LeBlanc Love

Friday, December 3, 2010

So, This is Christmas...

We’re just barely into December, and we’ve got personalized stockings on the way from Pottery Barn, the cutest Bert Anderson chickadee ornament coming to us from GROW Nebraska and a Little Superstar Musical Exersaucer ready to assemble. It’s our first Christmas as a family, and I am SO excited.

Our own little chickadee is already smitten with the season, from the sparkling lights and glittery ornaments on our tree to the variety-show worthy Christmas carols we sing and dance to while making dinner and changing diapers and rolling over (and over and over!) No, she doesn’t have any idea it’s Christmas, and she won’t remember a thing about this year after it’s all said and done. But she is fully capable of feeling and sharing the joy and laughter and love this holiday inspires with her whole heart. You can see it in her eyes, and it’s amazing.

While I’ve never been one to fall prey to the commercialized hustle and bustle, I will admit I have lost a lot of the affection that I once had for the holiday over my adult years. Money and time are always short. There are always marital conflicts, travel snafus and a crazy number of places to go and people to see. All the things you were oblivious to as a wide-eyed, Santa-loving child is so apparent. It’s exhausting, and it sucks the joy right out of you. But this year, looking through the eyes of a child once again, it’s easy to remember what’s important. I am taking every opportunity to have as much fun with Emery and Brian and the rest of my family as I can, to make as many memories as possible and to start as many traditions as I can think of, hoping just a few of them will stick throughout the coming years.

Even picking an Angel Tree baby, something I have done each and every year since I was probably 15, was a new experience. Instead of any random kid with a cool toy request, I searched the tree until I found a 3-month old baby boy named Humberto. The whole time, I talked to Emery in her stroller, telling her that we were looking for another baby to buy presents for so he could have a happy Christmas too. It was deliberate, picking a baby her age. Thinking about the prospect of picking a new Angel her age every year, sharing the how and why of loving and caring for others, especially those less fortunate, I feel both thankful for and humbled by the opportunity and obligation to raise our daughter with the values we hold so dear. My tradition has become “our” tradition now. How special is that?

Thievery

Look at that face. Mischievous, right? Now, do you see that cute little sock monkey she’s got? Mmmm hmmm. I snatched it up at Wal-Mart the other day because I thought it was precious. I gave it to Emery to love on while we were grabbing some quick groceries and, wouldn’t ya know it, she fell asleep and forgot to remind me to get it out of her car seat and pay for it. Five (chubby little sausage) finger discount. (Don’t worry. She’s learned her lesson. We’ve talked about it, and Emery and I have decided to take the $3 our little sock monkey friend would have cost us and buy another little something to donate to Toys for Tots.)

So, my child is a thief. I should have known. I mean, she did steal my heart before we even met. ;)

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Battle of the Breast

Raise the white flag. It’s over. After three and a half months, the breastfeeding battle has ended, and I have lost.

Honestly, I didn’t think I would last this long. From the start, I wasn’t in love with it. It was hard, and I was tired, and I constantly worried that she wasn’t getting enough or she was getting too much or I wasn’t eating well enough. The OCD in me fought breastfeeding every step of the way, dying to be in control of how often and how much… or at least to know. Then there was the overactive letdown and the food allergies… the choking and the swollen breasts and the foremilk/hindmilk issue. And the pumping. Oh, how I hate(d) pumping. But I knew that it was best for baby, so I kept at it, determined to make breastfeeding work. And, as time went on, it became the least stressful part about being a new mommy. It was a quiet moment with just me and Emery. It was knowing that no matter where we were or what we were doing, I could provide for her most basic need. It was exactly what she needed, and that was more than enough. Suddenly, it had been three months, and I could see myself breastfeeding for the whole first year. I just knew it would work out.

But then, just as suddenly, things changed. Life happened, and the anxiety that I fight with regularly began creeping its way back into my head. Stress got the best of me… and my boobs. My milk wasn’t letting down. No matter how relaxed I ~~pretended~~ tried to be, it just wouldn’t come out. Emery started fussing at nearly every feeding. She cried her baby goat cry, and my heart was broken, but I had no idea how to fix it. I couldn’t pump more than two or three ounces at a time, so supplementing with breastmilk wasn’t going to work. We had no choice. We bought the formula, methodically mixed the first bottle and held it to her little mouth. She sucked it down. Big ole tears were rolling down my cheeks. For the first time in a week, she seemed truly satisfied. And while that was a weight off a stressed mommy’s shoulders, that meant that for the first time in her entire little life, I wasn’t able to give her what she needed.

But I wasn’t throwing in the towel just yet. I was even more motivated to fight the anxiety demons. I pumped religiously at work and at home, and we supplemented with formula when we needed to. I made a commitment to relax and just go with the flow. And I did. But it still wasn’t enough. The breast was no longer a peaceful place for either me or Emery. She preferred the bottle because it was easy, and I because it calmed my fears of her not getting enough. So I pumped at work, pumped at home while she ate and cherished each and every sleepy, early morning nursing session. I knew our days of breastfeeding were numbered. I was spending every spare moment with my breast pump, not my baby. I was still having trouble with my milk letting down, especially at work. Emery was waking up an hour after she ate in the mornings, hungry again. Brian was understanding, but obviously exhausted after being home with baby all day and then having to feed her while I pumped. Then, when she went to bed, I pumped again and passed out from exhaustion, giving us no time to spend together as a couple.

So this past week, I made the toughest decision I have had to make so far as a momma. I packed up the pump, and we had our last early morning hurrah. Emery Jane is officially a formula baby. I am tearing up just thinking about it. Part of me still feels as if I let her down, but most of me knows that this is what is best for all of us. So, I will put on my big girl face and move on, happy that I can enjoy every spare moment with her and hubby instead of being strapped to a pump. Happy that she is getting what she needs and that my sanity is restored. Happy that she got three and a half months of breast milk to get her started and that I got three and a half months of bonding with her in a way that no one else ever has or will. Bigger and better things… like rolling over and teething… await!