The Poo Fiasco

There's no other way to describe it, really; it was indeed a fiasco. But wait, let me start from the beginning.

It was Wednesday. Bradley hadn't pooed since Monday. In my world, that would be appalling (and very uncomfortable) but in a baby's world, apparently this is completely normal. He didn't appear to be in any kind of pain, so I guessed we would wait and see what happened. I met another new mommy in the grocery store, and she told me that HER baby had just pooed for the first time in SEVEN days, so I guessed that two days really wasn't so bad.

Fast forward to the next day. I was speaking to some friends of ours who both happen to be pharmacists, and I happened to mention that Bradley hadn't pooed since Monday.

"Supposetories! Get some supposetories! Works like a charm every time," he said in an almost gleeful tone.

"Um, eww? Gross!" was my response. "There's no WAY I'm sticking something up his bum. Poor little baby!!"

"In Italy we use suppostories for everything. You don't have any constipated babies in Italy. Get him a supposetory. Here I've got some right here..." he said, while walking briskly to his bathroom and returning in an instant, "If you're squeamish about doing it, just bring him over here. I'll do it. I've done this for all of my friends' babies!"

His wife rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you've done it for ALL of our friends...maybe a couple." She turned to me and explained in a slightly embarrassed tone that in Italy, there are supposetories for EVERYTHING, even Tylenol, and that nobody takes oral pills. They're almost unheard of. At this piece of news, I thought back to my childhood - imagine having a headache? You'd think twice before complaining about it if you knew THAT was coming your way!!

Back to the present situation, I politely refused the supposetories but told him I'd keep it in mind if he started to show any sign of pain from constipation.

Well what do you know, that very night when I went to feed him his before-bedtime-feeding, he was inconsolable. Crying and obviously in pain, I was guessing, from not pooing for 4 days. After 15 minutes, I caved. I sent my husband to Safeway to buy glycerin supposetories, and called our friends to ask what to do.

"Now, with our girls, it was instant!" he said after giving instructions. "Make sure you have lots of towels handy!"

So, armed with a crying baby, towels, wipes, extra diapers, scissors (to cut the supposetory thing in half) and of course, the box of supposetories, we soberly made our way to the family bathroom. The thing went in pretty easily, and I had to pinch his little bum cheeks together to keep it from popping back out again, and then we waited. And waited.

No poo.

After a few minutes, exasperated, I put his little diaper on, packed up our stuff and went back upstairs to attempt our nighttime feeding again. No luck...he still wasn't having it. I swaddled him up and put him to bed, fully expecting him to wake up in an hour with a full, steaming diaper and hunger like he's never known before. So at 7:21am when I heard his "I'm beginning to wake up" squeaks, I couldn't believe it!! Checked his diaper...NO POO!! He has to be the only baby in the world who doesn't poo from supposetories!! He WAS hungry though, so I started to feed him. Our friends called us about 15 minutes later to ask about the success of the supposetories (and, I'm pretty sure, to say a big fat I TOLD YOU SO) but they were met with the news of no poo, at which they suggested to try again with another one.

Sighing, I didn't know what else to do but take their advice. After the second supposetory, still no poo, so I put him down for his morning nap.

At about 10:40am, I woke him up as we were supposed to be at a friend's house around 11. My thought was to change him, dress him, and get going. What's that saying about the "best laid plans"...?

I put Bradley on the change table and took off his diaper. He had done a little poo, which wasn't exactly what I was expecting but better than nothing, and at the very least, encouraging! I cleaned him up and was just putting his new diaper on when he let out a little toot. I looked at his bum...there had been a little bit of "follow-through", if you know what I'm saying...so I cleaned him up and was just about to close up the diaper when...

Well, let's just say that NOTHING prepares you for this moment in motherhood. Nothing. A RAINBOW-ARCH of poo shot out of his bum, over the diaper, onto the change pad, and everywhere! There was poo all over the table and pooling nicely under his bum. I looked at his little face, and it was the face of a very relieved little man. I couldn't help but feel happy for him, but I didn't feel so happy for me! Feebly, I took the wipe in my hand and tried (in vain) to clean his bum when he let out another little toot. My eyes widened. I thought, Surely there can't be more...? and WHOOSH! Another arch, bigger than the first, came pouring, nay, GUSHING out of his bum! This time, the supposetories also ejected themselves out of his bum, one of them skidding to a halt in the open top drawer of the change table (I had been getting out a fresh diaper) and covering everything with a fresh round of poo. There was more poo pooling under his back, all over his blanket, in the top drawer, and dripping down the side of the table.

I felt so helpless and more than a little disgusted, but all I could do was laugh and laugh. Bradley looked serene, and then chose this moment to smile and emit a coo of pleasure! How could I not melt, even amidst all of that poo? My eyes traveled from his precious little face down the wreckage that was my change table and came to rest on his little peepee...just as it came to life and wee'd all over the wall and the shelving unit next to the change table, before I could even react. Thankfully I managed to cover it with my hand before it did any more damage, but by then it was too late. He had liberally decorated the walls and shelves with his mark, and my hand did nothing but deflect the onslaught downwards to mix with and dilute the poo which was already pooling on the change table, causing it to run and drip gleefully to other locations.

Needless to say, I didn't make it to my friend's house. I'd love to tell you a valuable lesson about motherhood that I learned from this experience, but there isn't one, except to reinforce the lesson that your plans must be flexible when you have a baby.

That, and two supposetories = ONE BIG MESS.

The Establishment of MAAM and Further Adventures in Breastfeeding

I went to visit another new mommy the other day. We chatted for a while about how we were doing, emotionally and physically...and then her baby got hungry. She smiled at me apologetically, and then took out her boob to breastfeed. What I witnessed was the perfect textbook breastfeeding session. Baby lets mom know she's hungry, mom produces boob, baby latches (which took all of 3 seconds) and then sucks faithfully until full, breaking for the occasional burp (but then latching back on without hassle).

I was floored.

Of course, Bradley decided in a half hour's time that he, too, was hungry and so I took out my boob with a little trepidation and some embarrassment at the impending battle I knew my friend would witness.

Yes, friends, it's been three weeks (and a bit) since Bradley came into the world and we had our first Adventures in Breastfeeding. He has now figured out how to latch and then feed, and is gaining weight. His little cheeks are filling out and he is developing the most fetching pot belly. But for some reason which still escapes my understanding, he isn't happy about it. No, not at all. Instead, I wrestle with my 3-week-old infant for at least 5 minutes to make him understand that the boob is a friend, not a foe. The boob brings nourishment and comfort (and big relief for mommy when it's finally emptied)...it shouldn't need the battering it gets every time we try to latch.

Some of you may have read an earlier note, and may be familiar with the term "Latch Game". The Latch Game, for those of you who don't know, entails baby to latch, suck for a small amount of time, and then become unlatched and upset about it. The Latch Game, which seems fairly harmless now in comparison, has morphed into Battle of the Boob, whereupon the infant simultaneously loves and hates the nipple, and the boob it is attached to.

Let me paint the picture for you. Baby indicates he is hungry. Mom produces boob. Baby looks at boob with obvious appreciation and even desire (eyes light up, mouth makes sucky motions while simultaneously grinning...very cute). The part I didn't mention is that the hands begin to flail with excitement, which is what probably ruins the whole experience right from the beginning. Mom cups baby's head in opposite hand (cross-cradle hold for all you mommies out there) and grasps boob with same-side hand, then guides head to nipple (also a textbook move). This is where all breastfeeding-hell breaks loose.

Baby's mouth opens to receive nipple, while placing a hand on either side of the nipple and PUSHING WITH ALL OF ITS MIGHT!! So just as baby latches, it pushes off at the same time. Shakes his head in frustration, as if he doesn't know what hit him, and tries again. Can we just also mention here that the force baby used to push off would've thrown himself right onto the floor if it wasn't for Mom's hand grasping and desperately holding him on the boob?

Baby's mouth opens again, a more determined look on his face. Mom guides baby's head to boob. This time, instead of just pushing off the boob with both hands, baby also arches his back, throws his head backwards (taking the nipple with it), and kicks the other boob with his feet. If Mom wasn't holding on carefully, baby would've launched himself across the room with this force.

Repeat. Repeat. REPEAT until baby is so tired, he cannot possibly push himself off anymore and finally just gives up, latches on, and sucks happily for about 8 minutes until such time as a burp would be prudent. By this point, baby has had some fuel and has gotten a second wind, so the whole process repeats for the next latch.

My boobs are black and blue. My nipples feel like they have been sandpapered by paper with a coarse grain. This is abuse and I shouldn't have to take this, when other mothers seem to have established their breastfeeding with no problem by this point!! I think I should establish a new club, called MAAM - Mothers Against Abuse of Mammaries. No, this has nothing to do with getting a mammogram - ladies, get your mammograms when you're supposed to. Nope, this group targets infant abuse of mammaries. It's so not fair. But as with anything else in life, we are reminded that life is not fair and we need to move on.

This past week, I became aware that I spend at least 10 hours of each day with a baby at my breast (sometimes feeding, more often than not, abusing)... and that I exist right now for the sole purpose of keeping this little being alive to abuse another day. Incredible.

It's a darn good thing he's cute, that's all I have to say. 

Is that boob for me?

So, back to the present story at my friend's house, Bradley played the Latch Game for three minutes, then latched and was content to suck the way a good baby should. He fed from both boobs without incident, showing me he really does know what he's on about...and then proceeded to spit up the entire contents of his stomach all over himself (45 minutes of good breastfeeding down the drain), gurgle happily, and fall right to sleep. It's a darn good thing he's cute. And that pot belly really is quite fetching...

The Pot Belly

The Woes....I mean, Good Things about Breastfeeding

So before little Bradley arrived, I read all the books I could find about breastfeeding. I know its many virtues; the nutrients, the antibodies, the bonding time, etc etc etc. I was bound and determined that this was what I was going to provide for my baby. I had visions of sitting in the rocking chair, baby to breast (lying on my deluxe breastfeeding pillow I got on sale), gazing with that "motherly look" out upon the beautiful Rockies view that nearly all windows in Canmore afford.

 Yeah. Right.

Baby was 5 minutes old when suddenly I was bombarded with this great responsibility: getting Baby to "latch". Didn't seem to be a problem, except that Baby didn't understand that after latching, you need also to "suck". Seems like a simple concept. Nuh uh.

I had every nurse on shift, as well as my doctor, shoving my boobs into little Bradley's mouth, squeezing, pulling, yanking, pinching colostrum into his little mouth, blowing on him, wetting him with wipes and THEN blowing on him some more, poking and rubbing his little cheeks to the point where he (like anyone else would, I guess) wound up being not only hungry, but pissed off.

Burping baby with a disapproving nurse looking on.

With the nurse shift change, I got a new nurse who came into my room and said, "How's breastfeeding going? Mind if I watch?"  I took out my boobs. She crossed her arms, appraised them skeptically, and then said, "Oh. You've got flat nipples. Have you got a pump? Let me get you one." Now, it needs to be stated here that the hospital rooms are kept at a balmy 35 degrees Celcius, and NOBODY would have perky nipples at that temperature! Exit the nurse. Re-enter the nurse with a vintage-looking breast pump that would make a cow turn and run for cover. "They're flat because it's hot in here," I countered weakly. "The other nurses said I was doing ok." "Hmmmph," she answered, and hooked me up to the machine. I won't describe what happened next. Needless to say, it was degrading, upsetting, and somehow reminded me of the farm.

The "MACHINE"

With each new shift change, I hoped for a more neutral nurse...instead, each new nurse who came in would introduce themself as my new nurse, state that it said I had flat nipples on my chart, and that they would like to see me breastfeed, then offer "tips and hints" that completely refuted all the advice given from previous nurses. I was a happy girl to arrive home two days later to try to figure this out on my own. It's definitely a trying experience and I'm still figuring it out, but here are some new terms that have entered my vocabulary:

The Latch Game - This happens each time baby tries to latch to your breast. It goes something like this: baby latches onto the nipple. Suck....suck suck suck suck PHLWAAH! Spits it out. Try again. Baby latches. SUUUUCK suck suck suck...suck suck...PHLWAAH! Nuzzle nuzzle, latches. Suck suck phlwah. Cries in frustration. Repeat.

The Boob-Induced Coma - Once baby has latched and managed to consume enough milk to partially fill the stomach, some kind of drug/hormone found in the breast milk takes over baby's system, and baby promptly falls asleep. You can try as you might. You can try any of the methods mentioned above (squeeze, pull on, yank the boobs, blow on baby, wet and then blow on baby, poke/prod baby's jaw or cheeks to "remind" him he should be sucking). You can even burp the baby (see "GAS") or try to psyche baby out (see "The Psyche-Out) but to no avail. Baby is tapped out. At this point, just give up, swaddle the baby, and try again in an hour or two. Or five.

The Psyche-Out - This is a method for getting some last, desperate sucks in before you de-latch your baby: pull the nipple out of his mouth as if you're going to take it away. Unless baby is in a deep state of comatose (see above), he will try a few desperate, strong sucks. Great way to get baby back on track if all other methods are failing.

GAS - Never before has this word held such meaning. When you or I get gas, we might bloat up a bit. Fart a little. Be embarrassed about it. Try to hide it. Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When baby gets gas, it is CATASTROPHIC. When baby gets gas, it doesn't just fart and not say "excuse me". The whole body contorts; the back arches; the face distorts to such a degree, you think it won't straighten out again; the legs straighten as if experiencing some kind of electric shock. And just when you think there might be something permanently wrong with your baby, a little "brrrup!" comes from its rear end, and all settles back into normalcy. Incredible. You can try to stave off this gas attack by periodically burping baby during feeding, but then he just looks at you with this pissed off little look like, "Um, I was finally latched and now you interrupt me for THIS!?!?" and may not even burp at all, in which case you've ruined a perfectly good latch AND managed to make your baby angry AND need to try to latch him again. Well done.

Phlanged - pronounced flange-d. This is a word I got from What to Expect When You're Expecting. Apparently it means that your baby's lips are flared out around your areola, resembling fish lips (as if there was indeed a fish attached to your nipple). Hilarious. Although I will say that you can make your baby phlange its lips all you want...getting it to suck is another story. See above.

 I hope this has cleared things up a little for everyone. And just a small note to end my story...the Bow Valley sends out a nurse to visit you in your home the day after you arrive home from the hospital. So this nice nurse shows up, comes in and sits down on my couch, takes out her notes, frowns and says to me, "So how's the breastfeeding going? It says here that you have flat nipples..."