I have a confession to make...

I have a confession to make. I never tried to breastfeed my baby, not even once. His dad fed him his very first bottle in the delivery room while I still having repairs made. I didn’t struggle for weeks with latching on and a poor milk supply and then switch to formula to save my baby and my sanity. I don’t have a medical condition that makes it impossible for me to breastfeed, I don’t have a terrible workplace that discriminates against breastfeeding moms, I don’t have a “valid” reason for not doing it; I just didn’t want to.  

I’ve known for years that I wasn’t going to breastfeed. For a few short months in college I worked at Motherhood Maternity. I heard horror stories about breastfeeding, sore, bleeding, cracked nipples, babies that bite, days spent doing nothing but breastfeeding, leaking in public, getting terrible infections or clogged ducts that were excruciatingly painful. I sold pumps that reminded me of the machine’s I’ve seen milking dairy cows. I tried and sometimes failed to find women a nursing bra that fit and wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing they had ever worn. As an impressionable 20-year-old all I could think was, “I’m never doing that.”  

I have yet to see anything that gets women so riled up as the debate about breastfeeding. I’ve read countless blogs and articles about women who also made the choice not to breastfeed and based on the comment sections you would think they just told the world they feed their baby gasoline. Selfish, uninformed, naive, stupid, lazy, terrible mother... all anonymous insults hurled at formula-feeding moms through cyberspace.

Whenever the topic of babies and breastfeeding came up, I kept my resolve and told people I had no intention of breastfeeding. I would justify it by saying things like, “I can’t pump when I go back to work, the news isn’t going to wait for me while I pump,” or “I’m not sure I’ll be able to with the medicine I take every day.” Which is true, I do take medication every day but based on a simple google-search it probably wouldn’t keep me from breastfeeding and I don’t work in news anymore, so that “excuse” is out.

I was afraid to just admit that I didn’t want to breastfeed. I didn’t want to be called a selfish, horrible, bad mom. I didn’t want to have to defend my decision. I have always felt that it isn’t good enough to want my husband to be able to feed the baby in the middle of the night too or be able to go back to work without worrying if I’ll produce enough milk to feed the baby. It isn’t good enough to want to be able to take an uninterrupted nap in those first few sleep deprived weeks while someone else worries about feeding the baby or be able to go out with girlfriends and have a few drinks. It isn’t good enough to just not want too. I was afraid of being attacked and hounded by women who didn’t even know me.

When did women start being so hostile toward each other? When did what I choose to feed my baby boy, who is perfectly happy and healthy, become the topic of public conversation and debate? When did it become acceptable to berate and degrade a person you know nothing about based solely on how they feed their baby?

Let’s get something straight, motherhood is hard. You worry before your baby is even born how you are going to keep them safe and if you’ll be a good mom. You worry about SIDS and vaccinations and finding the right daycare. You worry if you are bathing them enough, if they are sleeping too much or if their poop is the right color. You wonder if your body is ever going to return to normal, if your sex life will ever be the same again and sometimes you cry for no reason at all. The last thing new moms or any moms for that matter should have to worry about is being judged and put down.                            

As women, and especially as mothers, we should be supporting each other, offering words of encouragement instead of hurtful, judgmental comments. We should make new moms feel loved and supported and like they are doing the best they can for themselves and their babies. Women should feel empowered and confident in the choices they make for themselves and their families; so let’s support each other, regardless of whether you agree with my choices or not. I’m happy, my baby is happy and we are both thriving in our new life together, what else matters?

Blessed Beyond Measure

It's that time of year again, where everyone (myself included) posts and blogs about all the things we're grateful for. I've made it a tradition to blog near Thanksgiving about all the things I am grateful for but this year as I write this blog from a hospital bed in Murray I am overwhelmed, almost to the point of tears, by all the blessings in my life.
I am in the hospital because I developed blood clots in my lungs, from a combination of pregnancy hormones, birth control and family risk factors. Although I would much rather be at work right now, I am grateful for modern medicine that was able to discover my blood clots and treat them before they became a serious issue. I am grateful for my husband John, who stayed with me in the ER until 2 in the morning and then got up this morning and took care of Mason while I was at the hospital. I am grateful for my mom and sister, Whitney, who didn't hesitate to jump in the car and make the 2 1/2 hour drive out here first thing this morning. I am grateful for my grandparents who drove 45 minutes each way just to check on me and give me a blessing for 15 minutes. I am grateful for my coworkers who jumped in a took over so I didn't have to worry about the things I was supposed to today and tomorrow. I am grateful for the friends and family that texted me or called me to check on me. I am grateful for my beautiful baby boy who makes me smile even when things aren't great. I have soooo many blessings and things to be grateful for that I could take all day writing down each and every thing I am grateful for but I am overwhelmed with gratitude for everything I have. I have a good life, a great job, an incredible family and friends, a house I love, a pug to snuggle, an amazingly supportive and loving husband and new this year, the cutest, smiley baby boy who lights up my life every single day.
Thank you to everyone who makes my life better, even in the smallest ways, I want you all to know I appreciate every single one of you and the role you play in my life. Thank you for helping me make this one of the best years ever, for supporting me and being there for me! I love you all, and wish everyone the happiest Thanksgiving full of family, food, football and love.

We need more compassion, kindness and tolerance in the world

It has been about a week since the LDS church announced it's new policy on the children of same-sex couples being baptized and the whole world went crazy. Before you close this thinking it is another blog about the policy, it's not, just bear with me while I get to the point.
Here in Utah, where the LDS religion dominates the news has caused quite the stir, I've seen countless posts from both sides about the new policy, one of which generated this blog idea. A friend of mine, a girl that I grew up with and had sleepovers with when I was in elementary school, shared a post by another about being ostracized because they weren't LDS. This girl shared the same sentiment and shared some terrible things she had been told when she was a little girl because she wasn't LDS. I immediately wanted to comment on her post and tell her how sorry I was that she had to deal with that as a child, but then I thought about it and the more I thought the more I couldn't guarantee that I hadn't been one of the mean little kids who said horrible things to her. And that made me incredibly sad. As a child I was a bratty know-it-all, if I knew something you didn't I wasn't afraid to tell you you were wrong, because I had prove that I was smarter than everyone else. And looking back it wouldn't surprise me if I inadvertently said something very hurtful, I really hope I didn't, but I don't know that for sure.
Which brings me to the actual point of this post, we need to be kind and compassionate and tolerant of each other and we need to teach our children the same things and let our actions show them that we mean it.
No two people are the same and that's a good thing, our unique differences are what makes this world a beautiful place. How boring would it be if we were all exactly the same? We shouldn't be teaching our children that being different is bad or that other people aren't as good as us because of religion or race or the car they drive. We shouldn't teach our children to exclude others because they are different or come from a different background or religion or social class or family dynamic than we do, because those are sometimes the people we learn the most from. We aren't born with built-in prejudices or biases towards certain people, those things are taught.
Do you really want to teach your children that they are better than someone else just because you go to church on Sunday and they don't? You can pass on your beliefs and value-system but while doing so also pass on love and compassion. Teach your children that there are people in the world who are different from them, who have different opinions and beliefs but that that doesn't make those people bad or wrong, just different and different is okay. Teach your children to make friends with the kids who are different than them, to share with them and be kind, because how would you feel if the roles were reversed and it was your child being left out or teased or bullied because they are different?
The golden rule still applies here people, "Treat others like you would want to be treated." It's a pretty simple concept that seems to have gotten lost behind the anonymity of the internet where people can hide behind a computer screen and say horrible things without repercussions. Don't help spread hate throughout world, because whether on social media or in person respect, kindness, love, compassion and tolerance are all things we could use a little more of in the world.

Motherhood made me a cry baby

I can't believe that in two days Mason will be 2 months old! Where does the time go? The fat little chub had his two-month appointment yesterday and weighs 14.1 pounds (95th percentile) and is 24 inches long (88th percentile). He loves to tell stories, especially in the morning, is pretty good at holding his head up, loves car rides, his new swing and is finally beginning to tolerate bath time. He also usually sleep 6 or 7 hours at night, which is good for me because anyone who knows me knows I don't do well on not enough sleep.
But moving on to the point of this post. I don't know if I should still blame the hormones or what but being a mom has made me a total cry baby.
In the first few weeks after Mason was born I would literally cry for no reason at all (we'll definitely blame that on the hormones) but now I cry at the tiniest thing, happy or sad, or if I get mad.
I cried when Mason got his shots yesterday, not just a little either, like big huge tears rolling down my cheeks. I never thought I would cry when he got his shots but I couldn't even control it! One second he was smiling at the nurse and the next second he was crying so hard and he didn't stop for like 5 minutes. It was super sad!
Last night I cried while watching TV like 4 times. I've always been the kind of person that cries in movies when people die or super sad things happen but now anything remotely sad or having to do with kids and bam I cry. Songs that have never made me cry before now make me tear up and some make me full on bawl, it is a little ridiculous.
I'd like to think this will go away but unfortunately I think I might just be a cry baby for life.

The Arrival of Mason

Some days it still seems crazy to me that I have baby, that he is finally here; after months of being pregnant and getting ready it seems crazy that in a few short hours everything changes and you are holding your baby in your arms.

For me labor started two days before Mason was actually born, on Sunday evening when I started having contractions regularly. Although we got sent home from the hospital twice (once Monday morning and once Monday night) because I wasn't in "active labor" mentally I had been in labor for 36 hours when I was finally admitted to the hospital (4 days after my due date). Once I was admitted, Mason was here in 9 short hours.

Monday night when we went to the hospital the contractions were pretty painful and I thought for sure progress was being made, but I was wrong. I was slightly more dilated and effaced but very little progress had been made since that morning. We walked all the way around the hospital complex, probably more than a mile, and got checked again, still no change. The nurse recommended that if I wanted to have a natural birth the best place for me to be at this point was at home and said they could give me a shot of morphine to help me relax and maybe get some sleep. I agreed and went home, again. But the morphine did nothing and I spent the night trying to sleep through the contractions. All the pain of the contractions was centered in one spot on my right side, the pain there was intense, I felt it in the front in my very low belly and in my back, making it incredibly hard to find a comfortable position to try and sleep in. Around 5 a.m. I decided to get in the bathtub again to help me relax, I stayed there until 6:30 and then got in bed and snuggled with John.

My doula, Jessica, text me to see how I was doing and I told her I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to handle it and that if there was no good news at my doctor’s appointment I was going to be seriously considering an epidural. Jessica was awesome and told me I could do it and to remember why I didn’t want an epidural in the first place (I didn’t want to have to get a catheter and the inevitable UTI that would come with it).

I was supposed to have a non-stress test at 8 a.m. and a doctor’s appointment at 9:20 but when we arrived at the non-stress test they said since I had been at the hospital in the last 24 hours and hooked up to the monitors I didn’t need to be tested again. We didn’t want to go home and come back again in an hour so we went upstairs to see if my doctor could see us early. She wasn’t in yet, so we sat in the waiting room for 30 minutes, John playing on his phone, me half-sleeping as the contractions continued to come, praying that when my doctor checked me there would be progress. I didn’t know how much longer I would be able to handle the contractions if no progress was being made. The news from my doctor was finally good news!! I was dilated to about a 4 and completely effaced. She also thought I was leaking amniotic fluid and thought the baby had already had his first bowel movement, which wasn’t a big deal but something to watch as labor continued. She wanted me to go downstairs to labor and delivery, they would admit me. I was so relieved, we were going to have a baby today!!

Downstairs I asked for a room with a tub, because so far, the warm water was the only thing that made the pain of the contractions more bearable. Since I was planning on having a natural, drug-free birth I needed all the help I could get. I was not pleased to hear there wasn’t a room with a tub available but they could maybe move into one if it became available. We were taken to a room and the nurse hooked me up to the contraction and heart rate monitors. She started my IV line for when I needed antibiotics later and left. By then Jessica arrived, John went to the car to get all my stuff and then ran home to let Willy out and put him downstairs with Nonna. While John was gone, I got a new nurse, Corene. When I asked her about moving to a room with a tub she said, “There isn’t a room with a jacuzzi tub, but there is one with a regular tub.” I was so relieved! I told her, “any tub is better than no tub.” Corene was amazing throughout the entire birth. She let me stay in the tub for as long as I wanted, bringing in the heart rate monitor every so often to check on the baby and the blood pressure cuff to check on me. She even gave me my second dose of antibiotics while I was in the tub. She was also so helpful with doing counter pressure later on in the birth after my water had been broken and when I was pushing. She was so supportive of my wishes to have a natural birth and I think she definitely helped me get there.

Corene checked me about an hour after we’d seen my doctor, I was dilated to a 6, John arrived back from going home and I got in the tub for the first time. The water was a huge relief! The warm water helped me relax and rest, I even fell asleep for a few minutes in the tub. Jessica was so sweet! She sat with me in the bathroom for a while and kept checking to make sure I didn’t need anything. While I was in the tub my mom called John, I could hear her yelling from the bathroom. John told me she was stuck in construction traffic and wasn’t even in Heber yet. She would probably be at least another hour and a half. When my mom arrived I was still in the tub but I got out shortly after that because I was getting hot. Dr. Cracroft came by while I was out of the tub and checked my progress, I was only dilated to a 7 now, so I hadn’t made much progress in 3 hours. She asked me if I wanted her to break my water, my mom said I should, that it would speed things up, but I decided to wait a little while. She told me that the baby was posterior facing and if I could lay on my side and rock or rock on the birth ball, it would encourage the baby to turn and would help speed things up. I tried those things for a while, while having John and Jessica alternate doing counter pressure on my back and knees during contractions.

After a while, I got back in the tub. The water was so soothing and relaxing. I stayed in the tub for a while longer, until just before Dr. Cracroft had said she was going to come back down to break my water. I still wasn’t sure about having my water broken, I wasn’t sure if it would speed things up or just make it hurt more, but my mom encouraged me to have my water broken. She said for her it sped things up quite a bit. When my doctor came back in and I hadn’t dilated any more since she last check, she also encouraged me to have my water broken because my body seemed to have stalled a little and breaking my water could help get things going again, so I agreed. It was around 3 p.m. by now and I was exhausted from not sleeping much in the past 48 hours. When she broke my water it confirmed what she had thought earlier in the day, the baby had had his first bowel movement already. She said most of the time there would be no complications from that but they would have a nurse from the NICU in the delivery room when he was born to make sure. She said as long as he cried healthily when he was born, everything would be fine.

After my water was broken everything got much more intense. The contractions came with seemingly no break in between them and I couldn’t focus on anything but the contractions and preparing for the next one. John was so helpful and cute! At one point when things got really intense and I just kept saying I couldn’t do it anymore he got my iPod and turned on my relaxation track from the hypnobirthing class, I didn’t hear much of it, but I loved that he was so supportive. He kept reminding me to breathe and telling me I was doing great. Going through birth with him was seriously amazing, for as much as he whined about taking the hypnobirthing class, he was so helpful and it made me fall in love with him all over again! It didn’t seem like much time had passed when I felt like I needed to push. Corene said she needed to check me before I could start pushing to make sure I was fully dilated but I had finally found a comfortable position and didn't want to move so I waited until I couldn't control the urge to push anymore and rolled from my hands and knees to my back so Corene could check me. She said I was fully dilated and it was time to push. Up until this point I think I had been fairly calm and tried to breathe through the contractions but the urge to push was sooo strong, I pushed with everything I had, it was such an intense sensation. Through every contraction John whispered in my ear, reminding me to breathe and not hold my breathe. I had only pushed a few times when Dr. Cracroft arrived. She had finished with her clinic patients for the day and had just come to check on me, Corene hadn’t even paged her for delivery yet, but she stayed for the rest of the time. She watched me push for a few times and then told me that I would be more effective if I breathed and pushed a different way. Even though I had originally wanted to push how I felt like it, I was so glad she was there to coach me through it, I don’t know how much longer it would’ve taken to deliver if I had pushed my own way, but I’m glad it didn’t last longer than it did. Jessica and Corene did counter pressure on my knees and John and my mom held both my hands and took turns putting the cold washcloth on my face. It seemed like I had been pushing forever and nothing was happening, “I can’t do it anymore, just pull him out!” I said. Dr. Cracroft was so rational and told me that she could do that but it would hurt a lot more than to deliver him on my own. I asked how much longer, she told me that if I continued to push like I was he could be in here in six more contractions. Six! That seemed like sooo many. I don’t even know if it actually took six more contractions, I lost count after two or three. I could tell things were happening though because everyone was getting excited. Corene had to keep telling them to let Dr. Cracroft coach me instead of everyone else trying to tell me what to do. My mom was amazing! She kept encouraging me when I was pushing and telling me he was so close and that I could do it! I probably squeezed all the feeling out of her hand but I was so glad she was there with me. Jessica didn’t say much throughout the whole process but she was there providing almost constant counter pressure and being so supportive! I know for a fact I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her. 

I don’t know if anyone told me how close he was or when it was going to be the last push, but it seemed like all sudden he was here! He came out and first thing I said was, “Whoa, he’s huge!” He just looked so big to me. Dr. Cracroft said he was so adorable, definitely above average for a newborn. Dr. Cracroft held him and cleaned him off a little for a minute before John cut the cord and they handed him to me. He was beautiful, he had so much hair. I loved seeing John’s face when he saw the baby for the first time, he teared up and cried a little and it was so sweet. After a few minutes they took the baby to weigh him, 9 pounds and 21 1/2 inches!! He was huge!! The cleaned him and wrapped him up and handed him back to me. We settled on the name Mason, Mason William Hoffman born at 6:27 p.m. on August 11, 2015. By this time Dr. Cracroft was stitching up my 2nd degree tear, and although she had numbed the area, I could still feel the pulling of the string and the sensations were just too much, I couldn’t hold baby Mason, I had to focus on breathing and getting through the repairs.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the end of the story. Dr. Cracroft had a question about a small tear near my urethra, she wasn’t sure if it should be fixed or if it would just heal on its own. She called in the other doctor from her practice to look. He wasn’t sure what the best course of action was either and suggested they see if the urologist that had been there for a c-section was still there. He wasn’t but I told them Dr. Stout was my urologist and they called her office. She was actually the doctor on-call and was coming to check it out. She wanted to do a scope and while we were waiting for her to arrive I snuggled Mr. Mason and watched as they rolled in several carts of equipment. Dr. Stout arrive and I gave Mason back to John to feed and hold. Whitney had just arrived too and my mom went to let her in so she could wait in the waiting room. The nurse told me that 2 hours after Mason was born they needed to take him to the nursery for some tests and shots and that they would be down to get him shortly.

Dr. Stout and Dr. Cracroft began the scope, I had to ask for extra lidocaine so I didn’t feel anything and the nurse gave me a shot of pain medicine in my IV, the first pain medication I’d had the entire time. Dr. Stout ordered several different supplies from the OR that labor and delivery didn’t have and told me they were going to put a catheter in and that I would need to have it in for a week. I almost cried. I had gone through the entire labor and delivery process with no epidural in hopes of avoiding a catheter and the very likely infection that would come with it and here I was getting a catheter that I would have to have in for a week. 45 minutes later when they were still working, I asked for another shot of pain medication. John and my mom alternated checking on me and holding my hand. When they were finally finished. Dr. Cracroft explained that my urethra had torn and that they had to repair it. She later told me that neither her, her partner or Dr. Stout had ever seen anything like that happen before. She also told me that she thought nine out of 10 women would have needed to been put out for the repairs they did or would have needed a spinal block. “That would have been terrible for you to have this beautiful natural birth and then need a spinal block anyway.” She said I was tough and called me a trooper, which did make me feel a little better about spending nearly 2 hours being stitched up.

Dr. Stout told me I had to have the catheter in for two weeks instead of just one, I’m pretty sure I did cry this time. Two weeks! That seemed like an eternity.

I felt like I had been robbed. I had just done this incredibly hard thing; I gave birth to a 9 pound baby with no medicine, after experiencing painful contractions for more than 24 hours. I didn’t even get to enjoy the first several hours of Mason’s little life, I barely got to hold him for the first 5 hours because I was being put back together again and now I had to go home with a catheter! 

I’ll admit I am sad about the way the birth ended, but I am so proud of myself for going natural like I wanted and so happy I was able to make it through. I didn’t even ask for medicine the entire time, which surprised me, I thought for sure there would be a point in labor that I would ask for the epidural and have to be reminded that I didn’t want one but I didn’t! I did it and I so happy that little Mason is here and is happy and healthy and soo cute!

I might be freaking out a little...

I've know for approximately seven months that there would be a baby coming around August 7th. I've see his little face on ultrasounds and heard his little heartbeat and felt him kick me in the bladder about a million times. I've been a list-making crazy person in an effort to get prepared. I've taken a birthing class and toured labor and delivery and even have almost all of the items you actually need to keep a tiny infant alive. But now that the baby showers are over and there is a very real possibility that this little dude could come sometime this month, I am having a slight panic attack.
Maybe it's because all my lists aren't completed or maybe it's because my doctor told me yesterday she's getting everything ready early in case my high blood pressure decides to become preeclampsia or maybe its because I'm a control freak and there are very few (if any) things about this situation that I am in control of but whatever the reason, I'm freaking out a little.
I've done my fair share of babysitting and holding tiny babies and even taking care of them for several hours at a time but I've never gotten up in the middle of the night with a baby. I've never cleaned an umbilical cord or given a 2-day old baby a bath. I've never been responsible for every need a new baby could possibly have and I'll be honest, I'm nervous!! When the baby starts to cry or has a poopy diaper I can't just give him back to his mom to deal with it because that will be my job now. What if I do it all wrong and scar my poor little baby for life?
I don't know if John is actually as calm as he seems or if he is just really good at pretending, but either way, there is no freaking out on his part. He is just calm and chill, which is probably a good thing because it might be bad if we were both freaking out.
In the back of my mind I know that everything will be fine but in the meantime I am just going to try and take deep breaths (and naps!), finish a few more items on my to-do lists and not freak myself out in the next few weeks.

Spoiled and Grateful

Yesterday at this time the power in my house had been out for almost 12 hours, by the time it came back on at 8:30 p.m. last night it had been out for a total of 21 1/2 hours. Not a huge amount of time but when it is 30 degrees outside and the temperature in your is steadily dropping it can seem like forever.
The whole experience made me realize three things: I would have never made it as a pioneer (or really anyone who lived before electricity and other modern conveniences), I should be way more grateful for all the awesome things I do have and I am totally unprepared in case of a real emergency.
I have come to realize that I am a giant wuss. Sailing across the ocean to get to American? Trekking across the plains to get out West? Having to live without electricity all the time? No thanks. Not only would I have hated it I am pretty sure I wouldn't have survived. I would have given up and just died somewhere along the way. If you really think about it, it is easy to see why people are so overweight these days, we literally do nothing compared to our ancestors. They had to chop wood and haul it to stay warm, they had to haul water in not just turn on the faucet, they had to build fires and sew blankets to keep warm, they had to hunt and gather and find ways to preserve their food without refrigeration, they had to build their own houses, take care of any animals they had, deal with illnesses like measles and pneumonia without modern medicine, and sometimes bury their children because of it. Life was hard! I can't imagine doing any of those things, which brings me to my next point.
I take the life I have for granted and am soooo grateful that I don't have to do all those things. I love that I don't have to worry about how I am going to heat or cool my house or where my water is coming from or if I am going to have fresh food that day. I am glad that my ancestors did all those hard things so I don't have to!
Lastly, I need to get better prepared in case something like this or worse happens again. Sure, John and I have a decent amount of food in our freezer and pantry but my options for cooking it is limited. I have a gas grill but no extra gas for when what is already in the tank runs out. I have a little camping stove but I'm pretty sure I don't have any propane for it. I have a wood burning fireplace but the chimney hasn't been cleaned out in who knows how long so it is unusable and I don't have any firewood. I don't have extra batteries for flashlights. I don't have any lamps or candles or foot warmers. I don't have any sort of water supply in case the water is out/contaminated. Basically, if something happens for any extended period of time, we're screwed. Which considering there will be a baby to take care of in the next few months, is pretty scary! I need to make a better plan and get prepared asap.