Watching baby’s weight

I have a demon that sits around the corner, watchful and waiting. This particular demon introduced himself when my son was two days old and my midwife’s eyes became deep with worry as she said,

“Henry’s weight is down more than we’d like. You should get a second opinion.”

And so the demon swooped in, landed on my shoulder and our fight began.

Henry was born weighing 9lbs 6oz and was 21 inches long. Then, over his first few days his weight dropped a little more than it was supposed to and everyone freaked out. So my husband and I trudged from lactation consultant to pediatrician and back again, our son clutched in my arms.

The demon, aka “Weight Loss,” had me convinced that I was failing. You can’t even feed your child. He’s wasting away. What’s more important to you, breastfeeding or having a child who lives?

The demon capitalized on my inexperience and exhaustion. What happened to us is common. In the year since, I’ve talked to countless mothers who dealt with a similar situation. This is because the breastfeeding relationship is just that – a relationship composed of two flawed humans.

A demon isn’t a thing to be conquered, but a thing to battle. And as far as I know, the battle changes in its intensity, but doesn’t end.

Sometimes it takes a couple of days for a baby to get a good latch and keep it up. It can take an extra week or two to get back up to birth weight. Sometimes the only help a mother needs is for everyone else to back the hell off. All the added eyes and opinions and advice set us back, how much I’ll never know, because with each new person we were dragged back to the start. The people who helped were the ones who were there every day – my husband, my mother, my La Leche League leader.

This is where I acknowledge that everything could have gone differently. Something could have been wrong. But at what point, after each pediatrician said, “Other than his weight he looks fine,” did we get to stop being put through the wringer? If something was wrong, we wanted to know, but we didn’t want to deal with fear mongers.

When Henry hit four weeks we were nearly there, nearly in stride. And then, at six weeks, all of this was confirmed with his weight check. The demon slunk back into the shadows.

At each following pediatrician  appointment, I’d hold my breath when my husband took Henry to get weighed. My throat would constrict, reminding me that this obsession still had a hold on me.

When he was six or seven months, Henry’s weight plateaued (something that is very common for breastfed babies) and the demon reared its head again. Because we had the “weight issue” when Henry was a newborn, this normal weight pattern got a reprimand from our pediatrician. The demon smiled.

As of April 25, Henry is one and I am a more experienced mother. I don’t wish to change anything, though I look back and could cry. Each parent has these demons that serve to, 1. scare the complete shit out of you and, 2. form you.

A demon isn’t a thing to be conquered, but a thing to battle. And as far as I know, the battle changes in its intensity, but doesn’t end. I can look at my son and rest in the fact that right now he’s okay, he’s healthy, he’s growing. Right now the demon is at bay.

But he’s never far off.

Habit formation, or how I’m failing & succeeding at the same time

The silence is getting deafening over here and I have so many excuses for it, but I hate making excuses.

When I get busy I don’t write.

As person who considers herself a writer (to a humble extent), this is a bad thing. A basic principle of writing is to write every day. Even for just a few minutes. Establish the habit.

Consider that particular habit not established here.

A month ago I started a new job at a radio station. I work the morning news anchor shift, a weird departure from my previous jobs in newspapers. Having anchor by my name will require some time before I’m used to it. (Everything I’ve done so far is pre-recorded, nothing live – I’m not that much of an anchor yet.)

The job is a very welcome test of my journalism skills, distraction, source of income and way to get to know a community I’m still very much a stranger to. I’m getting way better at pronouncing local words. Kamiah = CAM-ee-eye. Touchet = TOO-she. Wawawai = wuh-WAH-wee. I’ve learned it’s sometimes near impossible to speak clearly into a mic at 4:30 a.m. Waking up at 3:30 a.m. is becoming a habit. (Believe it or not.)

A month from now I will either be holding my new baby, in the process of labor, or tapping my fingers impatiently waiting for labor. There may be a color-coded to-do list spreadsheet in my GoogleDocs. Michael and I finally went through the baby stuff we already have and it’s all tucked away neatly in drawers, waiting.

My blood pressure spiked a few weeks ago and since then I’ve been on a herbal tea + calcium + extra exercise and sleep regimen. That habit is definitely established and thankfully my blood pressure is back down.

The baby had a growth spurt and dragged my belly along for the ride. Coconut oil + inversions daily is the habit from that development.

Family has visited Michael and me twice over the past month and that was bliss. We showed them our new home and places we’re growing to love. Ate good food, cooked together, talked, played games and enjoyed every moment. Saying goodbye is a heartbreaking habit.

I carry many personal descriptors, one of which I am least qualified for is “writer.” But even when I neglect the habit, writing is always there when I stop for a moment and all my thoughts catch up to me and for that I am so thankful.