Breastfeeding Dessy: Part 1

The scariest part of having a second baby, after fears of congenital deformities, disorders, and diseases, was handing over my boobs on a silver platter to be demolished by the relentless suckling of a newborn. I remember what it was like breastfeeding Emmy, those first few weeks of the most excruciating, ongoing pain ever inflicted on the most innocent and harmless parts of my body. Breastageddon would not be an understatement. The end was coming and I was ill-prepared.

"Nipple regeneration" continues to be one of the search terms that lead to my blog consistently. Apparently a lot of people have lost theirs and are Googling ways to get them back. Sorry about that. www.vickynguyen.com does not have the answer to your query. Just more nightmare scenarios involving your nipples falling off.

I have many friends who've told me that it does not get better the second, or even third time around. That it hurts EVERY SINGLE TIME with EVERY SINGLE OFFSPRING. So I braced myself for the inevitable: pain worse than labor, coinciding with sleepless nights, a torn up va-jay-jay and 'roid rage.

BUT, and I mean BUT!!! it hasn't been that bad AT ALL. Days 2-4 you are supposed to start the ritual: breastfeed every 2 hours, on both sides. Now I don't know if you've ever tried doing anything every 2 hours on both sides, but let me confirm to you, it's not fun, covered in lame sauce. And the 2 hours is counted from the time your baby STARTS feeding, to when she's supposed to start feeding again. So it's really not 2 hours. It's more like 1, especially if you have a slow eater who likes to fall asleep between meals.

But, and again, I can't emphasize the BUT enough, after the initial chapping and rawness that comes with this much vigorous attention to your nipples, the pain reached its pinnacle and is now quite manageable. There's the initial pinch when the baby first latches on, but none of the constant fiery shards of glass shooting out of your cracked nipples feeling. 

IT IS THE BIGGEST SURPRISE OF 2012. Talk about Linsanity. This is Niprageous! That sounds racist. But it's not. It's Niptastic! It's Nipmania! It's Nipnomenal! 

Breastfeeding that doesn't hurt this early in the game? Nip-Nip-Hooray! #come on, you know that last one was good.

Odessa Ruby Has Arrived!

When The Good Doctor said, "We're adding a new member of the family, are you ready for this?" last week, I really took the time to think about what that meant. Because uber late stage pregnancy brain doesn't really allow you to process thoughts more complex than, "I can haz cheeseburger. Now."

But when I committed some brain cells to the idea that we are expanding our family by one human being, one person who will grow into her own person and eventually affect this world in some way, it reminded me once again what a miracle it is to have a baby and raise that baby into someone who is smart, who is kind, who is important.

Odessa Ruby arrived at 12:14AM on 2/12/12. I was wrong in my email to family and friends, because at 19.5 in, she was one inch longer than Emmy, not the same length. She weighed 7lbs, 1oz, 2 oz more than Emmy. But thankfully for me and my parts, her head was nowhere near as ginormous. 

Due Date: Belly Update

Well, my due date has come. And gone. I will see my doctor today for my weekly check up. And she's probably going to say, "When do you want to have this baby?" 

It's a modern marvel that we have drugs now that can make your uterus contract and send you right into labor. Castor oil is the natural, if not always effective way to get things moving. Not all of them are things you want to move though.

But pitocin has its side effects too. (That I'm now wishing I hadn't read because I really don't need to have those things floating around in my head.) Least among them, my super bloated face that couldn't get any bloatier but did after I was pumped full of fluids and induced with Emmy.

I had this hope that the second baby would arrive sooner, faster, and more naturally than last time. But we are heading into the weekend now, and there's some danger to having an overdue baby wallowing in my uterus like a lost protester wandering around Frank Ogawa plaza wondering what happened to all the tents and justice. 

I may have to end this Occupy Vicky movement, with one swift injection. But I'm going to take a long hike first, grab a slice from House of Pizza, and do whatever I can to coax this baby out naturally. I want to experience the breaking of the water (the wind has been broken far too many times to count with this one) and the khee khee kheeeing breaths that I learned from watching lamaze classes in TV movies. I want to tell this baby about how her dad reassuringly told me he packed extra dog pee pads so that if my water breaks, I will have something absorbant to sit on during the car ride to the hospital. Lest any of my membranous fluid seep into his perforated leather seats.

I want to experience the crazy contraction pain the way Mother Nature intended. I want to survive child birth and have my own little war story to tell about how I was getting real in the Whole Foods parking lot when I went into labor and a clerk had to called for a clean up on Aisle 7. I want good material for this blob. You deserve at least that much.

But already this baby is flexing her will and her tiny newly formed muscles. Deadlines and due dates don't mean nothing to Babius. So here I am, waiting to see who makes the next move, and you better believe I won't be pulling anything that will suggest I Jean Quanned this. 

Thankfully no one will try to mount a recall based on my decisions.

Things I Should Know on My Due Date

1. How much water actually comes out when my water breaks. Are we talking 2 thimbles or 2 pitchers of membranous fluid?

2. What I'm going to name my baby. 

3. What I would name my baby given Murphy's law and she comes out a he.

4. If I've paid for my cord blood kit.

5. What's in my cord blood kit.

6. Whether my point and shoot camera, SLR camera, and HD camcorder are actually charged.

7. Where those chargers are.

8. Where my pudendum is. In case I want a nerve block instead of an epidural.

9. Which entrance to use at the hospital.

10. What to expect when I'm expecting. My husband decided he didn't want to buy me the #1 selling book for expectant parents, in favor of another, lesser heard of book. More of a "what to sort of know when you think you might be, you know, having a baby." He never hears the end of it because anytime I do something wrong, I blame the generic book he bought me before we had Emmy. Me: "How was I supposed to know? I didn't read "What to Expect When You're Expecting. I'm grasping for straws in the dark here!"

11. How to take care of a newborn again.

12. Where my breast pump is.

13. What my birth plan is. I mean, I know I don't want to be induced, but I really want to have my kid this weekend. 2-10-12, 2-11-12, or 2-12-12 are all great, easy to remember birthdays. Maybe it's time for a visit to House of Pizza in San Jose. Apparently a slice of their pizza is like a shot of Pitocin.

14. Who's on my email list for the announcement.

15. Why my husband is on call on my due date. 

Signed,

Ticking Time Bomb

Babius Prego Photo Shoot: Part 2

Some more of the beautiful photos snapped by Kiet this weekend. And not a moment too soon. As he said, "Maternity photos lose their appeal real quick once the baby arrives." Same goes for so many things in that first few months of caring for a newborn...

We christened this "The Bay Tree of Life." Originality points: Zero.

Apparently it's also the place to go for people who don't want to pay $5.99 for a jar of 10 bay leaves. 

Totem Pole of Life. Cheeseball points: One hundred!

And finally--the quintessential belly shot. Stolen, per usual, from Kiet's baby mama and a great shot he took of his wife and daughter.

Shock and awe points for the size of my belly: Too many to count.