I'm just a mommy living in a toddlers world

Posts tagged ‘child birth’

Confessions: Why I Sprayed my Boobs with Fooey! Ultra-Bitter Spray

Yes, it is true.  I sprayed my boobs with Fooey! Ultra-Bitter Spray to get my daughter to stop breast feeding.  I know this may sound cruel, but drastic times call for drastic measures.

Please don’t judge me.  You try having a piranha attached to your chest.  I was afraid to have a nipple severed!

I gave her 2 years to self-wean and she wasn’t having it.  Two Years!  The fact is she never had a Lovie or a Blankie to help her fall asleep like most normal kids.  Instead, she had my boobie.

Let me just say that this was not a rash decision to use this spray.  It came as a last alternative.

My daughter was extremely attached to the boob from the start.  At 2 months old, I began introducing the bottle to her in preparation for my return from maternity leave, but she refused it every time.  This child was so stubborn, she would go 8 hours without eating.  My husband eventually had to take a leave of absence and drive her an hour each way to my work for a lunch time feeding.  When I got home at night it was a non-stop milk fest.  This went on for about 7 months until finally, Finally, she began to take the bottle.

I should have known that was a sign for the times to come.

My plan was to stop breastfeeding her once she turned one.  At this point she was fine during the day with a bottle, but whenever I was around she was attached to my chest like a fly on shit.  If I was smart I would have invested in a prosthetic boob like Robert Dinero in Meet the Fockers.  I’m sure they’re expensive, but it would have been cheaper than the ten grand I’m going to need to fork out for a boob job.

Worried that she wasn’t self-weaning, I contacted the La Leche League.  I told them of my concern that my daughter was too old for breast feeding.  The nurse said “It’s wonderful that you’re still breast feeding”.   Wonderful?  For who?  I didn’t want my chest to look like as if a small animal had been gnawing on it.  Have you seen Tara Reid’s boob?

After many failed attempts, my husband came up with the genius plan to spray my chest with the bitter spray.  This is how it all went down:

My husband went to Petco to see what their were for options.  He came home with the bottle of Fooey!  I read the bottle and it sounded suitable:  “Stops Undesirable Licking, Biting, & Chewing Behavior”.  I thought, “Hell, I can even use this when I want him to leave me alone”.

So I sprayed my chest before bedtime, then waited for her to ask for her nighttime snack.

She said:  “Mumma, bebe (boobie)”, pulling at my shirt.

I lifted my shirt and let her latch on.  She quickly pulled off and said,”Bebe spicy”.  My husband and I were trying not to laugh hysterically.

She latched on for a second time, then pulled off again saying,”Bebe bubbly.  Mumma, wash it.  Wash bebe.”  At this point my husband and I were in tears.

She wasn’t giving up.  After about 10 minutes, I felt bad and gave in.  I washed it off and let her have her nighttime feeding.

To sum it all up, even the Fooey! could not keep this child away!  I ended up having to cut her off cold turkey.  It was a tough couple of weeks, but eventually she stopped asking for “bebe”.  At least she was younger than the kid on Time magazine.  Now that’s scary!

Image taken from time.com

Sex. Um, no thanks.

Tuesday I had my 5 week postpartum checkup with my OB/Gyn.  Basically, this is a follow-up visit where the doctor asks you a bunch of questions to see how you’re coping both mentally & physically after child-birth.  They then give you an internal exam to make sure everything is “back to normal”.  Yay, lots of fun.  I’m not sure why I get so nervous about these visits.  You would think that after 9 months of people shoving their hands up my hoo-haw I wouldn’t be so modest, but I still get very uncomfortable.  I feel like a twelve-year-old girl who is getting the sex talk for the first time.  It’s just awkward.  Well, here is how the visit went:

The first question out of the doctor’s mouth was,”Have you had intercourse yet?”.  Um, noooo.  I can barely cough, sneeze, and laugh without doubling over in pain nevermind having a 200lb man flailing around on top of me.  I think if he tried to come near me at this point my vagina would grow teeth and bite his wiener right off.

Then she asks,”Would you like to be on birth control?”.  I politely said “No thanks”.  For the rare occasion when the “magic” does happen, I’ll use other measures.  I call it the “pull out” method.  My husband calls it “dick control”.

The doctor then asks, “Well, what will you use for birth control?”  I say, “I have two children under the age of 3.  Isn’t that enough?” giggling.  She didn’t seem amused.  I then went on to say, “My daughter still sleeps in the bed with us (my husband has lovingly nicknamed her Cock Block).  I’m still not quite sure how I ended up pregnant the 2nd time.”  Still no laughing – it was a tough crowd.

At this point I felt pressured to act like an adult, so I told her,”We will use condoms”.  This is BS.  My husband once told me at the beginning of our relationship that they strangle his dick.  I might as well be throwing a plastic bag over his head and suffocating him.  Yes- he is a drama queen.

The doctor then says,”Okay, great, condoms”.  Now it was time for the exam.  She tells me,”Just lay back and relax”.  I love how they tell you to relax.  Lady, you have your hand shoved up my vagina and you didn’t even buy me dinner.  Get me a drink, and then I’ll relax.  She then says,”You’re clenching up.”  I want to say “Yes, I’m clenching up.  You know why???  Because it fucking hurts!!!!”.  But the polite me says,”Oh, sorry” as I try to relax.

Finally the exam is over.  She tells me,”Everything looks good.  You are fine to resume with intercourse after 6 weeks.”  Greeaaat, just the news I wanted to hear.  Can I at least get a couple months off???  It’s bad enough I have a kid attached to my boob for 10 hours a day.  Now you want me to “entertain” the husband, too?

I talked to the hubby later that afternoon and he eagerly asked,”So what did she say?  Did you get the okay?”.  I told him,”Everything looks good, but I still have some swelling.  She thinks it would be best to wait until 8 weeks to prevent any damage to my incision.”  So I lied.  Sue me.  Another 2 weeks won’t kill him, right?  Hopefully by then I’ll be in the mood.

Should’ve Worn the Bra Pads

Let me start off by saying I hate wearing bra pads.  For all of you that do not know what bra pads are, they are pads that nursing moms put in their bras to prevent leaking.  Yes, that is the leaking of breast milk onto clothing that I am referring to.  I know- Yuck!  The package claims that they are “invisible under clothing” and “gently contour for a comfortable fit & natural look”.  They are full of shit.  It’s like wearing a padded coffee filter over your boob.  They are crinkly, bulky, & you can see the round outline of them through your shirt unless you’re wearing an industrial strength bra.  I understand that it is necessary for some nursing moms to wear them all the time if they over produce milk.  I, fortunately, am usually fine without them as long as my son eats often- or so I thought.

Yesterday the little man and I decided to venture out to Target.  I only needed a few things and knew that we would not be gone for long, so I decided to forgo the breast pads.  After all I didn’t want people to be staring at the awful round circle shapes under my shirt.  I did my shopping quickly and then we were on our way back home.  While we were there I had drunk a large Coke, so I was doing the pee-pee dance by the time I got in the door.  I went to the bathroom and as I’m washing my hands I glance in the mirror only to see two large wet spots the size of half dollars on my shirt.  As my 3 year old would say – AWKWARD!  Now I do not know for sure if I started leaking in the store or if it just happened on the ride home.  I’m going to stick with the latter of the two.  Maybe next time I’ll wear the stupid pads.

The Great Name Debate

When people find out that you’re pregnant, what is the first thing they ask:  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”.  Whether or not you know the sex of the baby, the question that always follows is “Do you have any names picked out?”.  My response would always be “No” or “We’re still looking”.  My husband, on the other hand, did not see the big deal with sharing our picks and thought I was crazy for wanting to keep them a secret.  I feel justified in my decision to keep my mouth shut and here are my reasons why:

1.  People feel compelled to tell you what names they like, thinking that you’ll be greatly inspired by their choices.  Are they expecting you to gush, “Oh, that’s the best name I’ve ever heard.  Please, please, please let me use that name for my child.”  What I really want to say is, “Go adopt a friggin cat and then you can name it whatever the hell you want.”  I had my mom following me around the house with a bible in hand, calling out names:  “What do think of Micah?  Or how about Jacob or Jeremiah?”  Do you honestly think I would name my kid Jeremiah????  And by the way I haven’t been to church in about 10 years.

2.  People are very blunt and will give you their honest opinion- even if you don’t want it.  When my daughter was about 6 months old, my father told me that he liked her 1st name, but didn’t care for her middle name, Rowan.  He said it sounded “rough”.  You know what I said?  I-DON’T-GIVE-A-SHIT!  You named me, and quite frankly, I think my name sucks.  It’s boring and thumbs up on picking a trendy name for the times.  I really enjoyed it in school when my name was called and 5 other girls in the same class responded.  Way to be original.

3.  There are name thieves in this world.  Although, I don’t expect my children to be the only ones on the planet with their names, I do hope that they are different enough that last name initials won’t be needed to distinguish them from their friends.  Nothing would piss me off more than to have a friend or family member use the same name, especially before my child was born.

Early on my husband and I both agreed upon a name for our child in tow, but as my due date neared I got cold feet because of the potential nickname.  We both liked the name Mannix.  Problem is I cannot stand the nickname Manny.  The thought of people calling my son this made me cringe.  So I took it upon myself to find a back-up name.  My husband fought me tooth and nail on this.  He thought he should be able to choose the name, reason being I had named our daughter (and the dog).  He said it was his turn.  Oh no, no, no it does not work that way.  You lug a watermelon around in you for 9 months, then you earn the right to pick the name.  It became a sore subject.  He even had our daughter calling the baby Mannix when he was still in my belly.

When it came down to d-day, we still had not decided what name we would go with.  As the doctor delivered my son, he asked “Does this baby have a name?”  I looked over at my husband and said “You choose”.  I don’t know if was the guilt he felt from seeing me laying on the operating table with my guts hanging out, but he finally caved.  We now have our little Donovan.

Milestone: I can wash my feet!

Milestone:  Today in the shower I was able to reach my feet.  I know, very exciting.  I had not been able to bend over to wash them since having my c-section.  I have to confess, in order to get them clean I have been rubbing the bottom of my feet on my husband’s bar of soap.  Shhh, don’t tell.  I know, this is kind of gross, however not as gross as going 3 weeks without washing your feet, right?  It was either this, or ask my daughter to wash them for me.  That may just scar her for life.  I figure her father and I are already causing enough damage.

Next Feat (no pun intended)to shave the hairy forest that has grown on my legs.  May need a weed wacker for this one.

A New Mom…again

We now have a new edition to our family…a baby boy.  After 9 months of nausea, headaches, swelling, back aches, & sleepless nights, our little boy is finally here.  He, just like his sister, decided to make a surprise appearance into this world.  I was scheduled to have a repeat c-section, but apparently the date we picked was not acceptable to him.  He chose to come a couple weeks early.  On the Friday before Memorial Day weekend.   At 5:30pm.  When my husband was working 3 hrs away.  I should also mention that my husband transports large equipment for a living.  I believe his drive up 84 to the hospital in a huge dump truck with excavator in tow was less than enjoyable. He told me he was hauling ass in the left lane, doing 80mph, on the air horn, just hoping to get pulled over to get a police escort.  I’m sure he would have gotten a police escort, but not so sure it would have been to the hospital.

It all began Friday afternoon when I went in for a routine check-up, non-stress test, & ultra sound.  I had been going to these appointments bi-weekly at this point.  At 35 weeks, my baby was diagnosed with IUGR (Intrauterine Growth Restriction).  This means that the baby is smaller than expected- my baby was estimated to be in the 3 percentile for size.  I have to tell you that this was really no surprise to me.  I am all of 4ft 10in tall and my husband is no giant himself.  I was 112lbs. at 9 months pregnant.  Our daughter was only 5lbs. 7oz when she was born.  But all of this does not matter because everything in this country is based on averages.  My doctor even told me that she thought my baby’s size was normal considering my size, however, because we live in a sue-crazy society they must CTA (COVER THEIR ASS).  Alas, the doctor’s office became my home away from home.

So, back to Friday.  I went in for my non-stress test and check-up first.  Everything was fine as usual.  I was sent on my way and told to enjoy the long weekend.  I then went to my ultrasound (my shitty health insurance does not allow me to get ultrasounds in my doctor’s office).  The tech did my ultrasound as usual and told me to wait until she reviewed the images with the doctor.  It was 4:30 at this point and I had a 6 o’clock appointment to get my eyebrows done.  I was getting impatient waiting, knowing that traffic was getting worse by the minute.  The tech then came out with the doctor and told me that they found my amniotic fluid was low (I was told I had plenty of fluid the week before).  They had contacted the OB on call and he wanted me sent over to Labor and Delivery to be examined.  I thought, fine I’ll get checked out and be sent on my way…hopefully still making it to my appointment.  This was my main concern, as it looked like I had glued two giant, hairy caterpillars to my forehead.  I very naively walked into Labor & Delivery and told them I was just sent over to be “checked”.  The nurse told me to change into a johnny and took my 3/4 full ice coffee away from me :(.  I still at this point was thinking that I would get out quick.  The nurse then hooked me up to another non-stress test.  Shortly after the doctor came in and told me again that my amniotic fluid was low and he was not comfortable sending me home for the long weekend.  Enter Nurse:  handing me a box of tissues.  Reality now set in.  They asked me how soon my husband would be able to make it to the hospital.  The tears began to flow.  Now I knew this baby was coming- soon.

They began to prep me for surgery, but told me they would plan on delivering later that night.  The doctor got called out to assist with another surgery and there was another c-section to go before mine.  As I layed in the hospital bed I tried not to worry. ( I have a history of anxiety and almost shook off the operating table with my 1st child I was so terrified.  They had to drug me when they gave me my spinal to calm me down.)  I tried to focus on the TV, but had many thoughts going through my mind:  Will my child be healthy?  Will surgery go okay?  What if I get a blood clot?  What if I get an infection?  How the hell did I end up with a male doctor delivering again?

I finally was beginning to feel somewhat relaxed when all of a sudden 2 nurses came running in and before I knew it had flipped me onto my other side.  Scared the shit out of me!  The baby’s heart rate had began to drop.  Deja vu!  This was the same thing that happened when they tried inducing me for my daughter.  After the nurses moved me, his heart rate began to stabilize again.  They said maybe it was the position I was in.  At this point, I was still waiting for my husband to arrive.

Next, the anesthesiologist came in to speak to me.  He asked when the last time I ate something was.  3:30pm.  It was now 7:30.  The doctor wanted to perform the c-section at 9:30.  I guess they do not like to give a spinal until 8hrs after you have eaten, due to risk of vomiting and aspirating the vomit.  Now I’m thinking, “Great, now you’re going to tell me I could choke to death on my vomit.  Are you kidding me????”.  The anesthesiologist now asks the nurses if this is an emergency, otherwise he wants to wait until 11:30.  The nurses call the doctor in, and the doctor and the anesthesiologist are bickering back and forth.  As they’re “having words” the non-stress monitor goes off again.  Baby’s heart rate dropped again.  Now it is an emergency.  Thank God my husband arrived in the midst of all this.  So now my choice to wait was taken away.  Baby is coming NOW! 

Needless to say, everything turned out fine.  I’m fine, baby’s fine, and he’s 1 1/2lbs. bigger than anticipated.  Now let the fun begin!