Mounting the Vernon Semi-Anniversary (Belated) and More Weighted Wonderings

In all the excitement of birthdays and busted bodies, I let a semi-anniversary pass by unremarked upon: We've lived in Mt Vernon now for six and a half months. Strange to imagine what a large percentage of Chaya's life that now is. 

Moving Day

Today

As a moment of reflection, I say that the quarter span of my kiddo's life is a momentous epoch, and of course the brain meets landmarks with pointless tallies. 

Besides, it's not like I don't constantly answer the "so how's it living in Mount Vernon?" Question. 

More than anything, Andrew/Daddy is happier and better rested. That pretty much trumps everything else in all relevant categories. Or at least to the extent that his well-being impacts ours directly and in second and third order ways. There's less conflict between his downtime, fun time and family time and that leads to less conflict over all. I feel less resentful when we don't make the highest check on the priorities list. I feel less resentful that he needs a job that engages him in a way that northerly jobs didn't seem to promise. I feel less guilty and defensive at his daily kvetches. I'm more willing to expect and protect my own time when whatever additional mental load items don't occur to him. And we both have a little more time and energy for each other.

On a more structural note. I think our new house is a superior house for Chaya's next stages for the most part. No paper shades against glass windows for Chaya to destroy, for one. Not enough mirrors, for her preferences, but we'll get there. She now can climb up onto the ledge in my bathroom to get a really good look at herself, so that helps. I do kind of miss the simplicity of having a condo association handle all these bits and baubles. But there are advantages to the alternative as well.

I love being able to walk to Hillcrest Park

I love driving to The (Vastly Superior) Skagit Children's Museum.

Mt Vernon has a cute downtown. Farmstrong is an awesomely superior brewery.

 Shambala bakery is pretty awesome crazy vegan hippy food. The food Co-op here is nice, even if I haven't really spent much time there. There are plenty of good restaurants here to make up for the ones I've left behind in Bellingham. And I've lost a TJs but gained a Costco.

It is of course a positive and negative together at once that we're this distance from "home" (Bellingham). I love that we're close enough to visit with my peeps. I love that I can still see my mom a few times a week. 

I also wish it were more, of course. 

And I love how easily we can reach the vastly wider children's opportunities in Bellingham. But I also find it a long enough distance, that it's not as easy to just go to the Trampoline Zone on a whim.

 Or have a playdate arranged around various baby naps and meetings. 

And it's a pretty big endeavor to make Toddler Music Class (though so worth it)

I miss Perch and Play. I miss the Bloedel indoor gym times in winter. There are a number of buffets and other restaurants that Chaya was just about to age into. There are so many cool dance and gymnastics opportunities for two year olds that don't exist in Mount Vernon yet. It's getting easier with her nap needs dwindling down to "one nap is a pretty darned important thing for most days, but there's wiggle room". As Chaya gets to preschool age, there will be even more flexibility to go both north and south. And that will be great. 

Then there's community. After six months, I really haven't made huge headway in growing a community here, beyond what I already had (namely, the friend who pioneered our way here - and who would chose to move back to Bellingham if she had the choice - and the very very busy but delightful cousin who's lived here for years). I have reached out. But it's harder and smaller here. I have hope and faith. But it also really affirms how grateful I am not to have moved further away from Bellingham, where so much of my community still exists. And it is cool enough that we're closer to Andrew's community (but not *too* close to work, for reasons I'll say no more about, but I'm sure some can relate). 

So it's mixed

Until, again, I remember that Andrew is so much happier and thus our entire family is so much happier. I definitely feel like we are closer for it and that is worth a million Trader Joe's. I really appreciate that we could find this (probably temporary) compromise between our two ideals. 

And goshdarnit, I'm all for Chaya someday going to the Skagit Children's Museum Preschool. Yes, please!!

It's lightyears away from when we first moved in some ways, but less dramatically than any other 6 month chunk in Chaya's life. Her personality (and crazy hair) grows more and more vivid everyday, but these days it's about saturation and shading on the outlines already well established.

Chaya's not in a hurry to grow up. She has no consistent interest in potty training. She nurses at least three or four times a day. She is still in her crib. She might not believe me all the time but she still needs her afternoon nap (and amazingly agrees to settle for it on her own most days).

I've never been one of those "never grow up, baby" folks. I'm excited to meet the person she will become. I really do sometimes fantastize about how much easier the tough nights will be when I can slip in and out of a toddler bed to snuggle with her. I think about days where I'm not buried in diapers and likely to find an err bit of feces tracked about the house after a diaper-changing-calamity. And I do feel like a lot of my health concerns remain on pause while I wait for her to open up the weaning dialogue (that's a whole 'nother story coming soon)

Over all, I'm also happy not to rush. We're past comparing milestones at this point. There is the highest height of something soon to dissipate. Before I was a parent, I never realized the full depths of physical affection unhitched from sexual attraction.

I danced, have had pets, and have never been particularly reserved, so I understood that deep intimacy. But not like these utterly pure and engrossing moments where I hold, kiss, snuggle, and fully embrace my little toddler. And somehow that she now chooses to be with me and reciprocates makes the toddler cuddles more intense than the nonstop kangaroo care of infancy.

And sometimes I want to say to my mom how much my heart breaks for her for that first day that I flinched when she hugged me or that day where I just didn't fit in her lap anymore. I celebrate the transition to cerebral from visceral, as the affection remains fiery and strong, but I mourn that loss of essential wordless physicality. I know the joy she felt at setting me free, but that it must have been complicated. The necessary rejection of independence celebrated with a different sort of homecoming.

So on those grounds Chaya can stay in her diapers until she's ready (or we're talking preschool). She can hold up breakfast a little while longer because she needs to sit on my lap while attempting to put bunny to sleep in her favorite book. And she can keep clawing at my shirt and nurse before bedtime.

Well for a while. As I continue to reflect on my physical health, I've come to realize a few things: (1) the last time my body felt fully physically healthy and functioned without hormonal supplementation was just before lawschool. s

I weighed roughly forty pounds heavier than my lowest weight. Possibile about 15-20 pounds more than now. And I had a BMI that was exactly mid-range healthy.

I think there's this insidious mentality that too thin isn't great, but one should be as thin as is healthy. And I'm starting to challenge that for myself more and more. So that's an adjustment. Just enough isn't good enough. And I'd really like my body to rediscover that point of homeostasis it once had. I remember being very happy with my body at that weight. It's silly how one feels fear about returning to a point where I was - again - happy. But this is the confusing nature of our society and our weird association

(2) In a sense, the best way to know if I hit a "healthy" set point for me would be to see if my body starts cycling again, but this has a rather large snag: I'm still nursing. And I probably shouldn't be from purely medical view. My bone mass is dwindling. I didn't think I'd be nursing so long. I revel in it. But i also recognize that it's complicating a lot. At my current bone density (not quite osteoperosis, but give a few years), I'm likely needing a lot of extra estrogen (that could be coming from increased fat stores, but again it would be hard to know) or other medications. It seems odd to go on hormone replacement to fight my own body when I'm still nursing (this would be the first recommended approach). I am not keen on other stronger medications when I don't yet have osteoperosis but continue to put myself at risk of developing it.

It's a lot to balance. I've started bandying the topic with Chaya. I know she's young for a long dialogue, but I know she also understands more than I think. I am telling her that she'll grow older soon and we will nurse less, so mommy can be healthier. I'm shortening some of our sessions a little. Often I can distract her after a brief nursing session with a book. I'm trying to find new ways to cuddle, so she doesn't associate weaning with diminishing affection, but it's hard because sitting together triggers assocaitions for her. And I'm going to try a little harder to distract and shorten the two daytime habitual feeds. I know she can skip them, since she does when we're travelling or having a big day. But she rarely replaces that with water or other fluids. I wish I could find something she enjoyed drinking. And I hope we can develop a place where we can cuddle together with that same attention without it becoming a mad grab at the shirt.

Because right now, it's exhausting finding OTHER THINGS to keep her happy/distracted/occupied comparred with just getting to chill together and browse my phone while she suckles a bit.

It's exhuasting to contemplate. And emotional. And we'll see. I really do want to be around for the long run here.


I still hope and think I foster the more nuanced physical intimacy of a husband one both loves Platonically and romantically. And I think we'll build upon that even more as she moves away. But I know we'll both have a little hesitation and holding back when we moved to kiss our grown up Chaya. And I know that my cuddly nights are numbered. They'll still kill me sometimes, and I'll still need breaks, but I'm living in a moment of gratitude that time can take some time and that Chaya is happy enough to keep on playing at being toddle-waddle a little while longer.
And happy enough to have had six more marvelous months of mayhem and madness.

Here's to the next quarter of Miss Chaya's life and the next stage of my rollercoaster existence.

The Toothish Twoddler Tramples Eleven Month Markers!

Holy Moley, I have a twoddler! She's not quite toddling on her own, but at eleven months, Chaya is a whole different beast than any baby I might have sprung from any loins of mine (let's be honest, she pushed herself out with her iron quads). So much is coming together now so rapidly. I have a teeny tiny (crazy) person on my hands. With more and more personality every single day.

Time to figure everything out all over again! Because every month it's a whole new baby-game.

I know much of my recent palaver just invites kibbitzing. No doubt, you all have to sit on your hands to resist swooping in and rescuing me from my rabid crazed self. And I want to say, I appreciate that you silent internet forummers resist the temptation. Because, I understand the urge. Just browsing friends' baby registries provokes all kinds of detailed opinions I wish nothing other than to unleash upon the world in long form. My attendance at the Bellingham Center for Health Motherhood's Nursing Cafe is rife with newer moms just sitting on all kinds of unlearned lessons I know too well. I've learned so much. I have so much valuable whatnot to impart. Enlightenment here I come. I desperately, if nothing else, have a huge talking-to I'd love to give to my slightly younger self for navigating the earlier stages of parenthood. And I'm already rolling my eyes at my "helpful" future self's pointed opinions.

A shame we can't learn from good little nuggets of hard-won reason. But really, it's just impossible most of the time.

Reasons I am unlikely to take your very well-meaning and helpful parenting suggestions (and why you probably shouldn't take mine either):

1. Your baby is not my baby and has never had my baby's set of challenges and talents. If your baby slept through the night by two months, then I don't care how well essentials oils helped the one time she didn't. If your baby woke up one morning with five teeth after briefly fussing an hour before bedtime the night before, then I am skeptical that the amber teething necklace is what's helping. If your biggest breastfeeding concern is that you leak whenever you drink a light beer, please do not start telling me about fenugreek and plenty of water.

2. Your baby is just as bad as mine and/or differently as bad and/or worse! Your baby only sleeps between midnight and five a.m., naps midday in a carseat for an hour while you drive around, and you aren't giving me tips on how to brew stronger coffee. 

3. You don't have a baby or your baby has not been my baby's age in several years. Trust me, I barely remember two months ago. You may think you have a crystal clear memory of what it was like having a little munchkin, but do you really? Really? Are you that confident about your memory? If so, I suspect you haven't read enough psychological studies on the fallibility of memory.

4. Just like parents always learn (if they heed any advice ever at all or remember from their own childhood), many lessons need to be learned firsthand. Sure, my mom could have told me to go to law school when I was fifteen. Sure, my dad was right that maybe I looked good in long flowy clothing and artsy jewelry. Either could have instructed me on the helpfulness of outlining, keeping a schedule, knowing when to follow through on my intentions, and prioritizing a balance between life and work. And I'm sure both of them could have told me several of my prior paramours were flat out horrible ideas. But I had to do some serious living before I could realize these things for myself. And the more pressure to do the right thing, then more inclined I was to do the wrong. They demonstrated admirable restraint all told. 

5. If you told me to "chill out," my brain iced over so very much that you are now on mute. I'm sure, as above, that's really helpful advice... to nobody ever, because nobody who needs that advice is ever going to do anything but escalate in the face of that kind of pat pablum. If you literally pat me on the head, your hand is comin' off. And as for "cherish the moment..." I do, truly, I do. But that's not helpful. Sometimes the moment also sucks. And I didn't have PPD or PPA, but some moms do. The first year (decade/lifetime) is magical, but also a massive struggle. Let's skip the pleasant minimization of that ok? 

6. I've read the same website as you, and can recognize a direct quote. If it's on kellymom, I've probably memorized it. Possibly every baby sleep site. And probably Dr. Sears as well. I've also probably read twenty other "expert" opinions casting shade on or questioning the research and information sited in that first source. And then seen the fine print about every baby being different. I'm also familiar with the concept of confirmation bias. Some weird internet advice "worked" for you? You sure you actually needed it? Sure it wasn't something else? 

7. You prefaced your advice with a condescending smirk and something adorable about "first time moms." If you haven't learned humility after having a litter of children, then you obviously haven't really learned much from having children. As such, your advice is likely to be fairly useless. Also, I'm using all my energy not smashing you in your smirky, self-satisfied face, so I can't actually hear your "helpful" counsel. 

8. Your comment ended with "and we/they're/I'm ok!" Usually prefaced by having done something that I don't want to do to/with my child. So here's what I think your greater point is: (1) we all start out parenting with a list of unrealistic goals for our children, go through a few periods attempting to pretzel ourselves and our children into these little ideals, and eventually make compromises. Yes that vegan baby I was never going to feed juice to and who would sleep on the go in the ergo until she was four...? Now she only eats hotdogs and cheezits and I'm willingly forcing juice ("liquid crack") on her because it's the only way to make her poop, and did I mention we did the dreaded crib-training years ago? (2) parents these days are privy to a staggering amount of information, pressure, proclamations and official edicts that can just make it all too much to handle sometimes. We know too much. We have google at our fingertips. And doctors are probably a little paranoid ... except when they're dismissing every little concern. So yes, again, this is kind of the relieving little sister revelation to "chill out." I concede your point. 

But: How does it sound to you when somebody says, say, "I had unprotected sex with multiple partners all through my twenties and never got pregnant or had an std." Or "my father smoked five packs a day while we were roadtripping in a closed car with him... and I'm ok." There's  certain deafness to basic statistics regarding risks and results. It's the opposite of those confirmation-biased correlations we sometimes draw. Essentially "I did something risky and turned out to be in the 30/10/1% who suffers no adverse effects from having done that." Not a ringing endorsement. And we do have a lot more information now. Some of it is well-researched and worth heeding. Will my child die if I take a few risks? We can consult the statistics. Probably not, but weighing likelihood of risk together with severity if risk manifests against burden is a prettyrational approach to these things. Let no-one say I learned nothing in law school.

9. Our entire life philosophies clash and everything you stand for is abominable to me... Just saying, if none of the others quite apply, you might want to consider this option. 

So that really encapsulates a number of reasons that I may have ignored any well-meaning unsolicited nuggets in my ongoing struggles. And again, I thank you for your restraint even as I test it once again.

That said, if you know of the holy grail of sippie cups, please let me know. Preferably one that will easily transition of breastfed baby into a champion cup-o-milk drinker in seconds flat.

The quest to drink, baby, drink persists with modest progress. Chaya, it appears, rocks the straw. As least as much as she's interested in just about anything. And we still have yet to find the perfect straw cup. I purchased yet another strawption. This one was a Haggen's impulse buy, but it turns out to be one of the most successful so far. By sacrificing some nifty gadgetry, the Oxo Tot Straw Cup comes with a straw from which it is actually possible to suck liquid. Novel idea! The downside is that it's somewhat broad and lacks handles. Chaya can drink from it if she pulls it towards her on her food tray and pushes over it. Or if - heaven forbid - somebody helps her. But she's deadset against using both hands to use a cup. Lord knows why.

I also made another go with the Take and Toss cups. They are pretty incredible. Easy to suck from and quite tidy. At least until they are thrown from a high chair at just the right velocity and the lid comes undone. It is easier to grip than the Oxo, but still not ideal for one hand. Chaya likes to hold it by the straw. Which doesn't always leave the straw in good position to contact the water. Occasionally, she'll drink from it though. And only mostly dribble a bunch of either water or drool down her mouth afterwards.

Another success for straw drinking has been the almighty juice box. Best feature is that Chaya can actually hold one in one hand. I also suspect that it might help a bit with her occasional constipation. At least it's either the middling amount of juice she has been drinking (watered down and mixed with virtuous veggies) or she has an idiosyncratic response to an increase in dairy. Cottage cheese and yogurt are becoming quite popular in babyland.

Downsides include the fact that when she squeezes it, juice comes squirting out. And the fact that the straw comes out when pulled on. It's messy. Very messy. As I alluded to, she doesn't drink much at a time. It takes a few days to finish off whatever of the six ounces is not squirted onto the floor.

It doesn't seem like she's apt to just take to the straw cup for a nice full serving of milk. To wit: earlier this week, she waged a semi-nursing strike. I suspect this is teething related. Chaya is a superlatively SLOOOOOOOOW teether. After many eons of false alarms, she popped the first one as June alit. The second one was quite visible and seemed to be in ardent pursuit. Alack, no. No, only last week did any of the tooth erupt. And as the swollen gums ebb and flow, so does the prominence of any tooth. I can still barely feel when I attempt such foolhardy ambitions. It "cut through" a few days ago, but she continues to behave in full drooly faucet.

And since that first tooth, Chaya has nursed ever so poorly. At least at times. It gets better and worse. But frequently uncomfortable for both of us. The last few days she's been intermittently active, moody and restless, and not particularly interested in nursing during the day. After waiting nearly five hours, I decided to pump and offer her a variety of options for her milkies - sippie cup, water bottle, and take and toss. The first sippie cup wasn't on correctly, so she dribbled a fair bit all over from just waiving it in the air. She had no interest in even trying the second sippie cup. She actually expressed some interest in the water bottle, and did take a few good gulps before attempting to turn it upside down and chew on the bottom. The straw cup was good for waiving around by the straw for a while, before taking and tossing upside down and... of course... trying to chew on the bottom.

I know, I've read Kellymom. I should nurse before meals and not let her drink too much etc. etc. And babies under one year rarely self wean and their primary nutrition source should be breastmilk.. Did we mention that the average global age of weaning is 4 years and there are still many benefits to breastfeeding past a year??

But...

I'm taking a hormonal-scrambler in order to shove my boob in the face of a perpetually disinterested teething beast of a baby who has already winded me up with some pretty hefty medical bills after a few claw-assaults. We're close to crunch time here.

I've dropped another pill from my domperidone dosage this week (50 mgs from my acme at 120). I think I'll still hold out supply, but parts of me have panicked that Miss Chai seems obstinately anti-cup. After being a bottle junkie, she now won't take milk other than on tap. And that is less interesting. I'd gotten it into my head that unless she could take a good several ounces of milk for every feed she's dropping then I must fight to make sure she gets any and all and ever feed.

And it's truly a fight. Perma-teether that she is, Chaya has maybe been in some form of mini-nursing strike for several months now. Or maybe she genuinely is self-weaning. I decided a few weeks ago to stop fighting and go with her flow. That dropped us down from 7 feeds a day to 5. And the last couple of days, she's been shaky on one of her midday feeds. I might also mention that I'm still dream-feeding her. I don't entirely know if she'd sleep through the night without my interruptions. I actually will start waiting to see soon. But I am in tandem panicked about her getting enough milk and my breasts not exploding in cloggy abscessy mastitis again.

And of course, it would all just be so much easier if she drank liquids in any regular pattern. Sure, she may well do so if she's getting less booby juice, but what if she doesn't? We'll survive. She'll survive. On hotdogs and High-C, I'm sure.

And in the meantime we march (and/or stumble in shrieks and staggers) towards a mobile walking imp of a dervish of a personality conflicting little being. Mommy is remembering all those ambitions to practice meditation and foster her positive energies... you know, those goals that people have before they become parents that were probably good ideas but kind of well... hot dogs and juice boxes!

OOOOOMMMMMM

State of the Nine-Month Old (mommydom) - Nursing and Napping Nonsense

State of the Babe: Nine Months and Counting... 

Chaya's made it outside longer than inside, and that means mommy (who is perpetually perplexed at the complex syntax involved with referring to "herself" with a third person title that occasionally ebbs and flows into first person conjugations) is/am also "making it." As Tim Gun says, "I'm making it work." I guess. Sort of. 

Anyways, I'm sure that a young mother's obsessions are lacking in lurid fascination for the laity of the world, but several battles have been waged and they continue. I figure that my baby-bearing omphaloskepsis has prolixity enough for a couple of posts

It seems fit to give an update on the many fronts. At the moment I can envision 

Napping, 

boobie battles, 

the unproven baby-proofing performances of a woman too afraid to conquer the baby gates just yet despite her child climbing the stairs in order to paw at the baby gates stashed behind them...

And self-care/identity preservation in a baby-centric universe. 

No doubt, additional battles remain that I've forgotten. 


But since Sleep Wars and Boobie Battles are the age old angstifier, let's start with those...

DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN - Sleep Sorties!

Naptime is basically like being caught in a continual computer game circa the early nineties. Like that one where the snake goes around eating apples, getting bigger and bigger until he eats himself (ouroborous) and ... game over. Or maybe Pacman. Even the windows pinball game that came standard on 90. It's fairly basic, but it's unending, the timing is deliriously delicate and mercy upon you if you happen to sneeze at just the wrong time.

There are rules. I think. But, because a baby is involved, the rules are often tacit.

Here's what you know: Sleep is a good thing. It makes your baby grumpy when she doesn't get sleep. And when she doesn't nap, she tends to sleep worse at night. She needs to sleep at night or she also doesn't sleep during the day.

•  Rituals are good. Sacrificing chickens, however, is against several health codes. Better stick to essential oils. Which your child is probably allergic to. Fine, a sleep sack, a book, and a song. We're also pretty certain about dark spaces and sound machines.

• Babies have "windows" (not 95)  during which they will (1) Actually take a nap, (2) nap for more than fifteen minutes, (3) level up into baby nap bonus round where you get to eat cherries and turn the ghosts blue. 

• The result of missing the window is more or less the same on either side: difficulty falling asleep (maybe) and a thirty minute nap. So you don't technically know if your baby was over or undertired. 

• When babies pass their nap window, they tend to get hyper. Sometimes happy hyper. Sometimes fussy. 

• Why they reach the end of their window they might get fussy. But they are also babies. And they will get ragingly mad because they can't open the dishwasher and stand at the same time. Especially when they are trying to crawl. Or they have gas. Or they realized that there are stairs to climb that mommy won't let them get to.

You don't know a lot of other information that seems essential, but you don't even know what it is. You know that you can basically repeat the exact same thing one day and have drastically different results. But you don't quite know why. Babies are just that way.


Aaaaaaaaand...

• Baby sleep patterns evolve.

Not only are conditions different from day to day in variable ways (sleep the night before, gas, constipation, cold, teething, overstimulation, understimulation, the conditions of the surrounding naps), they evolve as well. As is true of all things baby, baby sleep patterns have this amazing way of becoming undialed just after they get stabilized. Chaya's older. She's now working on walking. And that's gonna be a long slog. But it does mean some major cruising around the crib whenever possible. And a baby-brain that never shuts down.

Something seemed broken when she started fighting almost every nap with untold eons of crib-surfing for about a week straight. Good exercise, but it eventually led to fussing and crashing. Not fun. So, like I said, she's older. That's a good clue that it's time for things to change. I can only blame "developmental milestones" (bastards that they are) and "gas" for so many weeks.

And, well, she's kind of a tantrummey baby at nine months. Just because she's getting worked up, doesn't mean she's tired. Maybe she's tired. Maybe she's mad that I wouldn't let her eat the spider. Maybe she realized that she'll grow up in a world without David Bowie. Who can say?

Which makes it really challenging to predict how long she can be awake before becoming overtired. True sleepy cues remain elusive to me (having a baby has eternally shot any self-conceit about being a perceptive or intuitive person, holy crap); she often is blissfully awake right until she's totally crashed. Sometimes she wakes up yawning and fussing and gets happier the longer she's awake. If you wait too long, she's overtired and will not crash for nothin'. And while she's busily trying to conquer walking (of course - untold weeks angsting over crawling and then one day, she forgot about crawling in order to stand up, and now she's a master of crawling but could give two snips about it, being on to bigger and brighter things)

She can stay awake for longer stretches at a time. Some of the time. It's actually a moving target - one about as mobile as my terrifyingly mobile baby - but generally speaking she has an increasing length of wakefulness as the day goes on. 

Most nine month olds have already dropped their third nap. Some nine month olds can stay up for three to four hours at a time. Chaya's not quite there (though we kinda force it getting to bedtime sometimes), but part of that is that she continues to take shorter naps more often than not.

So far, the moving tally at nine months is:

1. Morning naps still tend to want to be around two hours after waking up. Sooner if she's had a restless morning. After a good sleep, we might go a little longer. But only through external interference do we get up to two and a half before a crash. I've been reading the Velveteen Rabbit to her every morning. The last several days, she's fallen asleep in my arms by the third-to-last page. This seems true no matter what kind of mood she is in when the story starts. Maybe the book is magic? Except it's a morning magic that decreases in potency through the day? Typically the morning nap is a little short. Between a half hour and forty-five minutes. Yesterday, she slept for an hour though. Who knows.

2. Second naps can vary a fair bit. I've been mostly taking her upstairs after she's been up for a little over 2 hours and putting her down around two and a half hours after she last woke up. We take a nice calming ten to fifteen minutes of changing, singing and reading. Recently, she's been falling asleep while I'm reading to her. Or when I am singing to her. And then waking up somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours afterwards. Again, nothing particularly different that Chaya's told me about. She keeps it close to her chest.

3. Third naps have been a crapshoot ever since the fourth crap-shoot nap officially went away. Theoretically these afternoon naps are the "optional" "bridge naps" to keep her from getting overtired before bedtime. In practice, they can turn into the longest nap of the day. Or the nap that baby refuses to take. Nobody can say. You can bet, though, that she will show no signs of being tired right up until she's passing out and/or screaming (then passing out) in my arms. Even while I'm reading to her, she'll be bubbly and awake and thoroughly energetic, rocking back and forth, shoving a hand in my mouth or nose, going "huhuhuhuhuhuhuh". I've been taking her up around three hours after her last nap. Too much longer or shorter and it's a really big battle for a short nap. Though that can vary by whether she's had good or bad sleep coming into them and whether she's been out and about. She stays awake through reading (usually, although not the last two times), but has mostly fallen asleep while I'm singing to her. Might take several choruses of Dream a Little Dream with a baby's finger in my mouth, though. If she doesn't quite zonk, it probably won't go well. As such, I hate the third nap. It runs a high risk of either being non-existent or too long. I don't mind the "too long" as much until...

4. Bedtime is ... what it is. It's probably ridiculous to keep a rigid bedtime when her naptimes can vary so much. And it probably shouldn't be right smack after dinner. It's completely unpredictable whether she'll be exhausted, grumpy, giddy, hitting a third wind... Sometimes she passes out immediately upon a final nursing. Sometimes she thwaps me in the face repeatedly for forty minutes, pops on and off, and still needs to be sung to sleep. Sometimes she's overtired from being awake too long and wakes up after an hour. Sometimes she sleeps until 4 a.m. There is no telling. And the way naps went during the day has an equally unpredictable impact.

There's a theme here... so much for "drowsy but awake." But hey singing or reading a baby to sleep? Mother's lullabies are a trope for a reason. And since I expect I won't be nursing for the rest of Chaya's life, it's probably just as well that we have some sleep crutches that can work for a while. Though holding and rocking her is a little challenging as she gets heavily and more mobile. Go Magic Velveteen Rabbit juju. Rah Rah.

5. Middle of the night, a feeding still happens. For a while, it looked like she was planning to drop it entirely. I have to admit, I woke up a few times with swollen bosom and a fear of Mastitis Andronicus: 2Clogged2Feverish. I admit to even "dream feeding her" at 4 a.m. (this is where you pretend that you can actually steal into a baby's room, pick her up, attach her to your teat, and sneak an extra feeding into her without disrupting her sleep; that incidentally works better if you don't struggle trying to draw her from the deep well of baby crib that is Chaya's current sleeping quarters - and seriously, wouldn't you wake up if somebody suddenly started squirting a milkshake into your mouth??)

Dream feeding fun aside, her middle of night feed has migrated back to a fairly consistent 2 a.m. waking and feeding. Most of the time she falls back asleep after nursing. Occasionally, she wakes up when I put her back in the crib and rolls around for lord knows how long. That typically predicts/correlates with a more restless and earlier morning. Which usually means earlier nap, shorter wake time in the morning, and the dueling possibilities of a long nap to make up for lost sleep, or several grumpy short naps!

I keep fantasizing about a consistent schedule emerging. Sometimes I think it would be so freeing to have Chaya take the two naps that "most average babies" take by their ninth month. Her short wake times, plus the need to be home while nursing, can make going out a little challenging. The uncertainty of the third nap can be aggravating. The ability to make anything approximating realizable plans more than a half our in advance. These are all very appealing. Then again, I worry about her dropping that third nap. In theory, the best way to handle this is a temporary earlier bedtime, but it's been nice to have Andrew have dinner with us before bedtime. And I know "sleep begets sleep" but I just have a fear that it will just lead to her waking up even earlier than she does already!

And also, well, holding her in my arms, reading to her, and rocking her to sleep is one of those supremely affirming and momming experiences in a world where mobile maniacal baby doesn't stop for too long to pat me on the back and tell me I'm doing ok, here. Dropping a nap means dropping one of those sessions.And that rapid half hour flurry of "DINNER" making activity during her third nap is kind of a nice break for what is usually an evening of highly interactive baby. She gets less and less self-contained as the day winds down, so getting things done after about three p.m. is challenging.


Battle The Second: Boobie Battles

Speaking of thing that I both will and will not miss with equal plangency... 

The History of Adella's lactilulus

First six weeks: I basically nursed all the time and tried to continue being super-mom and wife. It was exhausting. I overdid it, holding baby to my bosom while running about making food, cleaning etc. etc. It's amazing the things I could do and did do while nursing. 

Second month: My milk evaporated. Likely due to the same hormonal issues that made it hard to conceive. But possibly weight related or due to stress. Whichever. I made my peace - after some really tough pumping/supplementing/bottle with saying adieu to the nursing relationship. Until I agreed to try domperidone, a stomach medication that also boosts prolactin.  I pumped all the time, and needed help. It was exhausting, but to my shock, we actually got to a point where I didn't need to supplement with formula. Chaya had gotten used to the flow of a bottle, though, so I was chained to an eight times a day (including three times in the middle of the night) pumping routine. It was kind of wretched. I'm glad I had help. And I'm glad...

Third month: Very gradually, Chaya took less and less (with my insistence and subject to quite a few "NO, she's NOT hungry, she's fussing because _____" with my husband, who shared my guilt about briefly starving her and viewed a brimming bottle as the ultimate panacea). Meanwhile, I was getting a small silo of frozen breastmilk, clogging up our regular freezer as well as the standalone. Finally, Chaya went a few days without taking a bottle. Then another few days... and at the very end of the month, we shelved the bottles.

Fourth month: Chaya hit her sleep regression like a bowl of mushy pasta against the wall. She woke every ninety minutes and nursed to sleep. I ditched the overnight pumps and my sanity. Until we sleep trained her and cut her down to three times a night again. I didn't resume my overnight pumps. She stopped napping on the go. I started "nap training" and became a stay-at-home mom. Still nursed her to sleep for naps and at least every two hours whether she requested or not. But over time, I realized nursing her to sleep wasn't working for her staying asleep. And so we stopped. And I got tired of pumping every single nap. So I dropped a couple. Chaya slept longer at a time. She gained weight. And...

Fifth month: Nursing was brutal. Chaya popped on and off, fully alert and aware of the world around her. She had razor sharp nails and liked to dig them into my bosom while nursing. I broke skin on both sides. Pumping made it worse. Neosporin made Chaya want to nurse less. Bandaids reduced pump suction and Chaya was put off. Clogs developed. The broken skin and the clogs intersected before I could pump anything free. Mastitis developed. And then I developed two abscesses on my right side. 

Sixth Month: Nearly a month of antibiotics, becoming chained yet again to the pump (even in the middle of the night), breast soaks, and actively scraping at the nipple (and that was the positive part). Chaya stopped nursing on the right side briefly. I had to get two ultrasounds. I had to get an abscess drained. My right breast swelled up to a thoroughly un-swell distortion of bosom. I was back to bottle feeding for a brief spell.

 Six months had been my original goal for breastfeeding. I was so ready to quit, but I couldn't even if I wanted to, since the cure for clogs is constant emptying of the breast. Besides, Chaya was only getting started on solids and didn't take other liquids. And then finally, on the third weekend of aggressive hand expression, oils, and massage, the dam burst. It took another couple of weeks for the red and swelling to subside, but Chaya nursed again. Things still hurt. I was still worried. But things mellowed. I donated most of my milk. The freezer had room again. Still I kept pumping to avoid another bout of mastitis. 

Seventh Month: I had made my peace with possibly transitioning from breastfeeding. Given there are some pretty hefty side effects to domperidone withdrawal, I began the very slow process of weaning. I felt like it was a matter of time before Chaya self-weaned. She'd not been particularly excited about nursing since she started trying to crawl back in the fourth or fifth month. She'd often pop off and complain about phantom issues, then be perfectly happy again a minute or two later. I couldn't nurse in public. Heck, I couldn't nurse with another person in the room. Or in a different room. It was frustrating. But I was mostly concerned that she'd stop and I'd be consigned to several weeks of still taking domperidone after she'd weaned. I gradually dropped down from 120 mg to 80 mg. Not much changed. Chaya took to solids, but she didn't take to liquids. She gained well, but would get constipated. I worried she wasn't nursing enough. We kept nursing. She dropped two overnight feeds in the course of a month. Sleep consolidated. It was... nice. But I worried.  And I wasn't ready to give up the little moments of peaceful nursing we shared at night and occasionally during the day.


Eight Month: The pattern persisted. We nursed a little less often, but not drastically less. She still didn't develop teeth. She still only sporadically drank liquids. She still didn't much like to sit still. But we fell into a pattern of nursing every three to four hours during the day and once at night. I still had to do it at home. If I tried nursing elsewhere, it was a battle. She would eventually become incredibly grumpy and hangry and crash when we finally made it home and she was able to nurse in peace. 

Ninth Month - So Far:

 I've dropped down to 70 mg of domperidone. And I do see a decrease in the little bit I pump. I'm not sure if that's my body regulating or the lower prolactin. Chaya continues to be an eensie bit less interested in nursing. I offer more than she demands. But she still nurses pretty enthusiastically. Sometimes violently even. A hand in my nose, then jammed in my mouth, kicking, pounding my chest like the bar after a shot of whiskey... it's not exactly the peaceful Edenic version of nursing they promise. 

My original goal of six months has expanded to one year. That's the benchmark where babies can transition to whole milk (or possibly other milks) according to the average pediatrician.  And it's a nice round figure.

Nursing is a complex thing. It's a continuation of once having her be part of me; the vestiges of a time where body intuitively and sustained her every need. It's something that only I (and any other lactating woman, but we don't do that here) can offer her. It's time that anchors me to her and her to me in a way little else does. Sure, it's nutrition. But it's also the skin-to-skin comfort in the middle of the night, etc.

Still, we're at nine months. She's always been distractible. That busyness is reaching a fever pitch. Not only is she squirmy and sometimes violent while nursing, she's also far too excited about moving to linger in my lap the way she once did. Often she'll break off hooting impatiently, immediately trying to crawl up over my shoulder towards the next deadly series of wires and electronics. 

 I hear this is common at this age. That it isn't "self-weaning," but more of a phase. That they'll come back. To keep going. But I'm not keen on taking domperidone for years to come. It's potent stuff. It messes with my hormones, when they were already messed up. It keeps me from getting the cycles back that would help my body build up my bones and otherwise keep me healthy. I figured I'd get to one year and start weaning from the drug in earnest. 

I don't want to, exactly. I don't want to end the relationship any sooner than Chaya is ready. But I fantasize about feeling free during the day. We're so close to the age where babies should be weaned from bottles, I don't want to use them again. I want to move her forward with sippie cups. Which means I do feel tied to our trusty "nursing spot" every three or so hours. And, again, letting go of the one thing in which I am singularly and unquestionably qualified to offer something Chaya cannot get elsewhere... that's hard to let go. The excuse to not quite wean myself from omnipresent mommy. I know when she's older (I've arbitrarily said first a year and then even more so at two years), I will strive to take more time "for myself." To be away from Chaya for more than an hour or two at a time. To have "my things" again. Not because I want to. I'm too tired really to want to be vibrant or exciting. But because it would be good for Chaya and in the long run I don't want to find at seven years down the road that I've "lost myself."

At the same time, I honestly feel more of a warm glow when she falls asleep in my arms as I'm reading to her. Or when I'm calming her after her fiftieth head bonk of the day. Sometimes, when it's been a tough day and she reaches for me. Not my breasts (beast no longer comfort nurses), but me. And I look forward to the day where I am no longer worried about nursing gone awry causing physical havoc (premature loss of supply or more mastitis). 

For instance, we're going on a weekend trip to San Francisco in a few weeks. I'm excited, but also constantly concerned that she will go on a nursing strike for the duration. I'm plotting out what that might mean. How to cope. What to do between a long car ride and a busy airport. Steeling myself for that tough transition. There's a BBQ at Andrew's work in Mukilteo and I'm mentally scoping out the possibly dark areas to nurse. Estimating whether we can fit it in a four hour session, which is also fine for her to go without nursing. It's just one more thing to fret over when I already have oh so many options. But because of how we've struggled and because it's such a personal issue, it's a particular item of fretting. I don't want to chose to end it, but I also look forward to letting go of the anxiety. 

I remain uncertain of how the transition will happen. And making my peace that eventually it will. Chaya may ideas of her own. Or those teeth (it's never teething, but seriously it will be someday) make a fairly strong decision on that part. In an ideal world, I could wean off the domperidone and continue nursing Chaya at night and in the mornings. Then she would be fine the rest of the day. It doesn't seem likely. I'll keep going slowly with the flow and following Chaya's lead as best I can. I'll mourn and be relieved when we finally transition and I understand it will be sooner than I'd originally intended, but far longer than my secondarily revised intentions. 

And one day she'll be living off of Red Bull and dorm-scraps, while sleeping in jags over long-break weekends. And all this will be a faint memory of a senile middle aged lady with small saggy bosoms, but hopefully a stronger abdominal wall again! But more about my future self... soon. 

Mastitus Andronicus and the Febrile Feeding Frenzies

There be boobies and babies and even bottles ahead. Return of the Mammoth Mammary Misfortunes. Lactilagoons, pumping pains, and some tasty messy munchies. Oh and a few cognitive lightyear leaps... 

Mini-Mitts and the Angry Boob

Not to frame all parenthood in terms of struggle, but for all worthwhile accomplishments, there are birthing pangs. To create a beautiful new, the pretty (darned) old must chafe away. 

And learning is a bare naked time of terrifying vulnerability. When the stakes are as high as the flesh of your flesh (sometimes in baby form, and sometimes in the form of skin that baby has literally ripped right off of you under her talons), it can be a time of high striving for grand and noble reward. So I start by acknowledging the paradoxical stance most parents take when discussing their children: (1) yes it is the most exhausting, horrifying, annoying, vexing, unnerving and chaotic thing to ever happen to one; (2) but it's also the best, most joyful, amazing, and profound journey upon which you'll ever venture.

Because the two feelings are inextricably related. Call it Stockholm syndrome. Just don't call it late for dinner. Nothing of value comes without a cost and a struggle. And if you are taking it so in stride that you aren't the slightest bit put off from time to time, well, I question your eligibility for the parenting mantle. You might just be carrying the baby as an accessory.

That said, we continue with the baby battles. In many regards, I feel like the life of baby can be divided handily into three little pockets of battles/challenges/overlying motifs.

The first 6 weeks were the bloody (all too literally) postpartum shock of a body more enfeebled than it was in the latest throes of pregnancy and labor. In many ways, the baby herelf was the easy part. She was small. She needed constant nursing. She slept in odd and jagged spells. But the feel-good chemicals were strong, her cries were tearless, and her needs were simple. My exhaustion, however, was substantial. My body virtually ripped to shreds from that rapid ejection of life. It was a long haul just to be able to walk more than fifteen minutes at a time. And finally giving myself the rest required was an agonizing exercise in "taking it easy" and trying not to get too involved in day to day life or the exciting intrigues of our inevitably enthusiastic visitors.

Then there were the next months of let-down let-down: the boobie battles. When momma's milk evaporated, baby went on a very unintentional crash diet, and we clawed our way back from hours of pumps/supplements/and frustrations in the haze of purple crying. The Hail Mary dom perignon tic tac savior. And the final arduous struggle to tear baby from the plastic teat of an increasingly fervent bottle nipple preference and the iron maw of perpetual pumping. Husband and wife perilously at odds over the timbre and intent of her sobs and cries. Shaken by knowing she'd been left hungry before.

We stopped using formula (thank god for baby's belly) after a month. Baby took her last battle-bottle sometime before Thanksgiving. She has occasionally been offered one since, but at these times mostly gnaws on the tip (making mommy's boob tingle) and coughs with indignant splutter when milk comes through. Mommy waits until baby is old enough for a sippy cup, which seem somehow less seductive a replacement for her boobie, and she continues her dom perignon altoids (mint free because - of course - peppermint theoretically reduces some women's supply as surely as cookies boost it!). Some women are worried baby will never take a bottle. I worried she'd remember the ease and flow of those old bottles whilst already being distractible and impatient at the breast due to her ultra-aware age.

As this war wound down, we entered into sleep territory at the four month marker. The aftermath continues razing through life as we once knew it. Mommy bade adieu to her work with baby pipe dreams. Cribs, monitors, sleep sacks, books, and rituals dominated the dialectic. And sweet SAHM had the occasional success with a fair bit of bittersweet failure.

Current status during the ceasefire: 

(1) mommy's acceptance that baby doesn't really sleep more than 30-45 minutes at a time anymore during the day (except when it's an hour and a half and wait what?? Crazy baby), and that after that baby will spend any remaining time in the crib doing gymnastics and edging her way towards bursting straight out of the crib, quite possibly the nursery. We know one of these days all I will find is an open window and a rope fashioned from old onesies hanging out of the window. And that mommy doesn't care what baby's doing up there as long as mommy gets a moment to breath and/or do all the household chores and work she cannot even pretend to do when baby is downstairs;

(2) baby's acceptance that she doesn't really need to feed more than every four hours at night and that she can actually thumb-suck herself back to sleep if she's awake between those intervals; 

(3) a mutual agreement that baby will get drowsy and at least sort of sleepish (or lay there quietly maybe) after mommy reads and sings to her in the nursery and lays her in the crib;

(4) a mutual understanding that at least one nap on a four nap day will probably be taken out of the crib;

(5) an awesome video monitor supplants The Real Babies of Bellingham as the best reality tv this side of Senegal.


Aaaaand so we take a break to return to prior battles: ANGRY BOOB STRIKES BACK. With a vengeance. While bottles took baby scratches with equanimity, mommy's skin breaks more easily. No matter my stabs (har har, no the stabs were baby's) at ingenious mini-manicures, baby has talons. And she kneads as she nurses. Leaving both breasts with several scars and kitty scratches. Some worse than others.

At the same time, mommy found that disassociating nursing and napping seemed to help naps work a little better. This reduced the frequency of nursing. And the desperation to keep grumpy baby occupied, stir-crazy mommy socialized, and everyone napified also encouraged her to drop a few more pumping sessions a day.

Resulting in a backlog of milk. Resulting in a clogged duct. Resulting in broken infected skin. Resulting in... drumroll please... AN ABSCESS! In the milk maker area. And ouch. Let me just say ouch. To make it worse, baby sensed something was wrong and stopped much wanting to nurse on that side. Meaning more pumping, which didn't help with the irritation or the sanity or the rest.

My poor right breast was a snarled sunset of reds, purples, mauves and raw skin. The nipple itself distorted and cartoonish. And all the surrounding area unsettled and sensitive.

And so back to the Bellingham Center for Healthy Motherhood. And back to Mt. Baker Imaging (haven't been there since my fertility fandangos) for a breast ultrasound. Apparently, there is liquid, but they'd prefer not to "aspirate" (poke with a big needle and suck the liquid out, which may or may not leave a little hole in the skin through which milk would pour) so long as antibiotics are seeming to work. Fingers crossed. We're hoping for a big improvement by tomorrow.

The good news is that the angry boob still looks utterly battered, but it's more pinkish than purple. And baby has been a little less reticent about nursing on that side. Sometimes. She still has no problem suddenly getting thoroughly disinterested in nursing, and whipping her head off the breast while still fully latched. In fact, it's a common enough occurrence that mommy has to practice her zen breathing in advance. The downside is that increased nursing involves increased discomfort afterwards, since she's still nursing somewhat brutally in light of the changed shape of her number two suck sack. But I feel less urgent about pumping to get the milk out at, say, 2 a.m., and that's nice.

Still chained to the pump, but not in the middle of the night anymore. And I've discovered that those teeny tiny socks that don't quite fit her feet anymore are pretty optimal for her teeny tiny claws. Well, she still manages to get them off with all her busyness, but most of the time it still protects my worst areas from the utter writhing agony of a fistful of nail.

And so we carry on, having added one more pill to the arsenal. And one more wrinkle to the magical mummery of baby rearing. Little one is almost six months, and oh so mechanically close to making a mobility breakthrough. I envision all new battles beginning then. And evolving well into her late forties and fifties. Because she will always be worth it all. And I will always be there with my pound of mangled flesh hating and loving every step of the ride.

Of Boobs, Bellies, and Battlefields - Turn for the Worse 

Booby battles continues over the blare of a nap detente. It appeared at first that a little blue capsule (or four a day for ten days) was all that stood between me and recovery. My angry boob mellowed out. Chaya started nursing better on the right side again. All was well.

And then, not so much. The night before last, swelling increased to areas yet untouched. There was tightness, achy inflammation, and a really hard spot.

And despite my fear of fear itself (and the shame of possible hypochondria) I called the Bellingham Center for Healthy Motherhood to suggest my motherhood was not currently on track to healthy. Being the ridiculously caring and present health providers that they are, I was beckoned in at Chaya-beastie-nap's convenience. And it was agreed that things looked gnarly. And angry. And it was time to go back back back for another ultrasound. Shockingly, the Mt. Baker Imaging Women's Diagnostics Center had availability for "immediately" and so off I went.

There, they also agreed that things weren't looking fantastic (but from a deeper, more internal perspective) and that it was time to break out the biggish needles.

I dun been aspirated! That means they stuck a needle in my breast and used an ultrasound guide to locate a lagoon of puss-fluid, which they then extracted into a syringe.

Remember, dear Mr. (W)right when you got that liver biopsy and thought it was the funniest thing ever to respond to any question about your well-being with "they stabbed me in the liver!!" Well, buddy, "they stabbed me in the boob!!!"

And they drew out some delicious looking puss as well as some walled in milk. I guess I have a clog somewhere along the way? Or little lagoons of milk in my bosom. Uncomfortable little lagoons. That don't seem to clear up. I'm not a fan.

Luckily Gramma Pam was nearby and able to watch Chaya immediately while this all happened. Chaya spent her time flirting in the lobby, making eyes at everyone who came in, and showing off her mad new skillz. Oh yes, I came upstairs yesterday to find Miss Chaya on her hands and knees rocking back and forth! Holy moley, we are in for it. 

She's not super agile about it yet, but these are definitely the foundations of crawling happening around here. We are in trouble. I am particularly in danger. That girl is wiley and - as primary warden/caregiver - I'm in the crosshairs.

At any rate, the prompt aspiration did not magically cure my problems and I'm still waiting for a report on the lab cultures. I desperately hope to hear that there is some superior antibiotic that will clear everything up. Currently I am unable to nurse from this side, pushing me back to the early nightmare days of pumping and bottling. They're less nightmarish now, somehow, but the pumping frequency is demanding. And this is not just for nourishing my child, so much as preventing painful and dangerous engorgement. I got no sleep last night between feeding from my left boob plus ambidextrous bottles and sneaking downstairs to pump out the ever-filling lactalagoon of my right boob.

I am of course exhausted, frustrated, uncomfortable, and having stomach annoyances from the antibiotics. But I'm glad the turn for the worse came during the weekend so that I have help from my darling husband.

In the meantime, I'm making my peace once more with the bottle baby. It's cute now that she can hold her own bottle. She still makes the most soul-searching eye contact over a bottle. And grabs your face just like she does while breastfeeding.And pumping is still a major pain in the nipple. Mostly the time filling aspect is the most brutal. Hard to be chained to a stationary object with an active little baby. The day I wean is the day the PISA gets thrown off a tall building while I scream Yippee Kayee Motherf**er! The Spectra will go to the bottom of the lake perhaps.

The time is winding on and still no lab results... Will I have my answers soon? Will I figure out new and inventive ways to bottle feed and pump with a baby who must have all things (cords and pump equipment) in her grasp? Will a bushel full of cabbage leaves dry up the lagoon and send me on my merry way to happy formulaland? Will Monday bring a whole new series of aspirations and visits to the Mt. Baker Imaging Center? Will I come in to find baby hanging from the ceiling next?

I really haven't the faintest at this point, but I'll certainly keep you - sorry, so, so sorry in advance - abreast!

Bonzai Boobie Bath and the Six Month Magic

Another week past and the battles wage on. As I write, I have currently plopped the left-most half of my modest decolletage in a bowl of warm water, epsom salts, and essential oils. Soaking the udder is my new naptime hobby and calling. Because my life is thrilling like that. Like a spa day for one small vector of my body mass. Maybe next time, my toe will get shiatsu. Who can say?

We left off with a turn for the worse in Abscess-Mastitis land. Or better in that I did in fact seek medical attention and get my massive abscess aspirated. There was still some uncertainty as to whether I had MRSA or not. I do not. Just garden variety nasty strepoducacacadoodledoo. And the antibiotics I had been taking ought to have been doing the job. They actually were kicking some infectious bacterial ass, except that the clogged areas (near the nipples, by the way) were still very much backlogging milk into a painful breeding ground for the nasty infectious puss. Oh there was more in the magical land of TMI. So much more.

Anyways, let's montage that nonsense out of ponderous tomes and straight into victory - here's me squeezing, soaking, scrubbing, exfoliating a very delicate lady area, pulling off skin-like-something from that delicate lady area, pumping, nursing, crying, and finally squirting my baby right in the face with and unexpected surge of milk.

What a relief.

But I'm not out of the woods yet, so I'm reticent to proclaim anything but a detente. Today I had a follow up and we agreed that it's nice to see the nip area back down a third of its peak swollen stage, and that pink is a much nicer color than dark red and purple. But we also agreed that probably antibiotics don't need to stop just yet. There's still some hard areas and a fair bit of pink.

And so we carry on carry on.And panic when baby atypically decides to try out sleeping through the night. Yes, I eventually sneaked into the nursery and nursed her while she was still asleep. Yes, it's a thing. They call it a dream feed. Because that boob needs to be emptied, even if it no longer fills up as urgently as pre-mastitis. And if I had to pump, you know she'd have woken up hangry immediately afterwards. Plus I am still devising elaborate execution plans for both my pumps at this point, so dream feeding it is!

Of course going through all of this and wondering when the next resurgence might explode has been a contemplative time of transition. Will mommy soon reclaim her boobs for herself (and occasionally her paramour?)

After the domperidone started working, I had set six months as my initial goal for pulling out all the stops to nurse the little beast. And we're at six months.

I possibly appended a "until she's firmly on solids" to that goal. Breast milk has qualities that help digest solids while babies are adjusting. It is, of course, also the bulk of nutrition and the ideal nutrition until age one. But formula can follow as second best.

She's not firmly on solids by a fair mile, although solids are darned well on her pretty firmly these days. I have discovered that she enjoys eating sweet potato and peanut butter from a small spatula. And that she can't get enough black rice and pear porridge. I have discovered a few more things as well: (1) baby food is super fun to make, (2) Chaya is not thrilled when she accidentally throws a spatula full of brown rice and pear into her eye, (3) avocado is interesting but weird in baby land (apparently "finger foods" mean "foods you attempt to masticate and swallow through fingers alone," (4) while I disagree with the slightly misleading and inaccurate "food before one is just for fun," food is a lot of fun.

Oh and diapers get a lot more interesting even when it's just a little bit of semi-solid material passing through.

But yes, I think now that she's starting to enjoy the textures and flavors of various caloric mushes, Chaya's going to like food. And I'm going to like making a right mess with her. Of course food will be a small percentage of her diet for a long time to come, but it's a way for me to give "myself" to my baby in a more abstract and independent way. Instead of processing the food internally and giving back, I externalize the process and give her more and more agency in choosing it while sharing my own love for the tastes and textures of the world (and eating half of all of it myself).

Of course there's so much I am not quite ready to give up - the intimacy (when she isn't clawing holes into my chest, jabbing her talongs in my eyes and nose, and shrieking at me), that feeling of becoming one and giving myself to her in the most personal of ways, the convenience (ok this is debatable - I don't need bottles, but it's a PITA to feed distractibaby on the go), the extra calorie kick (when I'm chained to the house and too tired to get out, I have to acknowledge I'm hugely out of my usual shape), and mainly the excuse to go to the BCHM for Breastfeeding Cafe every Tuesday. And I see so many mothers struggling so much harder for so many fewer results. I am a "success" story in a very heartfelt community. It's weird to even conceive of walking away from that. Like a strange version of the sunk cost fallacy.

But I've also made my peace with letting go, and always when the equation favors the downsides of trying to nurse against the benefits provided. And although breastmilk is great at any age, the hugest relative benefits diminish with each passing month. I've made progress towards minimizing the downsides by cutting back on pumping. I'd like to - much more carefully, because I don't need more clogs and mastitis - phase out the final two pumping sessions. And if switching to a bottle meant encouraging Chaya to nightwean with no fear of any consequences for mommy's boobs... well I wouldn't complain about the extra sleep. I suspect the boobs could handle the night weaning at peak form, of course, but if not...

I am ready to wean down the dosage of my domperidone. It's a lugubrious process anyways, so beginning now is not as dramatic as it might sound. I'm currently taking twelve pills a day. To wean, I drop one pill at a time at weekly intervals - one week with eleven pills a day, one week with ten, etc. If there's a real reason to get off quickly, you can drop a pill every three days, but that comes with risks of side effects and so on. It's possible that a slow wean could find my sweet spot dosage at a much lower amount. It's even possible that I could wean completely without losing my ability to breastfeed, though less common.

I suspect that Miss thing will self-wean before the age of one. She's not been a particularly avid nurser, and certainly is ecstatic about food (despite being horrible at actually ingesting it)

And that darned little tiger is eventually going to get teeth... just saying... 

Hard to imagine breaking the mold and giving up the certainty that I can "EBF" when so many women kill themselves for upwards of a year or two to provide just half of their child's diet with milk.

But in the meantime, I'm captive to the vestigial mastitis hanging about in my bosom. Must obsess over every hour between feeds, soak that boobie, and pump away! Chaya doesn't mind. As long as mommy keeps loading up that spoon and too much food (milk or otherwise) doesn't get in her eye!

And hey, sitting! She can kind of sit. If I put her in a sitting position first! And then she falls to the side randomly after several minutes of looking very sturdy. Like a cute little drunk person. My little baby girl is growing up and preparing for college.