I would not say that 2012 has really been the best of years. I know there is a lot of year left, but the next 7 months have a lot of dazzling to do to convince me that 2012 wasn't a huge pain in my ass. Those who know me well know that I don't like to complain but I swear if I didn't complain about this year, I don't think I would have anything to say. As usual, the trials in my life invite me to really ask myself what I can do to improve myself and I what I can learn from the situation. I'm still chewing on that one.
After the Summer of Surgeries last year, Bill and I were really hoping for some reprieve. Unfortunately, 2012 started off with Dad having a knee replacement and hasn't slowed down. Dad's knee replacement went well. In February I had a second bunionectomy on my left foot. I had my left and right repaired in college but they've grown back. I started having a ton of pain in my left foot last year and after a lot of exploration it was determined that the bunion had to go if I wanted to feel better. Walking is pretty important, so we had it fixed February 1st. I recovered at home for a month and then went back to work on a knee scooter for another month. We all got sick halfway through my month at home, me with the worst sinus infection I've ever had. We rotated illnesses and we sick for almost a month.
Going back to work caused some anxiety but I had a lot of help and it turned out not to be a big deal. We were coasting along when we got some bad news about Dad. Despite the knee replacement, his pain in his hip had not subsided so Dad had some x-rays done and it was determined that he had 3 aneurysms in his pelvis and required surgery as soon as possible. It was expected that he would be in ICU post surgery for about 2-3 days and then out of OHSU in a week. Dad went in on April 17th and was in surgery about 11 hours. Overnight he took a turn for the worse and they reopened him the next day to see if they could determine the problem. Nothing was found, and he returned to ICU. He suffered from ARDS (Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome) and his body basically went into shock from the blood loss during surgery. He has been on a ventilator for almost 2 weeks. They will be putting in a trachea breathing apparatus as the ventilator is very uncomfortable and they usually don't like patients to have one more than 10 days.
His lungs have improved significantly in the last week, and as the fluid they gave him during surgery and immediately after continue to drain, doctors expect he will make a full recovery. But it is going to take time. Each day they tell us that he will be in ICU at least another week or two, but that time frame has never gone down as the days pass. His other body systems are improving, but we don't expect he'll be able to leave the hospital sooner than a month from now. After that, he'll need to go to a rehab facility to regain his strength before he goes home.
He can't talk to us. He's been very sedated to keep him calm as the ventilator is uncomfortable and can cause patients to panic. He's restrained so that he doesn't pull the tube out. When he wakes, he can look at us and he knows we're there, but he falls back asleep almost immediately. As his family, it is hard to see that he is improving because we don't understand the numbers or how the machines work, but we trust the doctors and nurses and know that he is getting excellent care. One of Kate's nurses while she was in ICU last year was Dad's nurse for a couple of days last week.
To say we've been worried and stressed and anxious would be an understatement. Kate flew into Portland the day after surgery to be with Dad but had to leave a week ago. Now she has just as much worry only she has to do it from thousands of miles away.
To top it all off, Camille has hand, foot and mouth disease. This is not really all that big of a deal, she just has to stay home from school for a couple of days so Bill will be home with her since I'm out of leave. But until we know I'm not going to get it and be contagious, I have to stay home from the hospital. I can't risk giving Dad any nasty germs. Staying at home when I want to check on him is really hard.
So, there you have it. We've been so blessed to have colleagues that are supportive and friends that offer love and help whenever they can. We continue to pray that Dad will be home soon. And I also have been sending up prayers that God will give us a break in the rain.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Pressure
I remember how I felt when I first started this blog. I was excited to have a place to put my thoughts. I was anxious to share with friends and family as a way of connecting. I was curious if anyone would read my blog and find what I have to say interesting. I wondered if my blog would be discovered by strangers who would share with their friends and presto! I'd have followers! Mostly I wondered if anyone would read it.
Now, it has become just another part of my life I feel pressured by. Daily I check my Google Reader and enjoy the words and wit and wisdom of friends and strangers I've chosen to follow and I wonder why I can't think of anything to say myself. My life is full. Why can't I talk about it? I'm funny. Why can't I think of anything witty to share? Lord knows I have the most ridiculous thoughts sometimes. Why can't I put those thoughts into words and share them with the world?
It seems like more and more I've become aware of how much incredible pressure I put on myself to, ... whatever. Fill in the blank. Pressure to be funny. Pressure to be clever. Pressure to be profound. Pressure to do the f-ing dishes. It is everywhere! In so many degrees and to be honest, it is really starting to annoy me. Oh how I long for that time in my life when I didn't worry about what other people thought! Of course, when I really stop to think about that "time in my life", I realize I can't really remember a time when I didn't care what other people think. Hell, worrying about everyone else and their perception of me is one of the big reasons I wound up in therapy. But I digress.
But it isn't just the pressure I put on myself. Since I've become a mother I pay close attention to the blogosphere. I read my mommy books. I subscribe to magazines. The pressure is freaking everywhere. And it isn't just on mommies. Sure, I feel this pressure as a mommy. But I also feel it as a woman. As an American. As a human, for crying out loud. Like living on Earth these days means being snuggled up inside a pressure cooker and, wait for it, acting like you're not.
That's the crux of the problem. The biggest stress of all. That despite all this, pressure, in order to truly be the ultimate mother, woman, employee, or whatever, you have to act like despite all the pressure to be perfect, you truly are under no pressure at all. You must give the impression that it is no big deal and that this brilliance you achieve in every aspect of your life is really just a coincidence.
Take motherhood, for example. The ultimate example of pressure. In order to be a good, albeit great mother, you must feed your baby the healthiest options available. Surely you could never consider feeding your baby, your child, anything less than the best. Veggies at every meal? Of course. Fresh veggies? Duh. Organic veggies? Obviously. Local veggies? Only if you truly care about the ... world. I mean, if you don't care about the world at all I guess you could feed your child fresh, organic green beans from, (gasp!) California, but if you truly give a crap about the community you bother to live in than SURELY you will bother to buy local, farm-fresh, organic green beans picked THIS MORNING. I mean, come on, don't you care at all?
See what I mean by pressure? Do you know how expensive it is to buylocal organic fresh veggies? Yeah, I said it. It is just plain expensive to get something green on my child's plate, let alone the premium stuff the primo-mommies are providing their children.
Regardless of what the topic is - food, clothing, discipline, education - the pressure is on for mommies to provide the best. We must carefully research each topic, weed out the nonsense, avoid the insane and overly zealous and ultimately deliver what is unquestionably the perfect specimen of childhood nutrition at every instance that our child opens his/her mouth. If we don't, well, we suck and have failed at parenting.
But that isn't even the real pressure. The actual part of the story that makes mommies cringe is not that we make the best decision about what we feed our children. The irony of the whole story is that we have to appear completely disinterested in the whole topic. Not only do you have to spend all morning researching the availability of organic arugula at the local farmers' markets, you also have to act like choosing the $6 per pound greens was merely an afterthought to your weekly menu planning. "Of course I thought about it, but I didn't think too much." It isn't that buying organic, local produce is something I worry about, rather it is something that just naturally occurs in my grocery shopping experience.
All around us we have to make the popular, worldly, educated choice but more importantly, you have to appear like choosing this option wasn't really a big deal. "Oh, you feed your baby canned green beans? Good for you! Where do you buy them? I mean, I usually get my green beans in my weekly produce box from the community garden down the street, but canned green beans would be so convenient! Aren't you clever for choosing something so innovative as canned green beans? Thank you for setting such a good example for mommies everywhere!"
What is so exhausting about this whole topic of disinterested perfection is that it applies to every f-ing aspect of our lives. The message is everywhere.
Yeah. That's pressure. Perform as if your life depends on it but make sure you act like you don't give a damn.
And then be sure to blog about it.
Now, it has become just another part of my life I feel pressured by. Daily I check my Google Reader and enjoy the words and wit and wisdom of friends and strangers I've chosen to follow and I wonder why I can't think of anything to say myself. My life is full. Why can't I talk about it? I'm funny. Why can't I think of anything witty to share? Lord knows I have the most ridiculous thoughts sometimes. Why can't I put those thoughts into words and share them with the world?
It seems like more and more I've become aware of how much incredible pressure I put on myself to, ... whatever. Fill in the blank. Pressure to be funny. Pressure to be clever. Pressure to be profound. Pressure to do the f-ing dishes. It is everywhere! In so many degrees and to be honest, it is really starting to annoy me. Oh how I long for that time in my life when I didn't worry about what other people thought! Of course, when I really stop to think about that "time in my life", I realize I can't really remember a time when I didn't care what other people think. Hell, worrying about everyone else and their perception of me is one of the big reasons I wound up in therapy. But I digress.
But it isn't just the pressure I put on myself. Since I've become a mother I pay close attention to the blogosphere. I read my mommy books. I subscribe to magazines. The pressure is freaking everywhere. And it isn't just on mommies. Sure, I feel this pressure as a mommy. But I also feel it as a woman. As an American. As a human, for crying out loud. Like living on Earth these days means being snuggled up inside a pressure cooker and, wait for it, acting like you're not.
That's the crux of the problem. The biggest stress of all. That despite all this, pressure, in order to truly be the ultimate mother, woman, employee, or whatever, you have to act like despite all the pressure to be perfect, you truly are under no pressure at all. You must give the impression that it is no big deal and that this brilliance you achieve in every aspect of your life is really just a coincidence.
Take motherhood, for example. The ultimate example of pressure. In order to be a good, albeit great mother, you must feed your baby the healthiest options available. Surely you could never consider feeding your baby, your child, anything less than the best. Veggies at every meal? Of course. Fresh veggies? Duh. Organic veggies? Obviously. Local veggies? Only if you truly care about the ... world. I mean, if you don't care about the world at all I guess you could feed your child fresh, organic green beans from, (gasp!) California, but if you truly give a crap about the community you bother to live in than SURELY you will bother to buy local, farm-fresh, organic green beans picked THIS MORNING. I mean, come on, don't you care at all?
See what I mean by pressure? Do you know how expensive it is to buy
Regardless of what the topic is - food, clothing, discipline, education - the pressure is on for mommies to provide the best. We must carefully research each topic, weed out the nonsense, avoid the insane and overly zealous and ultimately deliver what is unquestionably the perfect specimen of childhood nutrition at every instance that our child opens his/her mouth. If we don't, well, we suck and have failed at parenting.
But that isn't even the real pressure. The actual part of the story that makes mommies cringe is not that we make the best decision about what we feed our children. The irony of the whole story is that we have to appear completely disinterested in the whole topic. Not only do you have to spend all morning researching the availability of organic arugula at the local farmers' markets, you also have to act like choosing the $6 per pound greens was merely an afterthought to your weekly menu planning. "Of course I thought about it, but I didn't think too much." It isn't that buying organic, local produce is something I worry about, rather it is something that just naturally occurs in my grocery shopping experience.
All around us we have to make the popular, worldly, educated choice but more importantly, you have to appear like choosing this option wasn't really a big deal. "Oh, you feed your baby canned green beans? Good for you! Where do you buy them? I mean, I usually get my green beans in my weekly produce box from the community garden down the street, but canned green beans would be so convenient! Aren't you clever for choosing something so innovative as canned green beans? Thank you for setting such a good example for mommies everywhere!"
What is so exhausting about this whole topic of disinterested perfection is that it applies to every f-ing aspect of our lives. The message is everywhere.
- Be green. Avoid BPA at all costs. Conserve energy. Recycle. But don't freak out about plastic bags or canned tomatoes or plastic water bottles at parties because really, you can only do so much.
- Eat well. Exercise. Look great in a bikini! But don't worry about your body too much because it isn't healthy to be obsessed about how you look.
- Honor your home. Nurture your family. Provide a loving environment for your children. But make sure you portray the ideal feminist by working full time, climbing the corporate ladder and stomping on any idiot that gets in the way of your career.
- Whip up a delicious spread of snacks for a crowd coming over to watch the football game, decorate your house in the appropriate team's colors and make favors of personalized football jersey sugar cookies complete with every guests' name but also be able to commentate the entire game and get really irritated by the idiot ref's call during the fourth quarter.
- Create the most beautiful centerpiece imaginable but make sure you can put it together with whatever you have lying around your house.
- Be able to debate the most complex political issue but also be able to recommend the most fashionable red wine to serve at your book club and know what your teenager enjoys listening to on the radio but also be able to identify the lead in the off-Broadway performance of Miss Saigon this weekend and how she compares to the lady who portrayed her last season and how to copy what she wore on the red carpet using what you can find at the local consignment shop and a packet of sequins purchased at Joann's with a 50% off coupon.
Yeah. That's pressure. Perform as if your life depends on it but make sure you act like you don't give a damn.
And then be sure to blog about it.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Pesto Presto
What is it about pesto? If I see something on a menu that has pesto in it I'm immediately drawn to it. The mere thought of pesto makes me think of summer and delicious dishes and spreading pesto deliciousness on crackers/toast/pita/my finger...whatever. It is so good. Garlic? Oh yeah. Fresh basil? Be still my heart. There is not one thing about pesto that is bad which is why it so, so good.
What I love about pesto is that it is easy to make and incredibly forgiving. You can make pesto out of anything. I think the most traditional recipe involves garlic (I love you, Garlic), basil, pine nuts, parmesan cheese and olive oil. Not much to complain about with this combination of delightful ingredients, but I will mention that pine nuts are ridiculously expensive. I typically replace the pine nuts with it's very unglamorous cousin, the walnut. To be perfectly honest, I can't really tell the difference in taste, but my wallet thanks me.
Other substitutions are often made to save some calories. Traditional pestos require copious amounts of oil (though olive oil is very good for you), cheese and nuts. Now, these ingredients bring much to the table in terms of flavor but they also pack on the calories and fat grams. I'm totally on board with the good fat found in olive oil and nuts, but I enjoy eating pesto with a spoon and even too much of a good thing is a bad thing.
My recipe for pesto serves it's purpose well in that it gives me that garlicky, basil spread but saves my wallet and my daily calorie count. Remember, pesto is forgiving. Add more of whatever flavor makes your heart sing and go ahead, eat it with a spoon.
Summer Pesto
Combine in food processor:
3-4 garlic cloves
huge handful of fresh basil leaves
1/3 cup of shelled pistachio nuts (roasted and salted) or whatever nut you have handy
2 ounces of grated parmesan cheese
1 zucchini, cut into 1/4 inch slices
pinch of salt and pepper
Pulse in food processor till well combined and thick.
Stream in oil (olive, canola, whatever you have) until pesto is desired consistency. You don't need as much as you think. The zucchini helps stretch the recipe and only mildly affects the flavor. I can't taste it.
I've frozen pesto in ice cube trays for easy additions to pastas and sauces. If you are going to store fresh pesto, I suggest you put it in a deep container (so you have less surface area exposed to air) and cover the surface with oil to avoid the pesto turning brown. If it does turn brown, by all means, use it anyway, it will taste great, it will just be brown. Simply turn off the lights so you can't see and eat it with a spoon. It is so, so good.
What I love about pesto is that it is easy to make and incredibly forgiving. You can make pesto out of anything. I think the most traditional recipe involves garlic (I love you, Garlic), basil, pine nuts, parmesan cheese and olive oil. Not much to complain about with this combination of delightful ingredients, but I will mention that pine nuts are ridiculously expensive. I typically replace the pine nuts with it's very unglamorous cousin, the walnut. To be perfectly honest, I can't really tell the difference in taste, but my wallet thanks me.
Other substitutions are often made to save some calories. Traditional pestos require copious amounts of oil (though olive oil is very good for you), cheese and nuts. Now, these ingredients bring much to the table in terms of flavor but they also pack on the calories and fat grams. I'm totally on board with the good fat found in olive oil and nuts, but I enjoy eating pesto with a spoon and even too much of a good thing is a bad thing.
My recipe for pesto serves it's purpose well in that it gives me that garlicky, basil spread but saves my wallet and my daily calorie count. Remember, pesto is forgiving. Add more of whatever flavor makes your heart sing and go ahead, eat it with a spoon.
Summer Pesto
Combine in food processor:
3-4 garlic cloves
huge handful of fresh basil leaves
1/3 cup of shelled pistachio nuts (roasted and salted) or whatever nut you have handy
2 ounces of grated parmesan cheese
1 zucchini, cut into 1/4 inch slices
pinch of salt and pepper
Pulse in food processor till well combined and thick.
Stream in oil (olive, canola, whatever you have) until pesto is desired consistency. You don't need as much as you think. The zucchini helps stretch the recipe and only mildly affects the flavor. I can't taste it.
I've frozen pesto in ice cube trays for easy additions to pastas and sauces. If you are going to store fresh pesto, I suggest you put it in a deep container (so you have less surface area exposed to air) and cover the surface with oil to avoid the pesto turning brown. If it does turn brown, by all means, use it anyway, it will taste great, it will just be brown. Simply turn off the lights so you can't see and eat it with a spoon. It is so, so good.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Blog Delinquent
I wanted to come up with this really ingenious excuse for why I haven't blogged lately. Even as I write this I'm coming up completely blank. Sometimes, you just go months without anything really interesting to say.
Anything I really feel like blogging about I can't imagine would be interesting to anyone else. Maybe I should explore a theme for this blog to give me some direction.
Anyhoo, at least my friends who have me linked into their blogs will no longer have to look at "4 months ago" as my most recent post.
Anything I really feel like blogging about I can't imagine would be interesting to anyone else. Maybe I should explore a theme for this blog to give me some direction.
Anyhoo, at least my friends who have me linked into their blogs will no longer have to look at "4 months ago" as my most recent post.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Who's flying this plane, anyway?
There are so many things about myself that I never realized until I became a parent.
I didn't realize that I would be completely cliché about all things parenting, for starters. Normally repulsed by any discussion of bodily functions, I will now happily chatter away about the size, frequency, and consistency of Camille's BMs. We have taken easily 5000 pictures of Camille since her birth. I stood staring at a bib in Target that said, "I'm the Star of Mommy's Blog" for about 5 minutes debating whether I should buy it or not.
I was also hoping to be the kind of parent that just does everything naturally but instead I read any and every book regarding pregnancy and childrearing that was recommended to me. The last part is important because I didn't realize how important it would be to me to be current on all the trends. Whatever the "it" topic (food, sleep training, safety) I want to make sure I'm aware, educated and armed with an opinion because God knows I don't want to be the clueless parent. Of course, this just emphasizes how completely clueless I am about parenting. Camille has proven time and time again that books be damned, she's doing it her own way.
But the biggest surprise I've had since becoming a parent is the realization that I am a complete control freak. I think this will come to no surprise to my friends and family, and certainly not to my husband, but it really blindsided me. Losing all sense of control when you become a parent is probably fairly normal, and my desire to always appear smart, capable and good at whatever I'm doing really came back and bit me in the ass the moment control started slipping away.
I thought heart surgery would be the hardest part of the journey. Again, in my effort to appear educated and wise, I said that we may have trouble conceiving, but I never really imagined the magnitude of our fertility challenges. I told people I knew pregnancy and delivery would be incredibly challenging, but I believed that my experience would be okay and would go the way I expected. Then Camille came 6 weeks early and required an 18 day stay in the NICU. I made sure people knew that I understood how challenging breastfeeding could be for mommas, but I really believed that it wouldn't be that way for me.
Like putting checkmarks on a shopping list, each of my preconceived notions about all things regarding conception, gestation, and delivery of our daughter have been placed in the "That's what you think" category. I suppose if I were a better person I would sit back, enjoy the ride, and chalk it up to being all part of the experience and joy a parenting.
But I'm not that person and the reality is, it is really hard. Each time I watch another one of my well thought out plans go drifting out the window part of me feels really sad and disappointed, and another part feels like saying, "You dummy, that's what you get for thinking you can control how things go." The latest example of this is breastfeeding. Before Camille, I planned to breastfeed if I ever became a mother and never really considered the alternative. When Camille came early, I knew the only way to continue with my plan was to have a pump in ICU with me. So, by golly, I made certain there was a breast pump in there and I started pumping within hours of delivery. And every 3 hours after that. For...ever. Camille wasn't ready to breastfeed exclusively till 8 weeks old, so we fed, pumped and gave bottles every 3 hours for 2 months. And the day the lactation consultant told us we didn't have to pump anymore, I rejoiced.
I still planned to breastfeed till one year and wean her over the summer. Once again, my plan was rejected. Camille took a break from being a champion nurser and my supply took a dip around 5 months. We didn't realize there was a problem till her weight was affected and despite 2 more months of constant pumping and feeding, supplementing with formula, herbs, massage, tea, water, you name it, we never really recovered. Like a stubborn, bull-headed mule I've fought and fought this to the brink of insanity and though I've been done pumping for a week and only nurse once a day, if at all, I still want to cry about it.
It isn't formula. Formula is fine - Camille is thriving. I just wanted this neat, pretty, perfect mommy experience where we breastfeed for a year, take long walks in the stroller, go to farmers' markets with her strapped to me and buy organic veggies, you know. The idyllic experience that is sort of silly because being a mommy isn't pretty and perfect. Instead, it is exhausting, tear-stained, and covered in sweet potatoes. And that little scene I had in my head got replaced with reality. Which is SO much better anyway.
Our reality is making Camille a bottle in the morning and snuggling with her in her chair while she sucks it down and lets out a trucker burp. Reality is Camille sneezing during her mouthful of dinner and spraying it all over me, and then looking up at me and laughing. Reality is Bill telling me he has to change Camille's clothes after their walks because he sweats so much in the Ergo. I much prefer reality because every movie has the scene I'd envisioned in my head, but I'm the only one who has Camille.
I know there will be many other points in Camille's life where I will imagine it a certain way, only to find out that what I want/think/dream doesn't really matter, because it isn't about me. I would be lying if I thought I could let my desire for control go, so I won't, but I do hope that over time I learn to get over it quickly. I definitely have better things to do.
I didn't realize that I would be completely cliché about all things parenting, for starters. Normally repulsed by any discussion of bodily functions, I will now happily chatter away about the size, frequency, and consistency of Camille's BMs. We have taken easily 5000 pictures of Camille since her birth. I stood staring at a bib in Target that said, "I'm the Star of Mommy's Blog" for about 5 minutes debating whether I should buy it or not.
I was also hoping to be the kind of parent that just does everything naturally but instead I read any and every book regarding pregnancy and childrearing that was recommended to me. The last part is important because I didn't realize how important it would be to me to be current on all the trends. Whatever the "it" topic (food, sleep training, safety) I want to make sure I'm aware, educated and armed with an opinion because God knows I don't want to be the clueless parent. Of course, this just emphasizes how completely clueless I am about parenting. Camille has proven time and time again that books be damned, she's doing it her own way.
But the biggest surprise I've had since becoming a parent is the realization that I am a complete control freak. I think this will come to no surprise to my friends and family, and certainly not to my husband, but it really blindsided me. Losing all sense of control when you become a parent is probably fairly normal, and my desire to always appear smart, capable and good at whatever I'm doing really came back and bit me in the ass the moment control started slipping away.
I thought heart surgery would be the hardest part of the journey. Again, in my effort to appear educated and wise, I said that we may have trouble conceiving, but I never really imagined the magnitude of our fertility challenges. I told people I knew pregnancy and delivery would be incredibly challenging, but I believed that my experience would be okay and would go the way I expected. Then Camille came 6 weeks early and required an 18 day stay in the NICU. I made sure people knew that I understood how challenging breastfeeding could be for mommas, but I really believed that it wouldn't be that way for me.
Like putting checkmarks on a shopping list, each of my preconceived notions about all things regarding conception, gestation, and delivery of our daughter have been placed in the "That's what you think" category. I suppose if I were a better person I would sit back, enjoy the ride, and chalk it up to being all part of the experience and joy a parenting.
But I'm not that person and the reality is, it is really hard. Each time I watch another one of my well thought out plans go drifting out the window part of me feels really sad and disappointed, and another part feels like saying, "You dummy, that's what you get for thinking you can control how things go." The latest example of this is breastfeeding. Before Camille, I planned to breastfeed if I ever became a mother and never really considered the alternative. When Camille came early, I knew the only way to continue with my plan was to have a pump in ICU with me. So, by golly, I made certain there was a breast pump in there and I started pumping within hours of delivery. And every 3 hours after that. For...ever. Camille wasn't ready to breastfeed exclusively till 8 weeks old, so we fed, pumped and gave bottles every 3 hours for 2 months. And the day the lactation consultant told us we didn't have to pump anymore, I rejoiced.
I still planned to breastfeed till one year and wean her over the summer. Once again, my plan was rejected. Camille took a break from being a champion nurser and my supply took a dip around 5 months. We didn't realize there was a problem till her weight was affected and despite 2 more months of constant pumping and feeding, supplementing with formula, herbs, massage, tea, water, you name it, we never really recovered. Like a stubborn, bull-headed mule I've fought and fought this to the brink of insanity and though I've been done pumping for a week and only nurse once a day, if at all, I still want to cry about it.
It isn't formula. Formula is fine - Camille is thriving. I just wanted this neat, pretty, perfect mommy experience where we breastfeed for a year, take long walks in the stroller, go to farmers' markets with her strapped to me and buy organic veggies, you know. The idyllic experience that is sort of silly because being a mommy isn't pretty and perfect. Instead, it is exhausting, tear-stained, and covered in sweet potatoes. And that little scene I had in my head got replaced with reality. Which is SO much better anyway.
Our reality is making Camille a bottle in the morning and snuggling with her in her chair while she sucks it down and lets out a trucker burp. Reality is Camille sneezing during her mouthful of dinner and spraying it all over me, and then looking up at me and laughing. Reality is Bill telling me he has to change Camille's clothes after their walks because he sweats so much in the Ergo. I much prefer reality because every movie has the scene I'd envisioned in my head, but I'm the only one who has Camille.
I know there will be many other points in Camille's life where I will imagine it a certain way, only to find out that what I want/think/dream doesn't really matter, because it isn't about me. I would be lying if I thought I could let my desire for control go, so I won't, but I do hope that over time I learn to get over it quickly. I definitely have better things to do.
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