I have been struggling on deciding if I should or should not write this post due to the audience that occasionally reads.  I decided that, ultimately, I may help someone else out who is in the same position make a decision so here goes nothing...

About 10 months ago, my 26 year old (then, 25 year old) sister made the decision to come and live with us and watch our baby.  She had been away in the Peace Corps for many months and her tour of duty was ending right around my son's due date.  She was coming back to the US with lots of worldly experience, insight, and understanding, but without a clear plan on what her next steps in life would be.  It seemed like it was the perfect situation.  She would come watch her nephew while we got into the swing of family life and she could then in turn, get back on her feet and decide what her next move would be.  Since she didn't know anyone in the area, other than my sister and I, she would have lots of time, when she was not watching the baby, to work another part-time job or take some college classes to apply towards an eventual Masters in Education.  Win, win, right?  Apparently not.

The "deal" that we had worked out soon after she started, after a miscommunication right in the beginning, was as follows:

-Live with us, rent/utilities free, in her own bedroom.  The bedroom had a flat screen TV with cable, wifi, a desk, a bed, and a couch. 
-We would buy her whatever food she wanted.  She is a vegetarian so we always made sure she had vegetarian stuff even though we are far from vegetarians.
-We would buy her whatever "stuff" she needed (i.e. toothpaste, shampoo, etc.).
-We would pay for her full gym membership (included a pool).
-She could use my subway pass on the weekends.
-We would let her use the car if it was available and we would pay for it (gas/insurance/maintenance, etc.). 
-We would let her dog live with us, even though it was not up-to-date on all of its vaccines and we already had 2 cats and a dog of our own.
-We would pay her between $120-150 a week.
-We would pay her even for the days that she did not work and, as long as she gave us notice, she could take days off.
-I would stay home every Friday (and sometimes more than just Friday) to work and provide a hand.
-The hours would be 6 AM-4:30 PM (any extra time would be worked out ahead of time as $10 an hour).
-She could leave whenever she wanted to as long as she gave us enough notice to find another situation for the baby.

I thought that this was a pretty good set-up that benefited both of us.  She was going to be able to grow some roots, get her footing, and decide what she was going to do next, while we were getting a trusted family member with a degree in Early Childhood Education to watch our growing little boy.  It seemed too good to be true, and we came to find out that it was, unfortunately.

As the months rolled by, I thought that things were going really well for the most part.  B seemed to be happy, healthy, and growing.  We were all getting along well, even though my house isn't that large.  We had occasional bumps in the road, but I thought that we were communicating well and we seemed to be able to work through our differences.  We had lots of fun together including family runs, dinners out (which we always paid for), and spending time together in the evenings watching reality TV or sporting events.

My sister had decided a few months back that her next step was going to be to move to S. Korea to teach and not to go to school to get her Masters or a teaching job in the area.  It was her decision and her life, so we were obviously supportive.  She had some issues getting the paperwork together (some of which was out of her control) so she made an interim plan to teach at a summer camp for several weeks starting in mid-June.  This ended up working out perfectly because daycare was set to start mid-June as well.  We would have no lapse in coverage...yay!  Everything seemed to be working out so perfectly...

I came to find out, from another sister, that my sister was planning on leaving her dog with us (yes, the one without all of the proper vaccinations), but had not asked us or even so much as mentioned to us that she was anting to do this.  My husband and I talked it over and decided that it was not going to work to take her dog for several reasons, including the fact that my 65yo MIL was going to be watching B two days a week (FOR FREE) and would have to watch two to three dogs, including her own if she had to bring him, and the baby.  We had originally been letting the dogs out on their own in the backyard, as necessary, but just gotten our backyard re-seeded so we had started walking them 3 times a day instead because we are tired of having a backyard full of dog $#!t.  There were many other reasons that factored into our decision, which I am not going to mention because this post would end up being 100 pages.  I had talked with my mom and she had agreed to take the dog for the few months while she was at camp.  I planned on letting her store all of her stuff in our basement until she was done at camp.  I was ready to work out some type of plan with her for when she finished camp if she needed a place to stay while she was waiting to go to S. Korea or figuring out what came next.  I was willing and ready to help her out in any way that I could... besides directly taking her dog for several weeks.

Well, when I confronted my sister about the dog, her response was not one of, "Thanks!  That is nice that you have thought about this situation so much even though I never brought it up to you.  Let's try to work something out", it was one of, "I have sacrificed almost a year of my life and you can't do this ONE THING for me?!"

This is when the proverbial flood gates opened.  We came to find out that she had been harboring incredibly intense feelings of anger and resentment at us for the situation that she was currently in, for months.  She felt that we were making money off of her and not appreciating the "sacrifice" that she had made to come and watch B.  She said that we frivolously spent money on things when we could have been giving to her and that she could have been making a lot more money nannying for someone who was not a family member.  Then she proceeded to pick apart other aspects of the way that my husband and I have been living our lives (and what we were spending our money on), as if she had been silently observing and gathering dirt on us so that one day she could use it as blackmail to throw back in our faces.  It was shocking and hurtful, but I didn't counter back at her and do the same thing.  Even when she told me that we NEVER did anything nice for her, I was not about to go through and list all of the nice things that we had done for her to try to get back at her (although I could list a bunch of them, very easily).

Neither my husband, nor I, ever thought that her coming to watch the baby was a "sacrifice" at all.  We thought that it was a fair situation that would benefit both she and us.  She felt otherwise, but never bothered to say anything until it was too late.

She ended up leaving to go and stay with my sister because I could not have her in the house, caring for my son, with those feelings of anger and resentment towards us.  It was an incredibly hostile and uncomfortable situation for all of us, but especially my poor child.  My attempts to talk and compromise with her failed left and right.  I tried text and tried scheduling times to meet, but nothing worked.  She didn't want to try to work anything out.  She only wanted to keep harping on the fact that she had sacrificed so much that was not appreciated.  I don't feel like that was true for many reasons, but I can't change the fact that she felt like that.  She moved her stuff out at the end of last week and I have not heard from her regarding the situation, since.

Thinking back on the situation now, it would be easy for me to say that I wish we had never decided to ask her to come and "sacrifice" almost a year of her twenty-something life to stay with us and watch our precious son so that I could have avoided what ended up ensuing.  I am grateful for the time that my sister spent with my son during his very impressionable first months of life.  She was wonderful with him and he absolutely adores her.  He is who he is today partly because of the time that she spent with him.  I am sad and upset that things ended the way that they did.  I wish that I would have known that she was feeling so terrible a little sooner so that we could have worked things out.  My husband and I are both reasonable people and the fact that she felt like she had to bottle everything up just sucks.  Even worse, other people in my family have "taken sides", which hurts because they don't know the whole story.  They have heard one side of it and think they know, but they don't.  It has driven a wedge between me and other family members and I feel totally out-casted.  Everything is such a mess.

The past few weeks, I have been left trying to work full-time and watch the baby.  Yeah, as you can imagine, not so easy.  We had to cancel our family vacation so that I could spread the time out over 2 weeks and work while he was at nap and first thing in the morning and in the evenings.  Needless to say, I am exhausted and thus have not had much extra time for blogging.

My advice to anyone wondering if they should have a family member be their nanny would be this, work every last detail out before the first day and WRITE IT ALL DOWN.  Make sure the family member understands what the deal is and make sure that they agree with it and that they don't feel like they are sacrificing.  Some of these details include, but are not limited to: hours, salary, who pays for room/board and other expenses, vacation time needed (GET THIS UP FRONT), over-time pay, and an eventual end date.  Dealing with family and money is always complicated.  I heard it from many people when I told them what our arrangement was going to be.  I guess I thought that our situation would be different and that we could somehow defy the odds and both end up happy in the end.  I was dead wrong.  

This is the second Mother's Day weekend that I have been lucky enough to celebrate with my family.  Last year at this time, I had pretty much just given birth and was still coming out of that first month, baby induced fog.  This year I was actually able to spend the weekend hanging out with my family and the beautiful weather that we had made things that much more enjoyable.

We started the weekend off by doing a family 5K.  My husband agreed to run with the baby in the jogger so that I could test out my newly conditioned wheels.  I am so grateful to him that he let me run the race sans baby because I ended up PRing by 46 seconds!  That doesn't sound like a lot to most people, but my previous fastest 5K was 20:51.  I hit 20:05 (6:27 pace!) at this 5K, almost making my goal race time of under 20 minutes.  Ahhhh I was so close!  I think I am heading in the right direction though.  I hope that I can make up 6 seconds on my next race.

My husband the the baby did great, too!  I felt bad though because there was a definite head wind on the part of the course and running with the jogger is like running with a parachute tied to your back...very difficult.  Even still, they finished under 29 minutes, so I was very proud of them both!

After we ran the race, we hung around for a bit to see the results of the race.  Turns out that I got 3rd place in my age group, so I had to hang out to receive my medal.  The three of us were hanging out near the car because it was still a little chilly and windy.  The baby was sitting in the driver's seat, I was in the passenger's seat, and my husband was standing next to the car.  The baby was playing with anything that he could get his little hands on: Daddy's cell phone, a pen, the car keys...

I announced to my husband that I was going to run to the bathroom and that he would need to keep a close eye on the babe.  He nodded and I sprinted to the loo.  I unsuccessfully tried to get into the passenger's side of the car; the door was locked.

"Hey!  Unlock the car!" I yelled to my husband over the car.

He attempted to open the driver's side door with no luck.

"Ummmmm it's locked!" he exclaimed.

"Haha" I said.

"No really, it's locked.  B is locked in the car" he said.

Oh gawd...for real?  

He had done, what he thought, was close the door partially to let someone through, when he actually latched the door.  B had apparently used the car keys to lock the door while he was playing.

There was little B, sitting in the driver's seat of the car, smiling and waving to his freaked out parents.

"What do we do???" my husband asked.

"Call the police!" I said with agitation in my voice.

"My phone is in the car.  Use your phone!" he said.

"My phone is in the car, too!  Go ask someone if you can use their phone!" I said.  Then I spotted two police officers that had been directing race traffic and I made a beeline for them.

I frantically interrupted their conversation and uttered a few key words including: baby, locked, and car.  The officers quickly shifted into business mode and ran over to the car with me.  There was little B, in the front seat, with both hands on the wheel, and smiling at us all.

"Push the unlock button!" one of the police officers yelled to him.  His selective hearing kicked in; he was only interested in enjoying his alone time in the car and had no desire to try to figure out how to break himself free.

"I think we are going to have to call the fire department" the other officer decided.  He radioed to the nearest station and they were on there way.  Not more than 5 minutes later the fire truck had made its way to the race parking lot.  The group of people who had gathered for the race awards ceremony stared at the ruckus that we were making.

B had a blast watching the firefighters prop open the door with a balloon looking things and then unlock the door with a long coat-hanger-looking-thingy.  Poof!  The door was opened and my devious little wanna-be-driver was free.  He looked up at all of us staring at him and cheering and then he started clapping for himself.  It was priceless.

We thanked the police and firemen and then headed over to the award ceremony.  With lots of awkward stares, I accepted my age group medal, and then we headed home.  If this is a preview of coming attractions (with regards to how B is going to be as a toddler), we are in serious trouble!!

Wishing all the mommies with babies in their arms, babies in their bellies, and babies in heaven a very Happy Mother's Day!  You are all amazing.  xoxo

While out on a run the other day, dressed in my black capris, a Run Swiftly Tech Shirt (the BEST), my new sneakers, my hair in a high ponytail, and my trusty Ray Ban's, I noticed that guys that were driving by were totally staring.  Staring and even turning their heads away from the road to check me out.  For a second I felt uncomfortable, but then it hit me, "I'm back!".  Woot.  Woot.  I had to smile because it has taken a lot of work to get back here and after having the baby, I wasn't sure I would be able to get back here.

With the exception of my slight pouch at the end of the day, due to my diastasis, I look like my old pre-miscarriage/pre-pregnancy self and people are finally noticing again.  It feels great.  I have never been what you would describe as a knock-out beauty.  I think most people would probably use the word "cute" rather than "hot" to describe me  I have that "girl next door" kind of look.  That has always been me.  Oh and I have always looked a few years younger than my real age (this annoyed me when I was in high school), which helps me look more attractive right now.  Right now.  Youth.  Fleeting, attractive, shallow, youth.  

After soaking in some head turns, hollers, and honks (yes, apparently middle-aged men still honk and holler), I starting thinking about my age.  How long will I be considered "cute"?  How long will guys continue to turn their heads when I run by and not even notice me?  How long will I get checked out when wearing heels and a skirt while walking through the city at lunch?  No woman ever wants to feel like an object, but I think every woman wants to feel attractive.  At what point will my attractiveness wear off and will I just be plain...old?  

My birthday is next week and I'll be, ever so gracefully, heading into my mid-30s.  You know what?  I am scared.  Getting older is always something that has always frightened me, but up until recently, I had this idea that somehow it wouldn't happen to me.  Somehow I would be the one person in history to look, feel, and act this age forever.  Ha.  Can you say crazy?  I know full well that no one is young forever.  Supermodels age; they get old and wrinkly.  Unfortunately no one is young and beautiful forever, but in a shallow society like ours that puts so much emphasis on youth=beauty, it is no wonder I (or any other woman) feel(s) upset when they think about aging.

I had a conversation with a close co-worker yesterday and we got to talking about this very topic of aging.  She said that she was walking to work that morning and happened to look into a window to see her reflection.  When she saw what was projected back to her on the glass, she though to herself, "When did I become a frumpy old lady?"

My co-worker is in her late 40s, so in the scheme of this earth, she isn't technically old, but middle-aged.  Once an avid exerciser, she has stopped working out regularly and has gained quite a bit of weight in the past few years.  She has high cholesterol, needs to wear reading glasses to see her computer screen, and cut her hair short.  She told me that she felt like everything went down hill when she turned 45 and that this was the age where she actually started to feel old.  She mentioned that all of this seemed to happen in the blink of an eye.  She said that in her mind, she still feels like she is 20 or 30 years old, but that her body doesn't feel or look the same.  She said it was such an odd feeling to no longer be seen as attractive and to get second glances while walking around in public.  She sounded so sad when she said this.  

Listening to her talk about getting older, and how awful it is, made me really think about my life right now and how this whole aging process works.  We spend much of our early youth wanting to be older so that we can do the things that we want to do, when we want to do them.  We want to be able to watch R rated movies.  We want to be able to date.  We want to be able to get our drivers licenses.  We want to go to college and leave the "nest".  We want to be able to drink (alcohol).  Then, as soon as we get to our mid-to late-20s, there is a shift in this "I want to get older" mentality and we start wishing that the time would slow down.  We start wishing that we wouldn't get any older.

Now that I am almost to my mid-30s, I stopped to take inventory on what I have compared to what I thought that I would have at this point in time.  Truth-be-told, I am right where I thought that I would be.  I am married, own a house, have pets, have a baby, have a good job, have good friends, go on fun family vacations, am in good shape and in good health, etc., etc., etc.  Things are good.  In fact, things are great.  Can I just freeze right now and stay here forever?  If only we could be so lucky as to have this opportunity, right?

So, when I am out for my next run, will I still get those second glances?  Will people still look at me as that "cute" girl-next-door?  At what point will this type of attention stop?  Why do I care so much about how I am perceived by others when it comes to attractiveness?  Am I prepared to deal with getting older?  If no random guys off the street find me attractive, will my husband still think I am attractive?  At some point will I stop caring?  Will I give up on staving off the aging process and just let myself go along for the rest of the ride?  So many questions that I just don't know the answer to...yet (or maybe ever?).

Happy Birthday to me.

Back in my days of trying to conceive, it did not take me long to learn that that blue dye pregnancy tests were never to be trusted.  BabyCenter, Fertility Friend, Pee On A Stick...you mention a blue test and they will all tell you the same thing.  Blue = BAD.  Whether it was the thickness of the line, the depth of color of the line, or whether or not there was a true plus sign, those things were considered extremely unreliable.  Visit any tweakers board and they will usually have a disclaimer that says that they do not tweak blue dye tests or if you came to them with a blue dye test to tweak, they would tell you to come back with a pink one.
When I was peeing on sticks, regularly, I always preferred FRER (First Response Early Response).  When that habit started to get too expensive, I would buy large quantities of cheapie Wondfos off of Amazon to satisfy my "craving".  Those tests sucked, but the pregnancy tests were pink and thus tweakable and considered more reliable than the blue dye tests.

After my last miscarriage, I regularly tested to see if my HCG levels were back down to 0 so that I could start trying again.  During that time, I made the mistake of purchasing a CVS brand pregnancy test.  I was in a hurry, it was on sale, and yadda, yadda, yadda, it ended up on my bathroom counter.  For the purposes of testing to see that my levels were back at 0, I figured it was ok.  When I took the test at that time, back came a thin blue line, which indicated to me that I still had some pregnancy hormones floating around.  Taking the same test two weeks later showed me a negative.  Case closed.  I still had one test left, though, which I stuck in the back of my closet for a future emergency.

About a week and a half ago, I started feeling a little bit off.  All of a sudden my nipples were incredibly sensitive, I developed a zit on my chin, I was terrible lethargic, and I started feeling crampy.  "You're getting your period!" you might think.  I would have thought that this might have been the case except for that my husband and I had unprotected sex (for the first time since the baby was born) and 2 days later I had some serious EWCM.  I was about 6-7 days out from there so I started to get a little bit suspicious that maybe,  just maybe, I was pregnant.  Oops.

I did what any normal, post-miscarriage surviving mommy to an almost 1 year old would do and dug into the back of my closet for any pregnancy test that I might have.  Poof!  CVS blue dye test, a cup of fresh pee, and an extremely nervous me, secretly holed up in the bathroom.  I checked the expiration date on the box and I will admit that it was just ever so slightly expired (only by 2 months).  I figured that it was better than nothing and I dunked the stick in.  I set it on the counter with a tissue over it like I did back in the old days.

Those five minutes of me sitting on the toilet, waiting for the test to finish, were agonizing.  Was I really ready for another baby if I were pregnant?  Could we afford another child right now?  Why didn't we use a condom?  Was my body ready for another pregnancy?  Where would we put the baby?  Would it be a boy or a girl?  Would I have to cancel my NYC Marathon entry...again?  How would I tell my husband?  Would he be happy?

Ding...ding!  After five of the longest minutes in my whole life, I pulled off the tissue and saw this...

I wrote most of this post a few weeks ago, but got sidetracked and never posted it.  This past weekend, we celebrated my son's first birthday by having a rather large party with family and friends.  It was a really great time.  I was so proud to see my little son interacting with others and hamming it up for the camera.  Admittedly, those happy and proud feelings were mixed with a strong sense of sadness.  Sadness of no longer having a "baby".  Sadness because time moved so so fast during the past year.  Sadness because he may have been my only baby.

Without further ado, here is my post...

My son's first birthday is approaching the station like an out of control train.  I want it to slow down, it is going too fast.  No matter what I do though, the train is going to keep moving with my baby and I on it.  I blinked and my "tiny" 9lb 2oz sleepy baby was an over 22lb babbling little man.  Sound a little dramatic?  Maybe so.  Maybe not for mommies who are either done having children or are not sure that they will (be able to) have another.

This past week, I have been quite the weepy mess.  People mention to me about the impending birthday and I put on an ecstatic front of happiness when in fact I am actually filled with sadness.  Every time I think about my baby turning one, my eyes well up with tears.  Don't get me wrong, I am so incredibly happy that I have a very healthy and happy almost 1 year old, but I am sad because this may be it for me as far as babies go.  I'm just not sure that another baby is in the cards for us.  He may be my first and last baby.

When I think back to all of the firsts that I saw my baby accomplish, I wonder, did I really appreciate that enough?  The first time that I looked into his eyes?  The first time that he smiled at me?  The first time that he belly laughed?  The first time he babbled "dada"?  Was I really present enough?  Did I really appreciate all of his firsts?

I also have some mommy guilt over some things that I have not done, or have done differently than I had originally planned.  His baby book sits within the living room coffee table almost completely untouched and instead Baby Connect holds most of the data from his first year.  The regular videos that I wanted to take with our video camera have turned instead into short clips on the iPhone.  The hand-print ornament that I was supposed to make for Christmas to put on the tree turned into a purchased one from Hallmark.

I am incredibly excited for the years to come.  They will be filled with many more firsts.  First hair cut.  First trip down the sliding board.  First day of school.  First read/written words.  There is so much fun stuff to look forward to, but there will be no more infant moments with him.  My little baby is growing up.  Soon he will be a toddler.  In creeps the sadness.

It is funny how, in those early days soon after B's birth, that the days seemed impossibly long.  I feared that I might not make it through.  Everything seemed so hard, so new, so scary.  My days revolved around breastfeeding every 2 hours and changing the right amount of mustard colored diapers.  Getting out for a walk was a monumental fete.  I would drive 40 minutes to Starbucks so that I could go to the drive-thru and not have to wake my sleepy baby.  Baby music class was my only social activity.  I barely recognized myself, both physically and mentally,  and some days I was worried that I might not be cut out for motherhood.  I was worried I might not be a great mother and that I was too selfish, to impatient, and much of a perfectionist.  Looking back on that, now, I realize that I was just transitioning from my individual self to my mommy self.  Everything was ok.  I wish I could go back and reassure myself  during those, sometimes bleak, days.  Everything was ok.  It really was.  Just different.  Maybe then I could have enjoyed those early moments with my son just a little bit more and I wouldn't have this nagging feeling that I may have missed out.  I can only hope that I did the best that I could at the time.

So now the first birthday has passed.  The first birthday party was a success.  The #1 candle was blown out and the presents were opened.  It's on to the future.  I'm not sure what it will hold, but I know that I am going to be present and I am going to enjoy it.  So I'll keep my secret quiet, for now, and hope that the sadness dissipates.

A little over a year ago, sitting in my hospital bed, swollen and bloated with IV fluids, getting a blood transfusion, and trying to breastfeed my screaming starving newborn baby with my flat as pancake nipples, I never would have thought that I would still be breastfeeding a year into the future.  Today, I am and I am patting myself on the back for it.  It still is hard sometimes, but so incredibly worth it.

In the earliest of my breastfeeding days, I wanted to give up.  Everything about breastfeeding was so hard.  I was so tempted to throw in the towel and quit.  Here are some of the reasons why I almost quit and along with those reasons are the actual reality.  Well, my reality, that is.  I know that not everyone has an easy time breastfeeding and some women, no matter how hard they try, are unable to continue.  That's ok, too.  If you are reading this and trying to decide what to do, hopefully this will help you out a bit.  I wish I had read something similar 12 months back.

1.  I had a c-section.
Ooooof, strike one.  If you end up with an emergency c-section, like me, you'll hear it from nurse after nurse that having a c-section means that your milk will come in later than if you had a straight-forward vaginal delivery.  This means day 4 or 5 compared to day 2 or 3.  Although it is proven that milk will come in later when you have a c-section, I believe that this is partially a self-fulfilling prophecy.  If you are super stressed about waiting for your milk to come in then it will take longer.  Thankfully my milk ended up coming in on day 4.

2.  I had to give my baby formula so I may as well just continue making bottles.
My baby lost 10% of his body-weight in the first few days after birth.  Since I had a c-section and was delayed with my milk coming in, the doctors and nurses convinced me to give the baby formula.  Even though it was not in my master "plan" and I felt terrible about it at the time, I did what I thought was right.  I didn't want my baby to suffer at all and to go hungry.  We used the SNS (supplemental nursing system), which hooks a tube of formula to your nipple so the baby gets a good supply of food while still learning how to nurse at the same time.  Guess what?  Once I left the hospital, I never used the SNS again or needed to give the baby formula.

3.  It HURTS too bad to bear.
When my milk came in on that 4th day it was so painful.  It felt like to 2 hot, hard, rocks on my chest.  I had a slight fever.  I thought I was getting mastitis.  More than the breast pain was the nipple pain.  My nipples chaffed, bled, and scabbed.  I cried every time the baby latched on.  MISERY, I tell you.  For something that is supposed to come so naturally to a woman who has just given birth, this felt just about as unnatural as humanly possible.  Experience helps here because this pain is temporary.  If you haven't had the experience, call someone who does.  Let them talk you through it.  My mom assured me that the rock solid feeling of my milk coming in would go away.  It did.  She assured me that my nipples would "toughen up".  They did.  I liken the early days of breastfeeding as running the first mile of a race.  Getting into it is hard, but once you get warmed up, you'll be on your way.  That is not to say that you can't use tools to help make the pain go away...nipple shields, lanolin, soothing gel pads, heating packs, ice packs, ibuprofen...YES.  Anything that helps with the pain in those early days is worth using.  Seriously.  USE IT!!

4.  Breastmilk isn't filling enough so my baby won't sleep through the night and I NEED my sleep.
First things first, I am not sure that it is a fact that your baby will sleep longer if he/she has formula instead of a bottle.  Some people may tell you that breastfed babies will continue to wake several times a night because they are not getting enough milk or because they want the comfort of their mommy.  My experience has been this, it isn't the amount of milk that he is getting (if I pump instead of feed, I get 7-8 ounces), but the comfort factor.  For me, even though the lack of sleep sucks, I work all day and don't get to see my baby very much all week.  It is nice to get to spend some snuggle time with him, even if it is at 3 AM.  They are only little once and he isn't going to be up all night and in need of his mommy forever.

5.  I am going back to work and don't want to deal with a pump and pumping.  
So this one is probably going to vary greatly for each person based on the job that they do.  I have a lot of teacher friends who really have a very limited amount of time to pump during the workday so their experience was much different than mine.  Luckily my work is pretty supportive of nursing mothers and basically ask no questions and make no demands about what you can and can't do.  I started pumping 3 times a day when I first got back to work and that was difficult.  Constantly getting interrupted from work, cleaning the pump parts each time, answering lots of awkward questions about what I was doing in that "little room"...not the most fun I have had.  Moving down to 2 pumping sessions a day was such a treat.  So much more time during the day and I could finally go out to lunch again!  This past week I have dropped down to one session a day, and let me tell you, it is like a vacation.  No more washing pump parts!  I can just pump at 11:30 AM, throw the parts in a bag, and wash them when I get home.  I am down to 18 minutes from my desk back to my desk, 4 days a week!  Looking back on my pumping experience, I would not change a thing about it.  I think it worked out for me and I was lucky.  It wasn't always easy and I did have some mishaps (forgetting parts, plugged ducts, scheduling follies), but nothing that I couldn't handle.  It was a sacrifice of time, but I feel that it was worth it for me and my baby!

6.  Reflux, spitting up, MSPI, oh my!
Seeing my baby so upset at the breast and constantly waring bibs because of the crazy amount of spit-up, was hard to watch.  When the pediatrician told me that I would have to give up so many foods that I like to try to alleviate the problem, was hard to fathom.  I didn't think I could do it.  Dairy, soy, nuts, wheat, eggs, etc.  Yikes, what else is there to eat??  Wouldn't it just be easier to give him some hypoallergenic formula?  Yes, it may have been easier, especially coming from someone who had to restrict their diet during pregnancy due to GDM.  It turns out that there is a lot to eat that doesn't include the above items and when you finally start adding back those items, you either find that do don't want them anymore or that they taste that much better since you haven't had them in so long.  Either way, babies usually grow out of this around 6-8 months and this was true for me.  Although I am now mostly Paleo, I do eat some raw milk cheese, butter, and occasionally a wheat-laden treat (like a cookie).  Eggs and nuts didn't seem to be the culprit of his issues so I added them back in early on.  I also gave him some Zantac in the early days and that seemed to help with his discomfort and it helped me to sleep at night knowing that it was making him feel better.

7.  I'll breastfeed until the baby gets teeth...then I'm done for sure.
I actually said this several times before I had him.  Lucky for me, B got teeth before 4 months.  Haha.  Right now he has 8 and is working on a few more.  I have been bitten a few times, but surprisingly, not that much.  Usually it is when he is really teething, isn't hungry, or can't breathe out of his nose because he has a cold (just had him bit me for that reason today).  It hurts, but no more worse than my nipples hurt when I started breastfeeding and the pain is gone fast.  When he bites, I say no and I unlatch him.  I wait a minute then I try again.  If he bites again, he is done for the session and I try again later.


Here are a few other tips that I ave found to help me in my breastfeeding journey so far:

• Take it one day at a time.  Today may be really rough, tomorrow will be a little bit easier, and months from now it will be a breeze.

• Set realistic goals.  My first goal was 3 months.  When I hit that goal, I made another which was 6 months.  I hit that with no problem so my next goal was 1 year and I am about to hit it!  Those goals have been realistic for me, but might not work for you.  Manageable goals are much easier to attain!

• Extra pump parts are a MUST for pumping mamas!  Cleaning regular dishes sucks.  Cleaning pump parts sucks more.  Cleaning pump parts multiple times a day sucks even more. That was the best $65 bucks I have spent!

• Don't be so hard on yourself.  If you have to supplement then by all means, supplement!!  You have to do what you have to do to get by.  When I had to supplement in the beginning I felt like a failure of a mom, but I should not have.  We are so hard on ourselves when we should not be!  

• Mother's Milk Tea.  Do it.  The taste is acquired, but now I kind of like it and it definitely helps with production.     

• Seek advice from others who have been there.  My mommy friends who have breastfed their babies have been a tremendous support to me.  So has my mom.  

• Ignore the nasty comments.  Whether it is asking why you are still breastfeeding or asking why you formula feed just explain that you are feeding your baby.  It is working for you and your baby.  Period.  None of their business.

• Build up a freezer stash.  You may or may not need to use it, but it is like insurance.  If you need it, it is there.

I apologize that this post is so delayed.  At the time that I wrote the first post about diastasis recti I had wanted to follow-up shortly thereafter with another post regarding how I was dealing with the issue.  I'll update you on my "progress" and where everything stands right now.

Back when I wrote my first post on this subject in September, I had made great progress with my physical therapist.  I was doing regular core exercises that were specifically geared towards people with my condition.  I was running a ton and feeling great.  I felt like I was getting so much better so in November, I joined CrossFit.  For a while I was modifying all of the workouts that had any ab components because the physical therapist told me that they could make the condition worse and un-do all of the work that I put in (sit-ups, v-ups, toes-to-bar, etc).  After a while it started to get embarrassing and decided to disregard what my PT had said.  I always had to modify exercises and always had to explain to others why I was "cheating".  I was tired of it.

One day, during a class, I decided to just go for it.  I felt like my core was pretty strong so I did a whole workout with a component that included "toes-to-bar" except that I did "knees-to-elbows", which is the beginner version of the former workout.  I did the workout and felt ok during it, but that night when I got home, I noticed in the mirror that my stomach looked worse than it had in a long time.  My lower back was also bothering me.  UGH.  After only one workout, my diastasis looked so much worse than it had in months.  How completely defeating.

Since quitting CrossFit, I have been running a lot more.  I started training with a coach again and do weekly intervals with a "team".  I am back in my element!  The only problem is that I still have this annoying ab separation to deal with.  Besides causing some lower back pain, it looks like I am 6 months pregnant every night, which is terrible for my self-esteem.  Last week my Aunt asked me when I was due.  Seriously?  I had really hoped to wear a 2 piece bathing suit this summer, but that isn't going to happen (maybe ever again).  It is crazy that I am 115 lbs, which is lower than I was before I got pregnant, but I have never felt more uncomfortable with my body.

So now I am back to, what I feel like, is square one.  I need to start doing my core exercises from my PT again.  I need to practice getting up and out of bed in the way that she taught me.  I need to start wearing the brace at night again.  I also need to really be strict about what I am eating.  Sugar and wheat tend to make me bloated, which exacerbates the problem.  One girl in a support group that I am in, mentioned that apple cider vinegar helps with bloating.  I tried that one night when I felt very bloated and it worked within 15 minutes (I put 2 teaspoons in water and pounded it...totally gross).  I know it is bad for your teeth though, so it isn't a perfect solution.

For reference, here are some pictures to detail what I am talking about.

Picture #1