mindbodyandbaby

[mindbodyandbaby]

Vasectomy Talk

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[mindbodyandbaby]

Circumcision

Oye!

After the birthing experience that we had been through, the last thing I wanted for Gabriel to endure was another traumatic ordeal.

And circumcisions, for all their benefit (i.e., improved hygiene, decreased risk of infections, prevention of penile problems, etc.), are still traumatic AF. Sure, the baby "forgets" after a certain amount of time since they have not developed a working memory or ways to contextualize events. Still! Who wants to see their baby crying after a wee in the diaper? No one sane!

It was around this time that I began classifying cries. Not into hunger, sleep, and diaper change cries -- but into urgent and emergent. Urgent cries meant that one of the aforementioned needs had not been met. I had about 3-5 minutes to figure things out before my breasts started leaking uncontrollably. Emergent cries, though, were wails of distress. And those wails penetrated my entire existence. Whereas urgent cries communicate a babies known needs, emergent cries seemed to elucidate a fear of the unknown. It was like he was saying, "mama, I don't even know what I need - and that scares me even more - so fix it now!" If you've ever heard a sweet baby who has been exposed to narcotics and is unfortunately addicted, then you know babies have different cries in the extraordinary circumstances. Ripping foreskin from the shaft of the male anatomy is an extraordinary circumstance. Urine and feces touching that raw skin in an enclosed diaper is an extraordinary circumstance.

Circumcision evoked the emergent cry -- a first of its kind in our house. And it was nerve-wrecking. I remember thinking that if we did have more children -- a hotly contested topic in our house at the time -- we would never circumcise again. My husband, already scheduling his vasectomy, was not worried about a next time.

To help ease the pain, we used copious amounts of vaseline, smearing it on diaper after diaper after diaper. If he pooped, we immediately put him under running water to ward off infection (careful to avoid his belly button stump) and then back into the diaper/clothes to prevent him from getting too cold. (This was winter 2021.) We thought we were handling business. What we were creating - instead - was an environment for yeast to grow. And yeast did, in fact, grow. In hindsight, the two of us were doing our absolute best -- trying to maintain his feeding 'schedule', nap 'schedule', hygiene 'schedule', etc. At the time I discovered his diaper rash though, I felt like a complete and utter failure.

Circumcision Tips:

Administer the recommended amount of Tylenol as soon as you can; that really helped him rest the first night

Lather the diaper with copious amounts of Vaseline. If it gets stuck, whew baby! Not fun, but try not to panic and even if you do, you'll make it through...

Change diapers as soon as possible AND carefully DRY the areas, especially if your baby has cute little folds and secret hiding spots

Apply diaper rash cream in those dry folds for prevention (i.e., groin area, neck area, etc.) As baby gets older and more mobile, you will not have to apply this every change or even daily

Breathe

[mindbodyandbaby]

The Marital Shift

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[mindbodyandbaby]

Fed v. Fed - Which Is Better?

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[mindbodyandbaby]

The "Quirky" Doula

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[mindbodyandbaby]

Pregnancy + Birth + Home

Women's bodies are extraordinary. Bleeding monthly, reproducing and harboring life, recovering from birth. Much like the fruit of its womb, the body (and, intuitively, the mind) is also fully aware of its needs.

At 37 weeks, 3 days -- I was officially diagnosed with pre-eclampsia. According to Karrar et al, "Preeclampsia is a hypertensive disorder in pregnancy-related to 2% to 8% of pregnancy-related complications worldwide. It results in 9% to 26% of maternal deaths in low-income countries and 16% in high-income countries... " Prior to this, however, I had reported to my then-midwife that I was experiencing blood pressure (BP) spikes atypical of my normal levels. Her response -- "it seems within normal limits, but we'll continue monitoring." When I asked for a protein urinalysis, my results were borderline, but again, she said that everything was "within normal limits".

Within normal limits for who? - I questioned, internally. (The problem with modern medicine - which history will surely relegate - is that it is population-based, rather than individualized. Although my baseline BP is likely substantially different from the white male specimens included in those "highly regarded studies", those studies which predicate our current guidelines still take precedent in the minds of most practicing doctors. And very few doctors are willing to put their thinking caps on to look beyond them.) Admittedly, I should have vocalized my concerns more readily. I had just transferred from my original OBGYN -- the one who told me that a resting pulse of 133 was completely normal in pregnancy, yet jumped into action when my husband reminded her that we've both completed professional training, and who was later pestered by my questioning on C-sections. (According to Huesch et al, "African American women are significantly more likely to have a cesarean delivery than other women.") So, I was acutely aware of this track record and afraid to 'rock the boat' too much.

In hindsight, I probably should have rocked the boat.

On the evening of November 2, 2021, I started to see darting lights in my visual field. Immediately, I knew. We called our doula, who told me not to worry and that it was probably just "sodium intake". Thankfully, we ignored her and called Tacoma General's Nursing Line. The nurse did not hesitate. "Immediately", she told us to come in. After about 15 minutes, our doula called back and, upon conferring with her midwife, also said to head towards the hospital.

After 3-4 hours of monitoring (and one dubious nurse), the attending remarked that I had an abnormally high amount of protein in my urine and that I did, in fact, need to be admitted and induced for preeclampsia.

Induction started off well, but I was not progressing. We tried Cytotec and positional maneuvers, but nothing seemed to work. At around 1:45 am on November 4, the doctors and nurses came in, hurriedly requesting that I change positions because the baby was distressed. Immediately, my mind went to C-section. Get. The. Baby. Out. As much as I had wanted to deliver naturally, -- there is photographic evidence of the toil that this type of major surgery takes on women from my mom's own experience -- I wanted a healthy, happy, and kicking baby more. Once we decided that this was the route to go, not five minutes later, in walked the surgeon and anesthesiologists. And a whole bunch of other people I didn't even care about getting naked in front of -- also one of my biggest fears up until that moment. But I had new fears - being alone in the operatory, not regaining consciousness, etc.

My fears did not, though, include waking up to news that my baby had possibly suffered "hypoxia-induced encephalopathy" at birth and that he needed to be transferred to the NICU for immediate follow-up. Technically, I did not wake up to any news. I woke up thinking that my baby was undergoing routine post-cesarean care. I woke up to the nurse, carefully monitoring, my blood pressure and fulfilling magnesium orders as they changed. I woke up to Ontario, calm in demeanor, and happy to see me awake. But once I hit the halls to visit baby -- in what I had assumed was a nursery -- I was struck by the news. And for six days, I lived in a haze of pampering from the best obstetrics nurses this side of the Mississippi and hell.

Sometimes - all of the time really - God moves an obstacle to make way for a blessing. Our doula, who in hindsight had been quite iffy from the start, did not show at any point of my hospital stay, but these nurses cared for me as their own. Making calls to on-campus housing on our behalf, offering up themselves to make sure my concerns were met and my comforts easily measured, and providing real wisdom in the time of complete and utter chaos. One of them even trotted me down to the NICU right before her time to clock out (and stayed with me the entire time). It was these ladies who helped heal me in that very painful recovery. Because Gabriel was initially being given morphine for comfort measures, I had opted to recover with only Tylenol and Ibuprofen. I ain't no punk, but neither are C-sections. Walking was painful. Switching sides was painful. "Showering" was painful. Eating was painful. Gas was painful. (Who knew that gas could get trapped in your shoulder?) Pumping was a disaster. The fear of peeing and pooping, alone, equally horrible. And still, I'm thankful because those women held me (and my bad gas) down. I'm thankful that my OBGYN and fellows checked in on me and tried to walk through reasoning with me. I'm thankful to have delivered the most magnetic and sweet light into this world.

For six days, though, I also lived in fear because of two of the most incompetent neonatal nurses also this side of the Mississippi. When two neonatologists have to tell you on separate occasions to 1) fed the baby with a bottle if he's showing signs of hunger (rather than insert a feeding tube) ; 2) provide the baby with an actual bed (and get him off the cooling board previously used for treatment); and 3) wean baby from morphine immediately (and only use if sucrose and swaddling have not worked) and you STILL disobey the orders, then you're asking to be cursed out. To quote my OBGYN, "you're too nice - you need to go off."

The problem with going off when you're a minority though -- it can cost you. Not only are you passive aggressively termed "angry" or "intimidating", but there are real consequences to being seen in a negative light that could potentially impact the well-being of your child. Adding insult to injury, one nurse remarked, "it's your patient Lauren." And, bitch, it's my baby. (Excuse the language.) But in effect, he was not my baby, until the hospital released him and the awareness of that was even more terrifying.

We did "go off" though -- just professionally, getting the charge nurse involved. She remarked that "some young nurses do not have the mental flexibility..." for the job. She also spoke to me about her own experiences in the NICU and appropriately quieted our fears. And I exercised my faith. Petitioning the Lord to watch over my son in our absence. Petitioning Jehovah Rapha to heal. And eventually, I was allowed to hold my baby. The neurology technician, shocked that I hadn't held Gabriel, explicitly stated that the monitor would run for 24 hours and that if there was anything to find, it was unlikely to happen in the small amount of time that we were allowed to hold him. Because of our dutiful head nurse, we were assigned a veteran nurse and not only allowed to hold baby on a more consistent basis, but to feed and love on him in that way that I could have only dreamed of days prior.

The day finally came when we were allowed to take him home. Crying out loud, "you're free!!" -- I could not wait to get the hell out of there. Although I was terrified as a new mother, I knew I had better arms and more love to give than any other person could possibly even imagine. As we loaded into my car, with our newest addition in tow, I could only think of us sleeping in our beds soundly that night. And though, we did stop in Tacoma because our poor baby was overwhelmed by the newness of his environment, we pretty much made it home and to the pediatrician's office the following day without a hitch. Still wide eyed and bushy tailed as before.

I am so thankful for this experience. It's scary and it often makes me question if we need a second child. I also wonder - from time to time - though about the ladies I met in passing, in the hallways mostly, who had been in the NICU for 100+ days. I wonder if they're being treated well; if their children are being treated with the absolute best care. I hope they are, if not already home. And still, I know, everything happens in God's perfect timing.

Karrar SA, Hong PL. Preeclampsia. [Updated 2022 Jun 9]. In: StatPearls [Internet]. Treasure Island (FL): StatPearls Publishing; 2022 Jan-. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK570611/

Huesch, M., & Doctor, J. N. (2015). Factors associated with increased cesarean risk among African American women: evidence from California, 2010. American journal of public health, 105(5), 956–962. https://doi.org/10.2105/AJPH.2014.302381

[mindbodyandbaby]

A Lesson in Humility, Grace, and Living Well

After ten months of early mornings and late nights; ten months of breastfeeding, formula-feeding, not-breastfeeding and purees; ten months of pediatrician appointments; ten months of solicited and unsolicited advice -- I have learned one thing in particular:

babies are easy, but parenting is hard as fuck. And if you're lucky enough to co-parent (single or married), sign up for therapy as soon as the faint pink line pops up.

Barring serious health conditions, babies are relatively simple little humans. Their demands are straightforward in nature -- requiring mostly love, care, and attention in the first 12 months only. Though baby and parent both have to figure out when those things need to happen (and it's often on his timetable rather than mine), it seems far less complicated than "toddler-ism".

So what makes parenting so damn hard then?

Could it be the -- high expectations? Need for perfectionism? Well-child visits? Miscommunication? Tired husbands? Poor support? Traumatic birth experiences? Work-life imbalance?

If this were one of those annoying "check all that apply" multiple choice questions, I'd check every box.

Parenting, for me, has been the most humbling, adventurous, demanding, grace-filled reckoning that I will ever have the privilege of experiencing. It is also quite lonely. As an introvert and only-child, who enjoys my own space, I am not often moved by the absence of people, or being alone with child all day. Most of the time, I actually prefer it this way. We giggle, make messes, and carry on as if we're the only people in the world. The loneliness sets in other ways though -- decision-making about care, finances, or concern for my child's health. Am I being overdramatic about this snoring issue? Or do I need to find an office that relies predominantly on objective findings and empathizes with new mothers aimed at preventing longterm, avoidable health concerns? Is it bad that I refused to send my child to daycare? Will he not receive the benefit of socialization? How will he adjust in pre-kindergarten/kindergarten? Or did we just undergo two years of a pandemic and sending my child to a daycare -- otherwise known as a reservoir of bacterial and viral infection -- might not seem like feasible option? Is he not safer in the comfort of his own home, carefully monitored and developmentally challenged in a space specifically designed for him? These are the questions that bring about loneliness. These are the questions I spend my "free-time" researching. These are the questions I look to mom blogs for perspective.

But when I read conventional mom blogs and listen to people talk about their experiences, there is typically an all-or-nothing type of approach. Most blogs either focus solely on "strategies" or "skills" to improve motherhood -- with certain moms "shoulding" on other moms in the comment section -- or the blog spends times taking a comprehensive tour of parenting, less about explicit (and personal) decision-making for the individual child and more palatable experiences with a hypothetical child.

After a few months of parenting, I wanted to journal my experience in some way. But I never get around to putting pen to paper these days; I barely have time to read properly. And so I thought that maybe I could be of service to another mother who may be searching, as I do -- not for answers, but for understanding and reasoned perspective. My choices may not always be agreeable, but that is the fun part of parenting - decisively saying what is or isn't for my child in that moment. (Takes the bite out of loneliness.) It does not mean that we cannot change our minds as we evolve or that, in hindsight, we could have made the wrong choice? (And, yes, we can and do make the wrong choices. I will share more than a few here, I am certain.) Perspective just allows us to parent consciously and actively, rather than passively and/or otherwise detached. So... my objective **here** is to provide a dose of my own experiences -- well-balanced hiccups, complete failures, and overarching triumphs. It's mostly subjective, but my decision-making and processes are/were typically rooted in something "evidence-based".

#parenting #motherhood #parenthood #baby #infant #toddler #mothers #parents