Feeding Lincoln

One of the things that surprised me the most about having a baby was how much I hated breastfeeding. I wasn’t expecting it to be easy but I would be lying if I didn’t say I thought it would be easier. I dreaded it. Shuddered it hurt so bad. I wanted to cry when someone would hand him to me to feed him. I HATED feeling like that. I couldn’t figure out how to hold him no matter how many positions I looked at on Pinterest. My wrists ached from holding his head. There was no way he was eating under a cover and so I often felt isolated locked back in my room for hours a day feeding the baby.

I set myself a goal after talking to a friend about how long it took to stop hating it. 6 weeks. I would try for 6 weeks and if I still felt anxious every time he needed to eat then I would be done. Let me tell you- this boy eats A LOT!

Everything I was reading said offer a feeding every 2.5 to 3 hours. Ha. I was struggling to make it an hour and a half. It seemed to me that he was always hungry. At first I wondered if we were stuck in a snacking cycle. So I pushed him to wait just a little longer. Tried to get a “full feeding”. He would scream and scream. The most infuriating part was he threw up almost everything he ate. I was exhausted. He was exhausted. It had been a month. My scabs had healed and it was starting to hurt less but I still didn’t know if I could do this long term.

I called the doctor about his spit up. Normal baby stuff from what they could tell. We would evaluate at my next visit. We kept going. I was able to push him to almost 2 hours most feedings now. Progress? I hoped so.

I still had a REALLY sad baby. Decided it was colic. Bought gas drops. Totally thought they worked the first few times. And maybe they helped but he was still so unhappy. He slept so bad. I was doing everything I had learned in my takingcarababies class. His spitting up started to alarm me. 3 or 4 times he would spit up after eating. I would hold him upright for 20 minutes, 30 minutes and finally 45 minutes in the middle of the night and he still spit up the minute I laid him down.

Never have I been so grateful we had a washing machine. One day in tears I told Thomas “I thought I would be better at this. I’ve been around babies. I thought I would be able to recognize his needs.”

I called the doctor again. I was feeling foolish because I had already called and thought maybe I just have a baby that spits up. Maybe I just have a gassy baby. My baby is just hard to nurse. Babies cry.

They scheduled me an appointment for that afternoon. Relieved to be getting even just some piece of mind we headed in. Just Lincoln and I- Only one parent (stupid Covid).

The nurse checked his length and weight and asked me if I had tried eliminating things from my diet. I told her I had tried dairy and caffeine. She asked how long. I said 5 days but I didn’t really notice a difference. She then laughed at me and replied “well that’s not long enough”. Maybe she saw the hurt in my eyes when I responded- “well how long am I supposed to test that? I’m literally just googling things”.

“Oh well the doctor will go over that with you”

“Well that would be helpful, thanks” I replied with a little more spunk in my voice.

She was totally right. Now that I have done the research I’m kicking myself for not trying longer but it’s all overwhelming. It just stung the way she said it when I already felt like I was failing my child. Plus my not eating cheese wouldn’t have solved our problem anyway.

Lincoln has a milk allergy not just a dairy intolerance. We read lots of food labels now- Bread made with milk had gotta go, items that “may contain milk” are not worth the risk. I mean I bought vegan butter. I’m gonna be a regular at Trader Joe’s now I guess.

The doctor was much better with my feelings than the nurse that proceeded her. She told me it can take weeks or months to know. The easiest way was to test a diaper and sure enough they found blood in his stool.

The days that followed have been long. I’ve struggled with so much guilt as I’ve watched my baby arch his back and cry- so uncomfortable and so sad.

Why didn’t I call sooner? Why didn’t a research more? I should have known it was more than gas. I’ve made him so sick. I should have stopped dairy sooner, for longer.

I’ve cried as he has cried knowing that we really just have to wait it out. We have walked around in the still triple digit heat, gone on many drives to sonic and taken lots of tubs trying to keep both of us calm. It’s been 10 days. The magic happens anywhere between 10 days and 3 weeks from what I understand but again- I’m just googling things. We see the doctor again in a week.

I feel like I get small moments of who my little baby really is. I know there is a happy soul inside that uncomfortable body. I can’t wait for it to shine. The last couple days I feel like I have gotten a few more smiles. The mornings are his favorite- which is funny because that is when I struggle most but maybe that is a tender mercy.

Thomas has been such a rockstar. He is busy with school but tries to give me a break as often as he can. Mom bought me a dairy-free cook book. I have lots of people cheering me on and checking in. Kira sent me a new hippo friend in the mail. We are gonna be okay. I keep telling myself he won’t remember this time.

But back to the breastfeeding thing- the whole reason I started this middle of the night rant. If he doesn’t improve than his milk allergy may actually be a soy allergy. If that is the case our best chance is probably fancy formula. If I thought milk was in everything- soy makes dairy-free look easy.

I’ve been extremely surprised by how sad I feel at the thought of not nursing him anymore. He is 8 weeks old today. My goal of 6 weeks slipped past without me thinking about it much. I’m not sure when I stopped dreading it. I’m not sure I would say I just love nursing and I’m not the person to bash on bottles- that’s for sure not what I am saying. And that’s not why I don’t want to stop nursing.

I think it is just the fact that I worked so hard at it. It was so hard for me but it was something I wanted so I gritted my teeth (literally) and kept trying. We figured it out. Me and him together.

So now the thought of being done makes me feel really sad.

I’m already mourning the fact I have a freezer stash of milk from the last couple months of pumping that I’ll never get to use. Pumping makes me feel so inhuman. I feel like an animal but again- I wanted it and so I did it. And now I don’t get to have it.

Maybe this whole experience will turn me into one of those people that just loved breastfeeding their babies. I kinda doubt it but it did add a level of gratification. I’m grateful for the chance and really pretty proud of myself. Thomas asked me if I wanted to be done when we got word about the milk allergy. If it would have been during those first 6 weeks I would have been done without blinking. But somehow now it feels like it took too much work to get here to not give it a little longer.

He is still spitting up with every feeding. The whole reason this is even got written is because he spit up in his bassinet waking himself up. I have a hard time putting him back to bed after he does that. He makes these weird choking/gasping sounds and so I just hold him because there is no way I can sleep after that and his Dad has a big test tomorrow so it’s just you and me tonight little dude. I’ll take a nap when Dad gets home tomorrow. And hey it’ll be day 11 dairy-free maybe you’ll be happy as can be! I really hope so.

My Covid Baby

It’s late.
Thomas is asleep and I should be too but someone else is awake.
I feel him moving the most late at night. Sometimes I just like to lay here and feel him wiggle. It brings peace to my heart in a way nothing else can.
It’s in these moments that he feels real. Not just an idea we talk about or a new need I create a registry for. It’s these late nights we share, just him and I, where he feels like my son.

Someone I am responsible for protecting.

My Covid baby.

I’ve been fortunate during this pandemic.
Yes, I am out of work. However, our student loan has been able to cover our rent. We wont have the savings we were planning for when the baby comes but we should still be alright.
Yes, everything in our life seemed to have changed over night.
We are fortunate. We have gracious parents who have allowed us to live in their homes and eat their food. I've been able to see a few loved ones I wasn't planning on seeing for a while.
Yes, I’ve felt frustrated and worried about the virus but none of my family members have been infected.
I know I am much better off than many.

Yet I’m still sad.
This pregnancy feels controlled by the pandemic. I feel cheated out of seamingly small things: No traditional baby shower, no one to comment on my growing bump, no increased tips at work (my bank account was looking forward to that), no in store shopping for clothes or supplies.
These are all trivial things but they felt important to me. Then there is the worry that the virus will spike again as some have predicted. These worries are less trival, rather big deal things.
Will this mean I’ll be alone in the delivery room? Will my mom be able to come stay with us when we bring the baby home? Will I get to introduce him to anyone in person? While I’m grateful for technology we all know that FaceTime just isn’t the same.
My covid baby.

How will his life be different because of this? Will I feel comfortable letting people hold him? If flu season wasn’t enough how will my new mother nerves handle corona? Will we get to have a baby blessing with a group larger than 10? Will I feel safe leaving my home for a walk in the park? When will I be able to take him to church or play group? Will my grandparents get to meet him?

Utah has been lucky as far as numbers go and that has allowed people to live more normally. While that isn’t necessarily bad, I feel a sense of panic watching St. George fill up like spring break every weekend. I know I can’t say much because I came here but I selfishly want everyone else to STAY AWAY! Stay home, stay safe. Yes, to flatten the curve. Yes, to protect those at risk. But also selfishly I want this to end so my last few months of pregnancy can be somewhat normal. And mostly so my baby won’t be a
Covid baby.

I have 114 days until my due date and I don’t feel like we are in the clear. I don’t think that we are going to get any closer to normal life by deciding that a few weeks of quarantine was enough. Now maybe I’m wrong. I hope I am. I hope we did enough to make the last month or so worth it. I guess I’m just not willing to take that risk. I guess I just think what was the point of it all if we don't see it through? It seems like a double standard to fast and pray, to not gather together, to sew masks and make thank you signs for front line workers... and then what... get tired of it and push for everything to go on as normal. I just don't know how to feel anymore.
I’ve seen all the posts “be kind”, “everyone is doing the best they know how”, “we aren’t all in the same boat” but during these late nights I feel selfish. I want what’s best for this baby.
My Covid baby.

No wonder he flips around so much late at night. His mom is a basket case.
I’m no doctor and I’m not a politician.
I don’t claim to know what is best for the health of the nation physically or finically. I try and stay away from news articles because neither argument makes me feel better.
All I know is- I have done all I can to do my part. I haven’t seen any of my friends in St. George. I haven’t accepted any clients. I wore a mask to the grocery store and felt like a weirdo. But those are the only things I can control. I'm realistically a pretty insignificant part of the pandemic at large. We all are. That's why is doesn't work if we aren't pulling the same direction.


I wish these nights feeling him move allowed me to imagine what he will look like or grow up to be. It feels like I can’t picture those things until I know how I’m gonna get him here.
So tonight I write down my thoughts hoping to clear some space for thoughts of a healthy, happy, visited, admired and safe
Covid baby.