Breastfeeding, allergies, reflux, poor weight gain....sigh

So V3 is 100 days old!! (That's 3.5 months old) She's still teeny tiny. Seriously...I am not just saying that, she's barely 9 pounds. She hasn't grown or gained weight in over 2 months. At first they weren't worried. Then we approached 2 months of no weight gain and everyone got really worried. When she was about a month and a half, I stopped eating dairy and she went on reflux meds because she was spitting up buckets with EVERY feeding. They sent us to the hospital for an emergency ultrasound to rule out pyloric stenosis. Thankfully it wasn't that, so no emergency surgery needed. At 3 months, I took her in for another weight check, she hadn't gained weight. She hadn't grown at all. So off to the pediatric gastroenterologist we went. We went last Thursday, she has lost 3 ounces in 2 days. So the doctor has us on a crazy regimen of pumped breast milk and formula. It's almost impossible to keep up with the pumping demands. I am also off soy too. Yep, that's dairy AND soy. Do you know how much food has those two things!? It's insane!! I feel like I am starving. V3 is still spitting up a LOT and it's worse when I use the formula. I am terrified of our appointment on Thursday. Please pray for weight gain!!!

The week leading up to V3's birth...

So this is more leading up to V3's birth. I found out that we were expecting V3 on Halloween last year...I can hardly believe that it's almost been a year! Where has the time gone. Anyway, this past Easter Sunday, I got a call from my mom that she was on the way to the hospital with my grandparents, something was going on with my grandpa. He had been pretty sick on and off since 2010. I was worried, but not overly so. Later that night, I was sound asleep when the sound of my phone (ringer was turned off, it was just vibrating on the nightstand) woke me up. Not wanting to wake up V1 or V2, I went into my bathroom and closed the door. It was my mom using that tone of voice that only dogs can here. She was telling me that my grandpa was diagnosed with lymphoma. (I should add that this took about 5 minutes of "breath mom I can't understand you" before I could get it out of her.) I went back to bed, told PapaV what was going on and said "I am going to sound really selfish and wrong, but I just know that he's going to pass away right at the time this baby is born and I won't be able to be there! This sucks!!!! I need to be with my family!!" In my mind, over and over again, I kept saying "this is going to happen on July 7th" Fast forward to July...this baby had decided to take up permanent residence in my body. I was convinced V3 was NEVER coming out. (V1 was almost 6 weeks early, V2 was a week early) Things were getting much worse for my grandpa and I couldn't go home to be with him and say goodbye. It was tearing me apart. I didn't want Memorial Day weekend to be the last time I saw my grandpa. It was July 7th, I was HUGELY pregnant. PapaV had just gotten V2 out of the bath and was dressing him. V1 was freshly out of the shower and getting ready for bed. My phone rang, it was my mom. She said that she only had a couple of minutes, but that they had just gotten my grandpa home from the rehab facility. He wanted to do hospice at home instead of at the facility. She suddenly said, I have to go, they need me inside. No more than 7 minutes later she called (that same voice as Easter) was on the line. "He's gone! What am I going to do? My dad is gone!!" (I haven't mentioned this yet in a blog, but I kind of have experience with losing a dad to cancer...that's another day) Mom asked me to call my brother and let him know. As soon as I hung up the phone, I collapsed on the floor in a big, fat pregnant sobbing mess. Scared the kids. Freaked out the husband. I had missed my chance to say goodbye. I was going to miss the funeral. I was letting the whole family down. I wasn't allowed to travel. Again, I was 7 days away from my due date. The funeral was held on Friday, July 10th. It was a very nice service. At least that's what I was told. My brother came home from Florida for it. I missed it. I have no closure. I feel like crap. The next morning, I got up, still numb. PapaV said that he needed to mow the lawn. At this point, I was over being pregnant and I needed a distraction. The kids were in the house watching a movie, roaming in and out of the garage to ride bikes or play with chalk in the driveway. I decided to use the weedeater and help with the lawn. I felt better than I had in weeks (maybe months). After we finished up, we took the kids for lunch. I was feeling kind of yucky, but couldn't put my finger on what was going on. We took the kids to the park and ran a couple of errands. Around 5 I was feeling like I was getting sick, I couldn't concentrate on anything and just needed to be away from everything, so I went to take a warm bath and then take a nap. I was miserable. I thought for sure I had the flu or something. Around 7:30 or so, PapaV said he needed to feed the kids and would get me something too. Around 8 he called me down to eat. I refused at first and he demanded that I come eat something. He knew that something was up and I wasn't sick. I made it about 3 bites into my dinner, having to get up and leave the table between every bite. The third time I got up, he said I needed to page my midwife. I didn't want to, it was just another false alarm. I did finally after a lot of convincing. When she called me back, I had a wave of nausea as soon as I answered the phone. She told me to get to the hospital immediately. PapaV called his mom (she lives around the corner from us and had house guests for the weekend...oops) She didn't answer. So he took off on him bike to find her. Ten minutes later, she arrives and he takes me to the hospital (35 minutes away). We get to the hospital, he drops me off while he goes to park the car. The guy at the front desk wanted to see my ID. I, of course, didn't bring my purse. He said I couldn't enter the hospital to see a patient without ID. I said "how about if I just give birth to the patient right here!" He immediately looked at me and said "Oh crap are you in labor!?" I finally get to where I need to go, my midwife isn't there yet. So they get my changed and are hooking up the monitors when she finally arrives a little after 10pm. (I got to the hospital at 9:40) She checks me, says I am 8, almost 9cm. I asked "so this means I have to stay?" 45 minutes later I have a new baby girl! She was born without any assistance from my midwife...she was still putting gloves and her gown on. So the day after my grandfather's funeral, I gave birth to my second daughter (third child). I will likely share more personal stories about my life as they come into my head. I just had my grandpa on my mind a lot this evening and needed to share this one week.

Mommy Guilt and Mama Bear

I have spent the last couple of days worrying about our youngest. She's 12 weeks old and so insanely skinny. She hasn't gained any weight in over a month. Not for lack of trying. We have a nephew that is 5 weeks old and weighs more than our little peanut. I know that I shouldn't worry too much, my other two were just like this. I can't help it though. Why do I make such skinny babies?! It's not like she doesn't eat. I was up with her at least 3 maybe 4 times last night feeding her. She's just tiny. I just can't get over the fact that moms have so much guilt in their lives. I have heard before that if I feel guilty about something I do as a mother, it just makes me a good mother since I am thinking about what I am doing. I don't want to feel any guilt at all. I am doing the best I can with the skills that I have as a parent. Yet I still don't feel like I am good enough. Why do we live in a society that puts so much pressure on kids (and their parents) to be the best? Why can't we all just be team parents? Rah parenthood!! Instead parents are constantly "one-upping" each other, putting each other down, etc. I know that Eleanor Roosevelt said “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”, but it sure is hard to not let people get into your head. I think even with really good self-esteem, it's hard to not beat yourself up over some of the things people say to one another. Whether it's the "breastfeeding vs. formula feeding" debate or "natural birth vs. c-section" debate, it's always something. Why can't we just be happy with healthy, happy kids? I know I am just repeating everything that everyone else is already saying, but in the location we are currently living it feels like a rat race. It feels like I don't look the part, I don't talk the part. Really, I don't care! I am who I am...if you don't like me, I don't really care. However, if you don't like my kids or you can't respect my kids for who they are, prepare to meet Mama Bear. I am teaching my kids to respect adults and kids. The least you can do is try to show my child respect. My oldest child is a very happy, fun girl. She loves her classmates and isn't afraid to show that. Unfortunately (or fortunately) she shows her feelings outwardly. I have reminded her about 10 billion times that not all friends like to be hugged. (It's a hard lesson) Anyway, last school year her class was showing their parents what they do in one of the "specials" (music, science, wellness, etc) classes. My daughter was so excited to be in the classroom with not only her friends (seriously this child sees EVERYONE peer as a friend) and their parents that she ran up to another student and hugged her. About that time I overheard a mother in the room behind me say "That S girl is such an ugly child, I really hope her parents medicate her soon". I wanted to throw up or jump up and throttled that mother. Luckily she said it to a friend of mine who immediately said "Oh you because SV? We LOVE the V family!! They are great!" I am pretty sure that my daughter doesn't need to be medicated and I personally think she is beautiful! let me just state that this person's child is a very sweet girl and I adore being around her. I just hope we don't have another round like that with the mother or I might get into trouble. Anyway....it's funny how feelings can go from guilt to frustration so quickly for a mother. I just hope as my 3 kiddos grow bigger and wiser and more independent, I am able to keep the guilty feeling to a minimum and the mama bear in her cage!

Who I am....

On and off for the last six years, I have considered writing a blog about who I am, why I am here and what I am doing. I have always thought, sure I could do that, but would anyone really want to read about my life? Well tough! I am going to give it a shot here. I will start with the fact that I am not a writer. I tend to write how I think...so if you are part of the grammar police, you might want to stop now. I am not perfect, I don't want to be perfect. I am me. My name is Kristin, I am the mother of three beautiful, active kids. Well, two are active, one's still a baby. This is my journey. Let's start from the beginning. I am from a smallish town in Indiana. I have never been the type of person that stands out in the crowd, nor do I want to. I am just who I am. I have, however, always had dreams for myself. I also feel strongly that God had very specific paths for me. Not sure that I was very good at following those paths, but they were there. I have had dreams of being teacher. Of being a doctor. Of being a nurse. Never, until about 7 years ago, did I dream about being a mom. I didn't think I would never be a mom, I just didn't see that as the one thing that I HAD to do with my life. I wanted to make an impact on the world. Change lives. Be LouAnne Johnson (remember that movie Dangerous Minds, that was about her). Maybe it was God's plan to make me a caregiver. Then in October of 2008, I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I was excited, scared and really not sure that I would EVER go through that again. I can honestly say that I am NOT meant to be pregnant...I hate it! In May of 2009, this sweet little bundle of joy was born...early. She gave us a scare. She spent the first 22 days of her life in the NICU. I didn't ever think she would come home. It was the longest 22 days of my life. Then one morning, my husband (Michael) and I arrive at the hospital, ready for a fight (this is another story for later), only to have the nurses packing us up to go home! So the journey into motherhood was really beginning and I fell in love with being a mom. So in love that in July of 2011 we found out that we were expecting #2. That pregnancy was scary only because we didn't want to go through another preemie experience. Low and behold, God answered prayers and baby boy was born one week before his due date. He was big, healthy and had a serious presence! He still does!! I told people that we were done, but in reality, I just didn't feel complete. So...on Halloween 2014 we were expecting number 3!!! This one caused me all kinds of grief! (Remember I said, I don't do pregnancy well) If I was on my feet for very long, my right leg would go numb. I had two false alarms. In fact, when I fianlly went to the hospital to have this baby, I wasn't convinced I was in labor. Our second girl was born 3 days before her due date. The baby that caused me so much grief is the easiest of the three. So, with the three kiddos in my life, I find myself frequently saying "I think that God made me to be a mom!" I don't know why, but I really believe that I am a mom because that's what God wants me to be. A mom is a caregiver on so many levels. So that place in my heart and mind that always said "you are supposed to be a caregiver" was right. I am a caregiver, for my family. Don't get me wrong, I am not a perfect mom. Far from it actually. My kids make me crazy sometimes, but I wouldn't trade them for anything in the whole world. I don't know yet where I am going to go with this, but maybe I will figure this out and actually come here to write once in a while. Maybe I will forget about it and fail. Who knows. For today...I wrote.