Ah, we thought.  Finally.  A little rest.  

But that little guy stayed awake ALL NIGHT.  So did I, of course, my motherly instinct kicking in.  He wasn't crying but just kept looking around.  Naturally, Mister Valentine promptly conked out. 

If I put him in the bassinette next to my bed, he would cry.  But by my side, he was fine.  Awake, but fine.  I propped him up but I was so terrified he'd fall off the bed and hurt his already hurt head that I just couldn't sleep.  (And I still don't sleep well.  I still wake to check on my kids at least twice a night thinking I heard something.  But that's another post). 

The next day, lactation came in and gave a hundred tips and tricks and none of them worked.  The nurses brought in a sugar bottle he'd had when they were doing a test in the nursery (not that I'd even agreed to the sugar bottle). 

But now I was concerned.  He'd had nothing and I felt so guilty.  I felt so sad and let down.  Here I was with breasts and I could not feed my son.  And actually, I now have damage inside my breasts to my veins from all the pumping attempts after both deliveries because I just felt so guilty about giving up and so I pumped every couple hours to get maybe an ounce.  It was awful.  And trying to pump for that first month took so much time away from my joy of having just had a baby.  Anyway, that next day while still in the hospital I snuck him some of the sugar water they'd left.  I cried when I fed him the bottle, hoping the lactation ladies wouldn't walk in (they were relentless). 

Moving on.  We finally got packed up and checked out.  The drive home was scary - two new parents and this little new baby.  The carseat was like a foreign language. 

And then we came home to two HUGE dogs who looked so much bigger than I'd ever remembered them and immediately my loyalties were for my son.  I remember leaving the house calling them my babies and then coming home and racking my brain on who would/could them as good a home as they had with us.  That may sound terrible of me but it's how my brain reacted. 

The dogs were curious and we introduced them but I just suddenly didn't trust my biggest dog with the baby like I thought I could.  She just seemed aggressive and maybe it was the vibes she got from me, I don't know.  But I knew she couldn't be around the baby.  (And I LOVED these dogs.  A lot.  So in addition to dealing with the guilt feelings of not being able to feed my son, I was dealing with these guilt ridden thoughts about the dogs, my other babies).  Four weeks later, a couple took both of them and have had them since.  They've given us updates along the way, so that was really nice. 

Back to the feeding.  My mother was there with me, helping me.  We went to lactation consultants.  They acted like he'd gotten some milk, but I really didn't feel he had.  And then, all the contraptions they gave me wouldn't work once we got home.  At one moment in the lactation office I had tubes with sugar water to trick the baby into latching onto a shield.  It was...absurd.  Totally un-natural, I felt.  I kept thinking is it seriously this difficult?  I never thought I'd have to work at it. 

Everything else appeared to be going fine, though he hardly slept like I'd pictured a baby would - he was awake a lot.  I got six weeks off work and they FLEW BY.  It was over in a moment.  And time hasn't slowed down since! 

The days around the house were quiet but I can't say they were relaxing.  It took everything I had to just get through my shower.  I felt just so tired and wasn't sleeping. 

After a week, we called the doctor in the night because he WAS sleeping, too much.  He seemed extremely tired, then, and having been so alert I knew something was wrong.  He wasn't urinating - when he did it was very dark.  So something was wrong but I'd waited the week because the nurses and lactation consultants kept telling me it would get better and that he was getting enough from my attempts.  Then, I had all these other people we knew telling me I HAD TO BREASTFEED.

I just felt sick over it.  My mom was the only one who didn't pressure me.  Even Mister Valentine pressured me!  My mom stayed with me for six weeks, but didn't live in the home with us.  She'd come to visit each day.  It was really late at night so I opted to call the doctor's office instead of my mom.  I finally got someone who listened and who basically said "Your son hasn't eaten since he was born.  GO BUY FORMULA AND FEED HIM.  NOW".  She told me what kind to get.  So I drove to Walmart, which was open in the middle of the night, to buy him formula. 

I sobbed (loudly) as I walked through Walmart.  Tears were streaming down my face as I picked out the formula the nurse told me would be best over the phone.  I just couldn't stop crying. 

I was then pulled over on the way home.  Still sobbing (I hadn't stopped since I'd started) I put my head on the steering wheel and just bawled!!!  The police officer was a woman and she kept asking me what was wrong.  I just kept blubbering "my house is right around the corner" over and over.  She asked me what was in the bag and my crying INCREASED as I blubbered "Formulaaa-aaa-aaaa.  I can't feed my babyyyyyy-yyyyy-yyyy!!!!"   And my head hit the wheel again, sobbing.  I just felt so defeated at that point.  She was trying to talk to me and I just didn't care about anything else.  I just felt so bad that I couldn't breastfeed. 

It was...REALLY bad.  I was overly emotional from all the pregnancy hormones and I look back and just want to give myself a hug and say "It's okay.  Everything will be fine."

She let me go saying she only pulled me over because I had a headlight out and she followed me home.

I walked in and filled a bottle with formula and just sobbed as I fed my son.  I was so happy he was eating and yet still so disgusted at myself that my body wasn't functioning correctly. 

Looking back, I've had some serious issues with dehydration over the last couple years and so I'll bet I was just really, really, really dehydrated.   This could have caused my milk to not flow correctly. 

My sons bump healed fine but I'll always say that it might have caused his intensity (which is a benefit in the long run!) - he is one BUSY kid!.  He never sits still and is so determined and still doesn't sleep much.  I always said I'd never be one of those moms who made their kid wear a leash when they went out and then...look.  I had to because he's so fast and is always trying to be on the run! 

I stayed awake for nearly a full week on adrenaline until I finally crashed after buying the formula and getting pulled over. 

And then we debated daycare and my going back to work over the next six weeks and it made more sense for Mister Valentine to stay home with him and continue school while I stopped school and kept working.  And it went that way for 10 months until Mister Valentine found a job that worked with his class schedule.  I hated my job and so I just felt harried and rushed and while I tried to enjoy that first year, it was hard.  I remember just being really tired.  I loved my new son, dearly, but I just continued to feel like my head was under water like I couldn't catch up and be "that mom" I always pictured I would be.  I was too busy surviving the stress, the job, the new baby, bills, etc.

I'll write more about the joys of that first year over the next couple weeks on my operation baby book because he was just busy and intense from day one.  We never  have a dull moment with him!

In an attempt to keep up with my Operation Baby Book page, I want to go back to the beginning and start with my son's labor story.  I'll break it up into two parts because it's super long.  Part two ends with a very funny story.  It wasn't funny at the time but now I can laugh at myself.     

A little history:  we'd recently purchased our first home, a small two bedroom fixer upper that we tried really hard to fix up and it never seemed to go anywhere.  Oh, did we ever try.  But each thing we revamped had a counterpart thing that would fall apart. 

We really wanted kids but because we were both working full time and were in school part time I got a pet instead. 

Two, to be exact. 

And the second after Mister Valentine particularly told me no more.  We barely have time for this one as it is and see?  Scratches ALL over the wood floors I just refinished. 

I brought home the second dog after I found out I was pregnant.  No, I don't know what I was thinking either. 

I really wanted to be a stay at home mom and I really thought it would just work out that way.  Boy was I wrong.  I don't know what happened, exactly, but we really needed my income to make it.  I had a  good, steady, high paying job ($35,000 + no degree = not bad for my age/experience) and it just became really hard to make up that income.  We planned and planned and it just didn't happen.  So I worked through pregnancy.  And while it seemed all my friends at work were put on bed rest, I was waddling to work each day up into my 40th week.  Two weeks later, they decided to induce me.  I begged, really.  It was summer and I was just SO HOT.

(not "I'm so super sexy" hot but "I'M @#$% HOT, DAMMIT!" hot).

Plus, I had a uni-boob which is what happens when you have breasts that are already too large and then you get a baby in the mix and suddenly you can't tell the belly from the boob.  Neither of my kids dropped, so it was uni-boob all the way. 

I gained lots of weight, too.  And had acne throughout.  And was really sick.  The maternity clothes just didn't fit right with that super high uni-boob.

That's not to say I wasn't appreciative to be having a baby because I was.  It was just a difficult time all around. 

Once the doctor agreed to induce two weeks after my due date I was elated.   I couldn't sleep the night before.  I got up at 3am and just decided to shower and get ready - they wanted me there at 5:30am for check in. 

At 5am we received a phone call that we'd been pushed back to 7am for check in.  I was disappointed but we took our time and stopped to get some breakfast.  At around 5:30am I started getting crampy.  At 7am I knew I was having contractions.  Talk about the power of suggestion. 

We checked in and set up camp.  I think we both thought it would be a smooth ride from this point: baby would be born, he'd sleep a lot and I'd feel great. 

I made silly faces for the camera but little did we know that multiple attempts at induction later I would still be pushing.  They'd broken my water, given meds to make me dilate faster, etc.  Nothing was working.  And he was SO HIGH in the first place.  So there was lots of dropping he needed to do yet.  Keep in mind, I wouldn't necessarily have induced, I was hoping to do it naturally.  And I did beg, a little, but I would have listened had the doctor said no.  Even the doctor seemed to think induction after 42 weeks was the right thing to do.

The doctor was in around 9am, and then at 4pm and then around 11pm he came in again.  It was apparent that there had been an emergency situation down the hall.  I was sad for that family and exhausted at the same time.  Mister Valentine and I were concerned that nothing was happening.  I wished I'd just stayed home and contracted more at this point.  I begged for a c-section.  It was so painful and the epidural didn't take well, they'd tried rebooting it several times but I must have moved enough that it just wasn't working like it should. 

Finally, the doctor came back again and everything happened very quickly.  He checked (duh!) and realized my son was facing up and he should have been facing down.  All that time, all day really, I'd been pushing with him facing the wrong way.  His little head just kept hitting over and over again.  Once turned, he was out in 20 minutes, with the help of forceps.  He was born with a big fluid filled bump on his head.  I just felt so bad for him.  And nothing was really done - they all just said it was normal and he passed his tests and that was that. 

We were young.  And stupid.  I suppose I just trusted the doctors and didn't know what else to do.  My mom was asking but no one was listening and it was busy and they were racing around taking care of the other situation.

So there he was.  

He was hungry and I was hungry and I didn't know what to do, really.  After the standard tests it was about 12am - I was beginning to try to breastfeed him.  He wouldn't latch for anything.  He was tired but I could tell he wanted to nurse.  He just kept crying.  My legs were still in the stirrups at 2am because there was nowhere else to rest my legs - no one came back to put the bed back together or move us to the other room, though we'd asked.  Finally around 3am, a nurse said they were ready to move us to the other room. 

Ah, we thought.  Finally.  A little rest. 

Part two to follow...