I had this wild notion to breastfeed my 3rd baby.  Before you get all twisted at the thought of “wild notion” let me explain.  The idea of breastfeeding to me was and still is a bit wild.  As in wild animals.  Dairy farms.  Nursing pups.  Baboons on display at the zoo with babies hanging from their nipples.  Wild.  Now before you start on the breast is best commentary, come on down from your righteous throne and get over it.  Not everyone feels that way. 

Fed is best. 

Period. 

You won’t win that argument here.

My babies have been fed formula, pumped milk and now exclusively breast fed and honestly they all cry and whine and I’m sure they’ll all grow up to similar degrees of crazy so let’s just agree to feed our babies and leave it at that. 

K, thanks.  

So where were we.  I decided to breastfeed baby 3 for a number of reasons.  All my babies were c sections and a small part of me feels like I may have missed something in the delivery that may have made me feel…a little more heroic.  I mean, you have moms pushing babies out of their VAGINAS and I’m over here with my hair blown out on an operating table asking them for a xanax cocktail through my IV.  And as sad as I may be about missing out on my babies trip down the birth canal, my vagina is still in tact so there’s a silver lining. 

However my fear of missing out on important life experiences made me realize that if I didn’t try to breastfeed baby 3 I would never have another opportunity.  That and the promise google made to me that my uterus would shrink at a record pace.  Spoiler alert, googles a liar. 

A dirty, rotten liar.  

So I made the decision to try to breastfeed.  It went like this “ok boobs.  We’re gonna give this a go.  Don’t look at me like that, I don’t think I’ll like it either.  You either step up to the plate or sit on the sidelines but I can promise you that if you don’t give it your all on the first shot we are calling game and headed back home to our comfort zone”. 

I was feeling pretty good about myself and my decision until we got to the hospital.  I immediately got asked the number one question.  Breast or bottle feeding?  The nurse just stared at me with those pleading, “please say breast because it just makes the world a better place” eyes.  Breast it was.  But I just want to know why they are so damn nosy about all of it.  I mean, here I am hiding behind my curtain.  Trying to maintain the 1/2 an ounce of dignity I have left since someone came in every 4 hours during the night to change my wee wee pad and spray my privates with warm water.  And all I can hear is “did he latch?  How’s he doing?”. 

And the panic sets in.

At this point I am literally shoving my nipple into the babies mouth.  The baby is reaching up with his mouth wide open similar to a seal at feeding time, yet this guy isn’t catching any fish.  I’m shoving, he’s missing.  Nurse Nosy is still on the other side of the curtain playing a rapid fire game of 20 questions.  Just when I started to literally drip sweat and curse and threaten that if the baby didn’t latch in another 20 seconds I would be submitting my paperwork to the Similac strong moms webpage and going to feed him a bottle, he latched. 

And so our breastfeeding journey began.

 One of the best parts about breastfeeding besides the obvious health benefits is that it’s freeeeeee.  And trust me I know plenty of “if it’s free it’s for me moms” that breastfeed primarily for this purpose.  (I was hoping for the miraculously shrinking uterus but we will touch on that later.). I just want to be the first to let you know that the whole promise of free… falls flat.  Flat on its face in the nursing aisle at target as you’re tossing these items into your cart.

Nursing pads: because your sick of walking around with big old wet spots on your shirt and shoving toilet paper in your bra is so middle school.

Nipple cream: because no one told you that achieving that perfect latch can also feel like 38 million of the tiniest and sharpest knives exiting your nipples.  Oh, and not to mention things crack and bleed and blister.  And yeah, I’m not talking about your heels in the winter.  I’m still talking about your poor, sweet nipples.  They will take a beating.  And you will pay any amount of money to numb them.

Milk producing aides: maybe your lucky to be able to nurse your baby 8 times a day and still manage to pump 20 oz to build up a freezer stash.  Maybe you’ve been blessed by the gods in the milky heavens.  However if you weren’t, which I assume many are not…you will find yourself eating certain foods to “up” your production.  Things are going well you think but then you see those mamas posting pictures of their stash in the Facebook pages.  Suddenly you have this competitive need to pump enough milk to feed every infant in your town.  No, your entire state.  So in go the supplements.  drops, chews, drinks, cookies.  Challenge accepted.

And just when you think your cart is finally full don’t forget to grab that nursing cover, because god forbid someone know what’s going on under there // a nursing bra, because yes you will have to leave the house and wear a bra at some point // milk freezer bags, to store all that extra supply obviously // and set a reminder to order all new pump parts because you could swear you read somewhere to change them out every few months.  

Another fun breastfeeding fact is that you can throw your schedule out the window.  I am hardly a type A but I do like my babies on a schedule.  Eat at 8, sleep at 10, repeat all day until bedtime.  But no.  Breastfeeding is an entirely different animal.  It’s more along the lines of eat, eat, eat, cry to eat, eat more, snack time, eat because the snack wasn’t enough, eat, eat, eat and bedtime.  Bedtime of course means another 3 maybe 4 meals.

I mean.  Oh my word!  There is really no point to wearing a shirt in the beginning.  And I promise you it’s normal to google things such as:

“Why does my baby nurse constantly?”

“Can my baby really be this hungry?”

“Can someone please explain the nursing benefits to me again because I would really love to take a shower without a baby hanging from my boob?”

And the answers? 

It’s for comfort, growth spurt, developmental learning.  

Great.  So I’m a human pacifier to the fastest growing baby who will one day cure cancer.

I guess I can live with that.

But honestly speaking, how can we forget to talk about the bond.  No one can describe or explain that one.  It’s a try it for yourself and see.  It’s why I forgot everything that I wrote above and kept on nursing past my goal.  It’s a feeling that your baby has needs that only you can fulfill and while it can and will be exhausting it’s also extremely gratifying.   Those sweet nursing moments sitting in a big chair with only a lamp on for light will be memories that I will never forget. 

And trust me, I didn’t think I would be able to do it. 

I didn’t think I would be physically able to handle being the only person able to do every feeding with 2 other kids running around.  Or have the guts to nurse in public.  I tell you, no one was as shocked as I was to be sitting on a public bench with a baby on my boob.   But you’ll sort of just become a total mama bear, or perhaps mama cow fits better.  You will surprise yourself in what you are capable of.  And you will be so happy that you did it.

So yes, breastfeeding definitely has more to it then the pamphlets in labor and delivery let on.  The ups and downs will leave you exhausted and you will want to quit all of the time.  But you won’t.  And when you do, you will cry.  I can promise you that.  My only hope is that you have a smooth sailing journey nursing journey.  That you let the good outweigh the bad, that your nipples don’t bleed and that you produce more milk then a dairy farm.  Oh and that your uterus shrinks at a rapid pace.  Because if you haven’t guessed, mine did not and so I pray you are one of the chosen ones. 

So go on, give your girls a little pep talk and good luck!

XO Danielle

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Well here we are again.  For the 3rd time in your life you have entered your 9th month of pregnancy and let’s face it, this shit sucks.  Stop acting so surprised already.  You’ve been here before.  Uncomfortable.  In pain.  Growing exponentially.  Hungry.  Exhausted.  Oh my god are you exhausted.   Just the other day you fell asleep at a stop light, and again on the chair in the library while your first and second born fought over the ISPY books.  Hang in there.  You knew what to expect.  Didn’t you?  You’ve been here before.  Or did you forget?

Did you forget how you would wake up every hour just to change which side you were lying on.  Left, right, no left.  Only it took so long to actually roll your body over that after the 10 minute production was finished you would be wide awake for another 45 minutes.  

Did you forget how each day you would look in the mirror at your once flat stomach and see that shockingly you were even bigger then the day before.  When you didn’t think it was even possible for your skin to stretch any further.

Did you forget how each morning you would look down to find a new stretch mark or varicose vein?  Or how one day you would take off your bra and think “whose freaking boobs are these?!?”  

Maybe you forgot how fast things would change.  How the pants that fit you on Tuesday would mock you from a crumpled heap in the corner on Thursday.   

Or did you forget how heavy it was to carry a watermelon around every second of every day.  How you would be dead tired but couldn’t sit on the couch because you wouldn’t be able to pull your ass out of the cushions.  

Did you forget how hard it was to try to steer your car?  No u-turns until you give birth.  Got it?  There is simply NO room for you to turn the wheel that much in a safe manner.  

You obviously forgot. 

But you’re remembering now.  As you fight back tears every time you take a shower.  Because every single part of your body hurts.  How you catch a glimpse of yourself in a store window and can’t even fathom how your body will ever return to normal.  

But do you know what you’re really forgetting?  You’re forgetting the miracle.  You’re forgetting is how lucky you are to be here right now.  In your ninth month.  Miserable and all.  I know it’s hard to see the beauty of the situation from behind the 10 layer chocolate cake you are devouring but trust me. 

This is so good. 

Every ache, pain and stretch mark is worth it.  And it won’t last forever.  

So you have to stop.  You have to stop thinking you’re not beautiful.  You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself.  You have to stop bursting into tears because you took a recount of your stretch marks and welcomed 5 new friends to the family.  Just stop.  Stop feeling attacked when people comment on how big you are.  Stop feeling offended when people are shocked that you are literally not going to give birth in the line at TJ Maxx because you are seriously just that gigantic.  I’m looking at you cashier #5.  

Just stop.  

And while your at it take a deep breath.  If that’s even possible at this point.  Breathing at all in your 9th month is a struggle.  Or at least trying to breathe without sounding like a water buffalo is.  

You are at the end.  The final countdown.  Your body worked hard for so many months to get you to this moment.  

The bottom line is don’t be so hard on yourself.  Chances are you wont bounce back.  I’m just being honest.  And that’s o.k.  You’ll get there in time.  Slowly but surely your body will readjust.  Heal.  Return to its normal state.  Or maybe it will be a new normal.  Either way, you will forget all about the 9th month misery.  Heck, maybe you’ll even miss it.  But I’ll promise you one thing.  You will be beautiful.  Every step of the way.  

XO, Danielle

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If I had to guess it was a Tuesday.  A chilly day.  Mid 50’s.   It was right around dinner time, when the decision was made.  But that’s not true.  In fact I can’t even tell you what year it was.  It was a gradual decision.   A decision that took years to accept.  Years laced with pregnancies, stress, crazy schedules, weight gain and extremely low self esteem.   It was a decision that I hated myself for making.

Can you remember the time we took that vacation.  To a tropical island.  We joked and laughed and drank fruity frozen cocktails.  I wore a bikini and we had sex in the middle of the afternoon.  It seems like forever ago.  Before my stretch marks and C-section scar.  Before I worried all the time about whether or not our babies ate enough vegetables and if they were going to sleep through the night.  I can almost remember the confidence I had.  Just yanking off my pool dress.  Tossing it on the chair like I never needed it.   I cling to that pool dress now.   Like my life depends on it, I cling to that dress.  Just like I cling to the memories of that vacation.  Of how I felt so free and comfortable in my own skin.   My skin feels different now.  Almost unrecognizable.  Like I am stuck in someone else’s body.  Someone whose body is out of control.  Mood swings.  Loose skin.  Hot, then cold, no hot.  Very, very hot.  Stretch marks.  Whose body am I wearing?  Why are they so hormonal?  Where is my fruity cocktail???

I didn’t expect these changes.  Honestly.  I thought I would bounce back.  I was young!  I was supposed to give birth and hit the beach the next month.  I wasn’t supposed to look like this.  Or feel like this.  I was supposed to look like I was 24 again.  The same girl who you dated for years before we got pregnant.  The girl who never cared if we left the lights on.  That girl never came back.  She took my confidence.   She ran with my flat stomach.  She took all the good parts of me and now she’s gone.

And so I cringe.  I cringe sometimes when you try to touch me.  When you walk into the bathroom after I shower I panic.  Don’t look.  Don’t see me like this.  I feel so different now.  So shy and unsure of myself.  I see all those confident moms proud of their “stripes” and of how they look post partum, but I feel embarrassed.   I feel uncomfortable in the body that I was left with.  After the 2 pregnancies.  After waking up 3 times a night for months at a time.  Each time eating a cookie on the way to the nursery because it made me feel better.  And I deserved to at least feel a little better if I was missing out on all that sleep.  I was left with a body that won’t fit in any of my designer jeans.  Jeans that now crowd the corner of my closet.  Jeans that I won’t give away because I still have faith in myself.  I still pray that the old me comes back.  Maybe I’ll wake up one day and see her in the mirror.  With her wrinkle free forehead and perky boobs.

So meet the post partum me.  2 times over.  This is how I feel.  But you?  You tell me otherwise.  Day in and day out, you tell me how beautiful I am.  How you don’t even see the extra 15 lbs.  You turn your head when I eat the entire bag of potato chips.  You never judge me.  Never speak a word of my mood swings.   You love me just the same.  If not more.  You have the confidence in me that I lost.  You carefully push me to be the best version of myself.  This new version of myself.  And so I have to wonder.  If you can love her…why can’t I?

So that’s where I’m at.  Trying to love myself once again.  Trying to make this new person the best person.  Trying to accept the different parts of me and to appreciate my body for what it has done.  It isn’t easy for me.  I’ll be honest.   It is hard for me to accept these changes but I am going to try.

And so I thank you.  For loving me.  No matter what I look like or how I feel.  Thank you for always thinking I am the prettiest.  The best.  The sexiest.  Even when I don’t feel like it.   I am going to work hard on loving myself the way that you love me.  Because the way you love me is the greatest way of all.

XO Danielle

I love to connect with my readers on social media, so feel free to share this with a friend, and find me on Instagram and Facebook.

Sitting on the couch most hours of the day to avoid feeling dizzy.

Eating english muffin after english muffin to ward off nausea.

Yep, you guess it.

We’re PREGNANT!!

And by we, I mean me.  No seriously.  I don’t see Mike sitting on the couch in his pajamas scarfing down english muffins.

Here’s what you’ve missed

I found out I was pregnant while Mike was out of town for work.  He was driving back late in the afternoon so I spent the entire day thinking of cute ways to share the news.  I ended up just tossing the stick at him and screaming, WE DID IT!!  Ha.  Mike is beyond excited.  If it were up to him, I would have already been pregnant with # 2 for a long time.  If it was up to me, he would carry our children in his uterus.

I am due March 21st, which makes me 13 weeks pregnant already.  Want to know the best part??

It’s a

BOY!

Yep, thanks to modern medicine and a simple genetic blood test, we found out the gender at just 12 weeks!  Pretty incredible.

It’s fairly safe to say I have been feeling a lot better in the past couple of weeks.  I definitely have more energy, and I found that if I just keep eating I don’t feel dizzy.  A dream come true.

Counting the days until March.  Can’t wait to meet our sweet boy.  Mini on the other hand.  Not so impressed with all the baby talk.