Consequences

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Newton must not have ever cared for a newborn because, according to his law, a little thing like giving a child formula should never result in the ABOMINATION that finds its way into Evie's diaper once every two days. The smell is enough to fry your brains and make your eyeballs bleed.

Seriously, formula is super convenient and all, but I'm not sure it is worth the entire second floor of our house smelling like the public restroom at a refried bean factory. We had an...err...episode...today, and here was the precaution that had to be taken in order to make sure that neither myself nor Graham threw up all over Evie's cute, polka-dotted rug.

Parenting makes you quite resourceful.

For reals: I have the best husband in the world.

There's More Than One Way to Milk a Cow

As any of you who have ever had the pleasure of pumping breast-milk know, it is a process that requires tools. I mean more tools than a Home Depot. More tools than a Home Depot that just won a high-stakes-poker-game with a Lowe's.

There's the actual pump...then you need what I like to call the trumpets...and the bottles to attach to the trumpets...and tops for the bottles. Our trip to Alabama last week was going to be more than a 3-bottle trip (When you have a baby, hours start to lose their meaning. Time starts being gauged in terms of how many bottles or feedings your baby will require while you are away.) so we had to take the pump. While we were at Mama Hazel's and everyone was taking pictures, I excused myself to go to the restroom and pump some milk. Except that when I got to the bathroom and rifled through my bag I realized...no, it couldn't be...I am not that stupid. Oh yes. I am.

I forgot the trumpets.

No worries, I tell myself, breast-pumps have only been around about 60 years...so how did people do this before then? Well, they breast-fed. The only problem there is that, for the past week, whenever Evie so much as sees my boob she screams bloody murder (it does WONDERS for my self esteem).

So I channel my inner cave woman and I express. By. Hand.

If someone had told me ten years ago that on one humid, lowly day in August of 2009 I'd be hunched over a toilet in a nursing home bathroom, giving myself the purple-nurple of the century, I probably would have choked to death on my own laugh. Four ounces later and I have found success. My child will not starve today! And let me tell you, I haven't had a hand cramp like that since the verbal portion of the SAT.

It's Baaaaaccckk...

First of all, I would like to point out that it is July...not April...so no-one can accuse me of pulling an April Fools joke. I wish that I was joking. I do.

I have been having achy flu-like pains for about 5 days now...and I thought that maybe I was coming down with some kind of cold/sinus/junk. When I woke up Saturday morning with a 103.8 fever and a large, painful mass in my right breast I knew that it wasn't the cold/sinus/junk...it was the devil. The devil has taken up residence in my right boob and he is never going to leave. never.

I called my doctor to tell her that my mastitis was back, and right after I convinced her that I was not kidding she says to me words that you never, ever want a doctor to say to you: "No-one in our practice has ever seen a case of mastitis as virulent as yours. We are seriously considering writing a paper about you for a medical journal". Great. Awesome. Can we get to the part where you prescribe me some medicine so that my publication-worthy-ailment GOES AWAY?!

"Oh. About that. If it is the same strain of infection that you had last time (which it probably is) than there is a good chance that it will not respond to antibiotics." I am crying at this point. Sobbing, really. Feeling as sorry for myself as sorry can be. It is not a proud moment. She says that she will call me in a prescription for Bactrum (which made me feel better last time) but that my infection has probably cultivated a resistance to that, too...my instructions are to call her back in 48 hours if the infection has not gotten better...at which point my options are to wait it out and hope it goes away on its own, or wait it out until it gets bad enough to require surgery. Either way: waiting...it...out... In pain. For a long time. With a 103.8 fever. Sounds great, thanks...I'll take the crappiest option in the world.

So here I am, 72 hours into my antibiotic (which is not working) and I haven't called yet because I do not really want to know what my OB-GYN is going to tell me. I mean, I know what she is going to tell me...but I do not want to hear it. I so badly do not want to hear it that I might just superglue a pair of earmuffs to my head.

So...here's where you come in cyber-friends...please please pray that this infection somehow resolves itself on its own (preferably sooner rather than later) and that no surgery is required (although I have half a mind to cut my boob off myself...If my boob were a person I would never speak to it again after this ordeal).

I will end this post on a good note: my beautiful, smooshy, cabbage-patch-doll of a daughter is a smiling machine.

I mean really...she is so adorable that it hurts (almost as much as having Satan himself in my mammary).

Back to Basics

So here is something that I am super excited about: we are back on the breastfeeding train! During my first bout with mastitis I was in so much pain and completely frustrating with breastfeeding that I gave it up in favor of pumping and feeding Evie my milk in bottle form. Before giving birth, breastfeeding was something that was incredibly important to me...but I was completely unprepared for the world of hurt that it turned out to be.

Fast forward three weeks: my mastitis is gone and I had been thinking about giving breastfeeding a second try...but I was feeling a little apprehensive. I was scared that one bad latch and I would be back at square one, and I was also scared that Evie just wouldn't be willing to go back after being on the bottle for so long. Long story short, she was willing to go back...after a couple of days working at it, we are back to breastfeeding. We are still giving her a bottle a couple of times a day (how else would my wonderful husband be able to take the night feeding!?)


I am one very happy mama...and Evie is pretty pleased, too!