Patience Should be a Four Letter Word

Patience.  One of the blogs I follow, Amazingly Awake, had an interesting point in her ezine I got this week. I started following her through a post on Pinterrest – “25 ways to be a Calm Parent”.  Now being a working mom, and step mom, I am the first to admit that I am not always patient.  It can be hard when one is pulled in 20 directions at once. So I eagerly looked at her site, and signed up to follow her via email.

The email I got earlier this week before embarking on my trip was o ne that included a patience challenge.  When I first read the email I was struck at the irony of getting a patience challenge as I was embarking on a solo trip with a six month old.  

Being an ICU nurse and practitioner, I am not well known for patience.  In fact, I have often said that I skipped that line when traits were handed out.  As long as I can remember, I have been less than patient always wanting things done right in the quickest manner possible.  I could give you a million reasons why I have not been patient – I could tell you it was beaten in to me.  In fact, that wouldn’t be far from the truth.  That however, is a separate story. 

 Have recently realized that my drive for perfection is dangerous to my happiness as a wife and mother.  I feel as is if in order to show my family how much I love them, I have to have the perfect home, and get everything done.  My husband, bless his soul, has often tried to tell me that I show my love in other ways, not just in how many chores I get done. I admittedly have had a hard time believing him.  Perfection has been ingrained in me as the way one establishes ones worth.  My drive fpr perfection often makes me less than patient with my family and life in general.

As part of the Mom Challenge, the first one was to slow down.  This was a difficult one for me and one that is going to take more than 1 week to work on.  However, it does go along with patience quite well.  Things are not going to be perfect 100% of time and that is ok. Things are not always going to get done on my schedule.  As long as the important ones get done in a timely manner I have to learn to live with that.  I may not get the dusting done but if the clothes are clean and the family fed and happy then it is ok.  The dusting, vacuuming, etc are chores that can wait for another day.

Traveling with Baby!

So this past week I embarked on my first trip solo with Jack.  We set off to my visit my grandmother and grandfather and introduce Jack to his cousins and great aunts and great uncles. I was terrified to be perfectly frank. 

Being me I procrastinated until Sunday to start looking for tips etc, and to pack.  Did I mention that Sunday was my fourth 10 hour shift in a row? Yep add on to that Jack was sent home from daycare on Thursday with his another cold/fever and you have a mommy on the verge of a breakdown.

Luckily one of my coworkers and friends was working in the stepdown unit with me and she has traveled much farther with her young children, to Canada.  So I picked up some handy tips from her and was feeling pretty good again.  Then I googled traveling with infant and got a little scared.  The information out there ranged from the extreme of don’t do it ever to travel and be proud, babied cry etc.  I went home from work, and finished packing by about 10pm and got ready to get up at 4 am.

So up I got getting ready and the car packed before waking up Jack.  I got him dressed and we told Daddy bye and headed off.  Our trip got off to less than a stellar start with a minor traffic accident on the way to the airport.  I was shaken but neither of us were hurt and I believed the car to be driveable.  So I get unloaded at the airport.  I manage to juggle the luggage, the carryons, the stroller, the carseat, and the baby.  Still shaken I attempt to maneuver my way into the airport by myself.  I get part of the way there and lose the luggage for like the fifth time.  A nice stranger came up to me and said he would help me get my bags to the counter.  I could not thank him again.  He said no problem, he and his wife had traveled with an infant before.  I thought to myself, man this trip is looking up!  Then as I was checking in as people passed me I started to hear people say things such as God hope he’s not on our flight. I was like really?  He’s still asleep in his carseat.  I tried to ignore it but after hearing it close to 2 dozen times I got a little paranoid I mean up to this point he hadn’t even let a peep out yet.

Then the travel gods smiled on me.  There was another mom traveling solo with a 5 month old little boy.  Forget that he was twice the size of Jack I was just excited that I wasn’t a pariah alone.  We ended up sharing a three seat.  The flight attendant said well if someone wants to sit here one of you will have to move.  I asked him if he really thought someone would want to sit with us and he laughingly said no.

Jack did pretty good sleeping until landing in Houston.  I never thought I would regret the fact that Jack didn’t take a pacifier.  Then came the landing in Houston where I couldn’t get him to swallow or suck enough to pop his ears.  All of a sudden here was the baby that everyone worried about having.  He was miserable, screaming and carrying on.  Then all of a sudden you could tell his ears had popped and he let out the hugest smile. The mom sitting next to me said that even though there were bumps that she would consider my first trip a success.  Her praise made me feel so much better about embarking on the journey alone. 

There would be more ups and downs on the trip but no matter what I knew that it would be ok.  Some people would always prejudge moms traveling with babies, and some people would always be there with an encouraging word.

The End of an Era

As a first time mom I was nervous about breastfeeding.  My job as a neonatal nurse practitioner added a little bit more stress because I knew how important it was especially since Jack would be going to daycare.
Then Jack wouldn't nurse.
He had been born a little early at 35 weeks, so I was super paranoid about making sure he ate enough so I started to pump and give a bottle.  I still tried to nurse but it got harder and harder and then there was reflux.  Now as a neonatal nurse I have been puked on a fair number of times and I thought there was no way I could be surprised.  Note to self - NEVER EVER EVER say you can't be surprised. 
Jack would have such bad reflux that I could feel it come up and he literally would have projectile vomit that cleared a good 3 feet. 
I was shocked.  His vomiting was so impressives that my stepson said we should sell tickets to see Jack.  I was like what?  He went on to explain that we could feed Jack turn him towards the crowd and say wait for it, wait for it,  and then let Jack spray the crowd.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry because my step son was right.
It wasn't the laundry I minded it was the screaming and the clear pain that he was in.  Then I would try to breastfeed him and you would think I was poking him with a hot poker.  With the reflux, we found that in addition to the medicine if we thickened with rice cereal he no longer resembled a human puke canyon.
So I pumped,  and I pumped, and I pumped.  While I stayedd home I pumped every 3 hours.  I had a decent amount of milk in the fridge.  Then I went to work.  In a job where lunch and bathroom breaks was not always guaranteed, I was determined to continue to pump.  So I became a multitasker.  I could pump, type my notes, and eat lunch.  Then the dreaded happen - I started getting less.  Jack was 4 months old and I wasn't ready to quit.  So I took the herbs, the teas, woke up to pump in the middle of the night.  My milk came back and I was ecstatic.
Then came Labor Day.  We were in Colorado visiting my brother.  I was pumping and not getting much and then my stepson accidentally knocked over the bottle spilling what little I had.  I was so upset I thought I was gonna have a breakdown. I remember looking at my husband and thinking I can't do this anymore.
I was devastated.  I felt like a failure.  Not inly had I not been able to nurse my child but I didn't make it to my goal of 6 months.  But you know what, after I accepted that I was not gonna be able to keep doing it I felt relieved.  Finally, I could relax and enjoy feeding the baby, playing with him and not obsessing about my milk.
My husband told me something that really made it better - he said you have worked so hard and you have done the best you can.  I am proud of you.  It seemed like I was off the hook.  Who knows, maybe next time it will be different - either better or worse.  But I am convinced that I gave it my all.
Bye Bye Pump.