Formula vs Breastfeeding vs Pumping

*Please note that these are my personal opinions based on my own experiences.* 

One of the biggest issues I see in the "Mommy Wars" is the way we feed our children. It's only understandable that as good mothers we want THEE BEST for our little ones. I think we often forget that the "best" needs to be our PERSONAL best, not the "best" compared to every other mom in the universe. 

There are three options for feeding your new baby. Breastfeeding, formula feeding and exclusively pumping. And like girls in high school, mothers have formed themselves into these groups or cliques to support each other in their "feeding journey." Even worse- they tend to bash those who choose a different method of feeding. Never mind that their children are all healthy and growing.

I have done all three methods of feeding with my two sons. And I can honestly say that each method has it's own struggles. They are hard in their own way. One is not harder than the other. And in my personal opinion, one is not better than the rest. No mother should feel guilty just for feeding her baby! And seriously- you cannot walk into a room full of Kindergarteners and recognize who had breast milk and who had formula. It's not going on their resume. It doesn't count toward their college education. 

Breastfeeding: It is typically the intention of all new mothers to breastfeed. It has been the way to feed an infant since Adam and Eve. It's what our bodies were made to do. It doesn't cost anything, it comes ready made and science has proved that it is the healthiest option-for MOST mothers and their babies. I say "most" because there are several cases that breastfeeding is not the best option. Life saving medication for the mother may harm her baby through the breast milk. Sometimes the child does not thrive on the milk the mother provides. Sometimes the mother does not make enough. Sometimes there are cases where the mother suffered a form of abuse that makes breastfeeding uncomfortable. And sometimes things just don't work out. Guess what? Breastfeeding is HARD! At least it was for me. Some mothers take to breastfeeding like it is second nature to them. No one told me it was going to be hard. I had no idea what I was doing when I tried to breastfeed Andrew. I did a lot if things wrong and was too afraid to ask for help. He wouldn't latch. When I had Benjamin I was more educated and knew what to do. And so far we have been exclusively breastfeeding for almost two weeks. It hurts. I cried. Bleeding and sore nipples are no walk in the park! Not to mention I over produce and often feel like I have milk coming out my ears. My lactation consultant said I'd make a great wet nurse and could easily feed twins. I love breast feeding. I love knowing he is getting it from me, and that I can provide for him on my own. But it is hard. 

Pumping: When Andrew wouldn't latch, I was devistated. I was determined he would get my milk. I felt like it was the only thing I was doing right. So I started pumping. And it was HARD. I'd pump for 30 minutes every two hours. I'd pump, feed it to him, rock him back to sleep and then start pumping for the next feeding. This made me seriously sleep deprived, which also contributed to my PPD. I did all this research on keeping my supply up, which wasn't a problem until I developed mastitis- three times. One landed me in the ER. The pump doesn't completely drain you like a baby would. I often felt like people thought that because I was pumping it wasn't as good as breastfeeding. And that hurt. After all, he was still getting MY milk. Why wasn't that good enough? I was working so hard just to feed him and it still didn't feel like it was enough. I pumped for six months before I switched to formula. And I don't regret it, but I will never do it again. 

Formula: I want to slap someone when they say that formula is for lazy moms. It is NOT for lazy moms. Thank heavens for formula! Think of all the children who would have died without it. It's truly a miracle. But Formula has it's own set of trials. Finding one that is right for your baby can be a nightmare. Andrew was allergic to cows milk based formula and then began reacting to soy formula too. And Hypoallergenic formula is so expensive it makes me sick to think about it. We slowly got him used to cow milk formula, but not without many tearful and sleepless nights. His poor tummy hurt him so much and it killed me to see him in pain. It also stabbed at my heart every time Tyler complained about the cost of formula. He didn't mean to, but it made me feel so guilty that I wasn't breastfeeding and saving us money every month. We often had to settle for macaroni and cheese for a few nights in a row just to make sure we had enough for formula. I felt like breastfeeding moms looked down on me. One breastfeeding group on Facebook is so against formula that they call it the "f-word" and it is forbidden to be suggested or talked about. One mom tried to convince me that formula was poison. But it is truly a scientific miracle and nothing to be ashamed of. 

The biggest problem with my three experiences is that I was so worried about what everyone else thought. I wanted to wear the invisible breastfeeding badge so badly that I looked down on myself when things didn't work out. I felt guilty for making my child healthy. Now what is wrong with that picture? 

And now that I am breastfeeding, I don't think it's worth prancing around with a holier-than-thou attitude. Yes, I'm ecstatic that I'm actually doing it successfully. But my only regret with the way I fed Andrew is my attitude. If I could go back I would only change my way of thinking. Being a mom is hard enough, why make it harder? If something happens and I have to put Benjamin on formula, I will have a much better attitude about it. Because I don't want approval from other moms. I want approval from my sweet baby. I want HIM to be happy and healthy. 

I was an exclusively Breastfed baby. Tyler was formula fed. And guess what? We are both healthy, happy, intelligent adults. Our mothers did their very best for us and they did a fantastic job. That is exactly what I want for my boys. 

April Fools

April 1st, 2014

I woke up 15 minutes before my 5:00AM alarm. I closed my eyes and thought about all the things I needed to do today. I stewed in my thoughts for so long that surely those 15 minutes had passed and my alarm would go off at any moment. I checked my phone. Only three minutes had passed. 

I decided to get up anyway. I rushed to the bathroom and emptied my stomach. No zofran today! I did my hair. I threw up again, this time loud enough that I woke up Tyler. I double checked all the bags and then made toast for Drew. I threw up again and then woke him up. 

He is normally grouchy if he wakes up too early but today he was all smiles. 

We dropped off Drew and Abbie at my mom's and headed to the hospital. We checked in and settled. I was dilated to a 5. We finally got my IV going and started the pitocen. I got an epidural. And then we waited. 

Three hours passed. I dilated to a 7 and stay there for a while. I started to get nervous that something was wrong as they gave me more pitocen and had me lie on my side. My nurse came to check me once again. Her face became stern. As she pulled her hand away I noticed a good amount of blood on her glove. 

"Sometimes," she said softly, "the cervix swells and causes things to close back up. You're back to a five." 

I caught my breath. Did this mean I would need a c-section? I hadn't prepared myself for that. I felt my anxiety sink in and I began to panic. 

"April Fools!" She shouted. She laughed at my expression. 

"Sorry, I had to do it! You're dilated to a ten! I now pronounce Benjamin ready to come! I'll get your doctor." 

The next thing I know I hear Tyler saying, "Ree! He has hair! And such chubby cheeks! He looks like Drew!"

 And my doctor saying, "He is so big! I can't believe he is so big!" 

And the nurses saying, "Wow, look at the snow storm outside!" 

Sure enough it looked just like Christmas Eve outside on this Spring day. 

7 pounds 14 ounces and 21 inches. Because I was so sick we were told not to expect him to be more than 7 pounds. That is why my doctor was so shocked he came out so big. He was even bigger than Andrew was. What a blessing! 

Andrew desperately needed a nap and could have cared less about his new role as a brother. 

And now I have three sweet Furlong boys to love! 

How lucky am I?? 

Waiting

I've had a lot of people look at me like I'm crazy when I say I want to make it to 39 weeks so my doctor will induce me. 

First, I had a wonderful experience being induced my first time. I loved everything about it and I hope for a good experience like that again. 

When I was about 29 weeks along we found out I was severely anemic, which is very common in pregnancy. It was also at this time that I was informed that because this pregnancy has been so difficult, Benjamin has a slightly higher chance of having developmental delays or other complications. These are things we will not know until he is born. Every ultrasound so far has shown a very healthy baby boy, and we have every reason to expect him to be perfectly fine. But because I was so malnourished and dehydrated for so long there is a higher chance of something being wrong.

I am now 37 weeks and yesterday I talked things over with my doctor and we agree that it would be best for Benjamin if I get as close to 39 weeks as possible. Every week counts. And because I am on bed rest I'm doing better now than I have my entire pregnancy, other than still throwing up and irregular but painful contractions. My doctor doesn't want me to go past 39 weeks because my body is starting to "wilt" as my mom calls. I'm losing weight instead of gaining and my body is ready to be done. But we WANT me to make it to 39 weeks if I can so Benjamin has a better chance at a healthier start. 

Things like disabilities and developmental delays don't bother us at all. If that is how Benjamin is then we will love him for it without question. But as his mother, it is my job to keep him safe. And if that means enduring two more weeks of this, then bring it on. The last few weeks of a pregnancy feel like an eternity. I feel like I've been pregnant forever. 

As my doctor has said every time I've had a major problem this pregnancy, "This too shall pass." 

Crying it out

It's a good thing Saturday morning was so good. Because by Sunday night I had had it. Between getting sick, feeling like a failure because I had to have another IV (it was my goal to avoid it the rest of my pregnancy) the house was a mess and then Andrew spilled an entire giant bowl of Cheerios and milk all over my new dress. That triggered something in me and I lost it. 

I cried and cried. I cried because I'm tired. I cried because I hurt. I cried because I'm sick and overwhelmed and I just can't keep up. I cried because I hate being a working mom. I cried because I need a break. Tyler was on call for work so he wasn't home to witness my  breakdown. But Andrew saw the whole thing. And that made me feel even worse. I buried my face in my hands and just let it all out. 

Then I felt Andrew's tiny, chubby arms around my head. He rested his head on my shoulder and patted my back and softly started to sing in his baby talk. It's exactly what I do when he cries. And that made me smile. 

I pulled myself together and finished our routine: feeding, bath, story, songs and bed. By the time it was all done the only thing that made me want to cry was the fact I have to leave that perfect little boy in the morning so I can go count pieces of paper a million and one times, smile brightly at mean customers and hope and pray I don't throw up in the lobby.  

I am going to need my bright red lipstick and a good scripture before I take on this long week ahead. 

Blessings

This morning, at approximately 7:36AM I awoke to birds chirping just outside my window. The sun was casting a soft glow through the clouds as it inched over the mountain. Spring is coming to Maybrooke. 

Andrew was still asleep. And I was not about to wake him. I rolled over (which is quite a process at 34 weeks pregnant) and looked at Tyler's sweet sleeping face. He was scrunched in his usual tight ball with his blanket cocooned around him. I still don't know exactly how he manages to get his long 6ft 2in frame into such a tight ball. But it's the reason we have never been able to share a blanket in our two and a half years of marriage. We are both blanket-hogs.

Abbie was curled up at our feet, snoring softly. I was feeling the nausea start to take over as Benjamin began to squirm in my tummy. I shut my eyes and waited for it to pass. I love Saturday for this reason- I can go at my own pace. As I waited, I thought about my Friday night. Tyler and I had sat down to talk about a plan so that (hopefully) by the end of the year I will be able to be a stay-at-home mom. This thought made me so happy it brought tears to my eyes. I really hope it works out. 

I thought about how good life is. I'm the mother to a seriously cute little boy that I would do anything for. I am so proud to be Mrs. Tyler Furlong. I will soon deliver another son to sing to and read to. I have a dog. I have a small vintage house (seriously, 1950s!) that I love. Oh, how I love my house! 

And it struck me that this time last year I wasn't sure if I wanted to be living at all. I felt like everything was falling apart. But I held on. I pushed through. I want to shout to that dark place in my head, the part that held me prisoner and say, 

"LOOK AT ME NOW! Look at everything I have accomplished! I'm alive. And I'm happy! You were wrong. I CAN do this!" 

I smiled. It was such a happy moment. And then I rolled out of bed, took a sip of water and headed to the bathroom to throw it up. I do this because it puts something in my stomach to throw up other than nasty stomach acid. I took medications and just then I heard soft singing coming from Andrew's room. I opened the door and found him on the floor with a book in his hands, singing as he flipped through the pages. He dropped the book when he saw me and toddled over for a hug. Soon all I could think about were those dimpled cheeks and his chubby arms around my neck. 

He took my hand and led me to the kitchen and pointed to the toaster. He wanted me to make him our usual weekend breakfast- toast and honey. When did my baby get so big? I slipped on my apron and got to work while Andrew emptied my pots and pans from the bottom cupboard. 

So now he is happily eating breakfast while we listen to some of my favorite lullabies on our old-fashioned record player. I'm letting Tyler sleep in today. Hopefully we can make more homemade chocolate-covered strawberries. Even if this weekend gets crazy and turns out to be stressful and miserable, I'm so thankful for such a beautiful Saturday morning. Mornings like this recharge me. It's such a good reminder to count my blessings more often. 

My Post-Birth Plan

I started this blog as a way to help me share the reality and recovery of Postpartum Depression (PPD). I had heard of it before I had Andrew, but I thought it was something easily cured with some exercise and an attitude adjustment. 

Nothing could have prepared me for the storm that hit me.

 I had just had a baby. I should have been on cloud nine. I had every reason to be happy! Instead I was thrown into this dark, cold pit in a corner of my mind that I didn't even know existed. And it seemed that the harder I tried to climb out, the higher the walls got. 

I tried to hide it. And I thought I was doing a pretty good job. It's so easy to post a smiling face to Instagram and Facebook and say something creative. But those closest to me saw how badly I needed help. Tyler begged me to see my doctor. My mom gently suggested it multiple times. Even my boss at work pulled me aside to talk to me about it. And it wasn't until I caught myself fully ready to end my life that I finally caved. I didn't notice a difference when I started the medication. But everyone else saw a huge improvement. Tyler wrapped me in a tight hug and said, "Its so good to have you back!" 

And after a while, I was back. Thanks to A LOT of help and encouragement. But I was back. And it felt so good to finally smile at myself in the mirror and say, "I did it. I survived. I'm here. I WON. And I'm HAPPY!" I was living the life I had always wanted to live as a mother. I was thriving in my role, loving our new house and my wonderful Furlong boys. 

One day in late June we were all outside enjoying the sun. Andrew had on his Superman cape that is way too long for him and Tyler was tossing him dangerously high (a mother's exaggeration) as I watched from the porch. I reflected on how content we were in our Maybrooke home. And then I got the impression that someone was missing. It was like a spirit quietly tapping on my heart. "Don't forget me, mom." I told Tyler about it but we fully agreed that we wouldn't try for another baby for another year or so. 

Two months later I found out I was pregnant again, despite the pill I had religiously taken. Andrew was only 9 months old. It was too soon for me. "I can't do it again," I prayed out loud from the bathroom floor. I stared down at the four positive tests sitting neatly in front of me. They blurred through my tears. " I'm not ready. I don't think I can beat it again. I can't go back in the dark. I can't do this." 

I called Tyler and my mom to share the happy news and my fear of the depression. They both comfort and encouraged me, and Tyler gave me a beautiful priesthood blessing that night. I needed to be patient and all would be well. Benjamin was coming for a reason. And I loved him already. 

I have hard pregnancies with Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG). And this pregnancy has been nothing like my first. But I have tried so hard to keep a positive attitude. I often play "The Glad Game" from one of my favorite childhood movies Pollyanna. But it was sometimes hard to find something to be glad about when I had to drag that darn IV pole to put Andrew in his crib screaming so I could clean up the hulk-green stomach acid and blood I had deposited in the hall- a failed attempt to get to the bathroom in time. 

As my HG has become manageable and I am able to function like a real mother again, I'm getting more and more excited for another baby. I am now 32 weeks and I recently started having nightmares about after Benjamin is born. About the depression. I wake up crying and shaking. I am absolutely terrified it will come back. I'm worried that this time it will be worse, or that this time I won't recover. It makes me wish I still had months and months of puking left to go. Tyler needs me. Andrew and Benjamin need me. And I can't be the wife and mother they need if I'm not mentally healthy. 

So, Tyler and I are writing a Post-Birth Plan. I don't write Birth Plans. They are kind of a joke in my family. (Just my personal opinion. There is nothing wrong with them.) But I love the idea of a Post-Birth Plan. It helps me feel more in control of what may or may not happen in the weeks following Benjamin's arrival. The best advice a friend and fellow PPD survivor gave me about PPD is to expect and prepare for it. 

Maybe I'm overreacting? Maybe everything will be just fine and I'll be perfectly happy. But as one who suffers from anxiety, it's good for me to feel prepared if things take a wrong turn. 

My Post-Birth Plan includes things like who to call when I need help or feel overwhelmed. Plans for me to sleep as much as I can to avoid severe exhaustion. Plans to go outside and get fresh air, walking to the park down our street, date nights, and things Tyler will do to help me along the way as much as he can. It includes a time line of things to watch for, signs that I need help. How long will I wait before seeking medical attention and the kind of medical care I wish to receive. 

A lot of things are going to be different about this birth. I'm determined to breastfeed (Exclusively pumping for six months again is not an option this time. I felt like a cow. It's all or nothing and I'm definitely giving it my all.) I'm determined to give myself time to heal and not expect a quick recovery. I'm determined to let myself rest instead if stressing about a messy bedroom. I'm determined to have the best attitude I can. 

I can't wait to see his face. Will he have red hair like Andrew? Dimples? Will he be long and skinny, like his dad? Or plump like his big brother? I can't wait to see Andrew hold him for the first time. I can't wait to feed him and sing to him and get a chance to enjoy the weeks as a newborn. It will be hard. I'm probably going to cry a lot. But that's ok. I will be ok. I know I am a daughter of God. I have worth. This is my calling. Every calling has trials. And there is no trial we can't handle. And that it is very ok to ask for help. I have support. I have faith. I am not alone. I CAN DO THIS! 

Six things to not say to a woman with Hyperemesis Gravidarum

After talking with a few other women I know with Hyperemesis, I have compiled a list of the worst things to say to a woman suffering with Hyperemesis Gravidarum. 

1. "Have you tried ginger?"

 (Or crackers, small meals, lemonade, prego pops, peppermint, sprite, motion sickness bracelets, acupuncture, etc.) I wanted to slap people who said this. I've tried it all. Do you really think I'd let myself get so sick and not try any of these? 

2. "You look awful today."

 (Or green, miserable, sick, etc.) This always hurt my feelings. I like looking nice. I love feeling pretty. And it was hard to do that when I couldn't stand the smell of makeup or hairspray, let alone stand long enough to do apply it properly without getting sick. 

3. "At least it keeps the weight off."

 No. This is so unhealthy and dangerous for you and your baby. So many things can happen, from your body aborting the baby to save itself to the umbilical cord collapsing from dehydration. And it is not fun at all. I'd rather pig out and get fat and happy pregnancies than 9 months of a miserable blur. 

4. "It should go away by 14 weeks." 

I remember people telling me this. They lied. Most women who have hyperemesis are sick past 14 weeks. Sometimes it gets better (I do better at about 20 weeks) but I am still nauseated and I still throw up until the day I deliver. Everyone is different. 

5. "I got sick too. I only threw up once or twice." 

Please don't talk to me until you are throwing up every 30 minutes and you start throwing up blood and pieces of the inner lining of your stomach. 

6. "It's all in your head."

 A man once said this. So when the man caught the stomach flu a few months later he was told the exact same thing.