Friday, February 24, 2012

Dear Alex,

as of yesterday, you are one month old! I can't believe how quickly the time has passed. It feels like you just got here (but it also feels like you've been here forever... strange).

A lot has happened so far. First off, you should know that I got help with the depression, and I feel so much better. I feel like a different person -- like myself again. So, you don't have to worry about that.

You've already done a lot, for a one-month old. You have visited your Aunt Krissi and Uncle Grant's house once, your Aunt Tia and Uncle Bobby's house twice, and your Obaachan's house several times. You've been to Drinking Liberally twice, and you've taken lots of walks around our neighborhood.

You've started smiling at us.



You've flipped over from your belly to your side, just once.

You have met a ton of new friends.

You've had about 200 pictures taken of you.

You have had your first poem read to you. It was "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg, which is highly inappropriate for a child. Lucky for me you don't understand words yet.

You have listened to a lot of music. You seem fond of Tom Petty, Toad the Wet Sprocket, and They Might Be Giants.

You have started wearing your cloth diapers (although you're in disposables right now because we are having to use diaper rash ointment on you).

You got health insurance.

You got your first piece of mail -- your social security card.

You had a toast made in your honor (at Drinking Liberally).

You have adapted well to the formula and seem to be happy and healthy.

Right now, your favorite things to do are riding in the car, swinging in your swing, eating, sleeping, and hanging out on your Daddy's chest. You're not overly fond of tummy time on your activity mat, but you put up with it for a little while.

You'll be starting daycare on March 12th. I hate to leave you, even for a few hours, with someone who doesn't love you unconditionally. I know they'll take good care of you though. We went to visit the place last week, and the teachers all seem very nice. There was only one baby there when we went because it was late in the day, but she seemed quite happy. It will probably be good for you to be around other babies and to have your routine shaken up a bit. I will miss having all day with you though.

You are totally amazing. We love you.

Love,
Mom
1 month, 1 day out of the oven

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Dear Alex,

It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter.  All throughout my pregnancy, I intended to exclusively breastfeed you.  I did not consider any other possible options; I just assumed it would have to work out.  But after weeks of struggling to get our act together, we have made the decision to switch to formula feeding.


It breaks my heart to give you anything but breastmilk, but I have tried everything I can think of.  I have seen 4 lactation consultants, and I have tried several supplementation methods.  I have pumped and pumped to try to get my supply up, and I have struggled to get you latched on properly to feed.  It has become an agonizing ordeal for both of us, and you are not gaining any weight.  The most important thing for me is to make sure that you are fed, and for us, that means you're going to have to be fed formula.


I hope you will understand this decision.  It wasn't one I made lightly, and I have cried my eyes out about it.  I just want what is best for you, but that turns out to be a more complicated thing to define than I anticipated.  I want you to have the best food, but I also want you to have a mother who can keep her head on straight... and I want you to have ENOUGH food.


It's funny.  You come into pregnancy with so many lofty ideals, but you find yourself compromising when you look into the eyes of a child who, after trying to feed for an hour, is still crying for more food.  Please understand that your father and I love you very much, and we will always try to do the best things possible for you, even if that means making some tough, unpleasant decisions.


I love you so much.


Love,

Mom


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Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Dear Alex,

this letter is hard for me to write, but I feel like I should be honest with you about every step of our lives together.

I feel like I may be struggling with some postpartum depression. I know almost every woman gets some baby blues, but it feels like more than that. I've dealt with depression in the past, so I recognize the signs. Actually, because of the problems I've had in the past, I have been pretty hyper-vigilant about PPD.

What you have to understand is that this has NOTHING to do with how much I love you. The moment I saw you for the first time, I was in complete awe of how amazing you were. I simply couldn't believe that your father and I had made something this perfect. But sometimes, after a woman gives birth, the chemicals in her body get a little screwed up, and it's hard for her to be as happy as her heart knows it wants to be. It's very frustrating because she is constantly in the presence of a tiny miracle, and she finds herself overwhelmed, intimidated, and terrified -- more than is probably normal.

When you are older, you may watch a movie called "As Good As It Gets." It's a really good movie, so I hope you do. In it, Jack Nicholson's character has debilitating Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. He's out on a date with Helen Hunt's character, and he says something really hurtful to her. She wants to walk out, and she says the only way she will stay is if he pays her a really good compliment. The following conversation ensues:

Melvin: Okay, now. I got a great compliment for you, and its true.
Carol: I'm so afraid you're about to say something awful.
Melvin: Don't be pessimistic. It's not your style... Okay. Here I go. Clearly a mistake. I've got this...what?...ailment. My doctor, this shrink I used to go to all the time...he says in 50-60% of the cases a pill really helps. Now I hate pills. Very dangerous things, pills. I am using the word hate here with pills. Hate 'em. Anyway I never took them...then that night when you came over and said that you would never...well, you were there, you know what you said. And here's the compliment. That next morning, I took the pills.
Carol: I'm not quite sure how that's a compliment for me.
Melvin: You make me want to be a better man.

That's how you make me feel, little guy. In the past, I tried to find a lot of different ways to deal with my depression and anxiety. I took some herbal supplements, exercised a lot, and just tried to get out of the house and be with friends. Right now, I can't do any of those things, so it's hard. One of my doctors mentioned that PPD is one of the only forms of depression that doesn't generally respond well to talking therapy; it just has to be medicated because it's a physical, chemical, hormonal problem. I hate the idea of taking anti-depressants. I have never wanted to. But if that's what they think will help, I will be HAPPY to take them. I will gleefully take them every day, if that's what I have to do to get myself out of this funk. Because you make me want to be a better person.

You make me want to be a beacon of joy and hope in your life. I don't want to miss a second of happiness right now because you will only be this tiny and helpless and innocent for a very short time. I don't want to let it drag on for months, denying that anything might be wrong, and find myself in a hole too deep to get out of. I can't afford that kind of stubborn selfishness anymore. It's no longer about me. It's about you. And your Dad, who leaves me in awe every day, when I see how he is with you.

Now, from everything I've read, the baby blues are normal, and you should only be concerned if it drags on past a couple of weeks. So I made an appointment with my doctor for your two-week birthday, and if I still feel down, then we will do what we have to do. If there's anything I can teach you from this experience, it is this -- don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. Don't be afraid to admit that something might be wrong.

I love you so much, and I hope you don't think less of me as a Mom. From what I hear, being a parent is about making sacrifices, so this time, I am sacrificing my unhealthy pride. I will do what I need to do.

Love,
Mom

9 days out of the oven