Seeing as I'm the mother of 2 children under the age of 4, I suppose it's not going to come as too much of a shock to many of you when I say the following two words: I'm tired! Those of you who have children of your own or who are close to people who have children or have siblings much younger than yourselves may recall that around 4 months of age is when a sleep regression occurs. I probably mentioned it in a blog post or two back when Mara was a baby. Anyway, it's a normal albeit unpleasant part of parenting an infant. Just because you know it's coming doesn't necessarily make it any easier to deal with when it actually arrives.
Anyway, all of that serves as a disclaimer for when I say that I'm sorry if this blog post is a little disjointed. My brain is full to the max with to-do lists, chores, stressors, reminders and anxieties.
Parenthood is, in a word, tough. There are no guarantees. It's often a thankless job with terrible hours and no breaks. Children don't come with instruction manuals, and you can read articles and studies until you're blue in the face but there is no way of knowing whether these "guidelines" will even apply to your child, much less you as a parent. Honestly, it drives me batshit crazy. I can't even stand the clickbait on Facebook anymore. Scary Mommy, Huffington Post, Quora... all of it. It seems that social media these days is rife with people trying to tell how how much screen time your toddler should have and why. Or why you shouldn't try and make your child eat broccoli. Or, my personal favorite, the ten totally useless reasons why some mom from RandomCityVille, USA won't let her husband take their daughter on daddy daughter dates (I didn't read it but I would bet my left arm that it has to do with some social norm or expectation that's being upheld and said mom wants to turn her daughter into a tiny feminist or the like) much to the shock of the entire nation.
Yeah, because we don't have enough to worry about on a daily basis! Things that really matter like paying rent, bills and taxes. Things like keeping our kids from getting bullied or, God forbid, shot at when they're minding their own business trying to get the education they're entitled to. Things like keeping food on the table and roofs over our heads.
It must be nice to live in a world where you have time to worry about whether or not your husband should take your daughter on a date and what kind of expectations she's going to end up with because of it.
Sorry. I'm being cynical. I haven't slept more than 3 hours per night in probably about two weeks. In addition to that, I now understand what people meant when they used the word "three-nager." My house appears to have a giant bullseye on it for every single virus and bug in the area and there must be a tornado that whips through the downstairs every time I turn my back. Either that or Toy Story isn't totally a made up concept.
Another thing that's weighing heavily on my mind lately is the fact that I feel very stuck in terms of coping mechanisms. As you may or may not know (depends on how long you've been with me on this blog) food and body image are as integral in my life as blinking and breathing. It's partially my past but it's partially society. I'm not entirely to blame.
Breastfeeding a gigantic infant is draining, literally and figuratively. A friend of mine told me recently that it takes about 20 calories to create an ounce of breastmilk. I don't know for sure how many ounces per day my son consumes but I would guess it's in the neighborhood of 30 ounces. On top of that, I pump about 10-15 ounces daily. That's quite a bit of calorie expenditure! Naturally, that means I have an increased appetite. Which, as you might guess, is horrifying to me.
I have never been great at listening to my body. But now, given the fact that my son wants nothing to do with a bottle, I have no choice but to keep my milk supply up. Would he eventually figure out how to take a bottle? Yeah, sure. Would it be traumatic for everyone in the meantime? Probably. Is that something I really want to put on my family right now? Not at all. So... I eat. And eat. And pump. And drink water. And nurse my son all day long, whenever he asks, for as long as he wants. Is it exhausting? Hell yes. Is it worth it? You bet.
When Mara was a baby, she nursed as well. Possibly as much as Orion does. But she would also take a bottle. This was nice because it took some of the pressure off me. Since the moment I found out I was pregnant with Mara on March 24, 2014, my eating disorder has always lurked just below the surface. At first, I was able to placate it by saying, 'it's okay, after this pregnancy you can lose weight.' Then, when Mara was nursing, I'd tell myself, 'okay, when she weans, you can drop a bunch of weight.' And I did. Did I starve myself to do it? Not really. Did I do it healthily? Well, that kind of depends on how you look at it. I lost weight by exercising but some might say I lost a bit too much weight. Regardless, I didn't starve myself so at least there's that.
This time, however, I'm feeling like I was already smaller at this point after Mara's birth than I am now. I actually can't remember, but you can be sure it's stressing me the heck out. I feel really trapped because Orion won't take a bottle... all the time I was nursing Mara I knew that if it got to be too much, too hard, I could always wean her and restrict to lose weight. Not that I planned to do so, but just knowing the option was there was comforting to me. This time around, I don't have that option. I feel so stuck and I really hate that.
Like so many things with eating disorders it's about trust and toleration. Tolerate the feelings because there's not much chance you're going to forget or like it. Trust that when you feel hungry you actually are hungry because you're feeding an almost-four-month-old who is wearing size twelve month clothing. What?! When he was first born a friend of mine told me to pay attention to my appetite because, as she put it, "what you're eating is chunking up his thighs, not yours." I remind myself of those words daily. Sometimes it's cold comfort but it's all I have.
On a somewhat brighter note, the entire time I was typing this post I kept popping up to check on the oven because Frank's birthday cake was in it. I just took it out. (Yes, I made a birthday cake for my dog. His birthday was this past Tuesday.) When it cools, Mara will help me make frosting for it and decorate it for him and Abby to enjoy. That should be cute. And I may be taking the kids up to see my long-time friend in Washington for the day tomorrow. I don't get to see her often, so that should be fun.
As always... 'til next time. Xo.
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