Benjamin Penguin

There are some impressive fountains in the world. Italy, in particular, is known for constructing some pretty artistically fabulous waterworks. And I’ve always been a fan of my own fair town’s Buckingham Fountain. However, nothing could quite rival the gale force with which my son sent an arc of urine flying yesterday. I was two parts baffled, four parts amazed and fifteen parts stunned. Adam and I were desperately trying to leave the house before 3pm yesterday so that Adam could drop off some papers for his job before getting stuck in traffic. We decided to do one last diaper change, on the bed no less, so that we would be good for a while. Now, we are a dawdlin’ folk here in this house. We take our time and laze about our tasks, so the process of taking off diaper A and replacing it with diaper B had always been pursued at a leisurely pace. “Why rush,” thought the silly parents? He’s not going anywhere. Except going he was. All over the bed. All over his face, his little winter hat, the sheets, the blanket, my hand, Adam’s hand, his eye, and I’m pretty sure a cat was caught in the mix as well. Adam’s first instinct was to panic and tell me that he simply had to get the papers dropped off and couldn’t I just stay home and take care of this. Since this was to be only the third time I was to leave the house since having the boy, and since I was looking forward to this car ride in a manner similar to the way that one might look forward to finally receiving that check for 1 million dollars that they’ve been waiting on, I must have looked incredibly crestfallen. In retrospect, I was more likely wearing a mask of what I would like to term “sheer desperation,” since I could not imagine forgoing the joy that was to be sitting in the backseat on an otherwise dull trip to a suburb (albeit with the promise of lunch).  So, Adam quickly changed the boy and we hustled off to the car. I’ve never been more thankful in my life that Adam GOT IT. I didn’t have to say anything. Some karmic energy allowed him to realize that leaving without me would be a bad, bad thing. Thanks, karma. I owe you a cup of coffee.

We made the drive to the burbs without a hitch. The boy slept in the carseat the entire time. And we did indeed get lunch at Chipotle. And it was the best black bean burrito (with guacamole on the side, please) that I ever did eat. Because it was not in my apartment. And I was wearing actual clothes. And shoes. And I saw people. People that were not Adam or Benjamin or 2-dimensional television figures. And it was good.

Now to my unholy comeuppance. I had a wonderful pregnancy. I did. No complications, lots of energy. I felt great and really enjoyed my time as a pregnant lady. I say this because all of it came to a sreeching halt when I found myself in a very difficult labor, followed by a somewhat painful and exhausting recovery. Thinking that this was the end of the struggle and that I was moments away from the cloud break that pummels sunshine, glorious sunshine, on our little upturned faces, I didn’t stress about breastfeeding. The boy seemed to like the breast and so it was the one thing in which I was not going to spend countless hours worrying about. Except that, well, it’s not exactly right in the world there, either. I met with a lactation consultant (LC) and she (confirming my suspicions) believes that I am not producing enough milk. So while my little gentleman can burst forth with a spray of fluid so powerful it nearly hits the wall, my fluids come forth in a mere, limping trickle. I believe it was after the 5-hour breastfeeding session, in which he still was fussing and nibbling on his hands in hunger that I finally called the LC and requested help. She’s given me a plan and some herbs and told me to keep at it. Which I have. But I am not sure if I can endure these marathon feeds anymore. Is this normal? I just don’t know. Adam is really pushing to supplement with formula, and after I had the boy on the breast for 3 hours last night, I caved and let him formula feed. And then we sort of worked out this temporary agreement in which I will breastfeed for as long as I can and Adam can top off the feed with a bottle. This agreement comes on the heels of the realization that the boy has not put on quite enough weight in the past 2 weeks. He’s not in starvation mode, but he is not gaining as he should be. So, until my supply increases and/or I can talk things over with the pediatrician on Wednesday, we are going to give a few bottles of formula a day (but ALWAYS following a breastfeeding session). I kind of hate this plan, but I am also at my wits end and last night, when he passed out contentedly from gorging himself on a bottle, I finally was able to unclench my fists and remove them from my temples.

This is not easy.

This blog is started with every intent of keeping it updated weekly. I say every intent because I know myself incredibly well and know that follow through isn’t always my best skill. But I digress. This page is all about Benjamin, Adam and I. I thought I might just post our pictures and videos, as well as our thoughts as we learn how to make the transition from a family of two into a family of three.

Oh yes. And since I am sometimes unmercifully cocky in ways that the universe must then attempt to correct for, no sooner did I post on a message board yesterday that we seemed to luck out with an incredibly chill baby did the crying begin. Benjamin’s, not mine. I was able to make it to 5pm today before breaking into my own flood of tears because I have no idea what to do when a baby cries a lot. I mostly just have the desire to pace in circles and throw my hands up into the air. I’ve been feeding him nonstop as my preferred solution of choice, so that should nicely set him up for the emotional eating patterns that I’ve lived with for years. Bored? Eat! Stressed? Eat! TV show canceled because of a ball game? Eat! Of course, were I a member of the Kung tribe of the Kalahari, people would hardly look askance at me for it is said that they wear their babies during their entire waking period and feed their babies for about 2 to 3 minutes every 15 minutes. It’s all about the culture, baby.

So, we are eking our way through this experience together. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Day by day. Ben is learning to find ways to adapt to the big, bright, loud world that has now welcomed him and Adam and I are learning to find ways to adapt to this little tiny thing that asks so much of a person but provides so much joy as well. Stay tuned.