Confident Mom Interview #1: Meet Suzanne, the Fearless Formula Feeder

When I was forced to give up breastfeeding for the health of my baby, I was heartbroken and plunged into an even deeper and darker postpartum depression. It seemed like a no-win situation: I was failing, and my baby was not getting “the best.” Based on all that I’d been told about breastfeeding, a switch to formula did not bode well for Stella’s mental or emotional health, not to mention her IQ. But then it occurred to me that I had absolutely no in-depth scientific knowledge or statistics about the actual benefits of breastfeeding or actual outcomes for formula-fed infants. All I had were soundbites. In an attempt to inform myself about precisely what formula-feeding meant for Stella, and to maybe try to feel just a little less despair, I started digging around online.

Suzanne, the Fearless Formula Feeder

That’s how I found Suzanne. Her increasingly popular blog, “Fearless Formula Feeder,” is catching the attention of formula-feeders and breastfeeders alike, sparking controversy in lactivist circles and heated debate in the blog’s comment section.  It’s no secret that after all Stella and I went through with her feeding aversion and NG tube, while I still wish I could’ve breastfed, I have found immense comfort in Suzanne’s blog. You can agree or disagree with her message, but you can’t deny that she’s a courageous woman.

I have a feeling you’ll be hearing Suzanne’s name again soon. She’s currently working on a book about formula feeding and the concept and impact of breastfeeding pressure. And with that, I present my first ten-question “Confident Mom Interview,” with the Fearless Formula Feeder.

Life and Times of Stella: Why did you start your blog?

Fearless Formula Feeder: I was 100% committed to breastfeeding. I went into the hospital with everything going for me – I was educated about nursing from classes and numerous books; I lived in a community where everyone breastfed; all of my friends had nursed without problems; my husband was just as dedicated to the cause as I was and completely supportive; I didn’t have a maternity leave end-date looming over my head (being a writer who worked from home)… basically, I was a poster child for the best candidate for a successful nursing journey. I had the will, the drive, the attitude, the desire, and the support necessary to breastfeed.

And yet, I still ended up formula feeding…

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Goodbye, breastfeeding guilt.

I destroyed the structural integrity of my boobs–what little there was–with an expensive, rented hospital grade breast pump in order to collect 500 ounces of milk that Stella would never drink. It sucked in every way.

Worse was the guilt and anxiety. None of it made any sense, but thankfully, it’s over. I was not able to breastfeed Stella past 11 and a half weeks and I am officially 100% okay with that. I feel a new sense of freedom and confidence. I really, really do. This can only be very good for me and Stella.

In an attempt to completely resolve any lingering bad feelings, I’ve been reading a blog called The Fearless Formula Feeder, where I found a link to this article in The Times. Against a backdrop of breastfeeding mania, this article is explosive. This exploration of the data (or lack thereof) behind breastfeeding’s benefits seems more comprehensive and credible and less emotive and debatable than Hanna Rosin’s notorious Atlantic article,  “The Case Against Breastfeeding”, which I also greatly appreciated. The bottom line is that it’s just not that big a deal. Breastfeeding is wonderful for some women and their babies, but its benefits have been greatly and widely overstated. Guilt and judgment toward formula-feeding moms has been unfair, out of control, and as it turns out, baseless.

I overthink things. So naturally, instead of letting go, I’d been doing a bit of research that helped chip away at my disappointment and breastmilk’s holy image. When you look closely at the actual studies, the mirage disappears almost completely. Of course there are some benefits to breastfeeding but they appear to be relatively small.  Furthermore, while there’s no way to know for sure, most of the benefits shown are likely due to the fact that breastfeeding moms are a self-selected population and are simply “the kind of moms” who tend to be more educated in general and in regards to childcare, more responsible, interested and engaged as a whole, and more financially ABLE to give their kids “the best” in many areas. It’s difficult if not impossible for studies to account for this.

The media tends to jump on any studies that suggest potential breastfeeding benefits, while completely ignoring the many, many studies that show no difference between breastfed and formula fed babies. Science has not been able to back up the “breastmilk as miracle cure” message. The main advantage of breastfeeding, in my experience, is that you don’t have to deal with the hassle of preparing and cleaning bottles, and you avoid the cost of formula. On the other hand, if you are frustrated with a feeding or parenthood in general, plastic bottles are great for throwing across the room–a major plus that can’t be overlooked. Ahem.

Like Rosin and the author of the Times article, the Fearless Formula Feeder is by no means anti-breastfeeding. She simply wants to defend formula feeders, and cleverly calls herself a “factivist.” It’s interesting to now look back and think about the “facts” I received about breastfeeding from all kinds of people and sources. I remember hearing in childcare and childbirth classes, in broad terms, that “breast was best.” This message is also plastered on every can of formula (thanks for rubbing it in, by the way). I was told that breastfed babies are smarter and healthier, and have better bonds with their mothers. More specifically, I heard that breastfed babies have fewer incidences of diarrhea and ear infections.

At the end of the day, I know my child better than any study. Here’s what I’ve experienced: Stella’s brilliant, ahead of the curve in every area. We share an incredibly close bond. She’s 14 months old and has never had an ear infection. And, drum roll, please… her eight-week bout of diarrhea STOPPED with her first bottle of formula. Just sayin’.

At this point, my only regret is that I didn’t stop breastfeeding sooner, so as to more quickly relieve her pain, prevent her feeding aversion, and end our stress and suffering. I was not able to stop until all hell broke loose and Stella wound up with a feeding tube. Why? Because of all the “facts” I heard about breastfeeding. It simply wasn’t possible that we could fail at breastfeeding, because breastfeeding is perfect and miraculous. I contacted a La Leche League leader and the very rude Jack Newman and several other breastfeeding experts over the phone or via email, and these well-known experts’ conclusion was that I must be doing something wrong. One supposedly all-knowing Ph.D. / IBCLC, after hearing the horrors of our situation, suggested, “Hold her more securely–don’t let her feet dangle. Babies need to feel secure.” If I could have punched her through the phone, I would have. Other high-profile experts said the problem was latch and that at Stella’s advanced age (10 weeks), it was too late to fix. This was stated with disapproval and disappointment, because clearly I hadn’t enforced proper latch. I cut out dairy and soy and tried even the dumbest suggestions. This led to a lot of crying and failure and desperation. To all that, I can now officially say, “BULLSHIT.”

I must  note that thankfully, at that difficult point in our lives, not all voices of authority shared an insane breastfeed-at-all-costs mentality. A renowned lactation consultant and a wonderful pediatrician helped me make the decision to stop breastfeeding. They said I may want to consider formula-feeding and that it would be okay. That breastfeeding’s toll was clearly too high, and that it simply wasn’t the be-all-end-all of child health. I didn’t believe them at first. But eventually, I was able to do what was best for us. I will always be grateful to them for being so sane, for being a voice of reason and compassion not just for Stella but for me, too. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Steps in a new direction

I am so into recycling that I am making Stella wear my old overalls.

I am so into recycling that I am making Stella wear my old overalls.

I haven’t posted in so long because I’m lazy. But also, I needed to take a break and discover a new direction. So, this blog will probably change, and soon. But all the helpful resources pertaining to feeding issues will remain, and I hope that they continue to help and comfort people.

The thing is, Stella’s bottles are no longer thickened. She is off both of her reflux medications, the Ranitidine (Zantac) discontinued two or three weeks ago with no issues. And she eats plenty. All the mental and physical energy that went into feeding Stella, and worrying about feeding Stella, needs to go elsewhere now. I’ve been a bit stuck as a result, but figuring it out, slowly.

I’m working on an article for AOL. I’m doing a small writing project for one of my past employers. I joined a book club. I’m cooking more. I’ve planned a little family vacation for August. We are finding a new rhythm. Speaking of which…

Stella earned her “early walker” status last week. She will be eleven months old tomorrow, and I saw her take her first steps on her ten-month birthday. Though Cody shrugged when  I told him that, because he’d seen it before. Why he didn’t mention that humungous event is beyond me. Best guess is that he felt guilty over having witnessed it with out me. In any case, she is now literally off and running.

I took her to University Village yesterday, and instead of walking past the astr0turf-clad, todder-friendly playground, which previously had all the relevance of a space shuttle launch pad, we stopped, went in, and Stella proceeded to waddle-jog around, exploring all the ground-level gadgets and approaching everyone with aplomb. At one point, two toddlers (clearly playground vets at 18-24 months old) were standing alongside the lowest tier of the series of platforms that lead to the top of the slide. Stella jaunted up to the step, brushing between them and gently nudging them aside. With a wide stance and an even wider smile, she placed both hands on the platform, and turned to smile at each of them before cheerfully smacking the platform twice. They then did the same. It was as if she has bellied up to the bar and ordered a round for everyone. “This one’s on me, gang!”

Speaking of another round, it’s time for my second glass of wine. In my own personal experience, it’s one of the few upsides of formula-feeding, and I’ll take it.

P.S. Whoever says formula-feeding is convenient and time-saving is HIGH!

The truth about moms

On message boards across the web you can find, far too easily, cringe-inducing posts by moms skewering each other’s parenting styles and choices–battles over breastfeeding versus formula-feeding and catfights about co-sleeping and cribs, and that’s just the tip of the judgemental iceberg. This sad reality is partly why, even though it was necessary to ensure Stella’s wellbeing, the switch to hypoallergenic formula was so difficult.

I’ve thought a lot about all the guilt and shaming and I think that what it really boils down to is that today, there is no one clear way to raise a child. Somehow, with a constant flood of opinions, experts, and information, there are more questions than answers. Nothing is clear cut. We’re all so worried about making the “right choices” for our children that we cling tightly to our way of doing things, and they come to define us. It’s as if we are trying to convince ourselves, not just others, of their correctness. Defensiveness and insecurity can be the only explanation.

However. What I’ve learned through my experiences with this blog is that none of that matters. Not one bit. I’ve heard from mothers across the country and around the world–moms in Singapore, New Zealand, Ireland and Texas whose babies refuse to eat. We all do the same desperate things, ask the same questions, and think the same thoughts. Our feelings, stories and longings are not just similar, but identical. The fact that some of our babies enjoy breastmilk and some formula, and that some sleep nestled under our arms while others are tucked into lovingly adorned cribs, makes no difference whatsoever. These women span a diverse range of nationalities, but you’d never know it.

As I think about Hatice, Rocio, Erin and all of other moms who’ve contacted me, I am overcome with emotion. Not just because I’ve been where they are and know how gut-wrenching their struggles are. Not just because I know how terrifying it is to insert an NG tube, how the tape turns their scrumptious little cheek into a red, raw mess that seems to symbolize disfunction, and how an aversion comes to suffocate every other aspect of life. No. Really, my heart aches and expands when I think about them because they love their babies so very, very much–literally to the point of madness, sometimes. They would do anything at all, gladly handing over their own wellbeing and comfort, to ensure that their babies are happy and healthy. It’s that simple.

The truth about moms is that we are all incredibly alike, when it comes to what actually matters.

Me and Stella, all cozy and matchy matchy.

Me and Stella, all cozy and matchy matchy.

Goodnight, milk.

Stella wasn't sad to see the milk go. In fact, she was delighted.

Stella wasn't sad to see the milk go. In fact, she was delighted.

A couple of weeks ago, I threw out 341 ounces of frozen breastmilk. That was just the bottom shelf. I still need to clear out the top one.

It has been six months since the last of it was pumped, rendering my precious milk expired. At the beginning, every half ounce was sacred. Toward the end of my pumping days, I didn’t bother saving the milk. It sat out for hours, until I forced myself to pump again at which point I would dump the previous yield down the drain. I was so bitter. So exhausted. I’d had it with pumping. Stella had been diagnosed with cow’s milk protein intolerance and fed hypoallergenic formula through a tube for a good month, and still I pumped. The odds of returning to breastfeeding seemed grim at best. Still, it was hard to stop. I didn’t want to give up. I wanted her to have “the best.”

I’d been meaning to throw the milk out for some time now, but couldn’t let it go.

When I stopped breastfeeding, when Stella had her NG tube, I was an emotional wreck. But I was consumed with tube- and bottle-feeding my baby and completely focused on getting Stella over her feeding aversion. I never really allowed myself to think very deeply about the loss. So I never got to grieve my milk or my vision of breastfeeding and what it represented to me. I never really embraced the choice that I made–the only choice that seemed logical, the one that enabled Stella (and me) to thrive. I want to accept it completely and I’m not sure why it’s been so hard to do.

I’ve thought about this a lot lately, since dumping those 341 ounces. And perhaps the answer is simple. Formula-feeding is not what I wanted for Stella. I failed. Or that’s what it feels like. And a very small, insecure part of me wonders if there is simply something wrong with me. My milk made Stella sick. It didn’t protect or nourish her or do anything it was supposed to. I used to joke to myself, in the weeks just after Stella was born, that my breasts were being both destroyed and redeemed by breastfeeding. They were being stretched to the limit with the influx of milk, so I knew I could say goodbye to any perkiness. On the other hand, they’ve always been small and had really only been a source of ridicule from about fifth grade on, so I found it quite astounding that they had the amazing power to nourish my baby. To help her grow! For me, it was empowering. Unfortunately, that didn’t last.

I wrote about our attempt to give her a dairy-based formula. I never followed up on how it went. Let’s just say that the switch was not successful. Her intake started to drop slightly and she developed a couple of red splotches on her face.  We were very quick to switch back to hypoallergenic Elecare,  so we can’t be 100% sure if the milk protein was really bothering her or not. But my gut tells me something was off. It helps a little bit with the recurring thought that maybe, if I’d kept avoiding dairy and soy for just a little while longer, and kept trying to feed her, she’d have come around to enjoy nursing, and get the benefits of breastmilk without all the pain she’d been experiencing. Of course, that’s simplistic thinking, and dismissive of the severity of the issues we faced at that time. But the idea lingers.

So. yes. I’ve been reluctant to throw out my milk. I kept hoping that maybe someday, I could give her some.  My brain kept whispering, annoyingly, “You know, you could add a bit to each of her bottles and she’ll get the benefits!” But it’s clear now that, no, she will never have my milk again.

Every time I read about yet another benefit of breastmilk, I cringe. Each time I read some judgmental comment or article by some zealot who equates formula with poison, I seethe. (For that reason, I can no longer read Mothering magazine.)

Perhaps that’s why I painstakingly calculated the total number of ounces. I needed some proof, some evidence of how hard I tried. I will get the final number soon, when I gather the courage to toss the rest. Maybe then I can finally let go.

Nine months

Stella's a little shy in the pool--at first.

Stella's a little shy in the pool--at first.

So, Stella has been outside the womb for just about as long as she was in it. This seems like a big milestone to me and my uterus.

Stells (that’s not a typo–it’s one of our nicknames for her) celebrated her nine-month birthday on Sunday. The occasion was marked with a Waterbabies class (with a stop at Bellevue’s Downtown Park beforehand), and a walk to Gasworks Park. The next day, we went in to Dr. N’s office for her nine-month check-up. Ah, yes. Time for those dreaded percentiles.

Cody and I let out a sigh of relief and our shoulders dropped about six inches upon seeing the number on the scale: 19 pounds, 2 ounces. We knew that if she wound up at 19 pounds or so, she’d be at or above the 50th percentile for weight. I know, I know. It doesn’t even matter. One look at Stella tells you how happy and healthy she is. But we’ve got a nasty, lingering case of feeding aversion/tube-induced PTSD  and are grateful for any extra reassurance.

After the measurements were taken, the doctor came in, shook our hands and started tapping away on his touchscreen. He’d plugged in Stella’s stats in order to show us her growth curves, charted electronically.

“Look at this beautiful curve, ” he said, highlighting the fact that Stella’s weight was right between the 50th and 75th percentiles, just as it had been at her six-month check-up. He continued, with a bit of sing-songy positivity in his voice (which I loved), “And this curve looks great…” We saw that, for length/height, she was in the 75th percentile, just like last time. We were flying high.

Then, pointing to a dot, adrift above the highest percentile curve, he noted, “And this is how smart your baby is.” He was kidding, of course, but her head size was clearly “off the charts,” as they say. Last time, it’d been on the highest curve. Her head circumference has risen by a few percentiles between each check-up apparently. It’s not uncommon, really, and not a concern. Unless it keeps going, of course. In which case learning to walk will be a lot more challenging.

In short, Stella is thriving. Her doctor told us to feed her solids three times a day (I’d limited it to two, fearing that she might not take enough from the bottle otherwise), and to stop tracking how much formula she takes outside of that. He also suggested changing her formula to the normal 20-calorie-per-ounce concentration, which we have done. At one point, in the wake of all this, I stuttered, worriedly, with what I’m sure was a look of concern and confusion, “Um, so, like, h-how much f-formula does she NEED now?” The doctor kindly told us that we’d worried enough, and that we could stop now. Worry had become like air to us. So we are pretty much adapting to life on a new planet.

He also pointed out that, in a way, we are allowing Stella to wean herself off of the Ranitidine by not upping the dose as she grows. It reminded me of the progress she’s made int hese last three months. She’d been on two reflux medications until a couple months ago. We’ve lowered the amount of Simply Thick we put in her bottles, with the goal of soon weaning her off of that, too. She is back to the “normal” caloric density for formula–just like I’d predicted (boldy, it felt at the time) in her early tube-free days.

And that brings me to my point. So often, these days, when I look at Stella’s impossibly beautiful, beaming face, I can’t help but cry. Especially when she laughs. I remember, somewhere in the dark, dark days of December, bawling at most commercials. Our situation and those post-partum hormones were brutal–even bland Sleep Country USA ads opened deep, previously forgotten psychic wounds, apparently. But there was something especially gripping about the “Peace on Earth” spot for Pampers. Those soft, gorgeous baby faces! Those cherubic, chubby cheeks! Yes, those cheeks. Those cheeks, free from evidence of medical intervention. Those perfect baby lips, moving as if the baby is nursing in her dreams. They tormented me. Because to Stella, eating was a nightmare, not a dream, and our view of her angel face was obscured by two kinds of tape and a long yellow tube. Those babies were chubby and sleeping in a sprawled out fashion–not being force-fed while sleeping swaddled and strapped into a giant foam wedge. That commercial just seemed cruel to me at the time.

I go into her room and look at Stella every night before I go to sleep–despite that fact that by doing so I risk letting our super creaky floor wake her up. I have to do it. How could I miss out on the most beautiful sight imaginable? It is a triumph, a joy and a reminder to be grateful. I just watched the Pampers commercial again. And I have to say, Stella would fit right in with that bunch of sleeping angels–those arrogant bastards.

Stella Hungry.

Diaper or fashion statement?

Diaper or fashion statement?

Stella took a little more than 34 ounces (1,030 mls) of 24-calorie-per-ounce formula today. The high end of normal for this age is 32 ounces of 20-calorie-per-ounce breast milk or formula. She’s been eating like this for a few days. Holy moly.

We stopped giving her Prevacid. She is now only taking Zantac. Yay for less drugs in my baby’s system! We also greatly reduced the amount of baby food we put in her bottles as the amount of prunes we were putting in before may’ve had a laxative effect. Oy.

Her legs are too long for all her pants. Onesies have to be stretched to fit her. She may not be a chubbabutt–that’s not who she is or how she’s built–but she is getting long! The girl is growing… I can barely keep up! And we’re going through Cheerios like nobody’s business.

She may double in size by week’s end. Stay tuned.

“Formula was a bad choice…”

Almost drank a glass of formula before bed last night.

Instead of grabbing the Brita pitcher, I grabbed Stella’s Dr. Brown’s formula pitcher and started to pour.

Luckily, I noticed something was off before I took a big thirsty gulp. Her non-dairy, amino-acid based formula smells like feet and tastes like a liquid multi-vitamin–gross, but I guess it makes sense. Close call.

I need to get to bed earlier.

P.S. If you didn’t catch the reference in this post’s title, you need to rent the movie Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy immediately.

My other resume

I’ve jumped back into the freelance writing life in an effort to make a bit of money while I stay home with Stella Bella. This, of course, necessitated the updating of my resume.

It got me thinking. Some of my most impressive achievements and abilities will never grace the pages of this supposedly all-important document. And it seems like a shame. I am referring, of course, to motherhood–all that it requires. And with that, I present my other resume…

EXPERIENCE

Mother, 8/17/08–present (lifetime commitment)

  • Collaborate with Stella Eleanor’s father (my husband) to ensure that she grows and thrives; oversee everything from basic maintenance, such as diaper changes and feeding, to high-level development including babbling, drooling, sitting up, laughing, and rolling/tummy time, with plans to teach her how to be kind, walk, use the toilet and drive
  • Provide attention, protection, guidance and full range of entertainment services including peek-a-boo, tickling, general zaniness and impromptu songs, stories and farting noises
  • Willingly put my daughter’s needs before my own while still taking care of self and providing excellent example of how to live life to the fullest
  • Manage public relations; handle photography and mailing of seasonal cards and wellness updates; manage upkeep of Flickr account with near-daily shots of Stella to prevent extended family from suffering cuteness withdrawal
  • Love that girl with all my heart, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year–even when her yelling reaches peak annoy-ability levels

Giver of Life, 8/15/08–8/17/08

  • Gave birth to baby girl weighing 7 pounds and 7 ounces; filled with pure joy upon her arrival
  • Kicked ass throughout 32-hour un-medicated labor during which baby’s head was transverse (sideways)
  • Nearly broke husband’s hands with vice-like grip; will try harder next time

Grower of Human Being, 11/08–8/09

  • Provided egg for successful fertilization; worried endlessly about fetus from moment of conception
  • Attended prenatal yoga, birthing and parenting classes despite overwhelming exhaustion and overwhelmed bladder
  • Ate enough cheese to feed all of Wisconsin for three years; consumed record amounts of grapefruit juice
  • Tolerated the shooting of sharp pains up my rear-end for several months; withstood debilitating hip pain and baby’s roundhouse kicks
  • Enjoyed pregnancy despite all of the above

Warrior, 10/08–02/09

  • Assembled and coordinated a top-tier team of Seattle doctors, as well as two lactation consultants, an occupational therapist, nutritionist, dietitian and cranial osteopath
  • Managed to maintain sanity when baby refused to eat; chugged olive oil and ate bacon in a valiant attempt to fatten starving, anxiety-ridden self and improve quality and caloric value of breast milk
  • Mastered use of Supplemental Nursing System while successfully limiting use of the “f-word” to 400 times per day; managed insertion and maintenance of god-forsaken nasogastric feeding tube and associated god-damned pump and evil face tape and crap-tastic peripherals; sacrificed small but previously perky boobs to hospital grade breast pump
  • Navigated labyrinth of hospital and health care challenges; slashed red tape and improved child’s outcome by 1000%; successfully argued case for the removal of nasogastric tube and executed successful tube weaning; produced a happier child and family as a result of round-the-clock efforts
  • Analyzed growth charts, lab results and intake levels; conducted in-depth, terrifying online research on daughter’s condition and treatment

EDUCATION

The Parental Institution of Barbara and Gregory Hescock

  • Coursework in everything, with an emphasis on love, the value hard work, and a good sense of humor

School of Hard Knocks

  • Classes included Terrible Mistakes, Bad Relationships 101, and The Awkwardness of Middle School

Sink or Swim Academy

  • Curriculum revolved around parenting without anything resembling adequate preparation

SKILLS SUMMARY

General: Expert-level nurturing, crisis and conflict management, hazardous waste handling and sanitation, budgeting, soothing, teaching life skills and morals, child safety, nursery decorating, baby-wearing, silly face and nonsensical sounds mastery

Technical: Milk production, human creation, swaddling, rocking, one-handed diapering (experience with both formula and breast milk poop platforms), bottle maintenance, reflux abatement

COMMUNITY SERVICE

  • Contributed a new member to the human race
  • Responsible raising of a kind, compassionate, contributing citizen
  • Adept removal of screeching baby from public places, ensuring a peaceful community
  • Addition to the world of a love that grows by leaps and bounds each and every day

Days 22 through 25: Stella got her groove back

As Stella’s occupational therapist put it, “Stella has internalized the joy of eating.”

Her feeding aversion is, well, history. A memory. Though not a distant memory, of course. We still get nervous if she goes for a long stretch without eating. We still watch her eating behavior like mama and papa hawks, and breathe a sigh of relief when she finishes a bottle. But mostly, we are in complete awe of Stella’s incredible appetite. Her ability to down six ounces in less than five minutes. It’s nothing short of a miracle. But then, miracles don’t come easy. You have to work for them. You have to be patient. And you have to believe. There were moments when this wonderful outcome didn’t seem possible. But deep down, we always knew she could do it. That the tube had to go. There was no question.

Stella’s intake for the last week has been between 770 to 875 mls a day. Of course, her formula is made at a 20% higher caloric concentration than typical breastmilk or formula. So she’s getting quite a lot of nourishment, which is quite evident in her diapers! The really crazy part, for us, is that she now takes in 160-180 mls at a time. We remember the days of her taking only 20 to 45 mls, and thinking, “Well, that’s good! She’s eating, and we can build on that!” Then we were absolutely thrilled when she showed she could take 100 mls on occasion. We remember her screaming at the sight of the bottle, arching her back and tossing her head back when the bottle was offered. Now she lunges toward the bottle and pulls it to her mouth. She cries UNTIL she sees the bottle. It’s just astounding.

I remember driving one day, during a wind storm that hit at the height of Stella’s eating troubles, listening to Patty Griffin’s “Love Throw a Line” and singing and crying. This was back when I was so sick with worry, and so overwhelmed, that I couldn’t eat or sleep.  I stopped at a light and looked up to see a mighty, towering evergreen tree whipped up into a frenzy by the wind. The trunk was bending and swaying and the bows were being tossed about so vigorously that the tree looked angry, as if it were fighting back at the storm. Yet, it was clear that this tree could handle the winds. In fact, it was designed to withstand such a storm and had lived through hundreds of them. I saw myself in the tree and its wild, fitful dance. In that moment, even though I’d been feeling like I was losing my grip, I knew I could handle it. That I would help Stella recover, and that we would be okay. Even as Stella and I struggled, we were staying strong at the same time. Just like that tree. I’ll always remember it.

Yes, we’ve weathered a storm. That said, during our stay at Seattle Children’s Hospital, I was struck by how incredibly lucky we are to have Stella–a healthy, happy child, who had a temporary, treatable issue with eating. There are so many children and babies just struggling to survive. Babies like Kayleigh Freeman, who was born weighing just one pound and who has defied all the odds, and bounced back after countless surgeries and trials. (We bought bracelets to support her and will wear them with pride when they arrive!) This experience with Stella has truly opened my heart. I already loved all babies and children, but now there is a whole new layer to that love. A compelling urge to help little ones in need. Cody and I already sponsored a child, and recently, I signed us up to sponsor another little girl–her name is Anyi and she lives in Honduras.

We’ve learned and grown so much over the past five months. (Can you believe she is five months old???) We are truly blessed. Stella is thriving and, as always, an absolute joy. I want to help other parents find the same feeling of  happiness and relief that we have experienced. In the coming weeks, I will find a way to put my strengths, talents and passion to work for children who are struggling. If I can make life even just a little bit better for even just one other baby, well, it would make our experiences all the more meaningful.

You know that feeling after a storm has passed? Quiet and calm settles in over everything. There is a striking stillness in things recently battered by what seemed like relentless winds. The scents and colors of the earth are more vibrant thanks to the rain. That’s what it’s like around here now. Brighter and more peaceful. Except for the teething.

Ha! Now we get to focus more on all the “normal” baby challenges and happenings. Every time I bend down to pick up the teether toy that Stella has dropped for the thousandth time, I smile.