The One About Poop

When you're totally responsible for the survival of another, helpless, fragile creature who is unable to take advantage of the joys of opposable thumbs or verbal communication, you become necessarily and intimately acquainted with their ins and outs. Dog owners know what I'm talking about, although luckily my daughter doesn't shit on the lawn and make me pick it up. You're liable for everything that goes in and everything that comes out, and you begin to pay close attention to said things.

With our own bodies, we know how we're feeling because, well, we feel it, and we can communicate that do other people via our words. Babies have no such ability, so, we, as parents, have to use other clues to sleuth our way to finding out how our children are feeling. This means watching their poop.

We are parents. We are Poop Sleuths.

Ezri's most famous move is something I like to call Exploding Poops. She waits until her diaper is off and I'm all done wiping her and then shoots her watery smelly crap all over the place. It's horrible. It gets so much air, it has an arc to it. An arc of poop. Just the other day, she shot it almost two feet across the living room floor. I'm fairly certain I should make some kind of Olympic event out of it. We'd kick ass.

But perhaps a parent most notices their kid's poop when something is wrong, like when there's none or there's too damned much. Then poop sleuthing actually becomes an emotional experience. When Ezri was first born, she didn't poo for a few days, and it was of some concern. That first dirty diaper after a few days of just wet ones was a cause for celebration!

"She pooped! Huzzah!"

People without kids will never really understand our obsession with the bodily functions of our children. And just FYI, my childless friends: When we talk about it, it's not that we're trying to be gross or insensitive. It's just our life now.

On Boobs

Don't let anyone tell you otherwise: Breast feeding does not come natually. It's a natural thing, sure, and an incredible wonderful healthy fabulous thing. But it's not automatic and it sure isn't easy.

Ezri and I got off to a great start. As per my wishes, I got to breast feed virtually right away. Some beautiful skin-to-skin time immediately post-birth, then after being weighed and measured, we got down to business. It was awesome. Feeding my child with my own body is an incredible feeling, I was thrilled.

Things kept going well until we got home. It was really hard to keep her awake during feedings, but I didn't think anything of it. Our public health nurse came to visit a couple days after being discharged because we were concerned about jaundice. Turns out she lost more weight than is normal (around 5% of birth weight is normal, she lost 12%), and things just kept progressing from there.

The jaundice sorted itself out (thank goodness), and for her one week checkup, we saw a paediatrician. Her weight was still not adequate, and he said we'd have to start supplementing.

Formula? Fuck.

I'm such a huge breast feeding fanatic, I'll never understand women who voluntarily don't breast feed. At all. It baffles me. So this was a huge blow, to know that my body wasn't enough for my child. Turns out, I wasn't producing enough for het yet. Add that to the fact that she's impossible to keep conscious long enough to feed, and then she developed latching issues, her health was our #1 priority. If that meant formula, then that meant formula. Doesn't mean I'm thrilled about it.

They recommended a bunch of things to use instead of a bottle, since breast feeding isn't yet well established til usually the second month and the bottle can cause further issues, since it's so much easier to get milk from than the breast. But none of them were practical. When you're already frustrated, overtired, and have your support team (husband and mother) leaving soon (going back to work and flying out, respectively), you have to think about your own sanity too. I'm good to no one if I'm broken.

So a ton of pills (to get my milk supply up) and one breast pump (ditto) later, and we have our good days and our bad days. More like good feeds and bad feeds. Her weight is up by a wonderful amount, enough that I was told we can start weening her off the formula, one feeding at a time (see how she is on the breast and judge from there).

It is definitely not an exact science, but according to multiple nurses and lactation experts I've seen over the last two weeks, I'm doing everything right. It just takes time. It's hard to remember that when it's 2am and all you want is to feed and sleep, but the little one won't latch because she keeps getting her limbs in the way, but you don't have any free hands to hold them back, and then once she does get on, she immediately falls asleep, and then when she looses the latch and wakes up, she panics and starts freaking out, screaming too much to be able to latch again.

Welcome to my life.

I just keep reminding myself "It will get easier."