Powell Sprout: the first month, and adventures in breastfeeding

Liam is going to be one month old tomorrow. I can't believe it! They're not kidding when they say the time flies, it hasn't felt like a month. I hope the memory of his birth is always this clear.

Things have been... simple. I'll be honest, everyone talks about how hard the first few weeks are, and I was getting a little worried. For nothing, it would seem. Sure, I'm sleep deprived. Sure, it's harder to get things done around the house, and outings require a tad more planning. Sure, I've been peed on, pooped on, pooped at, and spit up all over. Sure, there are times where all I can do is hold him and say, "Baby Boy I don't know what you need right now, I'm sorry" when he cries.

But none of that matters. I'm not going to hold on to any of the stressful memories (maybe the gross, funny ones!) for any period of time. 20 years from now, those won't be the things that I look back on.

Waking up every 2-3 hours is fine with me. I get to wake up and see the love of my life. I get to wake up to feed him and make sure he's clean and happy. It doesn't seem so bad.

He already seems so big. He smiles sometimes, but I don't know if they're considered "social" smiles at this age. Either way, I love them. I love his squinty-eyed toothless grin.

Everything about him is wonderful. I love this little guy that sometimes my heart feels heavy.

Maybe that means it's full. ♥

Breastfeeding has been a struggle.

I knew after my reduction that it would be difficult. I still don't regret my surgery though. Does that mean I don't feel selfish? No. But I had no idea I'd get pregnant that year, and I was in so much pain and discomfort, on many levels. I had to do that for me. I can't imagine being a 34G and then getting pregnant. Sheesh.

My supply is pretty low. I'm lucky to get 3-4 2 oz bottles out of me a day. It breaks my heart. One morning I pumped 1.5 ounces, which was a lot at the time, and I was so tired that my hand slipped and I spilled it all over the floor. I sobbed uncontrollably for about 20 minutes before Ricky woke up and came into the room. I'm tearing up now, just thinking about it. It's my job. I'm supposed to be able to feed him. For a while there, every time I made him a bottle of formula I got so, so sad. I love him and I want what's best for him. He's so small, I can't help but think he needs all the help he can get, and I just can't produce enough breast milk for him to get it all from me. It's a pretty loathsome feeling.

So now we're doing a combination of breastfeeding, expressed breast milk, and formula (Similac Advance). More formula than I'd like, but what can I do? It's my job to feed him, and I'm doing what I have to do. I give him as much breast milk as I possibly can, and that's all I can do. Hopefully my supply will get a little better as time goes on, and we can decrease the formula, we'll see. I'm going to be pumping at work when I go back in July, so there's no plans to stop any time soon.

I got so frustrated for a while that I was thinking about giving up. I have my husband to thank for me continuing. Thank you dear.

I can't believe a month has gone by. I look forward to the next one, and the one after that, and so on until forever.