I'm sitting in the nursery rocking chair, AJ swaddled and close to sleeping in my arms, and I am doing what new moms are prone to do, just staring at my child. We had a long, fun, stimulating day at Mt. Tabor's Adult Soapbox Derby with friends. Aleida slept fitfully in the Bjorn, but had no real nap. Consequently, she had a bit of a melt down when we got home. I am still surprised by the physical reaction I have to my daughter's cries. This connection I may never understand.
It took a while, but now we are rocking peacefully. Suddenly, I have tears running down my face. One splashes on Aleida's chubby cheek and she flinches, but does not waken. But why am I crying?
I'm crying because that is my default reaction to any overwhelming emotion. Too happy...I cry. Too sad...I cry. Too mad...yep...tears-a-streaming. It's inconvenient sometimes, but cathartic always. But which emotion is the most overwhelming to me right now... I don't know.
I'm crying because AJ is sleeping with her mouth slightly ajar, head tilted back, reddening hair askew. When I was a child, my family would take road trips. Without fail, my mom's turn in the passenger seat would result in her sleeping like this. We used to laugh at the predictability of her mouth falling open, her head lolling back and forth against the head rest. My daughter, born on my mom's birthday, named after my mother, looks like her in this moment and I can't help feeling squeezed by the closing of the generation gap between June, my beloved mother, and Aleida June, my dearest daughter. That they will never physically meet still pains me, but I am comforted by this connection they have that is greater than I am as the obvious link between them.
I'm crying because I feel as if my heart might explode with the maternal love that was so abstract and unknown until about 12 weeks ago. I have heard it said that the love you have for your kids is stronger than any other love in the world. To say that is not entirely fair, because it is not an apples to apples comparison. To say parental love is different than any other would be true, however. It is love mixed with a great and overwhelming responsibility to a small, helpless, dependent creature.
I'm crying because we have scheduled Aleida's heart surgery for September 10, and I cannot think about that fast-approaching week without anxiety. She is so small. Deep down, I know she will be okay. I am thankful she has a condition that can be fixed so she can lead a normal, vibrant life. But, I also know that when they take her away from me to the operating room, I will feel a physical, emotional schism that will not mend until I am able to hold and feed her again. Fortunately, she will not remember a thing. So though I am worried about her and how she will handle the procedure and recovery, most of my anxiety is selfish. I simply don't want to suffer.
I'm crying because having a child is amazing. Full of challenges, full of insecurities, full of changes, but all the difficulties are eclipsed by the love and wonder and beauty of this new relationship. And I know, from what others have told me, that is only gets better from here.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Careful what you wish for...?
So, after my breastfeeding saga, I'm glad to report that we've gotten it down. I am even comfortable nursing in public (with one of those fashionable cape-like covers) Furthermore, AJ's 2-month check up revealed that she continues to gain over an ounce a day. Makes me feel like I have magic boobs.
I remember reading posts out in the breastfeeding blogosphere about women whose babies were so "good" at breastfeeding that they didn't want to take anything but mommy's nipple. As a mom who was experiencing quite the opposite, I felt anger toward these braggarts. So what if you your baby just wants to suckle all the time? Stupid jerks. I remember reading one blog comment that said something like, "My baby will only take directly from my breast! I guess she knows what she likes!!!" and absolutely hating those extra exclamation points. With throbbing nipples and 6 pumping sessions a day, I despised the cheerful b-word who gloated about her picky baby.
Well, last week, I was in the park- having a girls' outing with some friends. I'd pumped and packed a bottle to avoid whipping out the boob during the picnic. When AJ acted hungry, I grabbed the bottle and sat her down. She took the bottle nipple into her mouth, spit it out and dribbled milk everywhere. She fussed every time I tilted her back and offered the bottle. She refused the bottle! My friend, Georgia, who had her 2nd child in late June said, "You'll probably have to hand her off to someone else if you want to feed her from the bottle. She knows you have the real thing." I ended up sitting under a tree and nursing her; she ate with no hesitation.
Since then, she's refused bottles every day from me, daddy and even grandma. We will continue to offer her the bottle in the hopes she will pass through this phase. Part of me is flattered that she seems to want the intimacy and warmth of breastfeeding. Another part of me is panicked that I have cursed myself to a year in which I will not be able to be away from my daughter for more than a few hours at a time. This week grandma is visiting, and I would like to take her up on her offer to give us a baby-free date night, but don't want to stick her with a baby that gets pissed every time she's offered a bottle. Also, there's a bit of terror that comes with realizing your 2-month-old is already proving to be extremely opinionated.
In the end, I think it's kind of hilarious. And I feel confident that Aleida will re-learn to take the bottle eventually. I do value the nursing relationship we have established and her refusal of the bottle feels like an odd kind of victory. Still, I can't help thinking of the saying, "Be careful what you wish for..."
I remember reading posts out in the breastfeeding blogosphere about women whose babies were so "good" at breastfeeding that they didn't want to take anything but mommy's nipple. As a mom who was experiencing quite the opposite, I felt anger toward these braggarts. So what if you your baby just wants to suckle all the time? Stupid jerks. I remember reading one blog comment that said something like, "My baby will only take directly from my breast! I guess she knows what she likes!!!" and absolutely hating those extra exclamation points. With throbbing nipples and 6 pumping sessions a day, I despised the cheerful b-word who gloated about her picky baby.
Well, last week, I was in the park- having a girls' outing with some friends. I'd pumped and packed a bottle to avoid whipping out the boob during the picnic. When AJ acted hungry, I grabbed the bottle and sat her down. She took the bottle nipple into her mouth, spit it out and dribbled milk everywhere. She fussed every time I tilted her back and offered the bottle. She refused the bottle! My friend, Georgia, who had her 2nd child in late June said, "You'll probably have to hand her off to someone else if you want to feed her from the bottle. She knows you have the real thing." I ended up sitting under a tree and nursing her; she ate with no hesitation.
Since then, she's refused bottles every day from me, daddy and even grandma. We will continue to offer her the bottle in the hopes she will pass through this phase. Part of me is flattered that she seems to want the intimacy and warmth of breastfeeding. Another part of me is panicked that I have cursed myself to a year in which I will not be able to be away from my daughter for more than a few hours at a time. This week grandma is visiting, and I would like to take her up on her offer to give us a baby-free date night, but don't want to stick her with a baby that gets pissed every time she's offered a bottle. Also, there's a bit of terror that comes with realizing your 2-month-old is already proving to be extremely opinionated.
In the end, I think it's kind of hilarious. And I feel confident that Aleida will re-learn to take the bottle eventually. I do value the nursing relationship we have established and her refusal of the bottle feels like an odd kind of victory. Still, I can't help thinking of the saying, "Be careful what you wish for..."
Monday, July 20, 2009
On Breastfeeding
If you don't want to read my long personal story, scroll down to the bottom for my list of advice on breastfeeding.
A couple weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to predict if this entry would be called "On Breastfeeding" or "On Bottles." I was pretty close to giving up on doing things the "natural" way.
Funny, how misleading the word "natural" can be. Yes, breastfeeding is natural. But so is walking...and it takes a lot of time and development and strength to be able to do it. Babies have to learn how to walk. They have to take small steps with a lot of help. They have to fall down many times before they can do it properly. Yet there is no denying that it is, in fact, natural.
Breastfeeding...ahhhh...breastfeeding. How confident I was telling people, "Yes, I'm going to breastfeed." Just saying it seemed natural. I heard it was painful at first, but most accounts seemed to limit the discomfort to the first few days. No problem.
How cute I was with that confidence. LIttle did I know what was ahead.
As you know, my daughter was born a month early. The hospital had a "protocol" for premature babies. They offered her my breast right away, but she was too small and sleepy to nurse. The pattern was this: Breast, bottle, pump. Offer her the breast. Supplement with the bottle. Pump for 15 minutes to stimulate your milk supply. Let me tell you: 15 minutes is a long time to have something tugging at your knockers.
While we were in the hospital, Aleida didn't do much with my breasts. So, we started off giving her formula (I heard the collective gasp from all the La Leche Leaguers out there). It was nice because both Dave and I could feed her. Daddy liked that. Not what I wanted or expected, but I knew she needed nourishment. And the nurses assured me that she would be able to breastfeed eventually.
I used to see breasts as a feminine, sexual thing. That's why women wear necklaces and low-slung tops, right? To flaunt the boobage. To showcase the tatas?
Cue the breast pump. If you've never seen one, it's like this: A funnel shaped piece of plastic is placed over each breast. You have to hold it there- no handsfree contraptions. I've heard they exist, but the hospital did not offer... These funnels are connected to a splitter. One end goes to a collecting bottle. The other end connects to a tube which runs to the pump. Turn it on and you get a nice "whirrr, slump, whirrr, slump, whirrr."
In essence, I became a cow. Hook me up to a milker and collect. At first, it's a painful tug that for me brought not a drop for almost 24 hours. Once the milk started, the yield was little drops and trickles of milk. After a couple days, I was getting a stream. I had extra milk. More than AJ needed. By day 3, she was on nothing but breast milk, but not from the breast. Had I been more informed, I would've been more proactive in getting her to latch. But I had lots of other things on my mind, and the lactation consultant was clearly not aggressive.
Jump ahead 7 weeks. Today I'm going to my 4th appointment with a lacation consultant. These appointments will outline for you the general points of difficulty that I've encountered on the journey.
1st Visit: Aleida 1 week old. Routine Visit to Kaiser's Mother-Baby program. She was weighed. Lactation consultant watched her try to latch. She gave us a "nipple shield." It's a plastic dome that covers your nipple. It's usually used for flat or inverted nipples. I don't have this problem, so I think she gave it to us as a transition from bottle to nipple. I was advised to try the shield, but continue to pump and supplement with the bottle.
2nd Visit: Aleida 3.5 weeks old. Back to Kaiser's Lactation Specialist. Originally, I made the appt b/c we were really struggling at the breast. Aleida would cry and pull away from my breast, but happily finish off a bottle. Feedings often ended in frustration, sometimes tears. Aleida was still small, still premie, so my expectations might have been a bit unrealistic. Still, I just wanted to breastfeed her. I didn't want to struggle with it. Between making the appointment and going to it, things improved dramatically. Aleida was taking more from the breast. We were still using the nipple shield, but I was okay with it b/c it was better than the bottle. At this appt, Aleida was again weighed and still gaining like a champ. We also did a before and after weight. Weigh her. Feed her. Weigh her again to see how much she was getting. AJ proved to be efficient. In about 14 minutes of nursing, she took in close to 3 ounces- more than her nutritional need. Everyone was happy and I thought the worst was over.
3rd Visit: Aleida 5.5 weeks old. I wanted to wean off the nipple shield. Though my husband continues to warn me away from the blogosphere, I continue to turn to it for advice. I saw that nipple shields have been shown to decrease milk supply and can be very hard to wean off. So, I started nursing without the nipple shield, and started having some pretty major pain. I'd heard breastfeeding caused pain in the early days, so I suffered through, thinking that this was my equivalent of the early days. I started to have anxiety associated with breastfeeding, b/c I wasn't sure how she was going to latch on, and I anticipated pain. I would often have to give myself breaks from nursing. Even when I wasn't nursing, I would have intense soreness and even acute pain in my breasts. I started to worry about infection and I had no idea if this was normal. I called a different lactation consultant under my new insurance, and made an appointment. I was skeptical that anything could be done, and worried that I would be giving up shortly after the visit.
Fortunately, Aleida was still gaining weight. And this consultant was much more knowledgeable than the last. She showed me that with some very minor technique changes, I could get AJ to take more of the breast in her mouth. Before, she was really just nursing off my nipple and I thought "latching on" referred to her grip on my nipple. What "latching on" really means is that the baby's lower lip is latched on below the nipple, towards the bottom of the areola, taking much more into her mouth. She again did the before and after weight, and again we saw that Aleida is an efficient sucker. I felt good. I was equiped with good information.
I asked about the pain. My consultant did suggest that I might have Reynaud's Syndrome. This is the same syndrome that causes people's fingers to turn white when they are cold. Apparently, you can have it just in the breast, and that could be a cause for pain, especially when your nipple is already traumatized. The blood vessels in the area actually constrict, so it feels like a spasm. Yep, I was having nipple spasms. I often referred to these episodes as "nipple attacks" and affectionately described them as "cheese-grater nipples." Lovely, no? Don't worry, this is an outlier symptom- not among the scope of "normal" breast-feeding adjustment.
**24 hours have elapsed since I started this entry**
4th Visit: Aleida 7.5 weeks old I made this appointment because while my pain has greatly diminished, Aleida is inconsistent with nursing. Sometimes she will be on and off in 5 minutes and I can't convince her to go back on. In the last few days, she's been fussy at the breast, squirming around like she's uncomfortable and sometimes crying. Since she's not a fussy baby by nature, I'm worried that something's wrong. And I'm worried that she might not be getting enough milk with her quick feeds. Again, the blogosphere has me worried about foremilk/hindmilk inbalance, insufficient weight gain, etc.
Good news from the visit- Aleida now weighs 8 lbs 14 oz which means she's been gaining about an ounce a day since birth--over an ounce a day since my last appt. She's also a total Hoover- sucks down 2 ounces in about 5 minutes on my boobage. The consultant said I'm doing everything right. She said AJ's latch is great, I make it look easy, I'm a good mother. Shucks...I thought...keep going... The only question is the fussiness. 6-8 weeks is one of the more fussy periods across the board- so it could be that. She also said the buzz word in lactation circles is acid reflux in babies and they are actually treating babies with antacids. She isn't buying into it, and neither am I. I checked the blogosphere and most babies suffering with reflux have many more and much worse symptoms than my AJ.
So, I'm trying new positions and just in the last few feedings, I've noticed a big improvement. Part of the problem could be my overabundance of milk and therefore my fast let down. I think it's probably just creating gas. So, I'm trying more upright nursing positions. I prop AJ up beside me- almost in a sitting position, and offer her the breast that way. She hasn't fussed this morning, so I think it's working. And there's validation in her weight gain and the words of the consultant. So this time...fingers crossed...I do feel like the hard part is over, though I still hope to get more consistent feedings, and I want my milk to regulate so I don't feel so swollen.
In summary...here's my advice to anyone attempting to breastfeed:
1. Lower your expectations. This is a difficult process for a lot of moms. Some lucky people transition w/out much trouble, but from what I'm hearing, it is totally normal to have a bumpy start.
2. Do what's best for you! For me, pushing through was the right decision. The disappointment of not breast-feeding would've outweighed all the pain and frustration. On the other end, I'm glad I suffered through. But this is not true for everyone. If you need to pump and bottle, pump and bottle. If you need to go to formula, go to formula. Don't let frustration hurt your relationship with your baby, or your body. In the end, a happy bottle-feeding mom is going to be much better for a baby than a miserable breast-feeding one.
3. Forget your cans as anything but functional milk-makers. They are as big and pretty as they are going to be, but they are not your boobs anymore. Nor are they your partner's. They are your baby's. It's temporary.
4. Use lactation consultants. The minute you feel frustrated, call and schedule an appointment. I wouldn't be breastfeeding now if it wasn't for the help I got.
5. Beware the blogosphere. Keep reading my blog...of course...but watch out for the info out there. Every baby is totally different. So when I was reading that babies should nurse for at least 15 minutes on each breast, I was totally insecure. My baby gets what she needs in under 10 minutes (that's right, suckas). But advising others to stop at 10 minutes could be harmful. You will learn what works for you and yours.
Breastfeeding is hard, but I must say, there are few things more precious than my daughter nursing. It's a beautiful, amazing thing that our bodies can be the sole producers for our offspring. Oh yeah, and you burn 500-800 calories a day breastfeeding- that's more than during pregnancy- so eat away!
Final piece of advice: Be gentle and patient with yourself, your baby, and the process. Remember, it's all temporary.
A couple weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to predict if this entry would be called "On Breastfeeding" or "On Bottles." I was pretty close to giving up on doing things the "natural" way.
Funny, how misleading the word "natural" can be. Yes, breastfeeding is natural. But so is walking...and it takes a lot of time and development and strength to be able to do it. Babies have to learn how to walk. They have to take small steps with a lot of help. They have to fall down many times before they can do it properly. Yet there is no denying that it is, in fact, natural.
Breastfeeding...ahhhh...breastfeeding. How confident I was telling people, "Yes, I'm going to breastfeed." Just saying it seemed natural. I heard it was painful at first, but most accounts seemed to limit the discomfort to the first few days. No problem.
How cute I was with that confidence. LIttle did I know what was ahead.
As you know, my daughter was born a month early. The hospital had a "protocol" for premature babies. They offered her my breast right away, but she was too small and sleepy to nurse. The pattern was this: Breast, bottle, pump. Offer her the breast. Supplement with the bottle. Pump for 15 minutes to stimulate your milk supply. Let me tell you: 15 minutes is a long time to have something tugging at your knockers.
While we were in the hospital, Aleida didn't do much with my breasts. So, we started off giving her formula (I heard the collective gasp from all the La Leche Leaguers out there). It was nice because both Dave and I could feed her. Daddy liked that. Not what I wanted or expected, but I knew she needed nourishment. And the nurses assured me that she would be able to breastfeed eventually.
I used to see breasts as a feminine, sexual thing. That's why women wear necklaces and low-slung tops, right? To flaunt the boobage. To showcase the tatas?
Cue the breast pump. If you've never seen one, it's like this: A funnel shaped piece of plastic is placed over each breast. You have to hold it there- no handsfree contraptions. I've heard they exist, but the hospital did not offer... These funnels are connected to a splitter. One end goes to a collecting bottle. The other end connects to a tube which runs to the pump. Turn it on and you get a nice "whirrr, slump, whirrr, slump, whirrr."
In essence, I became a cow. Hook me up to a milker and collect. At first, it's a painful tug that for me brought not a drop for almost 24 hours. Once the milk started, the yield was little drops and trickles of milk. After a couple days, I was getting a stream. I had extra milk. More than AJ needed. By day 3, she was on nothing but breast milk, but not from the breast. Had I been more informed, I would've been more proactive in getting her to latch. But I had lots of other things on my mind, and the lactation consultant was clearly not aggressive.
Jump ahead 7 weeks. Today I'm going to my 4th appointment with a lacation consultant. These appointments will outline for you the general points of difficulty that I've encountered on the journey.
1st Visit: Aleida 1 week old. Routine Visit to Kaiser's Mother-Baby program. She was weighed. Lactation consultant watched her try to latch. She gave us a "nipple shield." It's a plastic dome that covers your nipple. It's usually used for flat or inverted nipples. I don't have this problem, so I think she gave it to us as a transition from bottle to nipple. I was advised to try the shield, but continue to pump and supplement with the bottle.
2nd Visit: Aleida 3.5 weeks old. Back to Kaiser's Lactation Specialist. Originally, I made the appt b/c we were really struggling at the breast. Aleida would cry and pull away from my breast, but happily finish off a bottle. Feedings often ended in frustration, sometimes tears. Aleida was still small, still premie, so my expectations might have been a bit unrealistic. Still, I just wanted to breastfeed her. I didn't want to struggle with it. Between making the appointment and going to it, things improved dramatically. Aleida was taking more from the breast. We were still using the nipple shield, but I was okay with it b/c it was better than the bottle. At this appt, Aleida was again weighed and still gaining like a champ. We also did a before and after weight. Weigh her. Feed her. Weigh her again to see how much she was getting. AJ proved to be efficient. In about 14 minutes of nursing, she took in close to 3 ounces- more than her nutritional need. Everyone was happy and I thought the worst was over.
3rd Visit: Aleida 5.5 weeks old. I wanted to wean off the nipple shield. Though my husband continues to warn me away from the blogosphere, I continue to turn to it for advice. I saw that nipple shields have been shown to decrease milk supply and can be very hard to wean off. So, I started nursing without the nipple shield, and started having some pretty major pain. I'd heard breastfeeding caused pain in the early days, so I suffered through, thinking that this was my equivalent of the early days. I started to have anxiety associated with breastfeeding, b/c I wasn't sure how she was going to latch on, and I anticipated pain. I would often have to give myself breaks from nursing. Even when I wasn't nursing, I would have intense soreness and even acute pain in my breasts. I started to worry about infection and I had no idea if this was normal. I called a different lactation consultant under my new insurance, and made an appointment. I was skeptical that anything could be done, and worried that I would be giving up shortly after the visit.
Fortunately, Aleida was still gaining weight. And this consultant was much more knowledgeable than the last. She showed me that with some very minor technique changes, I could get AJ to take more of the breast in her mouth. Before, she was really just nursing off my nipple and I thought "latching on" referred to her grip on my nipple. What "latching on" really means is that the baby's lower lip is latched on below the nipple, towards the bottom of the areola, taking much more into her mouth. She again did the before and after weight, and again we saw that Aleida is an efficient sucker. I felt good. I was equiped with good information.
I asked about the pain. My consultant did suggest that I might have Reynaud's Syndrome. This is the same syndrome that causes people's fingers to turn white when they are cold. Apparently, you can have it just in the breast, and that could be a cause for pain, especially when your nipple is already traumatized. The blood vessels in the area actually constrict, so it feels like a spasm. Yep, I was having nipple spasms. I often referred to these episodes as "nipple attacks" and affectionately described them as "cheese-grater nipples." Lovely, no? Don't worry, this is an outlier symptom- not among the scope of "normal" breast-feeding adjustment.
**24 hours have elapsed since I started this entry**
4th Visit: Aleida 7.5 weeks old I made this appointment because while my pain has greatly diminished, Aleida is inconsistent with nursing. Sometimes she will be on and off in 5 minutes and I can't convince her to go back on. In the last few days, she's been fussy at the breast, squirming around like she's uncomfortable and sometimes crying. Since she's not a fussy baby by nature, I'm worried that something's wrong. And I'm worried that she might not be getting enough milk with her quick feeds. Again, the blogosphere has me worried about foremilk/hindmilk inbalance, insufficient weight gain, etc.
Good news from the visit- Aleida now weighs 8 lbs 14 oz which means she's been gaining about an ounce a day since birth--over an ounce a day since my last appt. She's also a total Hoover- sucks down 2 ounces in about 5 minutes on my boobage. The consultant said I'm doing everything right. She said AJ's latch is great, I make it look easy, I'm a good mother. Shucks...I thought...keep going... The only question is the fussiness. 6-8 weeks is one of the more fussy periods across the board- so it could be that. She also said the buzz word in lactation circles is acid reflux in babies and they are actually treating babies with antacids. She isn't buying into it, and neither am I. I checked the blogosphere and most babies suffering with reflux have many more and much worse symptoms than my AJ.
So, I'm trying new positions and just in the last few feedings, I've noticed a big improvement. Part of the problem could be my overabundance of milk and therefore my fast let down. I think it's probably just creating gas. So, I'm trying more upright nursing positions. I prop AJ up beside me- almost in a sitting position, and offer her the breast that way. She hasn't fussed this morning, so I think it's working. And there's validation in her weight gain and the words of the consultant. So this time...fingers crossed...I do feel like the hard part is over, though I still hope to get more consistent feedings, and I want my milk to regulate so I don't feel so swollen.
In summary...here's my advice to anyone attempting to breastfeed:
1. Lower your expectations. This is a difficult process for a lot of moms. Some lucky people transition w/out much trouble, but from what I'm hearing, it is totally normal to have a bumpy start.
2. Do what's best for you! For me, pushing through was the right decision. The disappointment of not breast-feeding would've outweighed all the pain and frustration. On the other end, I'm glad I suffered through. But this is not true for everyone. If you need to pump and bottle, pump and bottle. If you need to go to formula, go to formula. Don't let frustration hurt your relationship with your baby, or your body. In the end, a happy bottle-feeding mom is going to be much better for a baby than a miserable breast-feeding one.
3. Forget your cans as anything but functional milk-makers. They are as big and pretty as they are going to be, but they are not your boobs anymore. Nor are they your partner's. They are your baby's. It's temporary.
4. Use lactation consultants. The minute you feel frustrated, call and schedule an appointment. I wouldn't be breastfeeding now if it wasn't for the help I got.
5. Beware the blogosphere. Keep reading my blog...of course...but watch out for the info out there. Every baby is totally different. So when I was reading that babies should nurse for at least 15 minutes on each breast, I was totally insecure. My baby gets what she needs in under 10 minutes (that's right, suckas). But advising others to stop at 10 minutes could be harmful. You will learn what works for you and yours.
Breastfeeding is hard, but I must say, there are few things more precious than my daughter nursing. It's a beautiful, amazing thing that our bodies can be the sole producers for our offspring. Oh yeah, and you burn 500-800 calories a day breastfeeding- that's more than during pregnancy- so eat away!
Final piece of advice: Be gentle and patient with yourself, your baby, and the process. Remember, it's all temporary.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
a matter of the heart
Pregnant women (and I speak for all of us here) can't help but worry that their children will turn out okay. We hear enough about Downs Syndrome and Cystic Fibrosis and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome to freak anyone out. I worried about the careless 2 doses of NyQuil I took after conception but before my knowledge of it. When my dad joked that he would be happy with a "grandson, granddaughter or friendly alien," I laughed, but had nightmares about giving birth to something that looked like an extra terrestrial. You worry about the missing toes, the cleft palate, the hair lip, the deafness, the blindness, the deformation. Once baby is born and you count the fingers and note the proper placement of her nose, you breathe a sigh of relief. All that worrying for naught, you think.
So, on day 2 in the hospital, when the pediatrician came in to check my perfect daughter, I was confident. Even after she told me she heard a heart murmur, I didn't despair. "Lots of babies are born with murmurs that go away in a day or so, so I'll be back to check her tomorrow," she'd said.
Dave listened to her heart, heard the murmur, but didn't seem worked up, so I calmly waited for the next check up.
On day 3, the pediatrician still heard the murmur, so she ordered an echocardiogram. The technician came in with a big machine and ran a wand over my darling as she lay sleeping on my chest. Dave was watching intently; he had some training in these mysterious images, after all. I just watched my daughter and occasionally glanced at the screen or my husband to see if I could make sense of anything. I couldn't.
The technician, knowing Dave was a doctor, said, "I can't really tell you what I'm seeing. You'll have to wait until the doc looks at the images," but he proceeded to point out major landmarks anyway. Words were tossed around between the tech and my husband that made little sense to me, but piqued just enough worry to raise my own heart rate. When the procedure was over, I asked my husband what he knew.
"Nothing really," he said. "It could be *insert gibberish words* and it could not be, we'll have to wait and see what the doctor says." I know now, he was protecting me. He knew that our little baby had a hole in her heart.
Those gibberish words can now be defined as "tetralogy of Fallot." For a while, I thought they were saying "tetralogy of flow" which made sense since we're talking about the heart. But no, Fallot is the guy who defined the condition. Tetralogy refers to 4 key anatomical features of the condition, but my understanding is that only 2 of them matter. 1. A hole between the left and right ventricles. 2. A narrowing of the pulmonary valve. In a nutshell, oxygenated blood can mix with deoxygenated blood, meaning that not enough oxygen gets taken throughout the system. In an even smaller nutshell, this means babies can turn blue.
Our baby is not blue. She's not even purplish. She's pink and rosy and beautiful. She's currently considered "mildly affected." She has the same oxygen levels in her blood as any other baby. You look at her and you have no idea that she has a congenital heart defect.
In the end, she's going to need surgery. Open heart surgery. Probably before she's 6 months old. Right now, we go to the cardiologist every 3 weeks to check her stats. We watch for "blue spells." We wait and let her grow and get strong. We enjoy her and forget that there is anything wrong. Truly, as far as heart conditions go, this is a best-case scenario. She's otherwise perfectly healthy. We discovered the condition via the murmur- not a "blue spell" (can you imagine how scary THAT would be if you weren't expecting it?). We have the means and resources and attitude necessary to get her the required care. We have good health insurance. Once she has the surgery, she'll be fine. Follow up with the cardiologist throughout life- but no limitation to her activities. Shaun White- the Olympic snowboarder- had this condition. So AJ can be an Olympian if she wants to.
Still...open-heart surgery on a baby. My baby. You can imagine what it's taken for me to come to terms with this. But I have. I had to accept a few truths to get there. First, this has nothing to do with her being a month early. Second, there is no known cause of this. It is congenital, but not hereditary. Dave and I are no more likely the have another child with this condition than any other couple. Third, this doesn't define her. She is beautiful and healthy. We'll fix this, but until then, she's just a normal (well...exceptionally adorable and smart and perfect) baby.
Finally, I've accepted that this is not my fault. Of course, I could go into how I've wracked my brain to come up with something I used or did or ate that could've caused this. If I was a religious person, I might see this as God's punishment to Dave and I for having premarital sex. The most spiritual I'm going to get about it is this: Balance. I have a fairly charmed life. This is a challenge, an obstacle, but I can handle it. We can handle it. AJ won't even remember it.
Dave summed it up best. We were still in the hospital. I'd been crying as I realized what had to happen to fix my baby's heart. "Now that I've met her, I wouldn't exchange her for a baby without this problem." I said. "I mean, she's pretty perfect, except for this hole in her heart."
Dave looked at her, then looked at me. "She's pretty perfect with it."
So, on day 2 in the hospital, when the pediatrician came in to check my perfect daughter, I was confident. Even after she told me she heard a heart murmur, I didn't despair. "Lots of babies are born with murmurs that go away in a day or so, so I'll be back to check her tomorrow," she'd said.
Dave listened to her heart, heard the murmur, but didn't seem worked up, so I calmly waited for the next check up.
On day 3, the pediatrician still heard the murmur, so she ordered an echocardiogram. The technician came in with a big machine and ran a wand over my darling as she lay sleeping on my chest. Dave was watching intently; he had some training in these mysterious images, after all. I just watched my daughter and occasionally glanced at the screen or my husband to see if I could make sense of anything. I couldn't.
The technician, knowing Dave was a doctor, said, "I can't really tell you what I'm seeing. You'll have to wait until the doc looks at the images," but he proceeded to point out major landmarks anyway. Words were tossed around between the tech and my husband that made little sense to me, but piqued just enough worry to raise my own heart rate. When the procedure was over, I asked my husband what he knew.
"Nothing really," he said. "It could be *insert gibberish words* and it could not be, we'll have to wait and see what the doctor says." I know now, he was protecting me. He knew that our little baby had a hole in her heart.
Those gibberish words can now be defined as "tetralogy of Fallot." For a while, I thought they were saying "tetralogy of flow" which made sense since we're talking about the heart. But no, Fallot is the guy who defined the condition. Tetralogy refers to 4 key anatomical features of the condition, but my understanding is that only 2 of them matter. 1. A hole between the left and right ventricles. 2. A narrowing of the pulmonary valve. In a nutshell, oxygenated blood can mix with deoxygenated blood, meaning that not enough oxygen gets taken throughout the system. In an even smaller nutshell, this means babies can turn blue.
Our baby is not blue. She's not even purplish. She's pink and rosy and beautiful. She's currently considered "mildly affected." She has the same oxygen levels in her blood as any other baby. You look at her and you have no idea that she has a congenital heart defect.
In the end, she's going to need surgery. Open heart surgery. Probably before she's 6 months old. Right now, we go to the cardiologist every 3 weeks to check her stats. We watch for "blue spells." We wait and let her grow and get strong. We enjoy her and forget that there is anything wrong. Truly, as far as heart conditions go, this is a best-case scenario. She's otherwise perfectly healthy. We discovered the condition via the murmur- not a "blue spell" (can you imagine how scary THAT would be if you weren't expecting it?). We have the means and resources and attitude necessary to get her the required care. We have good health insurance. Once she has the surgery, she'll be fine. Follow up with the cardiologist throughout life- but no limitation to her activities. Shaun White- the Olympic snowboarder- had this condition. So AJ can be an Olympian if she wants to.
Still...open-heart surgery on a baby. My baby. You can imagine what it's taken for me to come to terms with this. But I have. I had to accept a few truths to get there. First, this has nothing to do with her being a month early. Second, there is no known cause of this. It is congenital, but not hereditary. Dave and I are no more likely the have another child with this condition than any other couple. Third, this doesn't define her. She is beautiful and healthy. We'll fix this, but until then, she's just a normal (well...exceptionally adorable and smart and perfect) baby.
Finally, I've accepted that this is not my fault. Of course, I could go into how I've wracked my brain to come up with something I used or did or ate that could've caused this. If I was a religious person, I might see this as God's punishment to Dave and I for having premarital sex. The most spiritual I'm going to get about it is this: Balance. I have a fairly charmed life. This is a challenge, an obstacle, but I can handle it. We can handle it. AJ won't even remember it.
Dave summed it up best. We were still in the hospital. I'd been crying as I realized what had to happen to fix my baby's heart. "Now that I've met her, I wouldn't exchange her for a baby without this problem." I said. "I mean, she's pretty perfect, except for this hole in her heart."
Dave looked at her, then looked at me. "She's pretty perfect with it."
Saturday, July 11, 2009
80/20
It is hard to justify writing in my blog with so many other things to do. But my goal is to complete at least one entry--however short--a week. We'll see.
This morning was a bit rough. My mellow angel baby who sleeps well and rarely cries has been super fussy. She's refusing to nap- though I can see she's tired. She's crying more, and I'm a little scared that this is the beginning of a trend- though there is no logic considering the past 6-weeks have been suprisingly fuss free. Everyone has bad days. This is one of hers.
Couple that with one of my bad moods and you get a mess. Baby crying. Mommy crying. Daddy confused. A bit of a wasted morning.
Here's what it comes down to. 80% of the time, I feel so privileged to be the mommy. I get to breastfeed her (though this comes with challenges and frustrations too- but that's for a later blog). I am the sole care-taker, even though my husband is more involved than 99% of dads out there. But, he works full time. AJ is my full time job. And I spend probably about 6-8 hours a day just feeding and changing her. Usually, I love it- even the poopy diapers. She's beautiful, pleasant, interesting and a part of me. In fact, most of the time, I'll tell you this is easier and more fun than people say it is.
This morning was part of the other 20%. As I work to feed a fussy baby and my husband goes outside to work out and play around in the garden, I start to feel sorry for myself. This is my life, and my first responsibility. On days when she doesn't nap, I don't get a chance to work out or even shower when I want. It's hard to fit in meals some times. Dave's trying to help me. "Let me take care of her while you go workout."
I'm in an unreasonable mood and frankly, a bit too tired and frustrated for working out to sound like a good idea, though I'd just complained about not having time to work out. "Well, do I work out? Eat breakfast? Shower? Which of these important things do I choose, because I don't have enough time to do all three? And what about you? I was hoping to spend some quality time together."
Dave throws out several logical options that hit at least 2 of the 3 activities, but I shoot them all down. I'm just set on feeling sorry for myself. This is my life now. Catering to the needs of a small little human being with moods and demands and a personality that I'm still trying to figure out. I love her, but I don't always get her.
Truth is, I'm ashamed of these moments of self-pity. I want to be the always on, always happy mama bear that has no trouble putting the needs of her young above all else. And believe me, I know this is a privilege and most of the time it feels like one. But occasionally, I have a little pity party. I envy my husband the part-time nature of his role. He gets a kick out of her when she's fussy, because then he goes to work and sees much more fussy people in the ER.
A pregnant friend asked me for my best piece of advice after a month of motherhood. Here it is: Expect the 20% moments. Roll with them. Know they will pass. Forgive yourself for being a little selfish. Your life is about to change in a major way. It is amazing, beautiful, meaningful. But it's hard and at times scary and frustrating. No relationship is perfect- so you're bound to have down moments with this new little person at the center of your life. But the ups much outweigh the downs. 80% to 20% at least. Maybe more like 90% to 10%, now that my little angel is napping. And after a successful, long feeding, I got a smile. Totally worth it.
This morning was a bit rough. My mellow angel baby who sleeps well and rarely cries has been super fussy. She's refusing to nap- though I can see she's tired. She's crying more, and I'm a little scared that this is the beginning of a trend- though there is no logic considering the past 6-weeks have been suprisingly fuss free. Everyone has bad days. This is one of hers.
Couple that with one of my bad moods and you get a mess. Baby crying. Mommy crying. Daddy confused. A bit of a wasted morning.
Here's what it comes down to. 80% of the time, I feel so privileged to be the mommy. I get to breastfeed her (though this comes with challenges and frustrations too- but that's for a later blog). I am the sole care-taker, even though my husband is more involved than 99% of dads out there. But, he works full time. AJ is my full time job. And I spend probably about 6-8 hours a day just feeding and changing her. Usually, I love it- even the poopy diapers. She's beautiful, pleasant, interesting and a part of me. In fact, most of the time, I'll tell you this is easier and more fun than people say it is.
This morning was part of the other 20%. As I work to feed a fussy baby and my husband goes outside to work out and play around in the garden, I start to feel sorry for myself. This is my life, and my first responsibility. On days when she doesn't nap, I don't get a chance to work out or even shower when I want. It's hard to fit in meals some times. Dave's trying to help me. "Let me take care of her while you go workout."
I'm in an unreasonable mood and frankly, a bit too tired and frustrated for working out to sound like a good idea, though I'd just complained about not having time to work out. "Well, do I work out? Eat breakfast? Shower? Which of these important things do I choose, because I don't have enough time to do all three? And what about you? I was hoping to spend some quality time together."
Dave throws out several logical options that hit at least 2 of the 3 activities, but I shoot them all down. I'm just set on feeling sorry for myself. This is my life now. Catering to the needs of a small little human being with moods and demands and a personality that I'm still trying to figure out. I love her, but I don't always get her.
Truth is, I'm ashamed of these moments of self-pity. I want to be the always on, always happy mama bear that has no trouble putting the needs of her young above all else. And believe me, I know this is a privilege and most of the time it feels like one. But occasionally, I have a little pity party. I envy my husband the part-time nature of his role. He gets a kick out of her when she's fussy, because then he goes to work and sees much more fussy people in the ER.
A pregnant friend asked me for my best piece of advice after a month of motherhood. Here it is: Expect the 20% moments. Roll with them. Know they will pass. Forgive yourself for being a little selfish. Your life is about to change in a major way. It is amazing, beautiful, meaningful. But it's hard and at times scary and frustrating. No relationship is perfect- so you're bound to have down moments with this new little person at the center of your life. But the ups much outweigh the downs. 80% to 20% at least. Maybe more like 90% to 10%, now that my little angel is napping. And after a successful, long feeding, I got a smile. Totally worth it.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
AJ comes early
Here's how Dave's day went: He woke at 8am on Saturday to attend a birthing class, the first of two. The class went from 9:30 to 3:30pm. Dave then had a shift in the pediatric ER from 6pm to 2am. After completing notes and coming home, he got to bed around 4am. At 5:30, his wife (me!) woke up to pee and came back to bed to report that she thought her water had broken.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Well...uh...I'm not sure, but I think my water might have broken." Don't forget, due date is July 1st- still over 4 weeks away.
"I doubt it. But if you're worried, call the nurse advice line." He was thinking, "She just has it on the brain b/c of birthing class. There's no way her water has broken. I'm so tired. Please just let me roll over and go back to sleep."
But Dave is a dear, dear husband, and as his wife called the advice line, he dragged himself out of bed to check things out.
His wife had woken up to pee, as per usual, only to find that her underwear was wet. According to our class, amniotic fluid should be colorless...check...and odorless...check. It wasn't pee and not likely sweat. The advice nurse told her to give it 10-15 minutes and if she continued to "leak or start to gush" she should definitely go to labor and delivery. She stood up to walk around, and felt liquid running down her leg. She looked at her sleepy husband. "Uh...I don't think there's anything else this could be."
"Alright then, let's go."
We weren't packed. We didn't have the recommended labor bag with snacks and music and comfort items and aromatherapy. We threw together a bag with a change of clothes and some reading material. Sorely unprepared were we.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Well...uh...I'm not sure, but I think my water might have broken." Don't forget, due date is July 1st- still over 4 weeks away.
"I doubt it. But if you're worried, call the nurse advice line." He was thinking, "She just has it on the brain b/c of birthing class. There's no way her water has broken. I'm so tired. Please just let me roll over and go back to sleep."
But Dave is a dear, dear husband, and as his wife called the advice line, he dragged himself out of bed to check things out.
His wife had woken up to pee, as per usual, only to find that her underwear was wet. According to our class, amniotic fluid should be colorless...check...and odorless...check. It wasn't pee and not likely sweat. The advice nurse told her to give it 10-15 minutes and if she continued to "leak or start to gush" she should definitely go to labor and delivery. She stood up to walk around, and felt liquid running down her leg. She looked at her sleepy husband. "Uh...I don't think there's anything else this could be."
"Alright then, let's go."
We weren't packed. We didn't have the recommended labor bag with snacks and music and comfort items and aromatherapy. We threw together a bag with a change of clothes and some reading material. Sorely unprepared were we.
******
Anyway, I've been trying to finish this blog post for 2 weeks now, so I'm just going to give you the condensed version. In the end, this was kind of a worst-case scenario birth. I wanted to go quickly and vaginally and naturally. I ended up going long with pitocin and ultimately a c-section. I was transferred from the nice, alternative, midwife-staffed hospital (sadly without a NICU for premie births) I wanted to give birth at, to the big, heavy-handed medical facility with state of the art NICU in case things went badly. We were given the choice and opted for the big, technologically advanced hospital, because we knew we could NEVER forgive ourselves if the little one needed help that was not available at the smaller hospital. Hospital policy insisted I transfer via ambulance. Totally unnecessary. But it was a fitting precursor to the rest. They strapped me (a perfectly healthy, mobile, not even in labor female) to a stretcher, put me in the back of an ambulance with a taciturn EMT, and drove me to the other hospital. Not the grand entry I was hoping for.
The pitocin was to speed things up because my body was taken by surprise and not moving things forward fast enough. "Failure to progress" is the official term, I think. Gives you warm-fuzzies, I know. I can't blame my body though. By all standards, I was small for 36 weeks. I was expecting another month of stretching and preparation. Only the baby was really ready for the process. I swear that she was crammed and decided to break my amniotic sac with the huge inner-uterine body slam I'd felt the night before. She was ready. My body wasn't. I know I could've labored just fine if the conditions were right, but they weren't.
The fetal moniter (an evil, evil device) was showing concerning decelerations of her heart. So they wanted to speed things up, mainly to see if she could handle it and get her out of there. Turns out she couldn't handle it. She wasn't getting enough breaks between contractions. My contractions weren't organizing enough. Her heart patterns scared the docs- and they have their asses to think about. They want what's best for the baby- which in the end, is also what's best for the mother- though certain literature contradicts this simple point. So, after 20 hours of this give and take with the docs and the pitocin and contractions that hurt but weren't productive, I consented to a c-section. I cried. I didn't want it this way, but I wanted my baby out and healthy. I still know I'd be damn good at laboring. The few hours of good labor I had weren't bad. I breathed through the contractions. I felt strong and able. But it was not to be.
What can I say? I'm disappointed, but only b/c I didn't get the experience of a vaginal birth. I got a beautiful girl, and my first major surgery. Must've had great docs, because recovery has been a breeze. Truthfully, I feel like a lot of the literature I read about the ideal of a natural birth actually worked to make me feel a bit ashamed of having a c-section- and I might not have felt that way if I hadn't read them. Really, can there be any shame in following medical advice for the health of your unborn infant? No. There shouldn't be. But the focus on natural birth (believe me- that was my goal), does throw a really negative light on anything but, and this idea that you have to "grieve the loss of your ideal birth" seems wrong. Am I less of a woman for having a c-section? What's to grieve when the product is a healthy, beautiful baby?
Enough of that. Not my ideal situation. But like my yoga instructor told the class, "The only guarantee in birth is that the baby comes out." And thank god for that.
There is a beautiful story in this mess of modern medicine. My water broke a MONTH early! My due date was July 1. There is no earthly reason she should've been born so early. I had the world's least eventful pregnancy. Pathology on my placenta showed no infection or other possible reason for a premature labor. By the time I had my daughter, it was 2:08 am on June 1. Now, as many of you know, my mom died of ovarian cancer about 6 years ago. Her name was June. My daughter, Aleida June, was always going to have her name for a middle name. I always harbored some hope that she would also be born in the month of June (though really, I was thinking more like June 29 or 30th). But, she was born instead, on my mom's birthday. How amazing and meaningful is that? The ONLY reason this baby should've come early is to be born on her late grandma June's birthday.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
A letter to my mother
I did not originally write this letter for my blog. It was a private undertaking from me, to my mother. I hope that adding it to my blog doesn't feel like exploitation of precious memories. I wrote it this morning, Mother's Day morning, after looking through pictures of my mother and missing her. I want to put it in my blog because it is part of this journey and another thing that took me by surprise. I have not felt much sorrow at being pregnant without my mom alive. Part of me knows it is there--this void, this grief--but the novelty of pregnancy has kept me preoccupied. Today, however, memories of my mother and the pain caused by her absence hit me as people wished me a Happy Mother's Day for the first time. So, here's the letter I wrote my mom. Happy Mother's Day to all of you moms out there. Love your mothers, and make sure that they know it.
Dear Mom,
Today is Mother’s Day, 2009. I’m over 32 weeks pregnant, so I’m about to embark on motherhood. I have gotten many Mother’s Day wishes already, and I guess they took me by surprise. I feel very mixed emotions as I write this. I am excited to become a mother. Nervous, anxious, overwhelmed, yes. But mostly eager and excited. But, I miss you. So much. You were an excellent model of motherhood, but this is my 5th Mother’s Day without you. And as I prepare for motherhood, I can only yearn for you, for the talks we might be having as the big day arrives, and for the comfort of my mother’s physical presence.
Yesterday, Debbie, Judy and Juli gave me a baby shower. Today, we will take Judy to Mother’s Day Brunch. She is the best mother-in-law I could hope for, and I know she will be an excellent grandmother. I want you to know that I am loved and supported, and that your granddaughter will be, too. Nobody can replace you, but I am fortunate to have many loving females in my life.
I got a voicemail from Jenny’s mom, Cindy, this morning. She said, “Isn’t it special to be in the middle of two such amazing generations?” It is. It is an honor and a responsibility to follow your lead as a mother. Not only do I want to emulate the unconditional love that you gave me, but I want to honor you as a presence in my daughter’s life. How can I make sure my daughter knows you? How can I communicate to her the depth of your spirit and generosity, the love you had for life and family, the passion you brought to your work and interactions with others? I still grieve that you are not with me, but I feel it is an injustice that my daughter will not know you, will never be held by you or spoiled by you.
I was looking through an envelope I have of pictures of you. They span from a childhood portrait of you, to pictures of you when you were sick, weeks before you died. I found a picture of you pregnant, with me, at your baby shower. And I found a picture of you holding me. The back of that picture says, in your handwriting, “1st outing- Denise goes to Dr’s. Age 1 ½ weeks.” I’m sleeping in your arms, wearing a cozy pink knitted jacket and bonnet. You are smiling. You look great: fairly rested, comfortable with an infant. I will cherish these pictures. I can appreciate them in a way I could not a year ago.
I feel like this letter is inadequate: a poorly-composed, formal attempt to communicate with you. I need you to know that you are in my thoughts every day, that pregnancy has made Mother’s Day a happy occasion again, but that my grief is perhaps deeper this year, because I am grieving not only for myself, but for my daughter, who will have your name as part of hers. I love you, as much as I ever have, and I know that she—my daughter, your granddaughter—will love you, too. You are part of her; genetically you contributed to her. I take it on as my job to make sure that your energy, your spirit, your lust for life is passed onto her as well.
I miss you, Mom. But I know you are nearby. Most of all, I love you. Denise
Dear Mom,
Today is Mother’s Day, 2009. I’m over 32 weeks pregnant, so I’m about to embark on motherhood. I have gotten many Mother’s Day wishes already, and I guess they took me by surprise. I feel very mixed emotions as I write this. I am excited to become a mother. Nervous, anxious, overwhelmed, yes. But mostly eager and excited. But, I miss you. So much. You were an excellent model of motherhood, but this is my 5th Mother’s Day without you. And as I prepare for motherhood, I can only yearn for you, for the talks we might be having as the big day arrives, and for the comfort of my mother’s physical presence.
Yesterday, Debbie, Judy and Juli gave me a baby shower. Today, we will take Judy to Mother’s Day Brunch. She is the best mother-in-law I could hope for, and I know she will be an excellent grandmother. I want you to know that I am loved and supported, and that your granddaughter will be, too. Nobody can replace you, but I am fortunate to have many loving females in my life.
I got a voicemail from Jenny’s mom, Cindy, this morning. She said, “Isn’t it special to be in the middle of two such amazing generations?” It is. It is an honor and a responsibility to follow your lead as a mother. Not only do I want to emulate the unconditional love that you gave me, but I want to honor you as a presence in my daughter’s life. How can I make sure my daughter knows you? How can I communicate to her the depth of your spirit and generosity, the love you had for life and family, the passion you brought to your work and interactions with others? I still grieve that you are not with me, but I feel it is an injustice that my daughter will not know you, will never be held by you or spoiled by you.
I was looking through an envelope I have of pictures of you. They span from a childhood portrait of you, to pictures of you when you were sick, weeks before you died. I found a picture of you pregnant, with me, at your baby shower. And I found a picture of you holding me. The back of that picture says, in your handwriting, “1st outing- Denise goes to Dr’s. Age 1 ½ weeks.” I’m sleeping in your arms, wearing a cozy pink knitted jacket and bonnet. You are smiling. You look great: fairly rested, comfortable with an infant. I will cherish these pictures. I can appreciate them in a way I could not a year ago.
I feel like this letter is inadequate: a poorly-composed, formal attempt to communicate with you. I need you to know that you are in my thoughts every day, that pregnancy has made Mother’s Day a happy occasion again, but that my grief is perhaps deeper this year, because I am grieving not only for myself, but for my daughter, who will have your name as part of hers. I love you, as much as I ever have, and I know that she—my daughter, your granddaughter—will love you, too. You are part of her; genetically you contributed to her. I take it on as my job to make sure that your energy, your spirit, your lust for life is passed onto her as well.
I miss you, Mom. But I know you are nearby. Most of all, I love you. Denise
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