A Birth Story: Knox Edition

I was the last of my good friends to have a baby. I'd heard story after story of pregnancies, births, and life with a baby. Most of my conversations throughout the week were about babies. For heaven's sake, I work in a NICU holding and feeding tiny infants all day long. I knew about babies.

But when it was my turn to have a baby, everything I "knew" about babies went out the window. I had a scheduled c-section for my giant baby and small, oddly-shaped pelvic bone situation. I didn't have the excitement of going into labor and running to grab the hospital bag, screaming for my husband to get the car keys like on tv. We very deliberately woke up at 4 am (who am I kidding, I didn't sleep that night) and casually walked, well limped, into the Labor and Delivery Ward of the hospital. Oddly enough, I didn't ask many questions about my scheduled c-section and as I'm being wheeled into the OR, I decided I probably don't want to have a baby that day. I burst into tears in the anticipation and sheer terror of a brightly lit, freezing cold room, where at least 15 medical personnel were waiting to pull a tiny human out of me. I lean over to my surprisingly calm husband and whisper, "am I spread eagle on the table?" Even though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

28 quick minutes later, after hearing "man, we should have made the hole bigger", Knox was born. The rush of emotion hits like a freight train, tears streaming down our faces, as we hear OUR baby cry for the first time. A c-section is tough because you can't exactly hold and love on your little one immediately. He was whisked away and ended up needing a little extra oxygen support for a couple minutes, followed by a quick wipe-off of birth yucky, and then shown to me. He was swollen but perfect. It felt perfect in the moment.

I then had to be sewn up and John headed to the nursery with our little man. The next 5 days were a complete blur of tears (and/or balling uncontrollably), pain, drugs, and minimal sleep.

And so it begins...

Tackling the new skill of breastfeeding proved especially difficult, almost unbearable. Being a Speech Therapist, I've seen a lot of breasts, and assisted many mammas in attempting breastfeeding. I've heard time and time again how important breastfeeding is and that establishing breastfeeding in the early days is crucial. However, figuring it out yourself is a totally different story. I immediately noticed Knox had a shortened frenulum (the piece of skin attached to the under side of your tongue) which can negatively affect feeding. I asked Lactation Consultant after Lactation Consultant as well as my Pediatrician if it seemed short. I kept hearing no and that I just needed to keep trying (or try harder or don't be so paranoid as their eyes stated). Two days later, over a pound of weight loss for my little, and open wounds for me....breastfeeding wasn't going well. We had the dreaded "formula conversation" which for whatever reason was the worst possible thing you could say to me in that moment. I cried the whole time I gave my brand new perfect baby the poison called formula. He however wasn't so alarmed, lapping it up without hesitation and never looking back.

I, on the other hand, felt like it was my duty as a Mother to provide milk to my baby. Long story short, I tried to breastfeed for two more weeks, making only 10-30 ml from both breasts while my giant baby pleaded for 4 ounces, and supplemented with the dreaded formula. I cried or scowled every time I looked at my "medical grade" pump that was supposed to stimulate more milk... 

We finally got a second opinion from an ENT who immediately clipped poor little's tongue. By that time, my sanity was hanging on by a thread, and by week three, breastfeeding was cancelled. Formula was my new best friend.

After making the big transition to formula, Knox decided to make it a little more interesting. Projective vomiting, diarrhea, and uncontrollably screaming now accompanied feeding. Add in sleep deprivation and no way to soothe your tiny human, and I was a puddle of crazy on the floor. A lot of Zantac and an expensive but invaluable milk protein allergy formula later, Knox is a healthy 15 pound 2 1/2 month old.

We've kept our tiny human alive (and thriving) for the last 3 months and counting....a huge blur, sometimes a disaster, and a quite frankly a triumph.