Emma turned 6 weeks old yesterday, which means I’m now officially halfway through my maternity leave. Sometimes it feels like Emma has been here forever, but it also seems like the time has flown past.
I like being home with her and am happy to have another 6 weeks, but I have to admit that I do look forward to going back to work as well. Right now, the days all run together in a haze of feeding and burping and diaper changing and naps — I’m finding that I miss the structure and stability of the work week, along with the satisfaction of contributing to my organization and the daily interaction with my awesome coworkers.
I always knew I would go back to work, but it’s been a little surprising to find myself missing it. I’m not in a rush, and I know it will be hard to leave Emma at daycare when the time comes, but there will be positives too. My job isn’t perfect, but I’ll take it.
As if she can sense that her idyllic home life won’t last forever, Emma has been quite the pill today. She’s adorable with her little smile in the photo above taken around 7 a.m., but she’s naked (except for a diaper) in her swaddle because at 4 a.m. she peed all over the changing table — AND her clothes.
Then we went to the mom’s group at the hospital as we’ve done every Tuesday of her life so far. Emma was hungry, but was just not interested in nursing. She was interested in exercising her lungs — aka screaming. I’m suspicious that nursing doesn’t really interest her anymore now that she’s so used to bottles, from which she can drink easily and quickly.
(I haven’t posted much about breastfeeding lately, but the short story is that her diet consists of about 70% formula and 30% breast milk that I get from 6-7 pumping sessions per day. I’ve tried to nurse her at least once a day so that she doesn’t “forget” what it’s like, in hopes that if/when my supply increased enough, we could do away with some of the bottles. But I’ve had to accept that at 6 weeks postpartum, it’s highly unlikely that my supply is going to increase above the 10-12 ounces per day that I produce right now. So I’m at a turning point and need to decide how much longer to keep up the pumping routine, and when to say enough is enough.)
Anyway, since she wanted to scream instead of nurse at mom’s group, I pulled out the supplemental formula I’d brought — and promptly spilled half of the powder into my lap as I tried to pour it into the bottle with one arm while holding a crying baby in the other. The mom’s group is really the NURSING mom’s group, so spilling formula everywhere in front of a bunch of women with happily nursing babies and boobs that produce copious amounts of milk was really fun.
Not.
Who, me?
Emma didn’t seem to want to eat the now-dilute (since, yeah, I spilled half the powder) formula. We quickly departed and headed home, since I knew she’d be hungry really soon — and to top things off, I got pulled over by the League City police on Bay Area Blvd for going 39 in a 30. I knew as soon as I passed him on at the intersection of a side street that he was going to pull me over. I’m well aware of the speed limit for that section of road, but my brain was on cruise control, just trying to get my baby home before she went ballistic from hunger.
I slumped in my seat, tired, frustrated, and just hoping really hard that Emma didn’t start screaming bloody murder from the back seat. Perhaps the officer could sense my dejection, because he let me go with a warning. I wonder if he could tell that I just needed to catch a break?
Jose’s mom fed her when I got home, while I pumped since she didn’t nurse long enough to really get even the small amount of milk that I produce. And when she was done eating? Emma spit up on both herself and her Grandma. SIGH.
Now, of course, she is happily snoozing on the couch. And despite all the trouble she’s been today, I still want to smooch those chubby cheeks.
