The Feeding Frenzy of Count Suckula!

Oh. My. God. At last I can come up for air because at last my son has finally come up for air! Several friends had warned me that growth spurts are exhausting, and I certainly took their words seriously, but nothing quite prepares you for the six-week-old's growth spurt. With little Darrell, it actually began a little past his fifth week and had I realized what to expect, perhaps I might have invested some time in developing a special contraption that keeps him attached to my boobs 24-7... because that's pretty much the only place he wanted to be!

Every 30 to 90 minutes, he wanted to eat, and my milk bags could barely keep up. In fact, a couple of times, they couldn't keep up and we had to resort to giving him some formula. I remember at least once (though it probably happened a few times), he cleaned out the left side, then the right, then the left again, then the right... and after an hour or so of this I was completely tapped out. So we gave him 3 oz of formula... and he sucked it down! I thought surely it wasn't possible for his tiny stomach to hold all that milk plus the formula, but I guess that's what the growth spurt is all about: an expanding stomach! (I know... just wait til he's a teenager, right?!)

I felt a little guilty about giving him the formula because I want to breastfeed exclusively, but there simply wasn't another option on a few occasions. When your kid is screaming from hunger and there's nothing left in your breasts, but there's a shelf of free formula samples... well, you're not going to let him go hungry! I did call Mom's Place, the WIC lactation center, however, to ask them if they had any suggestions. I began taking fenugreek, a supplement to increase milk production a little over a week ago, and I've been downing water like crazy, so they suggested I come in for a pre- and post-feeding weigh-in.

My appointment is tomorrow, but I'll admit I was a bit annoyed with the woman on the phone. She said it can be tempting to offer formula during growth spurts to "give myself a break," but that it's important he only eat from the breast to stimulate more production. I kept my cool but was angry at the implication that I had any other choice: like I said, if I'm totally tapped out and my kid is hungry and I have the ability to feed him with formula, I'm going to do that before I'm going to let him scream for the next hour while I recharge. We never gave him formula unless my breasts were empty. In any case, I blew her off. I figure I'll do what I feel is right for my child and I'll see what they say tomorrow. Meanwhile, I've give him the new nickname "Count Suckula." After that True Blood marathon with my mother that I mentioned before, I felt like I was being fed upon by a milk vampire all this past week!

A 4 a.m. stroll saves the day, er, uh, night

You know those people who choose career fields because they love a challenge? People like engineers and doctors who constantly seek new situations that require problem-solving and creativity? I have the solution for those people: take care of a baby! After running through the list of usual suspects as he cries - is he hungry? does he need a diaper change? etc. - it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out what's wrong. Last night particularly required extra patience and creativity.

Soon after Darrell III came home from work, Darrell IV was getting fussy. After he had eaten, been changed, burped and farted, I still couldn't calm him down, so my husband took over. It eventually turned out that he was cold! Something so simple that I just didn't think of and wrapping him in a warmer blanket did the trick... for a little while.

He became fussy again, and I just couldn't handle it anymore after being with him all day. So I set him in the bouncer and turned on the vibrator, and suddenly he quieted down. Maybe he just didn't want to be held? That lasted... for a little while. Then the crying turned on again and thank God Darrell III took over. We never figured out what was bothering him - was he in pain? was he overstimulated? was he bored? - but he eventually cried it out as Darrell rocked him and sang to him and gave him the pacifier (after repeated attempts).

At bedtime, he was truly sleeping and nursed only briefly before falling back asleep, so it looked as though it wouldn't be a rough night. Wrong. At quarter to 4 a.m., after nursing (and spitting up a bunch all over mom, himself and the bed as usual), he was still alert and getting increasingly fussier. I tried rocking him in the glider. I tried swaddling. He refused my breasts and the pacifier. He didn't seem cold or hot. His diaper was clean, and he'd burped and farted. What was the problem?!

Darrell loves the Sleepy Wrap!

In desperation, I put on some sweatpants and the Sleepy Wrap and slid him into the kangaroo-pouch-like carrier and then headed out the door. I walked around the courtyard and then in front of our building and then around the courtyard again... he calmed a bit, then a bit more... After about the fifth circuit, he was nearly asleep. I had been super tired, but the walk was actually nice. The loud white noise of the whirring air conditioning fans outside each unit probably helped lull him to sleep, and the temperature was perfect: balmy and breezy with a fresh summertime scent in the air. I made one more loop for good measure and then came inside, slid him out of the pouch and beside me in the bed, and finally laid down to sleep. (For two hours :)

Getting along without Grandma

My mom headed home to Arlington on Sunday night after staying with us just over six weeks, so the past few days have been my first with just Darrell IV and me. I felt bouts of anxiety during the week leading up to my mom's departure, occasionally crying to Darrell that I'm worried about how I would do after she left. She's been a tremendous help, and I've been incredibly grateful for how long she stayed with us. It makes a world of difference when I can hand her the baby and run a quick errand or take a quick shower or, more often, take a nap. Darrell and my mom both told me I was doing great as a mom, however, and that I'd be fine. That feels nice to hear, but I was anxious nonetheless.

Darrell IV & Grandma Haelle

I guess we were all right. I have been doing okay, though it is difficult without my mom. If I can get one thing done each day, I feel a significant sense of accomplishment and I can relax a bit with little Darrell. Monday, I got the car inspected (yay! it passed!). Tuesday, I got an oil change and exchanged some items at Buy Buy Baby. Yesterday and today, I did a little laundry, and today I bought stamps at the post office. I also managed to squeeze in lunch at Nueva Onda yesterday and lunch at Curra's today. I find I need to do at least one outing a day or else I'll go a little crazy. The rest of the time is sleeping, feeding Darrell, changing diapers, and watching Netflix. I actually managed to watch six episodes in a row of the first season of 24. At that rate, it might actually be possible to get through all eight seasons by the end of the summer!

Now that he's a little over five weeks old, Darrell's alert much more of the day than he used to be. His awake-time is often awkward time too, though, because he's still too young to really play with. He's started to coo and gurgle and make all sorts of other adorable sounds, and the rest of the time just sort of stares off, taking in the world. I've been trying to talk to him as much as possible, but even I - famous for being overly talkative - can only say so much to a baby who gives little to no indication that he knows I'm talking to him. It feels just like talking to myself! I told him what I ordered at Curra's, about the fruit I was making myself for breakfast, about how I'm dressing him... I'm sure I'm not talking the supposed "2100 words an hour" that I've read babies need to hear, but I'm doing the best I can.

Grandma and Darrell again

I've also discovered what my friends mean when they talk about how exhausting the growth spurts are. He definitely went through a growth spurt for the past two days: I was feeding him every 45 minutes to an hour with only a handful of longer stretches. I felt like I might as well strap him to my chest and let him feed all day long. Maybe I've been watching too much True Blood (my mom and I watched all of Season Two in just a few days before she left), but I felt a bit like a human being fed on day and night by a vampire - the kid was literally sucking the life out of me!

How is being a mom like being Catholic?

I posted that question on Facebook to see what kind of answers I would get. The question occurred to me as I realized that I was, once again, feeling guilty for something or other. I don't even remember what it was now, but I realized being a mom seems to carry with it a constant sense of guilt. You can never do right enough by your kid, and if you dare try to read about what you should be doing... well, you might as well turn your bathroom into your own private confessional. Every time he cries, it's like a new chance to solve the riddle of the Sphinx. Sometimes it takes a minute or two. Sometimes you never find out what's wrong, and the helplessness is as bad as the guilt that you can't take away whatever the problem is.

I thought about trying to list all the things I've felt guilty about in the past four weeks - everything from not playing with him enough to stimulate his brain growth (honestly, how do you play with a newborn who's not even aware that those flailing limbs belong to him?) to something as simple as needing to put him down (begin wailing soundtrack) so I can use the bathroom. But the post would be long and boring, so I decided instead to list the creative answers I got on Facebook. I still think a constant sense of guilt is the strongest link between motherhood and the Catholic experience, but I was pretty impressed with the answers received by friends below.

It's all about the guilt! - Meggan Vasta

Both are exhausting! - Jennifer Cattes

You're constantly standing, sitting and kneeling to adore a baby. - Carolina Jimenez (this was one of my favorites)

The constant up and down along with the prayers for patience, held and SLEEP! - Kellie Lou Myers

The both require an abundance of imagination. - Jake Hyden

You're constantly looking for answers. - Eduardo Huerta

You are caring for the needy, you are suffering for the greater good, every day is All Saints Day or a day of obligation, you have a good sense of humor, you are the mother of God. - Robert Strachan (another of my faves)

Master of the art of getting things done through guilt trips. - Sam Shrivatsa

Every now and then the experience "stinks." - Eduardo Huerta

And then there's James Ewing's answer, which is really more about how to cope: It's all about drinking wine in the name of God.

Sorry about the waterboarding, kiddo!

I've been known for my clumsiness for most of my life. Like my mother, I always had some sort of scratch or bruise on my arms or legs from bumping my elbow on the wall that jumped out in front of me or tripping over completely solid, flat ground. So now, of course, I find myself apologizing to my son for this or that ever-so-smooth move or else, fortunately more often, thanking his lucky stars for a near-miss.

Case in point: bath time. Darrell already hates bath time. He screams as though I'm torturing him and yesterday, well, I guess I almost did, depending on where you fall on the "is-waterboarding-torture?" debate. I set him in the mini tub that fits into the kitchen sink and this time held him in place enough that he didn't knock his head on either side of it until my mom could place a towel around his head for cushioning. (I learned that lesson on his first bath... twice.) Then I filled a mini pitcher with lukewarm water to pour over his head, except I stupidly poured it too far forward so that his screaming was temporarily muffled by the water I just poured down his nose and throat. Oops. As he began coughing, I immediately picked him up and brought his head forward, patting his back while kicking myself for just about drowning my kid in not even an inch of water. "Sorry about the waterboarding, kiddo!" Yea, not sure he was in the most forgiving mood.

I used my hand to wash him for the rest of the bath since it's gentler (usually) than a washcloth and was a bit more careful not to pour water down his face or on his hair in such a way that the soap would run into his eyes. Of course, when we finished and lifted him out of the tub, I damn near knocked his head on the corner of the kitchen cabinet.

I take comfort in the fact that my mother is as notoriously clumsy as I am. If she managed to take care of me without giving me a concussion or breaking my neck, perhaps there's hope for me too.

This photo pretty much sums up little Darrell's opinion of bath time.

Who said you lose spontaneity?

Before I had kids, everyone told me just "how much!" my life will change when I have them, a fact I never doubted. Many told me my days of globe trotting and international adventure traveling were over - I just ignored them. I met enough parents (including Americans) traveling with children of all ages (1 up to teenagers) to know that my ability to travel has more to do with how I set my priorities than with whether I have kids.

Another thing I was frequently told, by our childbirth instructor and by friends, was that having kids doesn't mean you can't do things; it just means the end of spontaneity. Well, I beg to differ. Of course, it depends on your definition of spontaneity and what it is you want to do, but yesterday was a good example for me of what I have NOT lost. It was the Fourth of July, and we weren't going to battle the crowds and the heat to see fireworks that evening, but I wanted to do *something* in the late afternoon. Darrell had a headache, so I suggested to my mom that we go to South Congress and check out the food stands and the artisan market. She said okay.

So, I grabbed my Sleepy Wrap baby carrier, the diaper bag and the baby, and we were out the door in five minutes. We parked and headed to the Mighty Cone food stand, a place I've always wanted to try, and I ordered an awesome shrimp and avocado cone of goodness. Then we checked out the arts market - not terribly interesting - and then I asked my mom if she wanted to grab a drink before we headed home. We stopped in at South Congress Cafe and decided to go ahead and get a table to order a couple drinks and some appetizers. Little Darrell awoke while we waited for the baked brie and seafood/ceviche parfair, so I nursed him from my Sleepy Wrap in our booth.

The food was awesome, the margarita was great (and not too big fortunately), and it was an overall nice little outing. We returned home, and my stir-craziness was gone. Now, this was obviously not a very elaborate outing, but I guess I don't ask for much with my "spontaneity." As far as I'm concerned, my spontaneous little desires are just as easily satisfied now as they were before. We'll see if that changes as he grows older.

Baptized into parenting

One thing I discovered very quickly about taking care of a newborn is that you end up doing a lot of laundry. A lot. Between the spit-up and milk leaks and diaper-changing accidents, he goes through a lot of onesies, and my husband, mother and I go through a lot of shirts!

Today, however, little Darrell took it to a new level, and I do believe I am, in the words of my friend Vikki Powers, officially "baptized" as a parent. It started this morning when he had a dirty diaper. It was quite an impressive fill, so it was taking longer to clean his cute little butt while I positioned the new diaper under him. I didn't move fast enough. I was mid-sentence asking my mother whether we should give him a bath today when he began peeing all over himself and the couch. (We change him on changing pads on the couch.)

I laughed while I tried to cover him up and my mom got a new changing pad. Yes, it would be a bath day. I figured he had just emptied his bowels and bladder, and we were about to put him in his mini tub, so I held him without a diaper while my mom grabbed the baby soap and fit the tub into the kitchen sink. Poor assumption... his bladder was apparently NOT empty. As I held him against me, he began peeing all over me and the kitchen floor, creating a larger puddle around me than I thought possible from such a small creature! I was wearing only my bra and underwear, it was mostly streaming down my abdomen and legs. My mom mopped up what was on the floor and I figured we might as well get the bath over as quickly as possible so *I* could now shower.

He screamed his head off for the bath - he still hates being on his back and was probably frightened - but we got through it and I wrapped him in a towel as he began calming down. Just as he was good and dry and calm, he spit up all over his just-cleansed arm and chest. After wiping him down with a paper towel (the nearest thing I could grab) and passing him to my mom to put on a diaper and onesie, I headed to the shower. When I returned, my mom described how Darrell had spit up all over the changing pad and himself as she tried to put on his diaper, somehow fortunately missing the not-yet-buttoned onesie he half had on. By this point, we deduced he truly could not have any liquids left in his tiny body to expel and he was getting fussy so that meant only one thing: it was feeding time again!