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May. 17th, 2005 03:17 pmToday was our most ambitious day yet. This morning Alex and I had a weigh-in at the lactation clinic (8 pounds, 12 ounces! A five-ounce gain in three days! That's my little porker.) and then stayed for the new mother's group. The group was a very good thing, although I think it would be better if it were about half the size - we didn't get to everyone. About twenty moms and babies were there. The group was led by one of the lactation consultants, who is also a nurse.
Each woman introduced herself and her baby and then brought up a question or issue. The leader would answer the direct question and then expand into a more general discussion of the issue, encouraging other mothers to contribute. For example, I asked about Alex's extreme unwillingness to be put down. When I commented that I thought she had extra comfort needs because of her struggles with reflux, the leader asked, "Who else here has a baby with reflux?" A half-dozen women raised their hands. "What can you tell Rivka about clinginess?" It turns out that no one else can put their reflux baby down, either. (All these babies were under the age of eight weeks - presumably it's different when they're older. I hope.) We segued into a discussion of how to elevate the baby's bed safely, how to deal with our emotional responses to seeing our babies in pain, and (for the benefit of the not-yet-refluxed) how to recognize reflux symptoms. The leader also suggested that Alex might be more content in her swing if, after I strap her in, I tuck a blanket very tightly around her.
I'd say the group focused about half and half on practical issues and emotional ones. For example, we spent a lot of time with the young woman sitting next to me, who had a 2.5-week-old baby and was completely overwhelmed. "It took us three IVFs to have this baby," she said, "and now people who know how hard we tried keep asking me how I like it, and I..." Then she cried. The leader said something soothing to her and then asked, "Whose baby is seven or eight weeks old? Can you talk about the difference between two weeks and eight weeks?" People spent the next ten minutes reassuring her that yes, it did get better, really it did. The leader commented that we all probably had occasional doubts about whether parenthood had been a good idea, and that our doubts were completely normal and did not make us bad mothers. The overwhelmed mother looked much better by the time we moved on.
After the group, I went on to the midwife's office for my postpartum checkup. I saw Julie, my favorite midwife, the one who delivered Alex. She let me cry all over her and talked extreme good sense to me about maternal guilt and how you know whether or not you're trying hard enough. Every time I got mired down in guilt she directed my focus back at Alex, who was lying in her sling gazing at me intently, one hand stretched up to rest on my chest. "Look at your baby. Look at how beautiful and content she is. That's how you know you're doing the right things."
We're going to keep on with the third antibiotic for the mastitis, although she did raise the possibility that I may ultimately need to have it surgically drained. Other than that, things look well. I am not fully healed - which I knew, because I am not 100% comfortable - but my uterus is back where it belongs and things look to be nicely on their way to healing. She gave me a prescription for the mini-pill. The only concern she really had, besides my mastitis, was my weight. I've now dropped to ten pounds below my prepregnancy weight, which suggested to her - and I had to confirm - that I wasn't taking care of myself properly. It's not so much that I shouldn't be taking off the weight, it's that it whouldn't be coming off because I'm neglecting to eat. Point taken.
Now Alex and I are exhausted and resting. She's been asleep in her sling for a good two hours. These busy cosmopolitan days wear us out.
Each woman introduced herself and her baby and then brought up a question or issue. The leader would answer the direct question and then expand into a more general discussion of the issue, encouraging other mothers to contribute. For example, I asked about Alex's extreme unwillingness to be put down. When I commented that I thought she had extra comfort needs because of her struggles with reflux, the leader asked, "Who else here has a baby with reflux?" A half-dozen women raised their hands. "What can you tell Rivka about clinginess?" It turns out that no one else can put their reflux baby down, either. (All these babies were under the age of eight weeks - presumably it's different when they're older. I hope.) We segued into a discussion of how to elevate the baby's bed safely, how to deal with our emotional responses to seeing our babies in pain, and (for the benefit of the not-yet-refluxed) how to recognize reflux symptoms. The leader also suggested that Alex might be more content in her swing if, after I strap her in, I tuck a blanket very tightly around her.
I'd say the group focused about half and half on practical issues and emotional ones. For example, we spent a lot of time with the young woman sitting next to me, who had a 2.5-week-old baby and was completely overwhelmed. "It took us three IVFs to have this baby," she said, "and now people who know how hard we tried keep asking me how I like it, and I..." Then she cried. The leader said something soothing to her and then asked, "Whose baby is seven or eight weeks old? Can you talk about the difference between two weeks and eight weeks?" People spent the next ten minutes reassuring her that yes, it did get better, really it did. The leader commented that we all probably had occasional doubts about whether parenthood had been a good idea, and that our doubts were completely normal and did not make us bad mothers. The overwhelmed mother looked much better by the time we moved on.
After the group, I went on to the midwife's office for my postpartum checkup. I saw Julie, my favorite midwife, the one who delivered Alex. She let me cry all over her and talked extreme good sense to me about maternal guilt and how you know whether or not you're trying hard enough. Every time I got mired down in guilt she directed my focus back at Alex, who was lying in her sling gazing at me intently, one hand stretched up to rest on my chest. "Look at your baby. Look at how beautiful and content she is. That's how you know you're doing the right things."
We're going to keep on with the third antibiotic for the mastitis, although she did raise the possibility that I may ultimately need to have it surgically drained. Other than that, things look well. I am not fully healed - which I knew, because I am not 100% comfortable - but my uterus is back where it belongs and things look to be nicely on their way to healing. She gave me a prescription for the mini-pill. The only concern she really had, besides my mastitis, was my weight. I've now dropped to ten pounds below my prepregnancy weight, which suggested to her - and I had to confirm - that I wasn't taking care of myself properly. It's not so much that I shouldn't be taking off the weight, it's that it whouldn't be coming off because I'm neglecting to eat. Point taken.
Now Alex and I are exhausted and resting. She's been asleep in her sling for a good two hours. These busy cosmopolitan days wear us out.
