I love Tuesdays...

I live in the moment. Literally - no sense of perception. Especially about nursing. If we have one bad session, then I'm devastated, assuming that it's a constant battle and I get really upset. But then a day or two passes and I realize that we're fine and all the stress and aggravation was pretty useless in the end. I nursed without the shield earlier, and didn't cry. I used it this last time though, there's still a noticable crack and even though it's better, it's not gone yet. Last night, she was screaming when I wasn't holding her. From about four thirty on, until Marc got home around ten. If I wasn't holding her, she was hysterical. No middle ground, no sleeping, either. She was either in my arms, sleeping or nursing or just hanging out, or she was screaming. I was stressed and frustrated, because the house was a mess, I couldn't DO anything, like make dinner or take care of the other kids, and there's stuff I NEED to do. Jessie needed a shower, the kids had to eat, and it was just hard. But today - she's back to peaceful and relaxed. We snuggle and hang out, and she sleeps in her swing or in the carriage. No stress, I got to eat breakfast and lunch, and even got to clean Jessica's bedroom. Did three loads of laundry (can't find the time to fold them, but that's another story). It's a good day.

On the way to the park earlier, we ran across a tree that had been chopped down. My little druid was devastated, he couldn't understand why someone had chopped down one of his favorite trees. I had to pick him up and let him cry for a minute or two, and we put a rock on top of it, just like we did at the cemetary to let the tree know that we loved it and missed it. He's drawing a picture right now to commemorate it. He's got a major tree thing and has since he was tiny. He worries about them out in the elements, and grieves every fall when the leaves fall. And trees getting cut down are just hard for him to understand...

It's primal

The desire to nurse your child. For me, at least. I'm pumping on one side and bottle feeding the breastmilk to Julie, and I hate it with a completely irrational passion. It just feels so completely wrong to me. Rationally, I get it - I need to give the wound time to heal, and I shouldn't have to cry and scream in agony nursing her. Pumping isn't completely pain free, but it's agony free, if that makes sense. And she's still 100% getting breastmilk, no formula supplements, and I'm thrilled about that. The crack looks marginally better, although maybe I'm just fooling myself. I'm keeping it slathered in lansinoh and trying to expose it to air when I can (although it's so incredibly sensitive I can't do it for long) and hoping it heals fast.

But I still hate pumping. I hate her having a bottle. Last night, I let her nurse using the breast sheild and felt so much better. Just the physical act of nursing her directly made such a difference in my mental state, I felt so much better, so much closer to her. After she nursed, I held her for the longest time, sleeping on my chest. The other kids and Marc were sound asleep and it was this wonderful little island in time, just me and my baby girl.

In other news - we got Jess her first pair of high heeled sandals. What's up with heels for little girls these days? It's lunacy, and I've delayed getting them as long as I could, but she was so sad about not having any, claimed every other little girl in the world has them and she's the only one who doesn't. And I have to let her make her own choices sometimes. Marc wasn't thrilled about it either, but we decided they would be her "dress up" shoes only for special occasions. And hopefully she won't break her ankle.

I hate cleaning

Okay - there. I've said it. I freaking hate cleaning. I hate doing dishes, hate folding laundry, hate constantly having to sweep and mop and vacuum and pick up toys and toys and more toys. I love my children, love being home with them, but hate having trash everywhere, cups all over the place and so much laundry I can't ever catch up.

I'm hot, sweaty, sticky, my kids hate each other, and my nipple hurts so badly all I want to do is cry. And I would, but really, who does that help? Because I've still got five loads of laundry to fold, two beds that have been destroyed because the kids discovered that stripping them is wicked fun, Jessie's room is covered in so much crap because she collects things like there's no tomorrow and everyone is miserable.
It's not a pleasant day here.

I just need more painkiller (tylenol doesn't seem to do anything to alleviate the pain, but I keep taking it every four to six hours). I'm lucky, because Julie is napping really well, she's missed her normal morning nap because there was so much chaos, but she's been snoozing on the couch with a fan blowing near her, so she's cool and comfortable. I'm pumping now on the right side, I've tried to nurse her a new times, but honestly, it hurts so much I can't make myself do it anymore. There's literally a little ring of blood around my nipple. It's awful. The other side is still pain free, thank goodness, so I'm nursing on that side, giving her the breastmilk I pump in a bottle and hoping that it doesn't end up giving me mastitis because I know the pump doesn't work as effectively as her nursing would. Also praying that she doesn't quit nursing on me again - I've got such a visceral hatred and fear now of her taking a bottle.

Did I mention that it's not pleasant here today?

If it would just RAIN already, I think I'd be better. But it's a combination of everything, the breast soreness, the kids being so cranky because they're hot and sticky, the house being a mess because we had everyone here yesterday, and my lingering resentment that I'm home here, dealing with cranky miserable children, incredible pain in my breast and cleaning.

I keep reminding myself that I'll miss this time. That I'm so lucky to be able to have this time with my kids, and that there are little pockets of bliss that make it all worthwhile. Then I see the laundry all piled up, clean, but still waiting for me to fold it and put it away, and the toys that Sam's dumped out for the fourteenth time today, or Jess will take offense at some imagined slight and storm off to her bedroom in a flood of tears, and it seems like so much more work and unhappiness than I'd like. But there's joy here, and love and fun and sunshine and lollipops. I just need to work harder at finding it on a day like today, I guess.

Yet another breast update

Turns out that it's not thrush, and not mastitis either. It's a teeny, tiny cut on my nipple, and engorgement because I'm avoiding nursing on that side because it's so monumentally painful. As you can imagine, I'm distinctly ill amused with this, had really hoped that I could just take a little pill or something to make it better instead of hearing "suck it up, that's part of breastfeeding." I'm paraphrasing a little, but not much.

I'm going to keep going - because breastfeeding really is better than formula, and Julianna is THRIVING, but I can totally understand why women throw in the towel on nursing, because it's been a battle from the beginning with Julie. But it is worth it - and it's so much better for her, it's cheaper, I'd have to suffer thru days of engorgement if I quit, and she really, really does love it. So I'm going to suck it up - but send me healing thoughts, okay? Because this really hurts.

nursing troubles - again

More nursing problems... my breast is really sore. The whole damn thing, nursing isn't too painful yet, but it hurts just walking around and God forbid anyone happen to brush up against my chest (and with three kids - this happens a lot more often than you might think). I have no idea what the problem is - it's not thrush, I don't think it's a blocked duct, it's not mastitis. It just hurts like hell. I'm speculating that my poor breasts are just worn out. I nursed Sam for so long and he only weaned when I was pregnant, so these poor babies have been working hard for over four years now, between the pregnancy with Sam, nursing him for three plus years and then the pregnancy with Julianna. Maybe they just don't work as well anymore. They're tired :-). I'll keep trekking along, hoping that it'll work itself out. I nursed her for a while on it earlier, and it wasn't fun, but wasn't as bad as it was when the thrush was at it's worst.

Updates on cherubs - take two

Sam spent the afternoon in the back of my mother's car, eating mocha chip ice cream, and then went outside to play shoot guns with his buddy Brian (the older boy - he's Jessie's age - who lives next door). He came inside covered in sweat and grime and we mutually decided that a bath was in order. I put him in the tub with a huge assortment of superhero guys and he was in there playing. I was sitting in the living room, nursing Julie, when suddenly, screams erupt. Since that's never what you want when your three year old is in the tub, I put down the baby and run for the bathroom. Midway there, I yell "Sammy - did you try to wash your eye again?" and I hear this sad little voice say softly and miserably "Yeah." He literally attempts to wash his eye. He was trying to wash his face and got a little carried away, I guess. He's done it before, and he's the only kid (and I've bathed a LOT over the years) who's ever taken the soap, applied to his eye and rubbed it around there.

Jess is on the phone with her friend. She's in her room with the door shut, she's been chatting away for the past twenty minutes, and I'm thinking this is the first time in a very long line of times when she'll answer the phone and disappear behind closed doors... She's so very serious about it and so funny. I had put this foam thing on her door to prevent her from slamming it (she loves to slam it when she's having a temper tantrum) and she came out all perturbed because she needed her privacy for the conversation. The best part was that at one point, Julie started to cry and Jessie tucked the phone under her ear and tried to pick her sister up to calm her down. Multi-tasking at seven... I came in and told her that I'd handle the baby, go ahead and talk :-). She thinks nothing of assuming total control of Julie, and if I don't jump immediately when the baby fusses (and really, it's not like I ever let the child cry for any length of time), she'll get her first.

Julie's appt was today - her one month check up (don't think it's a good sign that at five weeks, I'm already off the schedule, but it's really part of a trend, I scheduled Sam's four year physical (his birthday is in early July) for late in September because I'm just constantly behind where I should be with those). She's a paragon of health, she weighs ten pounds, two ounces, and is twenty two inches long. She's gained a LOT and the doctor told me not to be at all concerned that she hasn't pooped since Monday. She's apparently just using everything from the breastmilk, because her stomach was soft and it wasn't like she was constipated - she just doesn't have anything left over to poop. Which makes me feel smug - and grateful that she's nursing so well. Because there's something awesome about looking at your baby and knowing that you, and only you, are totally responsible for the growth. Not only did you grow this child inside you, but then you are able to magically produce enough milk to make the baby thrive and grow.

I dream of a shower

It's a small dream, in the overall scheme of things. I used to dream for world peace, an end to global warming, a peaceful resolution to the whole Middle East conflict. Now, I dream of cloning myself, one to walk with Julie, devoting myself to soothing her when she's fussy and won't sleep, one to do the dishes, one to read Harry Potter to my poor Jess because we've been in the middle of that stupid book for two months now, and one to take a long, glorious shower all by myself. Washing my hair. Twice. Conditioning with reckless abandon. Shaving all of my legs and my armpits. Just showering until the hot water runs out.

And in the end, it's all just a dream. Because Marc just called, at ten o'clock, from the gym, and he's still not leaving to come home. And I can't disappear into the shower or the kitchen to do the stupid dishes, because then I can't hear the kids if/when they wake up. By the time he gets home, I'm going to be way too tired to do anything other than croak out a goodnight at him, and will wake up tomorrow morning, grubby, hot, sticky and with a sinkful of dishes. I'd hate being a single parent, and the reason that I'm absolutely certain of that is because two nights a week, I AM one and I don't really like it.

Jessie literally cried herself to sleep tonight. I don't remember why, exactly, because I was busy trying to bounce Julie to sleep and arguing with Sam about him not getting more food (as he's already asked for/received/not eaten a turkey pot pie, fish sticks, broccoli and a cup of cheerios), but I think Jessie was mad that I told her I didn't care when she complained that she couldn't sleep. It may have also been that I refused to take her to the hospital right this very minute for x-rays on her arm (that she banged last Friday and hasn't complained about since), or because we're sending her to JCC Summer Camp for four weeks (scattered throughout the summer) (after she swore that she wanted to go). Turns out that, upon reflection, she feels as though camp is so boring and we've condemned her to a summer of utter misery. She stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door. Which woke her sister from the tenuous nap I had managed to coax her into, I made her come back out and apologize, and then she stormed back into her bedroom (closing the door quietly) and commenced sobbing. But I couldn't go fix it, because I was still dealing with Sam and Julie. So I listened to her cry for twenty minutes, while Sam argued with me and Julie cried and fussed and bounced her way back to sleep. It was a wretched night.

I hate gym nights. I always feel crappy on them, because there's no way for me to do everything well, and without another pair of hands here, at least one kid is miserable, the dishes don't get done, the floor is still mostly cluttered, and I'm still dreaming about a shower.

I try to tell myself to enjoy this time - really. Because I love my kids and they're all so beautiful and sweet. And twenty years from now, I'm going to miss this. A lot. There were so many moments tonight when it was wonderful. I did try to do the dishes at one point and heard Julie start to cry again. I kept going, because dammit, I HATE waking up to dirty dishes, but she was really crying and I knew that Jess would pick her up. And a crying baby is stressful, and I didn't want to leave Jess in that situation. But when I came into the living room, Jessie had picked her up and was laying on the couch making funny faces at her, and Julie had stopped crying to gaze at her quizzically. Sam picked out a special spot for me on the comfy chair and was desperate for me to come sit beside him, and when I finally did (I didn't want to because it's so hot and sticky and getting out of it is hard with a sleeping baby), he curled up against me and was asleep in minutes. Julie's eyes are just starting to turn from that dark indigo to greyish. And she's so sweet and adorable and just flat out lovely... I will miss this time. I've got the rest of my life to be clean, right? When they're older, I'll always have the dishes done, but I won't have a snuggly three year old sleeping next to me, or a big girl who isn't scared of a crying baby but makes faces to calm her down. I won't have a tiny baby who's whole happiness is simply me. I'll try to remember that when I wake up tomorrow morning.