The Past Three Weeks

Now that the baby powder has settled and the luster of having a new little one has worn off, real life has set in. The past three weeks have flown by in a sleep-deprived blur, but not without incidence, of course. The Lord has been gracious, but I won't sugar coat anything. It's been incredibly hard adjusting. Going into this, I knew it would be and it sent me into many a panic attack late at night when I was pregnant. Living it is something different, now. It's still definitely worth it and I love my job, but some days it seems like I'm one twitch away from a hug-me jacket. I think my biggest issue is the lack of sleep at night combined with running ragged all day. Drew still wakes up every three to four hours at night, and although I've caught myself snoozing through many feedings in my chair, it's the broken bits of sleep that are effecting me so poorly. Robby is attempting to settle into his place, but usually in the form of acting out for attention - which was to be expected from a child his age, but doesn't make things any easier. He demands much of my mental ability during the day, which, depending on how much sleep I've had during the night prior, varies from day to day. That mixed with hormone fluxes that are sending me into postpartum depression and some physical limitations of the recovery process from surgery, I've been a slight train wreck, lately. Slight to say the least, I suppose.

I had to give up on breastfeeding after two and half weeks because it was causing me great mental and emotional anguish and I was about to have a nervous breakdown. Not a hyperbole by any means. My supply was extremely low again, despite my best efforts - and I do mean best. I tried EVERYTHING, so before you suggest it, let me just answer you, now - yep, I tried that and it didn't work and we're all better off now that I've stopped. The stress and frustration towards the issue was causing everyone in the household nothing but strife. I have to say that I'm thankful and proud to say that I made it a week and a half longer than I did with Robby. I have nursed Drew for his comfort a few times after I officially threw in the burp rag, but I've stopped nursing and pumping regularly. I dreaded my WIC appointment last Friday, thinking for sure that they were going to rip me a new one for giving up, but even the WIC lady told me, "Just stop. You're doing more harm than good. You've done really good to go this far and you've done a lot for him in just the bit you have been able to breastfeed." I almost broke down in front of her. It was the first time anyone assured me that it was okay to stop instead of judge me because I wasn't trying hard enough. She also told me that not all women are built like Holsteins and I'm probably just not wired that way. It could very well be a hormonal or even physiological problem with me. Either way, I really do believe now that the problem with breastfeeding I have is definitely legit and was causing nothing but tears on both sides. Stopping has taken a huge weight off my shoulders. It did cause me to feel that familiar feeling of failure once more and envy towards those moms who don't have this problem and actually enjoy the time spent nursing their babies. Two babies under my belt and it's been nothing but a horrid, dreaded experience.

Poor Robby and I have been clashing badly. The combination of my rampant hormones and his acting out are not boding well. I feel terrible because I'm sure I've been lashing out at him in order to vent some of my frustrations - never in physical form, I assure you. CPS need not apply here. I've just been biting at him a lot lately and it seems like the only time we've gotten together is just me taking care of his necessities and snapping at him. I feel like a total jerk. It took poor Robby ending up with croup yesterday for me to realize that I need to spend more one-on-one time with him. He was so sick and just wanted comfort, but unfortunately his brother was taking up a lot of my time yesterday. I tried my best to juggle and ended up with both of them on my lap at once, despite my aching stitches. I have to say it was the hardest day for me since Drew was born, but we all survived. Last night was really rough too, as Robby woke up a few times freaking out over not being able to breathe. I ended up only getting three or four hours worth of broken sleep. Although I'm running on fumes today, I'm trying my best to endure until Matt gets home, relying on strength and patience from the Lord and an extra cup of coffee. Matt was dear enough to run to Target last night and buy a humidifier for Robby, which seemed to comfort him last night. If I haven't said it enough before, I'll say it again - I really don't deserve that man. He has done far beyond his fair share these past few weeks. Other than venting frustrations and illnesses, Robby is incredibly eager to help out with Drew and is very affectionate towards him. We try to encourage both by keeping him as involved as possible. His special task of choice (not even kidding) is running diapers to the trash. You can always count on him to make sure they are taken care of post-haste, as he'll point to the wrapped pocket of poo and ask, "Away?"

So, to sum up my experience as a new mom-of-two: we're surviving, but only by God's good grace. It's been stressful and difficult, but only some of the time. It seems to go to the extremes - it's either completely peaceful or all Hell breaks loose. Never in between. It's stretching me and growing me in ways I never imagined, but all in good ways in the end. I'm having to rely on God's strength rather than my own. I'm realizing that I can't do it all and it's not wrong to ask for help, despite what my pride tells me. It's been quite a roller coaster, that's for sure, but I slowly start to see my hands easing their grip on the bar ever so slightly as the days progress. I'm confident that someday I'll be able to lift my arms up high and enjoy the ride fearlessly. Until then, prayers are appreciated.