Mastitis and Masticate: Same Root?

Have you heard enough about my boobs yet? Swell, 'cause it's all I can think about! Lately I've gotten pretty dang serious about solving this here breast pain problem, and last week after a day of alternately weeping and calling all over the state, I got an appointment with the cutting edge folks at the UC Davis Medical Center. So the whole fam-damily got up at 5:30 am on Wednesday and drove to lovely downtown Sacramento for our 9:30 appointment. Both The Spud and I were observed, poked, prodded, weighed (before and after nursing) and cultured. We'll see what "grows out" of said culturing perhaps by tomorrow afternoon.

If it isn't the dreaded thrush yeasty beasties (that we have already been treating for, before AND after each and every nursing session for the last 16 days) still colonizing our little dyad, they have other theories waiting in the wings with proven medical solutions! I fear that it is the aforementioned fungal funk, as I seem to be a paradise for all things saprophytic. But I will be more than happy to be proved wrong on this one...

Anywho, there is a possibility that it is this condition as well, in conjunction with whatever else is going on, which is treatable with good old fashioned modern medicine as well, thank heavens. Fix me, please, fix me! I'm done gritting it out, okay?

In other, more fun news, The Bub finally got to meet his gramma and a lovely time was had by all.

Nip N Tuck

Well, I finally got in to see the lactation consultant, and things have gotten so much... Well, honestly there's been no change. You thought I was going to say "better" there didn't you? Yeah, me too. I am now armed with a lot theories as to why we are having a tough time, but no quick miracle solutions, durn it. We have some vague directions to massage the baby's jaw in certain places to get him to lighten up, but me, I'm just not feeling the faith in this strategy. Nor am I giving up the ghost yet. If there's one thing that I am, its stubborn. So I'll be the one with a grimace on my face massaging away on my baby's jaw. If you need me. Yep, that's where I'll be.

In other news, while The Bub naps during the day I've been doing some fun Renaissance Faire costume sewing. (Dishes? Laundry? Pah, I have much more interesting stuff to do!) I took a picture of myself modeling the two items, but to tell the truth, the photo wasn't doing anybody any justice. Perhaps tomorrow I can get a better (read: non-me) shot to show off my marginal yet entertaining seamstress skills. And I have so many more projects in mind. Not to mention the two knitting projects I have in the works. Yikes! I'm an overachiever slacker! Alrighty, off to nap for a few hours. Bye!

So far...

As I am typing this The Bub is 8 weeks (and and an hour or so) old. We have been through a lot in these two months. Like birth. And a zillion poopy mustard diapers. And breast feeding trials and tribulations. And enough infant intestinal gas to float the Hindenburg. We've had a constant slew of wonderful visitors. Then we've suffered through acne, thrush, and conjunctivitis. We've had a few days when the baby cried all day, and a few when he's slept all day. And sometimes I may seem rushed, tired and cranky, but I just want to officially say that I am so happy to be a mom again. I love your little nose, your cheeks, your chin, Jackson. I love you down to your tiny toes that already smell like your Daddy's vinegar feet if we go two days without a bath.



And I will now brag about you for all the internets to see. Despite my issues with breast feeding, you seem to be thriving. Thursday at your checkup you broke into the 90th percentile for weight. Your little chubby self now clocks in at 12 lbs and 14 oz. You go kiddo.



And in totally (completely!) unrelated news, something clambered up onto our deck last night and left us a present. It must have been bigger than a cat, smaller than a dog, and full of undigestible berries. Yuck!

Oi with the poodles already

I didn't think it was possible, but somehow nursing The Bub has gotten even worse. We are calling in the big guns now and will be going to see a lactation specialist sometime this week. I don't care if we have to drive to Ohio, I will be getting some help asap. He's gassy and miserable, I'm bruised, battered and miserable, and poor The Hub is stuck sitting on the bench not able to help either of us. Whee!

On a more cheerful note Grampa L was here last week and was a wonderful help with not only the tot, but he also tried to fix the wonky electrical wiring in this here trailer. Unfortunately the trailer got the better of him, but he certainly was handy with Spudlet.

Top Ten Benefits Of The Postpartum Condition...

10. Stylish diaper bag as a new accessory.

9. Babies have The Best Comb Overs.

8. Being able to reach the kitchen faucet without hoisting my belly over the sink.

7. Goodbye heartburn!

6. Bodacious tatas.

5. Permission to eat soft cheeses. Hello brie, my old friend! Nice to see you again, gorgonzola!

4. New fun party stories of labor and poop.

3. Sushi.

2. I can go positively hours without peeing!

1. My beautiful baby boy.

Goodbye Acne...

(and good riddance) and hello conjunctivitis!

Disruption of the Space Time Continuum...

The Little Pooh Bear is asleep in his bouncy seat right now which has a vibrate mechanism on it. The vibrations are causing his little toes to wiggle so rapidly in space that the edges are blurry. Tee hee.

Drivel and Narcissism

The Hub was home today for a "doctors appointment" (no really, he did have to do some diabetes-lab-test-thing) so the day has gone swimmingly, and I am at my leisure to blog again.

Lets see, we have had some adventures in spit up lately. This afternoon the bub spit up on the burp cloth on my shoulder and then turned his head and rubbed the remainder ON MY MOUTH. Ew. Last night around 4:30 am I was burpin' the spud and he vomited over my shoulder onto the bed, inches from The Hub's face, who woke up when he heard the splat. Ew. But the best burf story happened last weekend when we went to a coffee shop for lunch. I was nursing the tot at our little table when he suddenly popped off, looked up into my face, and projectile vomited with precision aim. Good thing I wear my safety glasses everywhere I go. Moving on.

Sunday was our "Last Day of Family Freedom" before TH went back to work, so to finish it off in grand style we went all the way to lovely downtown Fresno. My main goal of traveling so far was to cover my butt. Literally. See I've been wearing the same three pairs of shorts for the last five weeks now, and it wasn't making me happy. Here is the entirely of my Old Pants Family.



I would like to point out that the middle pair of shorts have been with me for quite a while now, as I pilfered them from my grandfather sometime either in high school or college. Gotta love the old dude seersucker trousers! The other two are respectively, exercise pants and maternity shorts. Not too flattering to the old post pregnancy ego.

Now I tried to do the low impact local recycling thing and get stuff at our neighborhood thrift shop. But it was fruitless and depressing. All of the cute things were only in my pre-pregnancy size,and the stuff that fit was all the high waisted "walking shorts" type things that are about as sexy as cold oatmeal. Hence the Fresno trip. And a free reign day at the Old Navy store where I got me some (slightly larger) sexy shorts. Welcome to the Pants Family!



Now I know that a woman's worth is NOT inversely proportional to her pant size, and I'm not going into specifics here, but it was a tiny bit shocking to find out that I am currently wearing a size that is two times my former size. But I guess something has to balance out these boobs...