Barren Mare

Mastitis minor

After that last post- later that evening- my condition of "all overish and yucky" turned into "hmmm, and perhaps just a little warm, too."  E. concurred that I did feel just a tad toasty, so I casually dug out the digital thermometer and popped it into in my mouth. Oh, how that familiar beep beep beeping takes me back to my bygone fertility monitoring days. And...oooh, yikes. The reading was 102.1! 

That can't be right, I told myself. I don't feel nearly crappy enough to warrant a fever that high. I took it again and it came back reading 101.6.  Well, oookay. That's a fever, then. Taking a quick peek at the afflicted boob, I also noticed a rather worrying pink patch, which hadn't been there a couple of hours ago.  Whereupon I immediately launched into Mastitis Alert Code Red. I fired off a text to my doctor friend (who incidentally had suffered through a bout of mastitis herself in the early days of nursing), asking her if I should commence taking the antibiotics which were left over from my recent ear infection. I had never finished the course, you see, as I suspected it was contributing to Botany's sudden nasty nappy rash, and also because I felt so much better.    

My doctor friend called me back straight away to say, yes, start taking the drug ASAP- she reckoned I might still need a different type of antibiotic more closely tailored to the type of infection but in the meantime it could do no harm to use what I had to hand. So I did, together with some paracetemol. And you know, I felt fine, really. So much so that I got up the next day and went out to my mother-baby group as usual, which generally entails a long chilly walk through the park in pram convoy. That evening, the redness looked a bit worse but the fever was gone. Another day on the antibiotics, lots of nursing on that side, and whew- crisis apparently nipped in the, er, bud.

Anyway- although I do think it was probably the onset of masitis, it was such a minor incident that it almost doesn't bear repeating. However, I relay it partly because I deem it yet another valuable reminder of what I am coming to consider the overriding principle of parenting: namely, "be ye not complacent about anything- because as soon as you do, that very thing (feeding, sleep, health, etc.) will go horribly wrong and bite you in the ass." Or in this case, in the boob.    

In other news, Botany has learned to roll over. Such an exciting milestone- at least for her, since now all she wants to do all the time is roll, roll, roll.  However, she is not terribly proficient at rolling back (from her tummy to back) yet, so there is a fair bit of stranded bleating going on. She hasn't quite figured out how to roll at night in her cot- I think because she is hampered by her sleeping bag- but I can tell it's coming. In which case I predict the already erratic sleep is going to go completely to hell.  Watch this space...

Blebbity bleb bleb

I've had a whole bunch of posts rattling around in my noggin and no time to write anything, since at present it seems all my spare baby-free hours are spent searching for a place to go on holiday in February.  The requirements have become increasingly complex almost to the point of ridiculousness: must be dog and baby friendly, someplace pretty but not tooo far away, somewhere with stylish decor and good heating (essential in the raw damp old Scottish weather). DVD player and wi-fi desirable. Hot tub, aromatherapy and spa treatments aspirational. 

Unfortunately, the first item on the list (that being "dog") already limits things quite considerably. That and the fact that as usual, we have left it too late and most of the good places are booked up. We could compromise but frankly, I have stayed in enough chilly wee hovels up the side of a damp glen to last a lifetime. There is one house we really like the look of, but it is miles and miles away in the arse end of Arse-na-Nog. Even if Botany is willing to put up with the journey, it just feels kind of...remote.

Anyway, much as I want to get around to writing about all those other fascinating topics (weight loss! my loathing of public transport! dreams about losing the baby in the bed!) what I really want to do right now do is throw myself at the mercy of the wise old internets and talk about the thing on my left boob. (If you're in the middle of eating your breakfast, now might be a good time to look away). I think it may be a milk blister, also charmingly known as a bleb. See how educational blogging is? I had no idea what a bleb was before yesterday and now I get to share it with the entire world.

The thing looks blebbish, and has been hanging around for about a week now. I've tried applying warm compresses and nursing more frequently on that side. But no joy. It remains, bleb-like as ever. If I may get a bit graphic- it's not really all that raised as such, and when prodded, it does appear that milk comes out of that duct so I am not convinced that it is, in fact, a bleb. In which case I am not sure what the hell it is. I don't self-diagnose thrush, because it is only one wee white spot and I can't see any corresponding spots in Botany's mouth.

Is it possible to have a bleb where it's just kind of a bit covered over rather than actually plugged?  Where milk still comes out? I've tried scratching away the top surface with a (clean!) fingernail but much as I am keen to wheak out the offending material, I don't see anything really in there to grab onto (sorry- personally, I am a bit ghoulish and love this stuff). Then a few hours later the white coating is back and we start over.

I am beginning to get worried because it's now actually becoming a bit sore- waking me up at 2am in discomfort. But that could be from all the poking around I have been doing, rather than from the alleged bleb itself. Unfortunately, even though I am trying to get her to nurse more often on that side, Botany's new favourite trick is to vigorously yank her head away to look at something else with my beleagured nipple still in her mouth- causing to me yelp in pain.  No doubt this is not helping either.

I am living in mortal dread of mastitis setting in, especially as I am starting to feel a bit "all overish" and yucky. The solution is probably to trot myself down to the GP and whip out the (theoretical) offending bleb for a proper analysis- but I do like to go armed with as much googled factoids and anecdotal evidence as possible, if only because I can see it annoys the doctors in my practice that somebody is thinking for themselves.

Now, I am off to seek out holiday cottages that also accept blebs. 

All things about her are worth remembering

Saddened by the recent events at Flotsam-please stop by and give Alexa a hug.

I know things have changed a lot in the world of parenting since my mother's day, but all the same, I am continually curious to know she managed her own adventures in childrearing. Perhaps, as I dither over every choice- (which nappies to use! when to start solids! is the nursery too hot or cold! should I buy a jumperoo thingie!-)it comforts me to hear that my mother apparently used an entirely different approach and yet I still turned out to be a relatively healthy, well-adjusted individual. That is, at least so far.

Unfortunately, it would also appear that she has blocked out a lot of what went on, since a number of my queries were met with a bemused shrug and a simple response of "I can't remember."  I gather the years of coping with two children born eighteen months apart was not exactly a terribly happy time for my mother. At first I felt a tiny bit aggrieved by the idea that the moments of my precious infancy were not forever emblazoned into my parents' memory banks. So what if it was nearly forty years ago! So what if my mom was so busy and overwhelmed it made her head spin! Surely it was too good- or at least too important- to forget?   

Then I started to think about how much of Botany's first weeks are already a fuzzy blur. The newborn amnesia seems to be taking hold. And while it may be part of nature's plan to numb the rough edges of the experience that as a species we willingly go through it again, I realised that even though a lot of it wasn't exactly what I'd call fun, I want to be able to tell my daughter everything.

So before the shutters of my memory go down completely over that crazy, chaotic, miraculous time here is some of what I remember:

I remember Botany had been home for about three days when E. got food poisoning and lay on the sofa all night and wouldn't go near the baby because he was afraid he was somehow contagious. Botany screamed her head off until about midnight and I sat on the floor of the nursery, changing her for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, crying hysterically. I finally put her in her cradle and pulled the covers over my exhausted head, deciding I would let her cry on her own for just five minutes so I could get a moment's rest. The next thing I knew it was 2am, and all was quiet. 

I remember the first time she smiled at me. It was my birthday and she had been typically crankypants all day and then, when I finished feeding her she looked up at me and gave me a big happy look. Best birthday present ever.   

I remember how much she cried day in, day out.

I remember the exquisite pain of the first couple weeks of breastfeeding, the muffled squeak of agony from my throat every time she latched on. I remember having to endure the red hot poker pain every other hour.

I remember my dad sitting holding Botany in the rocking chair every day for an hour and half while she slept.

I remember the day the health visitor came to the house to weigh Botany. I got the baby undressed and just as we were about to put her on the scales, Botany pooped all over me.

I remember the house being swamped with cards and baby presents. I was stunned and gladdened by the incredible kindness of friends and neighbours.

I remember how we had so much stuff to pack when we went on holiday that we had to hire a bigger car. I was so worried about how she would be on the long drive and then she slept like an angel the whole way.

I remember going to bed, exhausted, wondering how I was going to find the energy to get up and do it all over again tomorrow- bearing in mind that tomorrow started in about two hours.

I remember staggering out of bed in the middle of the night, over and over again to feed her. When she would finally drop off, I would sit and hold her for an extra minute, transfixed by the sight of a sleeping baby in my arms.

I remember, after one particularly horrendous day crying as we sat nursing for hours and hours. Finally I blew my nose one of those damn ubiquitous muslin squares, held the baby a little closer and resolved to embrace all parts of the experience, good and bad- because after all, she was only going to be three weeks old for this small small space of time. Then it would be gone, in the blink of an eye- except for whatever memories I can manage to carefully store up- for years to come, for later, for when she needs them herself.

Up and down the stairs

I'm feeling much better now. Having struggled on for a few more days with the cold, I ended up speaking to one of my new fellow pram pushing friends, who happens to also be a ear nose and throat surgeon (a handy person to know.) I mentioned that the pharmacist had recommended, um, nothing. My friend rolled her eyes and told me that certain topical decongestents were OK, and to toodle myself forthwith to get a nasal spray. Which I duly did and pretty much immediately felt a lot better.

The recovery comes in the nick of time because the ongoing sleep weirdness combined with illness was becoming a complete ass-kicker. Last night went like this:

• 10pm- Botany grizzles herself half awake. I go ahead and dreamfeed her.
• 1am- Botany grizzling over the monitor. I leave her for 10 minutes, then go downstairs to try to settle her. She thrashes around while nursing, so I pick her up and she belches hugely. Back to sleep.
• 1.30 am.  Or not asleep. Grizzle grizzle wail wail. I wait it out for a bit. Silence.
• 2 am. Awake. Griiiiiizzzzle. I go down and feed her, again. Back to bed for me, finally, at 2.30 am.
• 5 am. Awake! Hi, Mummy. Chat, chat, chat and coo. I take her upstairs to bed with us to cadge an extra hour or so of sleep and mercifully she goes back down until 7am. 

In a previous post on the travails of Botany's sleeping, a couple of people mentioned the possible approach of turning off the baby monitor/earplugs. An attractive notion, to be sure. The problem is that we live in a townhouse-type arrangement, with the nursery down on the floor below. For the first couple months, the baby slept in our room for at least part of the night in the hanging cradle but eventually I concluded that we were simply waking each other up, so I transitioned her to her cot for the whole night. We need to keep our bedroom door shut so the dog doesn't go wandering around, and we also keep the nursery door shut to muffle out any random nighttime barking by Little Guy (which happens from time to time). So I am not completely certain that I would hear her if she was really in distress.

Actually, I confess that a couple of weeks ago, I accidentally turned the monitor off when I went to bed and didn't realise until I woke up at quarter past five wondering why it had been such a quiet night. When I turned it on, sure enough she was awake and "eh-eh-ehing" away, although not howling her head off. I've since been wondering (and feeling rather guilty) about how long she might have been lying there while I slept on oblivous.

I suppose part of the problem is that I don't have the will to leave her to grizzle for more than ten minutes or so. Part of me reasons that if she's not actually crying and if the noise is not escalating as such, then there is no pressing need for me to go pick her up, and eventually she will go back to sleep. This happens frequently. Sometimes I get all the way down the stairs to the nursery door and just as I am about to go in, she goes quiet.

So I don't rush in. But after a certain amount of time elapses, the more primal part of me goes into mothering autopilot: the baby needs me! She is all tiny and lonely in her cot and is calling out for me in the only way she knows how! "Eh-eh-eh-EH!"  Also, I tend to the view that if she hasn't managed to fall back asleep within ten minutes or so, it's better to just go down and get her settled as opposed to me lying there awake listening to her gurn for who knows how long. Even if that means getting up out of my cosy pit three or more times. And while I am away, Little Guy commandeers my warm spot.

Ach. I am sure this too will...yawn...pass. 

 

Happy Steaming New Year

I have a terrible cold. It started out by setting up base camp in my lungs, then making a summit bid to my right middle ear before a disastrous avalance of mucus blocked off the escape route in my Eustachian tube. Having toodled my hacking and spluttering self down to the local pharmacy on Boxing Day to see what over the counter relief might be available to a breastfeeding mother, I was somewhat nonplussed to discover the answer is: none. No cough syrup, no decongestant. Nada.

You could try steam, the pharmicist advised merrily. Lots of steam! Happy holidays!

Great. Steam. So I gamely spent a day or so with my head over a pot of water on the hob, but with the ear pain getting steadily worse. Finally I made an appointment to see my GP, with my mother's dire mutterings of words like "bronchitis" and "pnuemonia" literally ringing in my ears. The doctor's view was: lungs not so bad, ear not so good. And while the relative severity could "go either way", he went ahead and prescribed antibiotics.

"You can hold off on taking these," he suggested, "to see if it gets worse. And try steam!"

Great. Steam. The pot of water technique was wearing a bit thin by this point, so I dispatched E. to buy a facial sauna, figuring I might be gacking up lurgy but I might as well have good skin while we're at it. Meanwhile, I decided that the whole "wait to see if it gets a lot worse" approach was sort of dumb, and started taking the antibiotics at once. Which is good because the alternate escape route in my left middle ear then suffered a similar landslide, making my whole head feel like an overstuffed sausage. What's worse is the nasty phlegmy cough- aside from the fact I can tell my hacking drives E. nuts, it is veritable torture trying to nurse down the baby for the night- and just as she has fallen asleep, having the sensation of having my lungs tickle tickle tickled with a feather duster and being unable to suppress the explosion. 

I need to go to bed for about a week and do nothing but lie in my jimjams, eating mangos and reading trashy magazines. But obviously, that is not going to happen. I'd settle at this point for a couple of nights of four hours of unbroken sleep but that's not looking like it's on the cards either. Botany's nap routine has mercifully settled back down (at least insofar as she has a nap albeit still only 45 minutes at a time). I guess it might have something to do with the fact that we don't really leave the house much at the moment. However, her night time sleep is still a little bit all over the place- usually waking up at 3 am, feed for half an hour and then awake again at 4.30 or 5am. Any nights of halfway decent sleep don't begin to make up for the exhaustion of the rest- and the result is I feel like I can't shake this cold monkey off my back.

Anyway. A year ago today I was puking my innards up on a ferry en route to France, so I suppose ringing in the new year with some sort of physical discomfort might just be an ongoing tradition. At least I am on solid ground this time, with a surfeit of holiday telly to numb the brain if not the pain.   

Happy 2008 everyone!