When Brant told me yesterday that his alarm would be going off at 5am, I thought that was quite early. However, to my darling newborn child, that was sleeping in this morning. The Elisha-alarm went off at 4am, after a night of fussiness. This alarm wasn't the cute grunts in the middle of the night to let me know she's hungry. This was the flat out screaming that didn't end until 5:30. When Brant quit his roofing job, I thought my days of waking up at the 4am hour were gone. I am not eager about it reprising for heartburn and gas, and certainly not going to sit around and wait for it to turn her colicky.
Last night was the first I started feeling a bit like I had some postpartum blues. Hey, I know it's normal, especially when hormones that drive your body are whiplashing as they come back to a balance. I was so whacked out that last month of pregnancy that I wholly expected my postpartum to actual slap me back into normalcy...and it did for the most part. I made it to 5 weeks postpartum without my hair falling out, my eyes puffy from crying, nor feeling like an inadequate mother, and I thought I was in the gold. Yet, a screaming baby that refuses to be consoled will change all of that.
Elisha is having some gastrointestinal issues. It started out last Monday with bloody stools that quickly were seen in every diaper change (every 2-3 hours). I went on the Top 8 elimination diet, eliminating all 8 at once to add one at a time back in at weekly intervals after 2 weeks. That greatly upped my fiber intake with the fruits, vegetables, and beans. I can understand why she has had bouts of screaming from gas and/or heartburn since Friday. During those moments she'll nurse only a few minutes and then start screaming, pull away, milk squirts everywhere... Yesterday I literally was crying over the spilled milk -- not because I was frustrated with the baby, but because of the child's pain as it related to my milk. Babies are meant to have their mother's milk. It is supposed to be the best thing for them, not the source of ailments and discomfort. Nevertheless, she seems to still be thriving greatly on the milk, at least that's what her weight gain tells us.
Now, I think it is wholly unfair for Brant to deal with the children's nighttime needs when he deals with the very real, physical needs of the whole family by working. This means he must get enough sleep to provide for the family. However, last night I was so exhausted with her fussiness I had to ask him to take Bam potty. Yes friends, when I wake up in the middle of any given night, I have to answer to three bladders: mine, my son's, and my newborn's...more than once a night. Nights are quite demanding.
Brant is still ever-helpful and considerate. He rolled over at that 4am scream and, while I was boo-hooing, started reading me Scripture out loud. Then he prayed over us before he left at 5:30 when she was calm enough for me to go back to bed. I drifted off saying how absolutely tired I am, getting to go back to sleep while his day has just started. It's a tough job being a Mom, and many say that it is the job that goes unnoticed, but I often wonder if a Dad's job is more unnoticed within his own family. I once watched a husband, who works, clean and prepare meals for his whole family, including his homemaking wife who lay in bed watching TV for days on end.
My thoughts land greatly on the job of my dear husband to keep me comfortable enough to do my job and provide for me that I can. Brant massaged my shoulders one of the three times I awoke last night, while I was sitting up trying to massage baby's tummy. He keeps my bedside water filled. In fact, when we walk in the door, the first thing he does is poor me water. He brushes my hair when he sees I clearly haven't had the time to do anything with it that day. He washes my makeup brushes if they are still sitting on the dresser by the time he gets home. And no, it isn't because the man is obsessed with cleanliness; it is because I am obsessed with cleanliness and he wants to fix whatever prevents me from the comfort of cleanliness, even if that is redeeming the lack of time by offering himself before and after he goes out and works for a living. Even after all these, I, whose job is the house, refuse to do 2 jobs of this house: the yard and the garbage. Of course this leaves Brant to pick up those house jobs automatically, if not Amira. Wow, my man has a tough job.
Since the scream fest, I've been working my way through natural approaches. I am taking in raw apple cider vinegar at least once a day. I know it cures heartburn almost immediately when directly ingested, and I am hoping it will work the same through breast milk. I also started taking inulin pills (prebiotic) just this morning. In addition, I've applied lavender and peppermint (one drop each with coconut oil) onto the Little's tummy, back, and soles of her feet. I've noticed an improvement with the essential oils when they are blended together. The peppermint alone (though good as a digestive aid often in tea form) just wasn't cutting it. Maybe they need that lavender to calm their little stressed out system. I know doTerra and Young Living both have their own digestive aid blends that are quite excellent, but their prices are not so. I will try others first.
Regardless, I am encouraged that though this postnatal term has proven more challenging than my others, I have not entirely caved to postpartum blues because it ain't about me. My milk to Little's touchy system may hurt my feelings, but the baby is the one going through the real pain; and though my job may be hard and hormone fluctuation play a huge part on postpartum mentality, I am scarcely down when I think of all that my husband does as my support system and he never complains about it. I have a past I can compare that with; and if anything I am thankful for that past because, with it, I can see how good I have it now...which helps so much in relieving any blues that may sneak in. It is hard to make my postpartum all about me when "me" is already properly taken care of. It reminds me of how we are free in Messiah to love (charity) because we are loved freely. I am free from the care of me, free to do my job because he does his job in taking such good care of me. That really makes all the difference.
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