Remember when I said that we’d be getting rid of the TV set in our bedroom because I wanted to set an early example for my son? That didn’t happen. In fact, sometimes the TV stays on even when I’m not in the room. And I have watched shows I never thought I’d watch just to pass the monotonous time spent pumping breastmilk. The removal of the TV, along with a dozen other claims I made over the last 9 months, have made it onto The IdeaList.
1). I’m Getting Rid of the TV Set!
Not.
2). Cloth Diapers Are Great for the Environment and Cheap!
I said I’d use cloth diapers because I didn’t want to add to all the unnecessary waste that Americans tend to produce. I think my answer to all those who suggested that using cloth diapers wasn’t as easy as it looked was, “Yeah, well, this is going to be my job. I will find the time!” And I was really set on the cloth diapers. But we’ve been shipping more and more used Pampers to the landfill known as Staten Island. I simply cannot find the time right now to add cloth diapers into our daily routine. Cloth diapers will have to wait until we’re not going through diapers like they’re tissues. Seriously, at times we go through three diapers in under a minute. This phenomenon usually takes place when Tobyjoe is changing him. He’ll take the soiled diaper off Emory only to have him squeeze another pile of poo onto the new one that waits below. And then once that one is firmly in place, sealed and ready to do its job, Emory will squeeze out another pile of poo. I can’t imagine going through a Poop Trifecta using cloth diapers.
3). Diapers You Can Flush! Holy Shit!
And I said I’d give gDiapers a try. What a great idea! And flushable diapers are a great idea if you have running water and a toilet in your baby’s nursery. We do not. As a matter of fact, Emory’s room is the room furthest away from the bathroom. I can barely get to the diaper wipes let alone into the bathroom in order to flush and clean his gDiaper. They are a great idea in theory and in time perhaps they will work.
4). Plastic = Bad. Glass = Good.
Plastic has all sorts of chemicals in it, unnecessary chemicals that can be harmful to your baby. So we were going to use glass bottles. And we got some and they are awesome. Thing is, we have yet to introduce the glass bottle into our daily feeding routine. I currently pump using the yellow and plastic bottles that come with the Medela Breast Pump. I then transfer the breast milk into the Dr. Brown’s bottles my sister-in-law, Melissa, gave us. (These things are awesome for gassy babies.) Emory likes the nipples that come with Dr. Brown’s. Almost as much as he enjoys chewing on my nipples. He’s perfectly pleased with using the plastic bottles and their nipples.
5). I’M GOING TO BREASTFEED …
… like a champ!
Right.
Breastfeeding has been the single most difficult thing for me to work with after having a baby. It literally consumes the majority of my day. If I’m not cleaning pumping supplies, I’m pumping. If I’m not pumping, I’m applying Lanolin. If I’m not applying Lanolin, I’m wearing ice cold cabbage leaves. If I’m not paying attention to my boobs or actually using them, I’m thinking about what to feed them in order to make the produce better. My torso has become a farm and that farm isn’t making profit and I’m ready to fire its leader. Me.
My boobs have become the focal point of this operation second only to the baby. There are moments where I want to give up on breastfeeding entirely especially since my boobs are still producing dwindling amounts. I am so frustrated by the whole breastfeeding fiasco. And I’m quickly becoming one of those women who solely wants to pump. I was told by a lactation consultant, “I don’t care how he gets the food from the upscale restaurant, as long as he gets it. If it’s take out, then so be it.” Granted, I have received countless email letting me know that Emory will bring more milk to my breast, but I’m having difficulty getting him to latch on correctly and for longer than a few minutes at a time. He either falls asleep or just sits there with my boob hanging out of his mouth and I’m like, dude, wake up! There are things that must be done after I feed you! Breastfeeding is not as easy as it may sound. It’s not easy at all. I was kidding myself to think otherwise.
The IdeaList gets longer every day. Pacifiers? We use them. Fussiness? It’s rewarded with being picked up and snuggled on. And I realize that my intentions, while possibly noble, were not realistic for this new mother. I simply do not have the right number of hands, arms, and legs to make all of this happen. And there aren’t enough hours in the day to see to it things go off without a hitch. There’s always something to do, someone to feed, something to clean. And if I’m not doing one of the most important things, there’s sleep to catch up on. Sleep? Huh?
This is the most difficult job I have ever had. I have worked for tyrants. I have lost nights worth of sleep trying to finish up a design project, but nothing compares to this. I have served drunk frat boys at an all night diner. I have even cleaned up their puke, and that was still easier than this. And yet somehow I shower every day. I have no idea when or how that takes place. And I can never remember if I’ve brushed my teeth or combed my hair. And I have to change my diaper as often (if not more so) than the baby’s. I hate that I have to wear pads all the time and that the bleeding is still going strong. I asked someone recently how long I’ll continue to bleed and they answered, “Six weeks.” This magical six week mark will apparently bring with it true euphoria delivered on a baby’s smile.
And on top of all those things I said I’d do and have either failed at or have given up on, I’m battling with the Baby Blues every single night. There are times where I ask myself if I can actually do this at all. I worry he’s entirely too fragile for me to care for. I worry I’ll screw up somehow. And that makes me feel worse. So every day I set aside a little time to cry. And somehow that makes me feel a little better, a facial shower preparing me for another night. And somehow it works.
Somehow.
Mihow 
Leave a reply to rachel Cancel reply