At My Bravest.

To follow up on my "If I Were More Courageous" post, I decided I should think about when I have had great courage.

• I gave birth to Oliver. Delivering him is the hardest thing I have ever done, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I had to fight my body's absolute insistence on pushing; Oliver was in danger when I pushed. I followed directions. I had no time or strength to scream or shout. I felt no sense of community with the countless women who have given birth. I was alone in it, and I couldn't give up. I just thought of breathing and getting oxygen to my baby.  

•  I breastfed. I was afraid I couldn't produce enough milk to help our 5 1/2-pound baby gain weight, especially since I was supporting our family. Somehow, I pumped enough, and he plumped up, and I breastfed him for thirteen months. For a while, two weeks maybe, it was incredibly painful--the gasping-and-tears-spring-to-your-eyes kind of pain. I didn't think I could go on. But I did it, and I'm grateful that I had the chance. 

•  I gave a public reading in a small auditorium at Queens. I read several poems from my thesis. Mom let me wear her enchanted emerald silk blouse. I felt the audience connecting with me. My thesis advisor later told me that he received compliments about me. Mom and Dad were there, and Melissa and Steve came, which meant a lot. I hadn't shared much of my poetry with any of them.  

•  I taught a seminar on journaling, also during my graduating residency. I was brave enough to focus on one of the most important elements of my life. And apart from day camp Bible classes, I'd never taught before. 

•  I applied to a community college. I taught my first class, and though I had no idea how I would handle it, it went remarkably well. I knew I'd found the right work. 

•  I left my job, first as a medical leave of absence and then permanently. We had very little money and no plan, but Mom and Josh knew I couldn't go back; I was too sick. We got a lot of help, but it was scary. 

•  I've advocated for Oliver since he was diagnosed with autism at age four. I took him to so many doctors and therapists for diagnoses and treatment. I met with teachers and got Oliver into ore-K for EC. I took him to the children's neurologist, I spent a year getting Oliver into ABA. I do not do well in meetings. Mom came sometimes to back me up, especially when I got completely overloaded.  

• I saw a psychiatrist, a psychologist an a  counselor. I was afraid to confirm my fear that no one could (or would) help me. None of these ongoing appointments are easy for me. I push myself to show up, to tell the truth of my experience, and to continue reaching for the help I need.

Really, I'm brave every day. I drive the car, which makes me very nervous. I drop off and pick up, I get out of bed, I shower (and put on makeup on a decent day!),  I take my medicine, I interact with others, I go to appointments. I live, hour by hour.

A Page from My Journal: March 5, 2012

Everything is so lovely. I don't even care that I have to go to the doctor and grade papers later. I have the most perfect little family, and I'm glad glad glad.

All that other stuff--the scary birth, my depression, the terrible messes--don't even matter. It's not that they'll never matter, but they don't right now.

Josh and Oliver are asleep on either side of me. The sky is light blue, and some clouds are floating by the window. The tall trees behind the apartment building across the pond are swaying a little. I have lace and a bow. I have a pink tube of C.O. Bigelow cinnamint lip gloss within reach for my chapped lips. I'm reading the sweetest novella in The Firefly Dance--a little girl trying to be happy, an enchanted and cultured young dance instructor, a mama with PPD who starts baking again, magic tea...I've marked so many pages from which I want to record passages.

I want our boy to be sophisticated and loving. I want him to know about books, poetry, music, movies, and musicals because they've surrounded him. I want him to be able to show new joys to his friends, cousins, girlfriends, wife. I want him to know what can make him feel calm and glad. I want to always snuggle him. I want him to see me as a person--flawed, needy, and sometimes sad, but I want him to see me as a source of love for him always. I want to never forget or dismiss him. I want to remember how very precious and beautiful he is. Everyone needs someone to do that.

Suddenly, the sky in the window is almost full of clouds. I still see the sun though. I'm getting hungry. We have thin crust pizza and garlic bread sticks in the fridge. This morning, Oliver stopped nursing suddenly, and a sputtering stream of milk covered his belly and mine. I laughed and called for Josh to look. I feel confident that I can feed my baby enough.

Polka dots seem to be in fashion, which is wonderful for me since I love them. I've ordered two tank tops from Gap--white with black dots and pink with black dots. I hope I'll be able to wear them for fun and under cardigans to work, at least in the summer.

When summer comes, I'll be home with my family six days a week. I will make those sweet and happy days. We are all so very lucky.

What I've Learned as a New Mother (About Nursing).

*Nursing bras matter. I started with a regular bra, and pulling my arm out of one strap worked okay. But a regular bra also isn't very comfortable, and since I need nursing pads, I need to wear a bra all the time. I now have a sleep bra to wear at home and an underwire bra that I hope will be good for work and other outings. Note from later: the underwire doesn't get much mileage.

*Nursing bras don't have to cost much. I like my two $9 ones from Wal-mart, and I may buy extras to wear while those are drying from hand-washing. If they wear out, or I need more, it's no big deal. Note from later: Um, yeah. I have six or seven of these now. Even my patient, Woolite-brandishing husband can barely keep up with the rate of spit-up and leakage. 

*Nursing pads aren't all the same. I went straight for Medela since I have an M pump, but I like Lansinoh better. They are softer, and they have two sticky parts instead of one, so they don't just fall right out of the nursing bra.

*A double electric pump is worthwhile. My mom bought me the Medela Pump In Style. I'm so glad I specifically asked her for this big-ticket item. It's a contraption, and the first round was very painful and ineffective. But after a few tries, I was able to fill two 2.5-ounce tubes (one on each side) in under ten minutes. Note from later: ha! This dream didn't last. I'm not sure what magic I was using to make my milk come out that fast.

*The bustier for the pump isn't just awesome; it's essential. I tried once to pump while just holding the shields, and keeping a good seal was not working out for me. The bustier does that for me, and I don't have to hold anything. The whole mess is awkward enough as it is.

*Get the right shield size! My friend Melissa helped me figure this out. The pumping started to be more uncomfortable and didn't seem to working as well. I noticed serious suction rings, too. All this got better when I got bigger shields, which Medela sells (and I didn't really need to get bigger connectors). Note from later: And just make peace with the fact that you might have to get bigger ones again. And again.

*Lanolin isn't miraculous, but it is nice. It's a little soothing, but it mostly provides some lubrication. This seems to help especially with pumping. Note from later: meh. Hope for the placebo effect. But it does help prevent a true horror--scabs sticking to the nursing pad. I know.

*Engorgement isn't forever. On the fifth day, the day I left the hospital, I had boulders up to my collarbone. Ow. I thought, great, this is the next (hopefully) year or more of my life. I was back to relative normal after a few days, though, and milder engorgement only happens occasionally.

*The football hold and the going to the revival may be essential. Early on, Oliver could barely nurse because he would fall fast asleep almost as soon as I held him close. Mom helped me figure out the football hold (which is less snuggly), and what I call going to the revival, which is holding him flat and lifting him up and down. Yes, he startled a little, but he woke up long enough to get some sustenance. Note from later: This got better once he was a little bigger and more used to being with me.

*Nursing pain from hell isn't forever. We had a few good weeks. Then, suddenly, the first moments of nursing became excruciating. As my grandmother described it, it was like razor blades. I could barely keep myself from yelling or making sudden movements. Sometimes, I cried during or even in anticipation of nursing. Josh was mortified, and I felt terrified (more pain? regularly??) and inadequate. We considered exclusive pumping. I would exclusively pump for twelve hours or so. Then, I'd feed Oliver a little milk from a bottle before nursing him so that he would be less hungry and vigorous. Finally, I'd get back to nursing. I did this cycle two or three times. I bought a nipple shield, which helped somewhat. I had blisters, cracks, bleeding, and oozing. Yep. It was horrific. But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the nursing pain from hell was gone. I'm glad I didn't give up (I was close!). For some women, it doesn't get better. But one to two weeks seems typical (from what I've read and the women I've talked to). It's awful, but it's not forever. Mothers dealing with it shouldn't feel bad about pumping or doing whatever they need to do to survive it. Note from later: it still hurts sometimes, but not like that.

*Pumping is hard. I expected to fill bottles like it ain't no thang. This has never happened (okay, maybe it's happened a couple of times). The first time I tried to pump, I painfully eeked out about an ounce in over half an hour. This still happens to me. Occasionally, if I've been at work for hours, I'll get eight or nine ounces. But I pump four times a day to get enough milk for Oliver to have while I'm at work, and even that's a stretch. That's with the best available pump and all the breast compression and yadayada I can muster. My body knows that yippy thing isn't my baby. And if I take a break from pumping, my body seems to have no interest whatsoever in cooperating. It's like a part-time job. Pumping plus nursing is probably a full-time job. I think it's worth it, but it's a B word. Note from later: I have good times and awful times. I try not to count too much on either.