Food stamps and jiggly thighs, here we come...

Tomorrow Rhys will be three weeks old.  

Keeping it real confession:  it's been the longest three weeks of my entire life.

Right at his two week mark, he went through 48 hours of non-stop feeding.  I held him and fed him for two nights and two days straight.  The first night, I woke Chris up with the sheer volume of my sobbing.  Rhys was fighting the latch but completely inconsolable unless he was latched on.  We fought to eat for over four hours.  When I accidentally woke up Chris, it was around 2:30 am and it took him another 90 minutes to get Rhys calmed down.  

That continued straight on through for the next two days.

And then...

Oh, yeah.  There's a "then"...

One of my milk ducts got clogged.  

Thankfully, my rock star mom is here and she immediately knew what to do.  In less than 24 hours, the milk duct was unclogged thanks to a heating pad, even more water, rest and feeding exclusively on the clogged side.  

I fear mastitis.  Fear.  It.  

But we caught it early and acted quickly.  

By the end of the week, I was so exhausted and so very over holding Rhys all day, every day for him to sleep, I made the decision it was time to get used to his crib.  Regardless of the amount of crying that entailed.  

We are still working on that process but we're making progress.  

Slowly.

I also rented a pump.  I needed a break and was hopeful I could build up enough of a supply to at least bottle feed him one feeding a night so I could sleep a little longer than 90 minutes.  

Was also feeling like every time I held him, all he wanted to do was eat.  I couldn't just snuggle and play.  Nope.  As soon as I picked him up, he would start trying to find the food.  

Second keeping it real confession:  That made me feel absolutely used up.  

I had a sweet friend helping me navigate the pumping.  Both what to expect and how to actually do it.  I started on Thursday and by Sunday afternoon, we had enough for a 2.5 oz bottle.  That precious liquid gold allowed us to attend Small Group Sunday afternoon.  He took the bottle well and seemed blissfully full.  I was happy but disappointed it took four days to equal one feeding.

And that brings us to today.  

Rhys had his two week check up.  We're a week late because we spent almost a full week going to the doctor for daily weigh-ins after his one week birthday.  He was 8 lbs at birth, dropped to 7 lbs at one week and finally gained up to 7.3 lbs at a week and a half.  So it had been a week and a half since we'd been to the doctor to be weighed.  

And in those 10 days, he did not gain a single ounce.  

I lost it.

Let's be honest, I don't just love breast feeding.  I know some women love the bonding time.  Some feel a sense of accomplishment at being able to provide nourishment for their baby.  Some do it because it's really easy compared to the mixing formula, cleaning bottles, etc.

I didn't really feel any of that.  

My reasons for doing it were it was free and the extra calorie burn.  

Neither of which are good reasons.    

A million times a day, I considered the advantages of food stamps to afford formula and the months I could live with jiggly thighs until I could work off the extra weight on my own.

But standing there looking at my crying little man on the scale and seeing the 7.3...again...I suddenly felt more than defeated.  I felt crushed.  

All those day dreams of giving up for the ease and longer sleep times of formula seemed ridiculous.  

Our pediatrician was so understanding.  Which is good because I was ugly crying by the time she got to us.  But she was honest.  

Formula was an absolute must.  

Not only would it help him gain weight but she suspected it would really help with his sleeping as well.

It's hard to sleep peacefully on an empty stomach.

She said based on the amount of time it took me to make one extra bottle, it sounds like I am not making enough.  It also could be that what I am making isn't nutritionally strong.  No real reason why that might be.  Could be because I'm an older mom.  Could be the Celiac disease.  Could be some bizarre reason we'll never know.  Regardless, it's a fact.

Of course, I know formula fed babies turn out just fine.  Aubrey Kate was one.  And she's pretty much perfect (#proudmomma).

So having to go to formula doesn't really make me upset.  It's the realization that precious Rhys has been so hungry for the past three weeks.  

That breaks my heart.  

And, for the third keeping it real confession, I am disappointed we spent the past three weeks working so hard at an something only to have it be a failure just like it was with Aubrey Kate.  

So here we are.  The bottle factory has been reopened for business.  The counter is covered in drying bottles and cans of formula.  

But Rhys has been eating and sleeping soundly this afternoon.  

And that is worth going on food stamps and months of jiggly thighs.