cats aren't kids

Before I had my sweet little baby boy, I called my cats my kids.  I knew they weren't human, don't worry.  But I loved them, looked forward to seeing them, and invited them onto my lap whenever I sat down on the couch.  We've had the gray female cat, Sylvie, for 6 years and the orange male, Niko, for almost 2. 

a rare photo of Niko (l) and Sylvie (r) within 2 feet of each other

Now that Theo is here, when I get a chance to lie down in bed or on the couch baby-free, I don't want another 6 or 14 pound creature smothering me (yes, our male cat is a hefty one).  I feel so guilty.  They are surely jealous of all the time and attention Theo gets and I should spend extra time with them when I can, but now it just seems like they get in the way.  What kinda life is that?

Actually, it's pretty good, I guess...they sleep all day, pretty much eat all they want, and they do get love every day (just not as much as before).  But the problem is not only that I feel guilty for not spending more time with them or seeing them as my babies anymore.  Now I see them as work.  Litterbox. Food.  Brushing.  Clipping claws.  Cleaning up fur.  Lint-rolling my clothes.  Not sitting on the couch if I have on a black shirt.

Don't get me wrong, I do still love them.  I love them enough that the thought of giving them away makes me too sad to ever go through with it.  They brought me a lot of joy in the years before I had a real baby.  See, what's troublesome, is that Sylvie, who's 6 now (come on!), can't clean her own litterbox.  She still can't fix her own plate.  She can't even get her own water out of the sink.  Neither can Niko, but Sylvie's needier than he is.  She can't be independent and do her own thing.  If I am home, she has to follow me everywhere I go like a dog.  I just don't know if I'm going to have the time and love to give to her as my life gets busier.  She has made some compromises and sat on Theo's boppy while I'm feeding him so I can pet her.  She's even humored me by letting Theo pet her and pull her fur, which I found pretty sweet and endearing.  Nonetheless, she's work. 

I can't imagine having a dog. 
It's sad, I feel guilty, and I wish I could be a better cat-mom.

Ugh.

Niko and Theo (at about 3 weeks old)

~C~

any excuse to go to Cheesecake Factory

I've talked before about the day after our 6th wedding anniversay and how special it was, because it was the day we got our BFP (big fat positive, in case you missed it).  That morning, I couldn't hardly believe my eyes (which were still fuzzy with sleep and blurry with no vision correction), but at the same time, I knew exactly what I saw.  It was nothing out of the ordinary for me to take a pregnancy test as soon as I possibly could, more or less to put the anticipation of not knowing one way or the other out of my mind.  That fateful morning, I saw 2 lines.  I tried to think of ways that a false positive could have happened while I took a shower.  I think I smiled the whole time I was in the shower because I knew better. 

(not me.  or my pregnancy test. just for effect)

When I got out of the shower, I called my sweet husband into the bathroom and tried to look confused.  I told him I wasn't wearing my contacts and asked him if the test looked like it was showing one line or two.  He looked at it and said assertively "two."  I continued playing dumb and asked him to look at the instructions to see what two lines meant.  He looked at the instructions, then at the stick, then at me, and repeated that cycle about three times.  By the third go-round, I'm pretty sure I had a huge grin on my face and we started hugging and laughing.  Neither one of us could believe that we finally got what we had wanted so desperately for the last several months. 

That day was possibly one of the worst days for me at work, but I handled it with grace.  Nothing could spoil my good mood.  After work, I took another pregnancy test, which turned positive immediately, and that was reason enough to go to Cheesecake Factory.

We kept our little secret to ourselves for about 24 hours...the next morning (after I did one more test, just to be sure), I started making phone calls to my family and very best friends.  That night we told my in-laws over dinner and surprised them, as they didn't know that we were trying.  Surprising people was one of the funnest (jury's still out...is funnest a word?) parts of getting that BFP. 

We waited to announce our news to acquaintances, Facebook, our employers, etc. until we got the thumbs up from the doctor at my 12 week check up.  Truth be told, I was terribly afraid that I would miscarry.  I was pessimistic after trying for several months to conceive and afraid that whatever made it take so long might also create a hostile environment for our little embryo.  I tried not to get attached to the idea of the baby - pretty tough thing to attempt.  The anxiety let up after 12 weeks and we were happy to share our news with the world.

That 8 weeks from the time we found out until the time we were able to shout it out was undoubtedly the longest part of my pregnancy.  I wanted so bad to be able to tell everyone and to look pregnant, because I certainly felt pregnant.  I don't know why people say pregnancy feels like it lasts forever...overall, I thought it zoomed by in a flash.  Good thing too, because I remember feeling quite miserable towards the end.

I guess that's a story for another day.  Hope your day is a good one!

~C~

beginning of the end

I've been dealing with an internal struggle about breastfeeding for several weeks now, as I have witnessed a decrease in the amount of milk output during pumping sessions.  I thought maybe the pump was defective, or maybe my breasts have gotten smaller since I've lost a little weight so the flanges were too large and therefore not working most efficiently.  I've thought maybe I'm drinking too much caffeine, or not enough water.  I've thought maybe I'm not getting enough rest or eating right.  I've tried altering everything and the milk supply continues to decrease.

Coinciding in a parallel fashion with the fall in production has been a rise in Theo's episodes of waking in the night.  More and more over the last two weeks, he has been increasingly difficult to calm when he wakes.  We thought his stomach hurt or he was getting more teeth.  Maybe we were spoiling him and providing too much "help" in getting him to sleep...rocking, singing, swaying, shushing (all of the above at the same time).  It's not the end of the world to have to do that for 20 minutes at 8:30pm, but it's a big deal at 1am, then again at 1:45am, and 3 or 4 more times between then and 7am, when we finally just give up and get up for the day.

So we decided to try a few nights of letting him cry to see if he could figure out how to get himself to sleep without so much parental intervention.  It's awful.  We've seen a decrease in the amount of time it takes him to get to sleep, but the 1am waking is a given.  And letting him cry is no longer an option at that point, because it's brutal.  He's seriously pissed.  I broke the rules and ended up picking him up, nursing him back to sleep, etc. several nights.  He was not going back to sleep otherwise.

Well, we took him to the doctor for his 6 month checkup last Thursday and I was shocked to find out that he had gone from the 50th percentile to the 72nd percentile for height and from the 25th percentile to the 13th percentile for weight.  My jaw dropped.  The doctor could see that I was distressed by this and I commented that he had dropped by half.  The doctor explained that you have to look at the numbers out of 100% and that he had actually only dropped by about 10%.  He also mentioned that he was not concerned as he would rather see long, lean babies than fat babies, and it wasn't as if he had quit gaining...he just wasn't gaining at the same pace he had been the first 4 months of life.  We began talking about his night waking and what it could be related to.  At that moment, it clicked.  I realized that he's not getting enough to eat during the day because my milk supply has dropped.  I suggested this to the doctor and he agreed that I was probably right if I had noticed a substantial dip in my pumped supply.  It's a bit perplexing, because he is always satisfied when he finishes eating.  I assumed he was getting plenty to eat as he never complained and always chose when to un-latch on his own.

He suggested feeding him a bottle from our frozen reserves before bed, or to begin supplementing with formula.  Yep, he dropped the F-bomb.  Up until now, I have been hell bent against using formula.  When all of this came together for me at the doctor's office, I finally felt at peace with it.  I feel confident that if I was a stay-at-home-mom, I could have made it to a year.  But there's something about pumping and being away from your baby for 20 hours a day through the week that confuses the body.  I feel proud of what I have been able to accomplish up to this point.  We have a month's worth of frozen breastmilk that he will be able to drink at the babysitter's house and I will continue pumping and nursing until nothing is coming out (or until he turns 1, whichever comes first). Otherwise, he will be eating more solids and having some formula.

I'm okay with it.  Or at least as okay as I'm going to be.  I'm not going to let my stubbornness and determination about breastfeeding until he turns 1 get in the way of my baby's growth.  Last night he slept through the night for the first time in over a month.  He also had two 4 ounce bottles of formula during the day yesterday.

I'll just be glad to start getting some sleep again...until the next phase.

~C~