Everyday

Everyday I sit down to write a post and everyday I get sidetracked or distracted or called away.... I have decided that if I don't just do it, it will never get done. So, this may take me all day, but one handed, one fingered or one brain-celled I will get it done!

"Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go..."

That, my friends, is what my breast pump says to me. Over. And over. And over. For 30 minutes, about 6 times a day.

It haunts my dreams.

Sometimes, it makes me zone out to the point that I'm not sure if I fell asleep or was in a hypnotic trance. I am guessing the latter, because if I was actually getting naps 6 times a day I wouldn't have such an aversion to pumping.

Port will not latch, and our financial situation and my desire to provide him with breast milk have forced me to pull double duty with regard to feedings. I must sit to pump and then sit again to feed. We are supplementing 1-2 bottles a day with formula, but that usually happens at night when I have given myself permission to not pump. Of course, waking up each morning wet and engorged are no fun either, but at least I am sleeping for one, sometimes two 3-4 hour stretches a night. If I had to add pumping to that, I wouldn't be sleeping at all.

But, suffice it to say, I feel like a dairy cow in a big milking plant. I have strong desires to stick my head in a big trough and graze for an hour or so while hooked up to the talking, suck machine.

I don't know how long I can keep this up. With Kiddo, I pumped as well, but it was only a couple of times a day. My supply was much less with him than it is this time. This time, I have to pump every two hours or so, or I am in pain. The good and the bad, all in one. It makes for short outings though, so you all might have to wait a little while longer for thank you cards and birthday gifts. Thank goodness for the internet and online bill pay - otherwise we might not have any communication with the outside world. Or electricity...

Port is doing great! His 2 week check was today, and he is already up to 9 pounds, 11 ounces. He is really starting to fill out in the face and arms. His legs are still long and lean though - not sure where he is hiding all that chunk. Though, those cheeks and that double chin tell no tales...

Yeah, my brain is fried. I'm not sure I'm making any sense.

He sleeps so well - 3-4 hour stretches at a time, and every day he is getting more alert and aware. He is so quiet; he just takes it all in and then fades off to sleep. When he gets in that good sleep, he sleeps hard. At night though, I have to get him really swaddled tight or really warm and toasty before he'll sleep in his bassinet. If I don't, he will grunt and squeak every 30 seconds or so, and keep me up listening to him. I am getting better about letting him work it out some; usually the grunting will stop after a few minutes with no help from me. I remember with Kiddo I was shooting out of bed with every noise; putting my hand on his chest every 5 minutes to check for breathing and to comfort his restlessness. Port doesn't require such diligence (or perhaps I am just not as paranoid this time around).

Port will still sleep on his back part of the night, but is really starting to prefer side sleeping. During the day he is an equal opportunity guy for sleep locations, spending just as much time in the swing as the car seat, the bassinet or my arms. I don't hold him near as much as I held Kiddo at this age, but again the situation is so different now. Plus, I am finding that if I don't utilize the long sleeps that I won't get anything done. The dishes, the laundry, going to the bathroom...

and pumping.

"Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go, Let us go..."

It is the cry of my poor, poor breasts. Sorry parents reading this. But the truth must be told!

The other day I was finishing up a pump session, and I mentioned something about my "poor boobies" to Hubby. [yes, I was whining, and yes, I say boobies] Kiddo was in the kitchen, riding his tricycle in circles and I really didn't think he was listening.

[never underestimate the hearing powers of a 3 year old]

I quietly said to Hubby (who consequently wasn't listening to me) that we needed to say a prayer for my boobies.

And this is what I heard come from the kitchen...

"Dear God, thank you for Mommy's boobies. She has to pump again. In Jesus name we pray, Amen."

Well, I did ask for prayer... ;)

Until,
D :)