WEEK ONE: The good. The bad. The ugly cry…

Week one… ohh how I loathe thee!

I had NO IDEA week one would be SO HARD both on the body and the mind. Not only did we have a newborn to care for but my body was still in full recovery mode from my c section. I had a yellow pad with a check list just to make sure I was taking whatever pain meds at the proper time intervals, as I was totally loopy/ too sleep deprived to keep track of that just in my head.

Speaking of pain… EFFIN OUCHHHH! I felt like a dump truck hit me, then a slow rolling Zamboni rolled over me and topped that off with an RV dragging me through the back roads to go camping…  Good GOD! I’m sure I terrified my husband. I was a geriatric shuffling, Quasimodo hunchbacked, zombie mumbling fragment of what his wife once was.

On top of me feeling like I was dying a slow death physically, emotionally I was a basket case. Those damn hormones and sleep deprivation are a wicked combo! I think I cried more in the first three days home than I cried in the past five years combined… and I’m a crier.

SIDENOTE i.e. of me being a crier:

‘TOY STORY 3’ made me bawl my eyes out with the bear left on the hill… like ugly cry… yes, I’m ridiculous. And yes, my family pokes fun at me for being a cry baby… WHATEVER! Disney and Pixar are skilled at tugging on my heart strings. I have a sensitive and caring soul! I’m a lover, not a fighter.

Anyhow, back on track! Crying… yes. So after night two of me acting like I “totally got this” and subsequently crying and husband and I getting snippy with eachother (both stressed out and sleep deprived) we called in the troops for back up. Aka. We called our mom’s.

Without a moments hesitation we had both of our mom’s helping out with anything and everything they could, from making sure I was up on my meds to helping cook dinners and changing  little crackerjack’a diapers.  Immediately I had a wave of relief… though it was gradual. Mom makes everything better!

Both mom’s got to witness me ugly cry probably a dozen times (damn you hormones) while yelling at my little boobs for not producing milk yet.

“My boobs are assholes!” 

Once again, my overly confident self was convinced I was not going to need a C section. I skipped those chapters in the books I read while pregnant. And well look who was WRONG. AGAIN.

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So, since I chose to not educate myself about cesareans, I didn’t understand why my body wasn’t cooperating. Oh to go back in time and redo that first week with the knowledge I now have! Let me enlighten you, in a condensed quicknotes version:

  • The placenta detaching from the uterus signals to your body that it’s time to start milk production.
  • Unfortunately, due to the fact that a cesarean is a major surgery, hence a MAJOR STRESS on your body, it takes a few extra days for the milk factory to open (DAMN IT! And sorry boobs for calling you assholes…). Anywhere from 2-6 days is when milk should come in.

My milk didn’t come in until day 4/5? In the meantime, I was running “E” on colostrum, and little crackerjack had like no food in his belly. Yes, I was an idiot/horrible mother the first week in… high five on that achievement! In hindsight, I should have just given him formula. He needed food. I clearly wasn’t supplying enough with my asshole boobs. End of story. It ultimately doesn’t matter where baby’s food comes from. Just as long as he/she is BEING FED!

So after two evenings of making my newborn basically fast on drips of my empty colostrum teet… ok wait, here’s a little math equation:

(2 nights x empty boob) x hungry newborn = starving baby and sleep deprived/recovering from surgery mom. 

An equation for disaster!  Hence me calling my boobs assholes on day 3, having a complete breakdown (que the waterworks) and calling in the moms.

Here’s a snap of my saintly mom and mother in law with little crackerjack:

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If you and your husband need a helping hand, don’t hesitate to ask family and friends for help! The ones that help are keepers! However, if you don’t live near family and/or don’t have friends (that’s kind of sad…) you can also hire care takers. Just do what helps you most and let’s you catch a little shut eye. Sleep deprivation is no joke!

On my day 3 meltdown we decided to call a lactation specialist (your medical provider should offer this). After meeting with her (a lactation ANGEL /boob wizard) for a total of three times, the boob and I were on much better terms!

Which will bring us to my next post “Troubles with the teet: part deux…”

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Hubs, little crackerjack and I at the end of week one… a we survived week one souvenir.

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