Winding through the third month of Chayliciousness, monkey's midnight hours were markedly mean on mommy's marginal mental acuity. Pretty puppies preened and gnawed through Niagras of drooly delight. And acronyms aplenty washed over a new phase of boobylicious babosity.
One Little Monkey Farting up on the Bed Or Sleepless North of Seattle
I'm told they start sleeping through the night more. I'm told. Ok, sometimes it kind of happens where Chaya beastie gets confused and sleeps a full four hours. After her immunizations, I thought perhaps we were really graduating to a new level. She ate less, she slept longer. I slept period. But no, that was the side effects of the shots I believe.
The last two nights, she's played around a bit with her previous schedule to celebrate her ascendancy to "older baby," but has been making sure to keep those intervals just short enough to constitute light (and oh so adorable) torture for mommy. Actually, she's added color to her schedule. She's usually had a bit of a midnight feed and a four a.m. feed. Those times were fluid based on her fluid intake. If she ate after nine, then midnight to one and later in the four thirties were her eating times. If she ate earlier, it was more like 11-12 and 3-4. The benefit of this was that she had a bedtime which also shifted. Everything stayed of a piece, but slightly to the left or right of midnight.
Recently, she's combined schedules a bit for maximum effectiveness. Having heard that her two month week is the purported "peak (and pique!!) of PURPLE crying," she's really indulging these days with the overtired wailing. As the week wears on (mostly on mommy and daddy), she continues her preference for "mommy in the kitchen with the allen wrench..." er wait "mommy in the kitchen bouncing a thumbsucking hand gnawing Chaya beast who is currently glazed but will WAAAAAIIL bloody murder if mommy leaves the kitchen or dares to hand her off to somebody else who wants to bounce in the kitchen with crazy baby" phase in the evenings.
She has previously been a little more chill after her last evening feeding once daddy has swaddled her. Previously. Last night she was not buying it. My throat is aching just thinking about the volume levels. And yes, just to be a little cruel, she would glaze into a calm when mommy held her, nearly nodding off right up until mommy gave her to daddy to hold in bed while mommy brushed her teeth. Poor daddy needs earplugs. Poor mommy needs roughly five weeks of sleep.
Anyways, yes, fussier at night. Meaning she doesn't get calmed down enough to get over the whole overtired thing until ten now. Making the midnight stirring a little bit more jarring. She'll naturally fall asleep a few times while nursing or bottling. Naturally, that does not stop her from rousing and screaming - once again, because there's a theme here - some lightly bloody murder until she has a nipple in her mouth. At which point she can - naturally - zonk without doing much more than dribbling liquid down her chin or spitting up down mommy's pumping bra.
And there's a slow lead in to the three am waking involving all kinds of discontent baby noises that do not manifest in a thoroughly stirred baby until a shaken mommy has spent a good amount of time flickering in and out of a crusty consciousness.
Of course the three am feed usually ends around four. And slumber is broken around five a.m. when mommy pokes daddy and tells him "breakfast is in the fridge and coffee is on" before trying to pretend she never moved lest the Chaya beast catch on to all the action.
And then there's a 5:30 semi-conscious fuss from Chaya that dissipates until ... well, 6:30 yesterday ... and all the way to a disconsolate 7 a.m. this morning!
I am ...
...tired.
And not entirely able to sneak in the naps I had at earlier times, mostly because Chaya's daytime nap preferences typically revolve around "being in the boba (after a rage fit about being placed anywhere near it") while mommy walks." I'm getting back into pre-pregnancy shape like gangbangers for sure. Although eating enough is a whole 'nother challenge. My poor little milk supply. Between the sleeplessness and the nutrition, I dunno if even dom perignon can compete.
Yep, still taking the little lactation tic tacs from Thailand or Canada or wherever. They have not turned me into Bessie the Milk Cow. There was a pretty substantial peak this weekend and now I seem to be steadying back to a little less. I do think stress and sleep have some impact and maybe weekends are better because I get a nap and eat a bit more. But I am able to provide more breastmilk than formula at the moment, and to nurse my baby without her frustration truncating the session in favor of bottle boozing. And I never thought I'd be able to say that again, so for however long that lasts, that's kind of cool.
Although I am starting to think I'll be giving her more of the formula at night. It takes longer to digest than breastmilk so formula fed babies often go longer between feedings... just sayin'
Anyways, many of my friends have four month olds and are talking about "sleep regression." Really not sure what that would look like for us here. Maybe she's doing all this to keep me nice and ready for the big teething terrors that are up next on our new parent plate.
Happy whatever day it may be. I've got a cute baby and only hallucinate every few hours. Life is good. And coffee is helpful.
The Undead Dromedary Day o'Many Manias And a weekend visit from down south
So, the weekly "my fabulous night" report:
Chaya was a little off schedule last night in terms of having her feeds a bit later than usual. She also eventually just lost interest in, say, eating in preference for (1) being adorably interactive for a few heart-pumping minutes after a blessedly long nap, and (2) spazzing the frig out for several heart-pumping decades following. Or something like that. Actually she wasn't that bad as the baby sobs go. I'd call it a 6 on the fussy baby Richter Scale. But as is increasingly common (now that she's a little older and we aren't inadvertently starving her), eating does not help when she's fussy. In fact she will fuss right through an attempted feed and will refuse to do much with the bottle other than writhe underneath it and spit/drool the contents down her shirt. I won't tell you what she does at the breast, but actually she starts off ok there most of the time if she's actually hungry but not too hangry.
SO that's the backdrop. She started what is usually a 6 o'clock feed at 7:30. She fussed and slurped through two boobs and went under the bottle... briefly. Before she realized we'd reached the fuss-fuss magic hour and hied to meet her contractual fussing obligations for us. Mommy and daddy switched off kitchen duty. Mommy met a calm moment and offered her the bottle. Chaya seemingly took it, but perhaps only to subsequently become angry when Daddy continued the feed. Daddy was undeterred by several little grunts and wriggles, despite mommy's increasing angst (we'll say it was at a level to pronounce AWWWWNGST by the end), but eventually it became clear that the bottle was doing Miss Chay-chay's mood no favors. We returned to walking. Mommy forewent a power pump and had a relatively mellow moment in the kitchen with Chaya. Daddy waited for the 8:00 feed to begin so that we could all watch the last ten minutes of My Name is Earl.
That feed never came. I know because I finally sent Andrew downstairs and decided that Chaya and I were going to bed. I brought the bottle. But she wasn't into it. I sat with her between 9 and 10 gently propping the pacifier. She fell asleep initially, but her arms were out of the sleep sack so of course she continued to startle herself with spastic baby movements. I woke her while swaddle wrapping her in the sleep sack. She still took the pacifier and continued the long journey to sleeping baby, with several pitstops for little myoclonic baby jerks.
So... commence the evening roulette at about 10:00 pm. Chaya's typical bedtime actually. Who knew? But I kind of figured she'd be up again earlier than later.
That she made it to 11:30 is actually a bit of a shock.
But she did. Mommy didn't quite, since Chaya made noises in her sleep.
We went downstairs to eat around 11:30ish. Chaya feasted on breasts of many sides. Ok, just the two. Mommy pumped, which was kind of a depressing endeavor, because Chaya had been quite effective at emptying the breasts in the first place (which is the goal, but it's still kind of a nihilistic endeavor to then sit downstairs with a baby on your lap and cups on your nipples for an additional fifteen minutes in the hope of draining yourself even more utterly dry). At least I got to gaze lovingly (and a touch fearfully lest the spell be broken) at my angelic sleeping sweetie.
We made it back upstairs around 12:30 and maybe around 1:00 a.m. Chaya got back from a brief stirring to fall asleep. She then had a rumbly tumbly (gas not hunger) by about 1:30. That lasted for a half hour of pacifier and holding. She woke again to eat at 2:30. We went back to bed at about 3:30 after the same ritual. Except I had realized that I'd forgotten to make Andrew's sandwich and that we might not be up in time to finish his breakfast. Naturally, while Chaya was feeding, I practiced my one-handed peanut butter slathering, and made some eggs and oats. It passes the time.
After a feed and a paltry pump - with some bottle swapping and the like - we went back upstairs.
She stirred ceaselessly through the four o'clock hour.
The alarm went off at 5:15. I threw a burp rag at Andrew, since Chaya was passed out on me and had just stopped writhing around. I whispered the time to him and he smiled in a daze before rolling over and going back to sleep. I threw another burp cloth at him and repeated the time. He rummaged through his drawers, got dressed and was off to the downstairs. I suspected we'd soon follow, since 5:40 would be the whole "three hours from last feed" marker. And she was again writhing around a bit. But to my delight, we woke again at 6:30. At which point she had bad gas.
Which totally subsumed any hunger she might have had. For a good twenty minutes of bicycle legs, and funny old man grunts. She finally got enough out to mellow and start feeding, at which point BLOOOOOORB - mini-blow out in her diaper of course. We changed,. She looked significantly calmer. I weighed her and decided she'd had about an two and a half ounced so far. We continued.
She drank for a while before slipping off, repeatedly arching her back and fussing when I tried to help her relatch. One might guess she was no longer hungry (having eaten about another ounce by my handy scale math), but she did seem irate about not being on the breast. For a while. Until she was upright, had spat up, burped once or twice and discovered she'd rather look at lights.
The boob was quite passe. The order of the day was either Chaya's hand, or my finger. And enough lakes of drool to regulate California's water tables.
We sat on the couch together figuring out her next move. I decided that she was still contemplating but wasn't likely to take a breast laying down after several additional struggles. I had a bottle handy that she'd neglected the prior night (the bottle with the medication that supposedly helps with gas - oh well). I started pumping. Which was less depressing because, although she'd had a decent tapas of a tata, there was in fact still some milk left.
By the way, it was about 7:30 am at this point.
In my lap, she attempted several times to use her wiley frog legs to propel herself off of my stomach and into the coffee table, before changing tactics and having a thoroughly delightful little Chaya window.
Yes, for roughly seven minutes, she cooed and laughed and giggled and conversed. I was not snowed by this. Such charming behavior always presages a subsequent meltdown. But I enjoyed it anyways. When the fussing began, I stalled for time doing my mommy-arms work out. This currently involves bouncing her up and down very boisterously on my lap while chanting "Ten Little Monkeys Jumpin' on the Bed." In my version, the monkeys bop their heads. I do not approve of animal cruelty in my limericks.
As this devolved, I managed to gently disentangle myself from my milk-cyborg paraphernalia without spilling too much milk (over which to cry of course, because trust me, it is ok to cry over spilt breastmilk whether it leak from a bottle or be spewed down your breast out of your baby's nose) and start the swaying in the kitchen ritual, as things escalated.
My mom arrived in the nick of time to rescue me from another baby meltdown. Or at least from soloing it. This gave me enough time to throw stuff together, start the dishwasher and get us both properly fled from the home as Miss Chaya raged herself right into a hoarse stupor, face covered in tears, drool, and mother's milk.
I daren't speculate what comes next. But she is currently asleep. Fingers crossed.
Yesterday, she had another little rage fit that required mommy to put her in the boba and then run very slowly but bouncily for ten minutes of a walk. Forget post-partum weightloss programs, but little creature is a drill sergeant of a personal trainer. She likes her mommy's fit and underslept. Baby bootie camp will be the hottest new workout torture for all I'm sure.
Anyways, Chaya is Chaya. We're hoping she sleeps for a while, sweet dumpling squash that she is.
And she's had a busy week, so I understand if she's a little off her rhythm.
So, the weekly "my fabulous night" report:
Chaya was a little off schedule last night in terms of having her feeds a bit later than usual. She also eventually just lost interest in, say, eating in preference for (1) being adorably interactive for a few heart-pumping minutes after a blessedly long nap, and (2) spazzing the frig out for several heart-pumping decades following. Or something like that. Actually she wasn't that bad as the baby sobs go. I'd call it a 6 on the fussy baby Richter Scale. But as is increasingly common (now that she's a little older and we aren't inadvertently starving her), eating does not help when she's fussy. In fact she will fuss right through an attempted feed and will refuse to do much with the bottle other than writhe underneath it and spit/drool the contents down her shirt. I won't tell you what she does at the breast, but actually she starts off ok there most of the time if she's actually hungry but not too hangry.
SO that's the backdrop. She started what is usually a 6 o'clock feed at 7:30. She fussed and slurped through two boobs and went under the bottle... briefly. Before she realized we'd reached the fuss-fuss magic hour and hied to meet her contractual fussing obligations for us. Mommy and daddy switched off kitchen duty. Mommy met a calm moment and offered her the bottle. Chaya seemingly took it, but perhaps only to subsequently become angry when Daddy continued the feed. Daddy was undeterred by several little grunts and wriggles, despite mommy's increasing angst (we'll say it was at a level to pronounce AWWWWNGST by the end), but eventually it became clear that the bottle was doing Miss Chay-chay's mood no favors. We returned to walking. Mommy forewent a power pump and had a relatively mellow moment in the kitchen with Chaya. Daddy waited for the 8:00 feed to begin so that we could all watch the last ten minutes of My Name is Earl.
That feed never came. I know because I finally sent Andrew downstairs and decided that Chaya and I were going to bed. I brought the bottle. But she wasn't into it. I sat with her between 9 and 10 gently propping the pacifier. She fell asleep initially, but her arms were out of the sleep sack so of course she continued to startle herself with spastic baby movements. I woke her while swaddle wrapping her in the sleep sack. She still took the pacifier and continued the long journey to sleeping baby, with several pitstops for little myoclonic baby jerks.
So... commence the evening roulette at about 10:00 pm. Chaya's typical bedtime actually. Who knew? But I kind of figured she'd be up again earlier than later.
That she made it to 11:30 is actually a bit of a shock.
But she did. Mommy didn't quite, since Chaya made noises in her sleep.
We went downstairs to eat around 11:30ish. Chaya feasted on breasts of many sides. Ok, just the two. Mommy pumped, which was kind of a depressing endeavor, because Chaya had been quite effective at emptying the breasts in the first place (which is the goal, but it's still kind of a nihilistic endeavor to then sit downstairs with a baby on your lap and cups on your nipples for an additional fifteen minutes in the hope of draining yourself even more utterly dry). At least I got to gaze lovingly (and a touch fearfully lest the spell be broken) at my angelic sleeping sweetie.
We made it back upstairs around 12:30 and maybe around 1:00 a.m. Chaya got back from a brief stirring to fall asleep. She then had a rumbly tumbly (gas not hunger) by about 1:30. That lasted for a half hour of pacifier and holding. She woke again to eat at 2:30. We went back to bed at about 3:30 after the same ritual. Except I had realized that I'd forgotten to make Andrew's sandwich and that we might not be up in time to finish his breakfast. Naturally, while Chaya was feeding, I practiced my one-handed peanut butter slathering, and made some eggs and oats. It passes the time.
After a feed and a paltry pump - with some bottle swapping and the like - we went back upstairs.
She stirred ceaselessly through the four o'clock hour.
The alarm went off at 5:15. I threw a burp rag at Andrew, since Chaya was passed out on me and had just stopped writhing around. I whispered the time to him and he smiled in a daze before rolling over and going back to sleep. I threw another burp cloth at him and repeated the time. He rummaged through his drawers, got dressed and was off to the downstairs. I suspected we'd soon follow, since 5:40 would be the whole "three hours from last feed" marker. And she was again writhing around a bit. But to my delight, we woke again at 6:30. At which point she had bad gas.
Which totally subsumed any hunger she might have had. For a good twenty minutes of bicycle legs, and funny old man grunts. She finally got enough out to mellow and start feeding, at which point BLOOOOOORB - mini-blow out in her diaper of course. We changed,. She looked significantly calmer. I weighed her and decided she'd had about an two and a half ounced so far. We continued.
She drank for a while before slipping off, repeatedly arching her back and fussing when I tried to help her relatch. One might guess she was no longer hungry (having eaten about another ounce by my handy scale math), but she did seem irate about not being on the breast. For a while. Until she was upright, had spat up, burped once or twice and discovered she'd rather look at lights.
The boob was quite passe. The order of the day was either Chaya's hand, or my finger. And enough lakes of drool to regulate California's water tables.
We sat on the couch together figuring out her next move. I decided that she was still contemplating but wasn't likely to take a breast laying down after several additional struggles. I had a bottle handy that she'd neglected the prior night (the bottle with the medication that supposedly helps with gas - oh well). I started pumping. Which was less depressing because, although she'd had a decent tapas of a tata, there was in fact still some milk left.
By the way, it was about 7:30 am at this point.
In my lap, she attempted several times to use her wiley frog legs to propel herself off of my stomach and into the coffee table, before changing tactics and having a thoroughly delightful little Chaya window.
Yes, for roughly seven minutes, she cooed and laughed and giggled and conversed. I was not snowed by this. Such charming behavior always presages a subsequent meltdown. But I enjoyed it anyways. When the fussing began, I stalled for time doing my mommy-arms work out. This currently involves bouncing her up and down very boisterously on my lap while chanting "Ten Little Monkeys Jumpin' on the Bed." In my version, the monkeys bop their heads. I do not approve of animal cruelty in my limericks.
As this devolved, I managed to gently disentangle myself from my milk-cyborg paraphernalia without spilling too much milk (over which to cry of course, because trust me, it is ok to cry over spilt breastmilk whether it leak from a bottle or be spewed down your breast out of your baby's nose) and start the swaying in the kitchen ritual, as things escalated.
My mom arrived in the nick of time to rescue me from another baby meltdown. Or at least from soloing it. This gave me enough time to throw stuff together, start the dishwasher and get us both properly fled from the home as Miss Chaya raged herself right into a hoarse stupor, face covered in tears, drool, and mother's milk.
I daren't speculate what comes next. But she is currently asleep. Fingers crossed.
Yesterday, she had another little rage fit that required mommy to put her in the boba and then run very slowly but bouncily for ten minutes of a walk. Forget post-partum weightloss programs, but little creature is a drill sergeant of a personal trainer. She likes her mommy's fit and underslept. Baby bootie camp will be the hottest new workout torture for all I'm sure.
Anyways, Chaya is Chaya. We're hoping she sleeps for a while, sweet dumpling squash that she is.
And she's had a busy week, so I understand if she's a little off her rhythm.
This weekend she had her second weekend with Gramma Lisa. This was a far more interactive one than the one month visit. They get along swimmingly, insofar as Gramma Lisa knows the secret to bouncing a crying baby. This is very helpul.They took a nap together on the rocking chair. And also had some time to play together.
Yesterday, she had another date with Sebastian while I had coffee with his mommy. They both slept. Well, Sebastian came out to give a sweetly sanguine little baby sob, and suckle a pacifier. Chaya was out after another rager of a morning. They have so many interests in common! Sleeping! Pacifiering! Being worn by tired mothers! They are quite decidedly bosom buddies. Har har.
At any rate. Chaya is asleep. Mommy is not. Mommy is very behind on things she would like to do in the waking world. And kind of keyed up after hearing her baby rage for so long. She also knows that baby will only sleep so long as mommy walks. So walk I shall. On my hamster wheel of working wonderment!
Happy Wednesday all! May you find those delightful moments in the between the storms. And may your storms be full of fresh energy and cozy havens.
Chompers McCrazipup and the B-Day Blow Outs
Of course in the cat-dog divide, Chaya has her feline (read "evil but cute") moments, but in many regards I admit she channels her inner canine. Yes, mommy may desperately flail about her mouth searching for signs of early teething when another bout of raging inconsolababy derails an evening. But just generally our baby drools and gnaws like there's no next hour let alone tomorrow. I'm told the finding her hand was a miraculous comfort reflex. She doesn't always manage to stick with it, but often now the sweet sounds of sloppy sucking interrupts the baby moaning during our kitchen routine.
I rather appreciate her hand's handiness, although I suspect she can't always find it and that this upsets her. Opening the ongoing conundrum "when do I shove my little baby's hand in her mouth if she is crying?" It sounds sort of awful, but you know if she genuinely just can't get her baby body together enough to get it in there sometimes...
Chaya does not limit her smorgasboard of digits to her own hand though (despite having a pretty decided preference for the left one and occasionally migrating towards the purer zen of thumbsucking). She also takes my finger and thumb. If presented in the proper way. A finger inserted straight into her mouth will be accepted for brief suckling substitution. Provided that the whorl is facing up. Scratching the soft palate is not acceptable. I don't get a lot of play from that approach to finger-sucking though. Chaya seems to prefer the sideways slant, and plenty of (yes, surely there are teeth, surely!) gummy chomp-chomp. Boy does our little girl have a strong jaw. We are in for it once she develops the full set of baby chomps. Mommy will start to wonder why she bent right into a backbend trying to breastfeed this little terror. And she'll be relieved for those damned bottles we still use.
And then there's the drool. I think our baby has sprung a leak.
I'm pretty well certain that her next set of baby toys will be purchased at Petsmart. Because little girl would do well with some squeaky toys and a plastic bone. We'll wait for the real bones until she's ready for solids. Some prefer bone broth. Our demon will want the osseous matter.
Yet more like a little pup, our girl does not delicately dig discrete dumps for her poop. She does not fling her poo monkeystyle from the confines of her diaper. I will give her that. But likely only because she lacks the muscle control and conscious awareness to attempt to do so. What she lacks in fine motor skills, she makes up for in sheer explosive volume. Mommy has now learned that having a back up outfit for baby in the diaper bag is nice, but seriously the back up pants for mommy will be far more necessary in a pinch and a poo.
As an addendum to the blow-out biggie, mommy learned the additional lesson that "parenting classes involving young babies are ironically only the province, parents who have their shit together enough to attend a class regularly and who thus already have their parental black belts." Baby and Me continues to be skipped due to fecal matter and sleepless mommies afraid of driving herself places other than "straight to the looney bin." Maybe when the two month terror is a four month funball. Maybe. All the other kids were that age, and it seemed like the class was far more appropriately geared towards that developmental level.
By four months, Miss Chaya will have been on her very first family vacation. We'll be heading to San Francisco over Thanksgiving so Chaya can see her grandparents and meet her very own uncle! Buying tickets and making travel plans with a two month old around, by the way, not super easy. Probably easier than actually travelling with them, but our negotiations had several rounds confusion and ended up with tickets being purchased while mommy bounced a fussing baby in the kitchen and spat out something about "whatever it's fine, anything is fine... sure..." at baby's intently focused father figure, who then disappeared downstairs to complete the transaction. But given it began with mommy unilaterally buying tickets from United that were twice as expensive and less than ideal... well don't get divorced and don't shake the baby. To this day I'm not 100% sure on the details of our trip despite having a copy of our itinerary. I believe we are flying out around the holiday and that we do not get to fly out of Bellingham. But I do know that my campaign to just say
Her first plane ride at three months! And mommy's blood runs still. I have been told that this is a far better time to attempt plane travel with my baby than pretty much any time within the next several years. I have also been told that it won't be much of a picnic. Except for CHaya, as it seems all women so far agree that the best approach is constant nursing. My sister also suggested valium. She was only joking. Maybe. But it would complement the constant nursing... mellow mommy and baby.
Little pup is having great little developmental spurts and starts. A few weeks ago, we started in with the smiles and laughs. They are typically signs that soon there will be an escalation right up until baby is thrashing about less happily and sobbing. Because nothing upsets a baby more than being tired. Especially if they've done it to themselves. I relate, but it can be vexing. At these times inconsolababy is particularly resistant to things that would help her fall asleep. At least until she's more glazed than a Krispy Kreme and has properly digested her hand and at least one of mine.
But recently, the playful times are expanding and the inconsolababy moments are a little bit shorter... I'm hoping this continues. Right up until she actually is teething and then there's sleep regression and then she's a toddler and then she's a teenager and then... But hey, little pockets of easier right? Hopefully by next month they'll be discernably longer.
In other news, we have reached Friday, which is moderately meaningless, but does mean that much of our typical cycle will occur at home and mommy might get a nap while Daddy watches baby. We might even get a date night while Gramma Pam watches Chaya!
Wish us luck and throw baby a bone or two!
A Brief Lexical Break to Re-orient the uninitiated
Of course, once upon a time I was a DINK (dual income, no kids). This is where the acronyms stop, because until you get into your home remodeling and doggie projects, you don't need more acronyms and special argot that evolves from several support groups. Maybe there are some regular internet acronyms and the myriad emoji, but these are common enough patois that anyone on the internet already can figure them out. DINKs still stay pretty pure.
Ok, my job has five bajillion of them. But in law, we still heatedly debate the definition of the word "is" so we don't want to dwell where there by dragons (also arguing over whether they have adversely possessed their dragon lairs or currently have a prescriptive easement of access across the castle moat).
You hit TTC (trying to conceive) and a whole new world of special vocabulary, and shorthand acronyms. I don't even recall them all, but know I've been through a tour of those words before.
And then there's being a new mom. Specifically, a new mom who needs a boost to breastfeed. There are so many acronyms and special words that it makes my head swim. I couldn't possible get to them all, so I'll start mostly with the world of breastfeeding that ne'er did run smoothly.
Of course, once upon a time I was a DINK (dual income, no kids). This is where the acronyms stop, because until you get into your home remodeling and doggie projects, you don't need more acronyms and special argot that evolves from several support groups. Maybe there are some regular internet acronyms and the myriad emoji, but these are common enough patois that anyone on the internet already can figure them out. DINKs still stay pretty pure.
Ok, my job has five bajillion of them. But in law, we still heatedly debate the definition of the word "is" so we don't want to dwell where there by dragons (also arguing over whether they have adversely possessed their dragon lairs or currently have a prescriptive easement of access across the castle moat).
You hit TTC (trying to conceive) and a whole new world of special vocabulary, and shorthand acronyms. I don't even recall them all, but know I've been through a tour of those words before.
And then there's being a new mom. Specifically, a new mom who needs a boost to breastfeed. There are so many acronyms and special words that it makes my head swim. I couldn't possible get to them all, so I'll start mostly with the world of breastfeeding that ne'er did run smoothly.
Because I want you to know what I mean when I say that after 3 weeks on dom, with a side of moringa and goat's rue, I am pretty much able to go EBM, although my DD's style ensures I'll never be EBF and sometimes I fantasize about going full EP for my LO. But seriously, I can now power pump out enough that I make maybe 15 or more OPD, which is enough on top of nursing to forestall formula! SO glad I found Pinyo and he sent me those razors.
Buckle your seatbelts. If you think I'm typically incomprehensible... well this actually might make more sense.
First Some Mommy Forum Basics - these traverse most mommy-forum issues.
LO - little one. Typically, the acronymer's child and not the miniature Griffin they keep in their pockets.
DD - a gendered way to refer to one's LO. Complemented by DS. Obviously standing for Drooling Devil and Deranged (p)Sycho.
PP - not parenting plan as I'd come to expect butpostpartum. As in the infinite stretch after the really big stretch (and tear) down there in which all previous identity is subsumed by physical weakness, delirious exhaustion, and a staggering obsession with bodily fluids. Typically it is a measurement, with origin in the time of birth. Example "At three months postpartum, I am now losing all of my hair. And growing a third arm. WTF?"
PPD - a serious one. Postpartum depression. Not funny. Not cool. Seek help.
FTM - I hate this one -full time mom - for implying a working mom somehow is a part time mother. I don't really work per se (so much as distract Gramma Pam at the office), but I've seen women who do. They don't shed their mommyness with the spit-up stained yoga pants as they rush out the door each morning. These women work themselves into a frappucino froth milking themselves in back rooms while other employees take breaks. They're checking in on baby through the day. They're constantly researching the latest parenting whatever and prolifically re-sharing Scary Mommy while working daddies are reading about engine parts and Taylor Swift. Women who don't work have their own crazy that should be honored, but let's say moms are moms regardless of outside occupation in my book. And those who stay home are also more than moms.
SAHM - maybe not totally better but my preferred answer to these queries. Appropriate to those first precious months of Stranded at Home Mothering when Daddy (and I'd argue that men have a much better ability to shed their dadness when they leave for the day) heads off to work.
Buckle your seatbelts. If you think I'm typically incomprehensible... well this actually might make more sense.
First Some Mommy Forum Basics - these traverse most mommy-forum issues.
LO - little one. Typically, the acronymer's child and not the miniature Griffin they keep in their pockets.
DD - a gendered way to refer to one's LO. Complemented by DS. Obviously standing for Drooling Devil and Deranged (p)Sycho.
PP - not parenting plan as I'd come to expect butpostpartum. As in the infinite stretch after the really big stretch (and tear) down there in which all previous identity is subsumed by physical weakness, delirious exhaustion, and a staggering obsession with bodily fluids. Typically it is a measurement, with origin in the time of birth. Example "At three months postpartum, I am now losing all of my hair. And growing a third arm. WTF?"
PPD - a serious one. Postpartum depression. Not funny. Not cool. Seek help.
FTM - I hate this one -full time mom - for implying a working mom somehow is a part time mother. I don't really work per se (so much as distract Gramma Pam at the office), but I've seen women who do. They don't shed their mommyness with the spit-up stained yoga pants as they rush out the door each morning. These women work themselves into a frappucino froth milking themselves in back rooms while other employees take breaks. They're checking in on baby through the day. They're constantly researching the latest parenting whatever and prolifically re-sharing Scary Mommy while working daddies are reading about engine parts and Taylor Swift. Women who don't work have their own crazy that should be honored, but let's say moms are moms regardless of outside occupation in my book. And those who stay home are also more than moms.
SAHM - maybe not totally better but my preferred answer to these queries. Appropriate to those first precious months of Stranded at Home Mothering when Daddy (and I'd argue that men have a much better ability to shed their dadness when they leave for the day) heads off to work.
And to the more specific world of the boobage
BF -_breastfeeding. The act of putting a baby to your nipple for sustenance. Nursing would include suckling fur nutritive and comfort. But when you're just starting out your baby will be BFF with all your BF.
Pumping - in this case has nothing to do with sensual body gyrations or the exploitation of natural resources. Wait I take the latter comment halfway back. Pumping refers to the extraction of breast milk via a mechanical or manual device. This milk is stored typically, for future consumption by baby, though it can be pumped-and-dumped if mom is worried about something she consumed and does not want to pass on to the baby. It may also be donated. Pumping is also done in order to increase signals to the brain to produce more milk.
BM - One of the more unfortunate acronyms. Really, we call bowel movement poop and poo here. BM stands for breast milk.
EBF -Exclusively breastfeeding. Which is what I'd be doing if my supply have had that drop in supply and embraced the bottle/formula mix. Exclusively. Seriously. To the exclusion of everything else including bathroom breaks. Little baby is the most distractable Deranged Demon (DD) ever to sorta suckle and no amount of proper coaching will change her feeding style.
EBM - Exclusively breast milk. As in baby's diet. No formula. No snickers. Just boob juice ingested through any medium (bottle, SNS, crystal goblet...).
EP -Exclusively pumping. See above about working moms. But any several other reasons will cause a woman who does not nurse directly to turn herself into a lactation cyborg during her little breaks. Babies also lose interest in nursing sometimes after the convenience of a bottle. going on what's called a nursing strike. They may have physical challenges that make it hard to extract milk as well. At this point they may be EBM but never touch a teat (except with a flailing hand, foot, head, etc... these are babies here).
OPD - not to be confused with PPD, though this number can certainly be depressing in its own right. Rather it refers to the number if ounces per day of breastmilk that a woman can pump. A common source of anxiety and perverse pride, this number can artificially quantify a breastfeeding mother's merit as a person. An average 3+ month old baby needs to consume between 20 - 30 (most typically around 24 or so) OPD of milk. Which is why it can be kind of strange to see women in the low-supply support groups posting about going on medications so that they can pump, say, 36. Unless they have twins. But to each their own. I'm sure the women who can only pump 1 or 2 OPB with medication don't feel terribly put off by that kind of thing. I'm sure.
IGT - Insufficient glandular tissue. An affliction that stymies lactation.
BFAR Breastfeeding after reduction - and/or other surgery. Which is often a challenge and requires additional interventions.
PCOS -Polycystic ovary syndrome. I know this one from the TTC board. A hormonal imbalance commonly associated with fertility and lactation difficulties. As it involves insulin resistance many pcos women are also on the diabetes drug metformin.
Hypo - as in underactive thyroid. Another common issue with lactation and a possible side effect of the domperidone.
Dom - domperidone. The holy breath mint of lactation interventions. A stomach medication that works by inhibiting dopamine receptors in the gut. Its main function is to speed gastric emptying, but as a side effect it increases prolactin. While the FDA does not approve the drug, it is community used off-label in Canada to induce lactation (prolactin being, after all,pro lactin). Women who have grown tired of herbals and cookies (so, the ones with the persistent problems) often try domperidone to increase or induce lactation. The big guns for those shooting lactiblanks. Also an alternative to the drug Reglan, which has similar prolactin boosting side effects but which crosses the brain-blood barrier and can also cause depression and other psych symptoms. Bringing new meaning to the term "on the reg"
Jack Newman - Not the salad dressing guy! Canadian doctor/lactiguru who handles all aspects of breastfeeding. Known for having the most accepted and followed protocol for domperidone use.
Razors - vesperidone is a generic form of the drug Motilium (domperidone ). Vesperidone can be purchased for pennies on the dollar compared to motilium and vomistop (all dom, though fillers may vary and some claim that razors are less effective at a given dose - others don't). Razors are from Thailand. From a dude named Pinyo on his site called Suffice with the url lidocainehclpowder.com.
And you have to be in the know because they are listed as "feather light Razors" so that he can use PayPal for booking purposes. Because a woman's breastfeeding adventure ought to involve some Philip K Dick approved techno dealings with the neo golden triangle.
The site in question sells many other mysteriously labeled items. None of the dom moms know what these actually are but we enjoy speculating. We're guessing that you do not actually get flip flops and car paint.
Fenugreek- one of the most commonly used herbal galactogogues. Most often by women who don't really need to boost their supply that much or an initial herbal supplement when supply starts to dip. Ironically, it lowers supply for many hypothyroid women and women on dom. Often paired with blessed thistle, fennel, and nettle. In other words, your first stop to boosting your supply should be a nature hike in the woods Available in pill, tincture, and tea. To my knowledge it's rarely smoked. Known also for causing gas to mom and baby. And giving mom a major syrup odor.
Motherlove - not as racy as it sounds. Instead a brand of herbal supplements and tinctures frequently used by moms on dom sent other pumping women.
Goat's Rue - an herb that purportedly increases mammary tissue. Also the herbal derivative of the medicine metformin. Popular for women on dom as a supplement for its overlap with IGT & PCOS.
Malunggay/Moringa - Southeast Asian tree from which superfood is derived. Young leaves are taken in powder, tea, or capsule to boost milk supply.
Malted Ovaltine, dark beer, Gatorade, coconut water, mother's milk tea - beverages that women claim to help supply. Malt and hops are galactogogues. The others likely just help hydration. Except for the sugar in Gatorade: all are in the "couldn't hurt in moderation category." Except Mother's Milk's primary ingredient is fenugreek so it might. But probably it's in small enough doses to have no effect.
Oatmeal and brewer's yeast -most popular dietary galactogogues. With flax and handfuls of sweetener, the basis of most lactation cookies.
Sunflower lecithin -not believed to boost production but taken by women hoping to speed up the let down reflex (connection of stimulation to release of milk) by making the milk more "slippery". Also believed to help reduce incidence of clogged ducts.
Power pump - one of the techniques that plays on the supply and demand element of breastfeeding. By mimicking the cluster feeding of a baby in a growth spurt (nonstop boob suckling) it signals the brain to produce more milk more quickly. A short term increase over the next few days results.
Typically done by pumping for ten to twenty minutes, taking a ten minute break, pumping another ten, taking another ten minute break, and pumping one more time. Any variation of pump-break-pump plays on the idea that lactation comes in a series of spaced out let downs. The more you trigger these, the higher the production. Believed to be more effective than simply pumping for longer at a time. If flexible, also a good way to actually fit the incredible burden of" pumping 8-10 times a day in addition to nursing on demand" that's standard protocol.
Power pumping is often paired with the idea of a little vacation watching your favorite hour-long TV show. I think it really requires 80's rock ballads and at least a few montage cuts. When I do power pump, I usually just clean in between. Attempting to do so again ensures that Chaya will be having a little freak out preference m performance art primal howl just add I start the second pump session. Daddy is no longer encouraged to put her in my lap at these junctures. We'll call it Power Daddy-Daughter Time.
Slacker boob - just what it sounds like. The breast that hangs out in its bra listening to old lps and playing video games while the other boob goes out and sprays its heart out
... and a bonus one to really tie us back to the theme of these couple of weeks:
MOTN - Middle of the night. Typically a time most likely for low suppliers to be able to (1) feed their baby without additional supplement (baby is sleepier, supply is highest between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m.), (2) pump a little extra, (3) realize that reality is a shoddy simulacrum of something far more chaotic involving several gerbils on hamster wheels and really that doesn't make any sense, but the last time anything made any sense you had a very large belly and flaming ears and your baby was most of a portable accessory/parasite than the tyrannical lord of all sleep.
And with that, I wish you a happy, boobalicious week.
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