it was so much easier than bottles and the alternatives. A very strange trip, that early situation. Man it makes airplane flying easier. We nursed in airplanes, rental cars, beaches, hotel lobbies, conferences…"

So that is my interview with Cameron. I find her story so inspiring. She overcame a difficult birth experience and a lot of totally failed support at the beginning to establish a wonderful nursing experience with her first babe. She was great about sticking up for her need to pump milk while holding down a demanding job in a male-dominated profession. (Although I think she might agree with me that sometimes, when you say you need to pump, a lot of men are so scared you'll tell them more details about breastfeeding, they'll give you anything you want just to shut you up.) And she helped forge the trail for the next mama - something all of my boobjuice heroes have done. I am delighted and proud to call her my friend, and I hope her story inspired you the way it has for me.

Much love,
Suzi

Happy Mother's Day!

Hello Dear Readers!

Robert is explaining to me how to crush an ice cube with a shop fan. It's fascinating. I can hear Matt singing Jackie to sleep upstairs. She had a total nap fail day so I'm hopeful she'll fall asleep quickly and maybe hubby and I can get a few waking minutes to ourselves on this glorious Mother's Day. Jackie has been all boobs all day, as she is wont to be, and my boys have been fun and charming. I got to do some yard work - I like yard work, as long as someone with some actual competence shows me what to do - before the rain came, and then I got to have a yummy burger and absurd quantity of delicious french fries for dinner. And a glass of rioja. Yum. And a cookie. Health food. Really. The day started with the requested Moonstruck Chocolates at my plate, after hubby made French toast for dinner. I got a present that Robert made at preschool, which is of course the best thing ever.

I hope each of you has had a wonderful day of celebrating motherhood, or celebrating your mother, or mothering yourself, or something else nurturing and cuddly.

Also, this isn't about motherhood particularly, but I think this post is very brave and illuminating. She is often totally pants peeing funny, too. Mood disorders, depression, and other mental illnesses are badly understood and really awful to experience. I am taking a moment from my calorie-laden Mother's Day celebration to send gratitude for my improving health (including a shout-out to the inventor of Zoloft), and to remember all those who are still struggling.

Robert just made me another present and Matt stuck his head out to wonder why I'm not getting Robert ready for bed yet. Off to change a poopy diaper!

Much love,
Suzi

UPDATE: Matt points out that he made French Toast for breakfast, not dinner. I was typing this post AFTER the glass of wine, thank you, and while trying to encourage Robert not to be afraid to poop, but to please hurry up and finish doing so as it was past bedtime. I lead a glamorous existence, people.

Tweet Tweet! And a quick whine.

Hello dear readers!

I have started tweeting! It's fun. I don't entirely get it yet. But if you are so inclined, check out @suzisboobjuice.


Also, a quick complaint. I have, probably, torn the meniscus in my knee. I'm not entirely sure what that is, but despite excellent improvement via physical therapy, it's looking more and more like I might end up with surgery. I figure it can't be worse than a c-section so I'm not really worried about the procedure. But I don't want to deal with some surgeon's idea of what is a reasonable impingement on my nursing relationship with Jackie. So I'm basically off kickboxing until Jackie weans. Unless I decide otherwise. Meanwhile we'll keep at the physical therapy until it isn't helping anymore and hope that maybe it's not really a torn meniscus after all... But really, can you just see the conversation with me and the surgeon?

"No narcotics, no general anesthesia, and no industrial-strength antibiotics."
"Uh, no surgery."
"Okay, see you next year."

Not worth the copay.

Sigh.

Anyway this is my chance to work on my biking again!

Much love,
Suzi

The Big Transitions

Hello dear boobjuicers and friends,

I am forgoing my usual exclamation point because I have some sad news. My beloved father-in-law passed away on April 23, after a nearly five year battle with colon cancer. He was a wonderful man; an accomplished scientist and business man, a treasured mentor, a kind and loving husband and father and grandfather, and a delightful host. He is and will be sorely missed.

Birth and death are the two biggest transitions I can think of. Becoming a parent is pretty huge but I think even the most exhausted of us will acknowledge it's not quite as big a change as ceasing to be alive. Similarly to birth, I think death is feared and poorly understood in our culture. Okay, probably fair to say that death is feared in many or maybe even most cultures. But in terms of setting, attitude, comfort - it's something we often get rather wrong.

Gary died at home, in the house he and my mother-in-law had custom built to face the sunset over the lake. His son and daughter were with him at the end, and he had received many visits and communications of love and gratitude in his final days. He had hospice care to keep him as comfortable as possible, and was no longer receiving the aggressive medical treatments that many of us dread. He didn't want a drawn-out ending with months of uselessness and misery, and thankfully he didn't have that.

My father died in a hospital, but he too was surrounded by love and caring. I was holding one of his hands, and my mother was snuggled up next to him in his hospital bed (she got very adept at balancing on about 1/3 of a hospital bed and doing crossword puzzles during his 15 month battle with colon cancer). (By the way, colon cancer and me - not buds.) The wonderful things my mom said to him in his final moments, which I don't feel at liberty to repeat but they were so sweet and inspiring, were a lovely acknowledgement of the amazing life he had lived. He managed to squeeze my hand just a tiny bit, so I knew he heard me rattling off a list of people who loved him through my tears. A very dignified nurse was holding his other hand, ostensibly to monitor his pulse, but since Dad had a pacemaker, he had a pulse for a while after he was gone. So I think the nurse was really just holding his hand. When dad was clearly gone, the nurse removed his glasses, slowly wiped a tear from each eye, and put Dad's hand down.

No IVs, no shock paddles or injections to bring him back like in ER episodes. Just let him slip away and rest, and trust that wherever he is now, he is in no pain, and has nothing to fear any longer. My faith has become a big question mark over the years, but I do know that the soul or spirit is real, and that the laws of physics say you cannot destroy matter or energy, only convert them to the other or to another form of one or the other. I've stated that poorly, but my point is, in one way or another, Gary and my Dad are still here. They are clearly present in the impact they have had on those who survive them. I think they are here in another way, in the energy present in the universe that we cannot see or understand but only feel and trust and respect, even revere.

Birth and death are sacred. We must make the person at the center of the transition feel as comfortable and loved as possible. And we must help each other through these difficult transitions as gently as we possibly can.

Be well and love one another fiercely, my dear readers.

With joyful tears of remembrance and grief,
Suzi

Robert's Birth

Hello Dear Readers!

Huh. I blog every four to six weeks. Which is funny - I talk MUCH more frequently than that... Is that too infrequent? Am I losing my dear readers? Or are my dear readers grateful that I'm not stuffing their in-boxes with EVERY random thought that hits my odd little brain? There are a lot of them...

So anyway. After the What You Need to Prepare for Baby post, one of my favorite people, Mama G.A., and I have been trying to convince each other to write essentially the same thing, but for birth. We also want to rope in Dr. Rachael, whom I introduced here, since she catches babies professionally in a total Midwife in Disguise way. But that feels like a huge, daunting project to us, and we're both scared of getting it wrong, forgetting something important, or in some other way messing up someone's birth experience. Birth is sacred, and as intimate as conceiving the baby in the first place. So we are understandably hesitant. And collectively rather busy, as well.

Well, while we work up the nerve to draft that post, I thought it might be helpful to outline my birth experiences here. I was going to try to remain objective and just compare and contrast the two. But then this post got reeeeally long, and I realized I just needed to write Robert's birth story, Meanwhile I'm imagining a nice, simple table for comparing the two models of care, via my experience.

So, spring 2008. (Yes, the stock market was about to implode. Every time I have a baby the market hits a bottom shortly after. And every time I go for a degree, the U.S. goes to war in Iraq. You will be relieved, therefore, to hear that I am done with both of these forms of creation, thank you.) Robert was conceived as soon as Matt would put up with when baby's birthday would be (he didn't want to stick the kid with a Christmas birthday) after we decided it was time to have kiddos. I had good but not fabulous insurance, an HMO plan. I like HMOs because they are simple and lower cost for the patient, and tend to generate less paperwork. But obstetricians do not like HMOs. So despite living six blocks from Huntington Memorial Hospital, and a mile from a fabulous Ob-Gyn whom I adored, I had to hunt and hunt for an Ob who would take this insurance. At this time in life, too, I was not as good at research (being, as I am now, a Research Analyst, when I'm not blogging or beating up big leather bags). And I was very anxious about the whole thing, convinced that the pregnancy would miscarry, or I would eat one bite of The Wrong Thing and permanently harm the child. So I piggybacked on Mama J.K.'s research and went to Dr. G.

Dr. G. was very well reputed among mamas and the birth community for his relatively low Caesarian rate, his openness to "alternative" practices such as natural childbirth, doulas, etc., and generally not being a pushy jerk. Luckily for me, he was also taking new patients, and my insurance. His practice was located right next to a hospital in a less glamorous part of town than that in which I lived (totally harmless, just cheaper and not all spangly new). He had privileges at one of the hospitals that would take my insurance, the  newer, nicer one with almost all single rooms (bonus!!!). I got an appointment fairly immediately, NOT because I was pregnant, but because I said that I needed a well-woman exam. The staff was not willing to book me for a pre-natal appointment because I was "only" four weeks pregnant. But once I got in there, two weeks later, Dr. G was very generous with his time, and even did an ultrasound even though technically I wasn't "supposed" to get one yet. He had an ultrasound machine right in one of his exam rooms, at which he seemed quite adept. (He got the sex of the baby wrong at 20 weeks, and the ultrasound tech who told me Jackie would be a girl scoffed that OB's don't know what they're doing with ultrasounds. But in terms of yup, that's a fetus, yup, that's a placenta, he did just fine.) Anyway he was able to show me the little, flickering grain of rice inside a thumb print, which would be Robert, inside his amniotic sac. "Oh, I'm going to cry!" I squealed. He looked mildly embarrassed, but said, "That's okay."

I received one prenatal visit per month until my third trimester, at which point they accelerated, I don't remember the exact schedule, I think twice in month seven, weekly after that, and twice weekly once the due date was nigh. (Due date. Tee hee!) The visits were something like 20 minutes long, and Dr. G was often running late but only actually cancelled when he was in the hospital with mamas. The staff continued to play roadblock between me and the doctor. It's difficult to know whether, when I called with questions, they were deflecting them on their own initiative or following his instructions. Sometimes a staff member called me back - she was often rather dismissive, seeming like I should know better than to call with this and that question, which irked me - how am I supposed to know what is a valid question? I'm an investment advisor, for Pete's sake. Sometimes the doctor called me back, and was much more patient with my questions. At least once, nobody called me back, not even the receptionist to say, "I relayed your concern to the doctor and he said not to worry." Again, I don't know whether this was a staff error or the doctor prioritizing his work.

Around month four (five?) I experienced what I thought might be leaking amniotic fluid. Of course I was freaked out. (I know now that pregnant women are just juicy, but again, how am I supposed to know?) After talking with the doctor on the phone, I was instructed to go in to Labor and Delivery at my designated hospital. My very patient carpool buddies/coworkers drove me to the hospital, which was about 2/3 of the way home on our 30-mile LA freeway commute (bleh). I went to admissions, and was sent to do all the admitting paperwork. This horrified me - if I was about to lose my protoperson, couldn't the freaking paperwork wait? It's not like I was going to run away, or could run anywhere, at all, at that point. Luckily the admissions clerk was a sweetheart. He had an accent, and when he asked my mother's maiden name, which of course a hospital needs in order to determine if a woman is leaking amniotic fluid, I said it and then started to spell it, but he interrupted me, "Oh, you're Italian!" Now he liked me even more, sweet little old fella. Even though I was crying through the whole thing. He probably wasn't allowed to just send me to L and D without the paperwork but come on, people, pregnant woman, freaked out and crying - let her go get some care for crying out loud.

Okay so finally I go to L and D. On the monitor, and thank Heaven, a very sensible nurse attending me. She took a big sniff of this suspicious emission and declared it not to be amniotic fluid. She said next time it happened, if I was brave enough to taste the fluid, I could tell myself, and described what it tasted like. I'm sure this is oogy enough for my readers already so the more squeamish should skip to the next paragraph, but she said it tastes like semen. I don't know if this is accurate, because with both kids by the time my water broke it was not necessary to try to determine if it was amniotic fluid, and even wacky crunchy mamas like me don't taste amniotic fluid just for kicks in the throes of labor. Anyway, I was, ultimately, fine, and sent home with orders to get more fluids and rest.

There were a couple more of these false alarm scares, mostly resulting in bedrest until you can get an appointment with the OB orders. I was mostly happy to comply, although I did sneak out to vote for the first African-American president in U.S. history. I had been voting at that spot for years, and this was the first time I had to wait in line. I had never seen that many citizens of color at that polling place before, and I was inspired. But I digress.

Regarding genetic testing, Dr. G just described what he would usually do, and let me decide. Since I was 35 (and bite me that is just not old, people) the standard of care is to do an amniocentesis. Wow, looks like I spelled that right on the first guess. Well, the heck if I was going to let anyone stick a huge needle in my belly and risk this kiddo for something that wasn't going to kill either of us. I told the doctor, look, the only way I will terminate this pregnancy is if my life is in danger. Is there anything you are going to learn from the amnio that you don't know now that would indicate that my life or fertility is at risk? No, he says. Is there anything you would learn that would change how you provide care for the rest of the pregnancy? No. Okay I'm not doing it. I went ahead with the "California genetic screening," a maternal blood draw and questionnaire, which said kiddo would be fine. Dr. G said he had seen one false negative off that screening in 16 years, which was good enough for me.

Dr. G was patient with my birth plan, and delighted to help me with my plans to bank cord blood (turns out he gets paid by the cryobank for each banking. Fine by me, I want the doctor to want to participate.) My "due date" comes and goes. (Funny story - eating brunch with friends on my "due date," young women at next table: "Oh, you're so cute!" "Thank you." "When are you due?" "Today." "WHAT! Why are you out to brunch?" "Because I'm hungry.") Now I'm three days "late" - which I would like to point out is within 2% of the average length of a pregnancy - who the heck thinks they can predict anything biological within 2%? Not me, thank you. I have another "what is this juicy stuff leaking out of me" moment, with no other symptoms of labor. I call in and am told to go to L and D. I was sure I wasn't in labor, but at this point I hadn't learned that as the patient, *I* am in charge, and I can say, "I don't want to go in, yet, let's wait a bit." I did have enough 'tude to take my time and eat lunch first, at least. I called my doula, Nancy (who also knew and respected Dr. G). and she told me to eat first, and to stay in touch. So we finally haul in to L and D, and I have an ultrasound. The tech said I had four units of amniotic fluid, and ten is the minimum. She also said it was all in his bladder, and if he peed I'd be fine. I know now that I had the right to say, great, let's wait an hour and do another ultrasound. But at the time I just trusted my medical professionals and played along.

Dr. G said I would not be leaving the hospital until I had the baby, and would likely need to be induced. I did not want to be induced. So I walked, and walked, and walked, and got thoroughly sick of walking. I had an enema (wheee!!!). The nurse heckled me a bit that I was being so high maintenance. "We only do this for very special patients, Suzanne." I got a vibe that the birth plan I handed them set off some "uh oh, one of THESE mamas" sort of alarm, but I was determined to be so sweet and wonderful that they would want to take great care of me. I'm good at that, and it worked. Eventually it became clear that I was not going to walk or poop myself into having contractions. Dr. G. and I talked on the phone, and he was recommending cervidil. This is like a tampon looking thing with synthetic prostaglandins on it, to soften the cervix. (Best prostaglandins in the world are free in hubby's semen. Who knows if we would have managed to have sex in the hospital. Suppose we could have snuck out to the car... anyway, I digress.) Dr. G. said if I wanted to sleep the night and use it in the morning he was fine with that, but that he was pretty sure it would be necessary. Knowing that, I was pretty sure I would not be able to sleep, and said, okay, just do it, but feed me first. The nurses were not thrilled with this idea - it seemed like they thought they would get in trouble, but they rounded up a sandwich for me (it was like 9 pm at this point).

My doula said I had to get rest once the cervidil was in. Well, I'm a chemically sensitive little creature, and four hours later I was at 4 cm dilated and the contractions were making me want to cry. So doula Nancy grabbed a quick shower and came in. Matt and I had few coping skills for contractions because the hospital birth class taught some useless breathing technique which irritated me so much to practice that I declared I would NOT do it during birth. Nancy showed up, asked me some questions, and said, "Let's get you in the shower." No birth tub in this hospital. Matt grabbed a few z's on the couch while Nancy fed me ice chips between contractions in the bathroom. At first the shower helped a lot, but then it didn't and I wanted out. Now the contractions are turning painful, and I'm having back labor. Real, natural labor with a well positioned baby doesn't hurt, I can now say from experience. Induced labor with baby sunny side up feels unholy, like being wrung out like a towel while something presses mercilessly on your spine. I tried squatting - felt best, but hard to maintain. We tried a squat bar in the bed. We tried standing, with Nancy doing counter-pressure on my back. We tried sitting in bed. Nothing felt good. Around dawn, Nancy said, "Oh, look at the sun." I said, "Fuck the sun." She looked at me with a sort of, "uh oh." expression. She started saying things like, "That contraction is done now, that's one more you don't have to do." She had helpful breathing and vocalizing suggestions, but this labor was beyond them, for me. She said something about the baby, and I heard a voice in my head say, "Fuck the baby."

SCREEEEEEE! All engines stop. I did NOT want this kid coming into the world to an angry mama. No matter what happened to me, it wasn't his fault, for crying out loud. "I want an epidural." I said to Matt. He looked worried. The nurses had asked a couple times, and I had said, "I don't want to make that decision right now." but now I said, "I'm going to be too exhausted to push." "Okay," he said. Smart man. We both really wanted a natural birth, and he probably though the was supposed to talk me out of it, but he also knows me pretty well, and knows that I would be really disappointed to make this decision, and wouldn't make it lightly. The nurses, meanwhile, were pretty relieved that I was being "sensible." Doula Nancy, I would learn later, felt guilty - I was suffering and she felt she should have seen that. I don't think that's fair on her, but anyway.

Well of course at this point anesthesiologist A has gone home and anesthesiologist B is stuck in LA traffic. WTH. Shouldn't a hospital not let A leave until B is on site? And of course then B has to attend a surgery. Stupid life threatening conditions. By the time Dr. B (not his initial, I can't remember anything about this guy except that I wanted to kiss him) arrives, I'm screaming during the contractions, which hurt worse than anything ever. He watches me do one contraction and says, "You waited too long." "I'm inclined to agree with you, doctor." "Here's the paperwork. The risks are that it won't work, that it will only work on one side, or that you'll get a really bad headache. But that's not going to happen to you." I have no idea if he knew I was a good candidate for an epidural or just says this to all the mamas, but it worked on me. I decided that I would believe him and that would make it work. It did work.

So to administer the epidural, mama has to be rounding her back to separate the vertebrae. Nurse Nancy, who wore the most elaborate eye makeup I have ever seen and very well, too, held me up while I held this position. I was seated at the edge of the bed with my arms around her shoulders, my forehead on her sternum, and my legs around her legs, like she was my teddy bear. She acted like this was the most unremarkable part of her day. God bless Nurse Nancy, she is an ANGEL. So first they shoot a local in your back. like you're at the dentist or need stitches. "This is going to burn," Nancy says. "Fine." "Okay, burning burning." "I don't feel it." "Wow, you're tough." "No, seriously, I don't feel it." My nervous system, in its infinite wisdom, decided that information was just not important and it would not relay it to my brain. So then in goes the shunt or whatever it's called for the epidural. I think maybe I kind of felt something weird or cold? Again, I just did not care. One more awful contraction. Then the next contraction was SO. EASY. This is the point at which I almost kissed Dr. Good Drugs. The relief was tangible. I had been suffering and scared and had no idea how I was going to get this baby out, and all of a sudden, I was totally fine. So then Dr. Good Drugs tapes the ever loving crap out of this epidural onto my back. "Hm. I think your skin is reacting to the adhesive. It's pretty red." "That's fine." "It's probably going to itch for a few days." "Really, That's fine." "Okay well don't get out of bed and I'll come check on you later."

So now doula Nancy and hubby are allowed back in and we're all instructed to sleep. HA! Are you kidding me? As Nancy observed, now that I wasn't suffering I wanted to process what I was going through. I couldn't have slept if they had whacked me up side the head with a brick. Which is not  the standard of care, anyway. I was reading the second Twilight book. Say what you will about cheesy teenaged vampire werewolf fiction, it's perfect for passing time while in labor. Meanwhile Matt and Nancy BOTH snored. I thought about kicking them out but I liked the company. Dr. Good Drugs came back to check on me. I told him my neck kept tensing up in a weird way. He explained that was "referred pain," that the contractions were being communicated to another part of my body so I would still know they were there. Bodies are fascinating.

I feel the need to stop at this point and insert a disclaimer. This is sounding a lot like The Case For Medicated Birth. It is NOT. I am so, so glad I was able to birth Jackie with no drugs. But what happened here, as I learned later, was that a medically unnecessary induction resulted in an unnecessarily difficult birth. Robert wasn't in position yet, my body wasn't ready to give birth yet, and that made the whole thing much, much harder and more uncomfortable than it should have been. Back labor SUCKS. BAD. So mamas, while I encourage you to educate yourself about birth and why hospitals have really messed it up, I will say, when there's a real medical reason for the interventions, they are a godsend.

Okay so back to the birth story. Other than a change in anesthesiologist to the tallest man I have seen in person, I can't remember much more of the sequence of events between the "sleeping" (ha) and the pushing. I know that there was a change in shift and our nurse left. I was so sad she didn't get to see the baby after all she had done for me. I asked who was coming on shift, and the answer was somebody, somebody else, and Joan. We had met Joan at a previous visit for one of the false alarms. "Oh, I hope we get Joan," I said. "Is that a Patient Request?" asked Nurse Nancy. "Uh, sure, why not?" I said. Again, in retrospect - this is weird. There has to be an Official Reason to let me  have who I want at my birth. After going through the midwife model of care with Jackie, this strikes me as bizarre. It's not open heart surgery, for heaven's sake. And nurses vary as much as any other part of the population in terms of likability and whether you want them around.

So Joan is awesome. At some point I start pushing, and Doula Nancy has me changing sides periodically. I'm allowed to lie on either side or my back. No squatting, no hands and knees, nothing helpful that would allow Robert to get out of sunny-side-up or at least ease the pressure on my spine a little bit. Now, given that my legs are fairly numb, I could see why they didn't want me going for a stroll. But hands and knees on the bed or squatting on the bed should have been fine - if I "fall," I'm just on my face on the bed. Nope. Hospital Policy. NowSuzi would say, "Allow me to demonstrate what the hospital can do with its policies." but thenSuzi was notably more obedient. (Chuckle.) And also scared that I would injure the baby somehow. (And as for that epidural shunt in my back, given how long it took them to un-tape it, it wasn't going ANYWHERE, no matter what position I was in.)

Pushing, counting, resting, on and on. For six hours. I'm pretty stinking tired by this point. Dr. G. has arrived, it's around 10 at night, and he looks pretty rough. This man was usually gentle, calm, and polite. He was cross and testy. I think he had been awake as long as I had. Now, I'm sympathetic to his plight. But I suspect it was part of the reason why I ended up with a surgical birth, and cutting a hole in my stomach so you can go to bed earlier is NOT acceptable. But there's no way to know that, now.

At some point the whole team shows up, baby nurse and some techs and bright lights and doctor, and I'm all excited, and then they go away, and I'm all disappointed. So Robert is, they tell me, stuck. I'm pushing and he comes out a bit more but when I relax he goes back in. Dr. G. takes Matt into the hall to tell him we might need to go with a c-section. (Because Matt's the one who's going to have a hole in his belly, right? No, because he's lobbying me. Why reason with an exhausted pregnant woman when you can just scare her husband?) (Okay clearly the whole objective retelling thing has failed. Raise your hand if you are surprised.) So Dr. G. comes back in and tells me I need to let him do a cesarean. Nurse Joan advocates for me: "But she's such a good pusher. Watch her do one push." So Dr. G. watches me push through the next contraction, and then says, "Yeah, no. You're going to rip your perineum and dislocate the baby's shoulders." Well obviously that scared me into allowing the surgical birth. In further discussions since, I realize there is absolutely no way for the doctor to know that those things would happen. They *could* happen. I also *could* have spontaneously combusted. The former is more likely than the latter, and that's about what we know.

Okay so they take Matt off to dress him in blue scrubs. Dr. Also Has Good Drugs cranks up the epidural to the point that they could have sawed off my leg. This causes me to shake and tremble, which doesn't hurt but bothers me - it felt out of control and scary. Dr. AHGD assures me that it's a normal side effect, and trying to stop it will just make it worse. I'm also freezing cold. So we're in the OR, and Matt and Dr. AHGD are up by my head, and there's a drape so I can't see my own innards. My arms are strapped down, which is weird, and I'm still cold and shaking. Dr. G. asks, "Can you feel that?" "Um, I'm not sure." "Well, it's pretty sharp. If you could feel it you would know." Next thing he says is, "Great abdominal muscle tone, Suzanne." "Oh, thanks." But then it strikes me that this is a little weird - he's actually looking at my abdominal muscle. It's sort of like, "Hey, cute liver," or something. It doesn't take long and he says, "Okay Dad, do you want to see your son?" Matt told me later he had a tunnel vision experience - he stood up just enough to see just the baby, managing to avoid seeing my innards, and then sat back down. I heard the baby cry, and I was soooo relieved. "Okay, everyone guess." And all the doctors and nurses start guessing how much Robert weighs. So this is like watercooler banter for them, while I'm strapped to a table with my belly open. Weird.

He had huge hands and feet, like me and my dad, and they were greyish (as most newborns' are) so they stood out even more. Before clearing Matt and Robert out to sew me up, they asked if I wanted to kiss the baby, which I did. Matt couldn't figure out how to get close enough to my face with the baby, so a nurse offered to help since she had more experience holding littles. I kissed Robert a bunch until she stepped back with him. I remember hearing them ask Matt if he wanted Robert wrapped up, and Matt saying, "Actually we're going to do skin-to-skin." Nancy had been to something like 350 births at this point and she said Matt was the second dad she saw doing skin to skin. Dad win for Matt.

The next thing I remember was Robert latching on to nurse. Which hurt. A nurse was trying to help us, but I was exhausted, Robert was tired from being born and all, and it didn't last long. They wheeled me (still lying on a sort of stretcher bed thing) into an elevator, got us up to the maternity ward, and then did a transfer by picking up the sheet I was lying on and lifting me onto the bed. Some nursing assistants cleaned up my lady parts with water and washcloths, and then we were left to sleep.

Robert was "rooming in," meaning he was in a hospital bassinet in my room. We had wrong information about cosleeping being dangerous, and also I was so tired from the birth experience that it actually would not have been a good idea at that moment. So every time he needed to nurse, someone had to hand him to me (I still had a catheter in and wasn't allowed to get out of bed yet), and Matt was doing all the diapers, with nurses showing him the ropes. I remember at one point Robert cried for food at like 2am and I was so tired I said, "let's just give him formula and sleep through this one." And then I heard those words I had said and woke up the rest of the way and said, "I feel guilty just saying that. Give him to me." After I nursed Robert, Matt wanted to put him back in the bassinet immediately, so I wouldn't fall asleep holding the baby. I instituted a rule that I got to cuddle Robert for five minutes after nursing, as my reward for putting up with the pain of nursing. (We had bad latches and yeast. Nursing does not have to hurt, mamas!) When I look back at this now, it seems barbaric. Babies belong on their mamas, and I knew that in my heart but I didn't know how to make that happen, safely, in a hospital, while exhausted, with neither parent having much idea what they were doing.

We had a reasonable share of help and attention from the nurses, but only a couple of them had any breastfeeding training. Several of them were pushing formula to one degree or another, expressing concern that he hadn't peed yet or over how much output we were getting from the pump we had been talked into using. I can't remember why, I think just to "help my milk come in," which at like 24 hours past a surgical birth is silly. There was a lactation consultant who worked a sort of standard 9-5 shift, and I had a number to call her at, but of course she would be busy with another mom when Robert wanted to nurse and it was therefore a good time to teach me latching.

After the catheter was removed and I was allowed to walk again, I was encouraged to exercise by walking around the ward. So we would take Robert's bassinet for a stroll. On one of these strolls I witnessed a formula saleswoman (who looked for all the world exactly like a pharmaceutical sales rep) talking to the nurses at the front desk of the ward. "Okay, and you know that Brandy Brand is the official brand for any WIC moms in your hospital, right?" AAAARRRGH! No, by the way, I did not see any breast pump reps or breastfeeding product reps, of course.

The pain was pretty bad the first day, but Advil took good care of it. When I had to sneeze or cough, that hurt rather a lot at the site of the wound. A nurse suggested that I press a pillow against the area and go ahead with real coughing, because if I didn't cough properly I might get pneumonia. She was weird. She wouldn't leave my Advil with Matt while I was in the bathroom because she had worked in psych wards where people tried to hoard their meds. Um. I'm not going to not take my pain meds, and for Pete's sake it's Advil. If I want to hoard it, I can go to the drug store... but the pillow trick helped.

When the Advil started to wear off, it would hurt pretty bad. The nurses wouldn't give me more 15 minutes earlier than the doctor's instructions, but they kept offering me narcotics. "I don't want dope, the Advil is fine, it's just wearing off." "Nope, have to wait." Yeah, that makes sense. Ladies? If you're going to give birth in a hospital, put a bottle of Advil in your bag. Oh and when the doctor did see me and I told him this, he just upped the dose of Advil so I could have more when I wanted it. I realize that the nurses aren't empowered to do that and they would risk their jobs by medicating me against the written instruction. But to me that says the system is dumb - they're allowed to give me a controlled substance but they could get fired for giving me an over-the-counter painkiller 15 minutes sooner.

When we were discharged, I was put in a wheelchair and wheeled to the discharge desk. Never mind that I had been walking around the ward, if I want to get from A to B outside the maternity ward, Hospital Policy says I have to be in a wheelchair. A maternity ward nurse makes sure we have a proper car seat and that we put the baby in it, and we are sent on our way.

After the surgical birth, I was instructed not to lift anything heavier than the baby, and not to drive. I was not to go out except to go see my OB. I became concerned that my uterus had prolapsed (it hadn't), and was having a really hard time with breastfeeding. I had cracked and bleeding nipples, and at one point it hurt so much to nurse on my left side that I was pumping exclusively on that side. Doula Nancy came over to check on us and help me work on my latch, which helped, but it still hurt, so I asked for a lactation consultant recommendation. I got an appointment to see her in a day or so, and she made some suggestions for the mean time. When we saw her, she immediately diagnosed the yeast infection on my nipples. Any time you have surgery they load you up with antibiotics (which makes good sense if you think about it) and I have always been prone to yeast, so we were doomed on that front.

I could go on and on about our breastfeeding struggles, but we have covered much of that material in earlier posts on this blog, and really my point here is the after care, for purpose of comparison to my second experience. The aftercare experience from the OB model is very "you're on your own!" It seemed to me like the staff at Dr. G.'s office became even less responsive to my freaked out questions, but post partum anxiety is probably coloring my memory.

Dr. G. told me I was okay to try for a VBAC on any subsequent pregnancies, but that probably it was just the shape of my pelvis that had prevented a vaginal birth, and it wouldn't work. "But you can try." (Turns out this is also nonsense.) As time went on I had ongoing pain, albeit mild, at the site of the surgery. The pain rated a 2 on that 1-10 scale, I told a friend, but the pangs of grief from how the birth went were more like an 8. I didn't understand why it had upset me so much - I hadn't done anything wrong, Robert was fine, and I would be fine to have another kid by the time I wanted one. Eventually I realized that there are very deeply programmed, natural processes in birth that were interrupted, unnecessarily, in this birth. Having learned through my experience with Jackie how it can go when it is handled well (assuming everyone is healthy and there are no serious complications), I see now that obstetricians are just trained in a manner that is going to utterly prevent the possibility of normal birth in many cases. They don't get the chance to let birth progress naturally. They are taught to view every event as a Possible Disaster, and of course as caregivers they want to prevent that disaster. They have to pay absurdly large malpractice insurance premiums, and regardless of how altruistic they may be, this is going to engender a cross incentive to make the most out of each patient that they can, either by spending less time with her or by charging more for their services - and you can charge the heck of a lot more for surgery than for walking in and catching a baby at the end.

I am not angry at Dr. G. I'm not happy with how things turned out, but I see that he really did what he thought was best. He was wrong, in my opinion, but he came by it honestly. And I'm grateful for my beautiful Robert, that there were no serious complications from the epidural or the surgery, and that now I am in a position to serve as both a VBAC victory story and as an informed consumer offering a comparison of the two models of care. Which I will do via my snazzy chart in another post. This one is long enough.

One last disclaimer - this is my story of one birth. Each mama must decide the right thing to do for herself and her baby.

Much love,
Suzi

What Do I Need to Get Ready for My Baby?

Hello Dear Readers!

I hope your 2013 is off to a great start. I made a dedication instead of resolutions. Here it is:

More veggies
More patience
More breathing
More fun
More peace
And all the snuggles I can get away with.

So far I'm doing pretty well except maybe for that second line... ah well. More breathing.

So my hair stylist is pregnant - yay! And like many expectant mamas, she is asking what she can do to prepare for birth, for motherhood, for breastfeeding. I get this question a lot. I remember thinking getting ready for Robert was essentially a shopping list. Which, forgive me, is very Southern California. Well, to be fair, it's very yuppie America. But if I could go back and whisper in newly pregnant Suzi's ear, I would say:

Less stuff. More help.

Seriously people told me, and I totally did not believe them, that you need no actual objects for a baby. The more reasonable ones admitted you need diapers and a car seat. But other than that, almost everything is optional, or can be improvised, or borrowed, or will be given to you as a gift. I think we have bought one garment for Jackie, and she's 16 months old. What I REALLY could have used was more carry-out dinners, more grocery delivery, more house cleaning, more hold the baby so I can catch a shower or a nap (that's a post-partum doula you want for that last one). More massage, more therapy, more reassurance. A good network of friends and family can provide a lot of it. But let's face it, people are busy, people are spread out, and family, loving though they may be, do not always add more help than stress. So here is my shopping list for what you will need after the baby comes:

• Diapers. I like cloth, but use spozies (disposables) at night and for travel. I am not going to judge you for filling up a landfill if the idea of washing diapers makes you want to cry, although it was easier than I feared, and there are cool trials like this one at Jillian's drawers. Some mamas get oddly obsessive about cloth diapering. I can't understand caring so deeply about that end, but clearly I am obsessed with the other end. Whatevs. Just keep in mind, it's just poop, it washes out, and really you are about to be more intimately familiar with another person's elimination than you ever dreamed. Message me to complain any time. I'm here for you. I will say, if you go spozies, please consider chlorine free. Chlorine is nasty stuff, and your baby's reproductive organs are right there. You may have noticed.
• Car Seat, visit with CPST to learn how to use it right. Seriously I don't care what a genius you are and how carefully you read the manuals to your car seat and your car. Work with one of these people. Some shocking number like 95% of car seats are being used incorrectly. Make your partner attend the session, and anyone else you are going to let drive your baby around. Modern car seats are amazing and can save lives and spines and stuff. I'm babbling. But seriously, do it. Do it now.
• Lactation consultant. Meet her, make sure she seems reasonable and sympathetic. You want a very well trained (IBCLC) cheer leader who is on your side. Notice I didn't say on your baby's side. You and your baby are on the same side, and sometimes that doesn't look quite like we imagined. It's important to feel encouraged and supported and maybe even pushed but not judged.
• Birth Doula. I forgot this in the original draft of this post. How could I forget the birth doula? Good gravy. I have it in mind to craft a birth-specific post with much more detail, but let me say, having a doula in attendance at Robert's birth was a HUGE HELP. I have never heard a mama say she regretted a penny spent on a birth doula. (In retrospect, with three midwives, I probably didn't need one for Jackie's birth, but I loved having her there.) Birth is very intense, and probably totally unfamiliar to you. Having someone who knows a lot about it and is totally on your side no matter what is a lifesaver. Birth doulas are associated with faster, easier labors, fewer surgical births, fewer complications, and less wigged out partners. My second doula has a pretty funny story about a fifth baby being born in the car and the husband being totally freaked out.
• Post-partum doula(s) - note some of these superheros will WORK NIGHTS. Imagine a trained professional who loves babies spending the night at your home, diapering your baby, helping you latch and breastfeed, and baking in your kitchen for you. It is SHEER GENIUS.
• Babymeal/help schedule. Have your BFF do this for you. S/he will email the list you give them, and use a service like google calendars or babymeal or something (I can't remember, google it) to make sure that folks sign up to bring you dinner, maybe do the dishes, play with your older kiddos or take the dog for a walk.
• House cleaning service. Maybe just for three months, maybe forever, or increase the frequency of a service you are already using. I would do at least every two weeks.
• A will and life insurance. This was my nesting instinct. If the big God Forbid hits, our kids are SET. Although I will say that getting life insurance while pregnant is a little tricky, it's doable. "But I'm not gonna die." Yeah, you are. Hopefully not soon. But anyone can wander in front of a stampeding rhinoceros, and you don't want your little blessing paying the price for your delusions of immortality.
• Babycarrier. I love these things. I have something absurd like four, and if you count all the ones that I have tried (borrowed, resold, etc) it gets up towards a dozen. That's silly. But check them out, they are awesome. So snuggly. Help the kid nap while you can get up and make yourself a cup of tea (presuming your partner is in the shower, otherwise s/he should be making your tea. Or the pp Doula. Whatever.)
• Stack of books, a kindle, and/or a subscription to Netflix or Amazon Prime. You're going to be awake at weird times. It's best to try to rest but if you can't or baby won't let you, occupy your mind so you aren't just thinking about the fact that it is a bummer that you are awake at 2 a.m. Also NPR was most of my adult company sometimes. I listened to a Canadian news show in the shower at 11pm a lot for some reason.
• A bit of 'tude: Get ready to tell people to bugger off. Or more politely, thank you for your opinion. Or my catch line, "I am the mama. My word is law." But your instincts are amazingly informative, and lots of well meaning people may question them. Just because it's your mother-in-law or pediatrician or pastor does NOT mean they are right. Particularly about breastfeeding.
• Reality check. You are not going to learn a new language and redecorate your house on your maternity leave. Stop it. Your job is to rest, heal, get to know your little miracle, and learn to breastfeed. That's IT. EVERYTHING else is someone else's job. Cooking, cleaning, managing visitors. Everything. Partner can't cook? Partner's job is to coordinate deliveries, get every takeout menu for a mile radius, find people who want to help you cook. Partner's other job is to help you breastfeed. Diaper baby so you can stay in bed. Bring you a glass of water and a snack. (Although I am a huge fan of putting a big water bottle and a banana next to the bedside so I'm ready to go, but who knows, maybe you'll have a hankering for a granola bar at 3am while junior is slurping away.) This is a once in a lifetime (your baby's lifetime!) opportunity to rest, bond, heal, and fall in love. Don't mess it up for yourself by feeling guilty that baby's clothes aren't neatly folded and organized or that your hair is not beautifully coiffed. And don't stress about how long it takes to lose the pregnancy weight. Might be a year, might be eight weeks. Just keep nursing and add back some gentle exercise as soon as you can. Eat well and healthfully and remember biology is smart and that weight is there for a reason (so you can turn it into breastmilk!)
• Extra credit: Cord Blood Banking. I very very very much believe in banking your baby's umbilical cord blood and tissue. Especially since one of my favorite people's first born came down with baby cancer (seriously what force is more evil in the world than cancer that is specific to babies?) that could have been treated with stem cells. (The baby is fine, by the way, he's pushing five years old and he's turning out like you'd expect coming from his brilliant, feisty parents. Meaning, awesome.) This is not a cheap option. To me, it was worth it. I figured if we needed them we would gladly bankrupt ourselves to get them, so let's save them now when it's merely spendy. But easy for me to say, we're relatively well off and terrible at budgeting. That said, please consider it. If you decide you really don't want to spend the money or can't, you can still donate the cord blood and cord tissue to research or for people looking for donors to treat an illness. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to painlessly and non-controversially harvest the most amazing cells that can seemingly do anything. Please consider it. We did it with both kiddos (and yes, supercrunchy parents, Jackie's midwife let the cord stop pulsing first and we still got a great collection.)

Hey, Suzi, you forgot these things:

• Crib: No I didn't. Totally optional. I wish I'd never wasted the effort. Robert wouldn't sleep in his, for eight months he would only sleep in his car seat. I was freaked out and asked the pediatrician about it. He said, "Huh." I said, "Is that a problem?" "Well, you're going to have a problem when he outgrows the car seat." So yeah. Crib was like a staging area for laundry. I will say, though, that a pack-n-play can make a handy safe place to stash the kiddo so you can pee with both hands free. And then with Jackie, we bedshared. WOW. HUGE difference in tired level. As in, I was WAY less exhausted. I so, so, so wish we had not had bad information about bedsharing when Robert was born. It's miraculous. Here's some information about it. There's lots of IF YOU BED SHARE YOU WILL SQUISH YOUR BABY BULLSHIT out there. That's true, if you are drunk off your ass or on a squishy couch. Educate yourself and make up your mind with that information. And BTW, that whole, if we bed share I'll destroy my intimate relationship with my partner nonsense? Is nonsense. First off, you don't get to have sex for a while. Second, you probably won't want to for a while after that. And third, if you and your baby are well rested, you're more likely to have energy to get amorous. 
• Jungle-theme layette with matching crib sheets, mobile, rug, diaper bag, and coasters. Just unnecessary. If having cute stuff like this makes you happy and you have the cash or your friends and family want to buy it for you, go nuts. But I say save the money to hire help. This stuff gets outgrown in ten minutes, and pooped on, and etc. Hand-me-downs, Craig's list, gifts, etc. work great, you can still have cute, fun stuff, and your dollars can go where they will make a more lasting difference in your warm memories of dreamy new baby love. You do need a diaper bag. But an old backpack will do fine, if you don't want to get a new one.
• Sleep trainer. Sleep training is nonsense. I realize that is a controversial statement. But seriously sleep is very kiddo specific, it is a moving target, and your baby's appetite and sleep patterns will move faster than a Brownian particle for possibly up to TWO YEARS. or more. The idea that a four month old should be able to sleep through the night alone in a crib has no basis in biology or medicine. If you're too tired to deal you need help with the work in your life, not a sleep trainer. You will both get more rest if you breastfeed on early hunger cues, sleep when the baby sleeps regardless of daylight, and ask for more help. People set mamas up for huge dissatisfaction with their baseless assertions that their babies shouldn't make a peep for eight hours straight at four months of life. More likely they will go through a growth spurt and want to eat all night. Denying them food at that time can impede their growth and will make you absolutely miserable, NOT more well rested. Also newborns are nocturnal. Just go with it. I promise it's easier this way.
• Stroller. I love my strollers. But if you turn into a big babywearer you don't really need one. My favorite ones are the ones that you can snap the car seat into and out of. That way if baby falls asleep in the car you don't have to wake baby to go into the grocery store. DO NOT BALANCE THE CAR SEAT ON THE GROCERY CART. We LOSE babies this way. If you don't have the stroller and baby is sleeping, put the car seat in the cargo area of the cart, so it can't tip. You can pack an impressive amount of groceries around the car seat (we know from first hand experience) and you get cute comments like "what aisle are those on?"
• Nursing bras/clothes. I love these and have a gazillion of them. But you can fake it with camisoles and layering.

Now here's the Learn list:

• Childbirth class: I love love loved hypnobirthing. Hypnosis is basically really deep meditation, so let go of those weird ideas of being brainwashed into clucking like a chicken. But there are a lot of great classes out there. Know where there are NOT a lot of great classes? At hospitals. They're all this goofy hybrid of stuff that might work with what the hospital's insurance folks will let them say. I'm open to hearing a counter example but I suggest finding an independent practitioner (midwife, doula, etc.) teaching a class.
• Prenatal Breastfeeding Class: So, this is very important, but it will NOT really help you latch, I think. It's just hard to learn to latch without a baby. So don't get frustrated when baby shows up if you still need coaching on latching. What it WILL do is prepare you for how breastfeeding works and all the "booby traps" out there that undermine women in their efforts to breastfeed. The most shocking one is highly trained medical professionals. They are NOT trained in breastfeeding. Which is appalling. But you and your partners can prepare yourselves to face the booby traps with information and confidence and stand up to the well meaning, ill informed doctors and nurses who may try to tell you that you have to supplement because your breasts aren't like a faucet ten minutes after the placenta comes out.
• CPR with Child and Infant CPR: Hopefully you will never need to use your CPR skills. But I can almost guarantee you that you will need the choking rescue skills. I think I've done choking rescue on Jackie 8 times. Having the proper training helps you to stay calm and do the right thing faster, which makes it easier on everyone.

And lastly, books. There are too many. I'm not going to go into them all. I will say that it's important to remember that any idiot who can type 300 pages can get a book published (okay, okay, professional writers, I know it's not always that easy). There is no requirement that the information be correct, helpful, or even interesting to get it published. So if something strikes you as nonsense, for pete's sake don't waste more time on it. A couple of favorite breastfeeding books are "The Nursing Mother's Companion" and "Mother Food." Worth a peek. Also not books but very helpful are Best for Babes and Kellymom's websites. Oh and Dr. Jack Newman. The only man I trust on breastfeeding. I feel strongly that it's hard to be worth listening to if you haven't done it yourself. But this guy is an exception.

But there is one I feel very strongly about. Remember Robert's was an over-medicalized birth that turned surgical, and Jackie was a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean) in a birth center with midwives. So I know of what I speak. Read this book: Ina Mae's Guide to Childbirth. Make your partner read it. I told Matt if he didn't read the entire chapter on "Sphincter Law" he couldn't come to the birth. (He read it promptly.) Seriously this was such a forehead slapping aha moment for me, it was life changing.

And of course you need a copy of Goodnight Moon. Go board book version, it'll last longer. Trust me.

This is the biggest adventure of your life. I can't think of anything more rewarding, miraculous, humbling, amazing, and worth while. Try to relax and enjoy.

Much love,

Suzi

I Have a Really Great Ass

Hello Beloved Readers!

So, there I am, chatting with my dear friend and co-worker, let's call her Mama K, on Jeans Friday at work. Part of my cushy office job includes casual Fridays. So we were talking about how neither of us has dedicated the time and energy to our casual wardrobe that we have (well, she has, and I'm working on it) to our work wardrobe. So she's criticizing the jeans she's wearing, and describes herself as having fat thighs.

My brain exploded.

This woman is GORGEOUS. She is slender but still has boobs and an ass. She has lovely eyes, nice skin and a beautiful smile. Her posture is excellent. She always looks put together. I could make a list of 20 men and probably half a dozen women who would be happy to drool over her at a moment's notice given the chance, without even trying. And she described herself as fat.

My heart broke. I immediately interrupted her and insisted that she was being absurd, and the next time she said that, I would be forced to smack her, which would get me fired, and I can't afford to lose my job. So she agreed, in the interest of my family's financial well-being, not to say that again. But I doubt I convinced her that she is gorgeous. Perhaps I should make the list and set appointments for each of these people to come describe what they like about her body. I haven't finished my sexual harassment prevention training yet, but I'm pretty sure I can't do that within the confines of our employer's policies.

This is what we do to ourselves, us women. Sometimes we're half-kidding, trying for self-deprecating humor or maybe fishing for a compliment. But even so, the little girl part of our brain hears "I have fat thighs"and believes it. And we go around with that hurt on our heart, second-guessing every bite of food or moment of not being on a treadmill, feeling bad, lazy, undeserving.

If someone does that to Jackie, I will rip them a new one. But more likely, Jackie will have to fight hard to learn NOT to do that to herself. And her best shot? Me. The best chance Jackie has to love her body, however her body turns out, is to witness me loving mine. I must be proud and confident. I must show her that I feel beautiful and sexy and strong and deserving. Even with cellulite on the back of my thighs. Even if I gain fifty pounds. Even if my hair is grey. Even if I can't take Parkour with her (I'm so going to take martial arts and Parkour with my kids if I can possibly get away with it). I must teach Jackie to love herself by loving myself. Starting right damn now.

So here goes.

I have a really cute ass, and a curvy little waist. I'm strong and adaptable. I have huge, beautiful eyes, and a huge, sparkling smile. I have a strong back and shoulders like a swimmer, and thighs like a yogi. I am beautiful and sexy and strong and deserving.

So are you. Tell me five things you love about your body. Right now. Out loud. And no mitigating statements - "I like my thighs." not "I like my thighs sometimes," or "I like my hair when it cooperates." Just "I have great hair." Say them out loud. See what that feels like. If it's hard, do it again. And again. Until it feels comfortable. Until you are convinced. And extra points for leaving them as a comment.

Believe it. Right now. This bullshit stops with us.

Much love,
Suzi