infant

Goodbye, breastfeeding guilt.

Posted on by amberhj

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.

Three is a magic number

Posted on by amberhj

Three years ago today, Cody was very, very brave.

Three years ago today, Cody did something that was very, very brave.

Today is our 3rd anniversary. Cody and I have been married for three years, but together for seven and a half. Though, the last year alone feels more like a decade in some ways. Cody gave me the most thoughtful card with several sentences written inside that made my eyes well up (!), and, from Nordstrom, a pretty necklace with black crystal beads. He thought about getting the clear crystal version, but figured black would be better for the fall and winter. He is right. I’m impressed.

We three celebrated three years tonight at a low-end but decent pizza joint. That may not seem very romantic. But in a way, it was.  We were happy and content, just being together. Until Cody derailed my plan to get ice cream at Molly Moon’s afterward! Big mistake, Cody. Huge. But we recovered quickly.

At dinner, Stella ate more food in one sitting than we’ve ever seen: beans, pasta, cottage cheese, olives, shredded mozzarella, grapes, three giant wedges of watermelon, bread. Oh. My. God. It was AWESOME. What a fabulous anniversary gift. I think we both got a little teary eyed. We were in awe, reminded of how lucky we are to have the tube so very far behind us. Our union has created this beautiful, vibrant girl who is thriving. It’s beyond words, really.

This weekend, Cody and I will venture out together for a fancy-ish meal and hopefully a movie. And ice cream will be eaten. And old memories will be rehashed. And I’ll wear my new necklace. And we’ll get to be Amber and Cody for a while, not Mama and Dada.

Cody, I feel so fortunate to have found you. Whenever I miss my family and start cursing about being here in Seattle, so far away, I have to catch myself. Seattle is a magical place! I came here ten years ago basically on my own, with all my possessions packed into my 1990 Jetta, and stepped into the unknown. I was adrift. Throughout my life but especially after moving here, I experienced terrible loneliness and I wasn’t sure why I’d come here or what I was doing or if I’d ever find “my place.” It’s all clear now. I was growing and learning on my own, yes, but more than that–the move to Seattle, all my mistakes and fears and, heh, therapy–it all led me to you, a Minnesota boy sweet and strong enough to put up with me. Truly. (I mean, you just came in here as I was writing this and I snapped at you because I was annoyed and wanted to finish this post and didn’t want you to see it yet.)

You are as smart as they come, but humble, yet, I love that when you don’t know something, well, you’ll somehow form a super-authoritative, convincing and detailed opinion on the spot based on what little information is available. You don’t have a greedy or selfish bone in your body. You are one hell of a point guard (really amazing actually), and a self-made player like me (you may be the only person who knows what I mean when I say that), and this is huge, not only because we got to know each other on the court but because I just couldn’t be with someone who sucks at basketball. You’re incredibly cute, though I’m still trying to convince you of that. Oh boy are you an amazing dad–you nurture Stella and shower her with love and pay very, very close attention to her and appreciate all the little big things she does. Every girl on this planet should be so lucky. What I know for sure is that this world be an above-and-beyond better place if all fathers were like you. I’m lucky to have you as my best friend, and my husband. Honestly, without you, I’d still be lost. I love you very much.

Stella Enters Single Digits

Posted on by amberhj

Stella turned one on Monday. I should probably say something really profound and eloquent and heartfelt but all I keep thinking to myself is “HOLY SHITBALLS!” Over and over and over.

The birthday girl.

The birthday girl.

Okay, I’ll say that after 12 mind-blowing months, it feels like heaven to see her thriving, running, throwing, walking, laughing, smiling, waving, chowing, bye-bye-ing and doing everything she is “supposed to” and more, especially after all we went through with her feeding issues and the entity referred to as The Tube. Perhaps I appreciate this milestone more–who knows, maybe a lot more–than I otherwise would have. There were days when I didn’t know if she’d grow again. I couldn’t see a way out for us–no light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, it wasn’t a tunnel. It was a deep hole and we were stuck in what seemed like mud but it was too dark to really know. There were nights when terror had me by the throat and I literally had trouble breathing because I loved her so much and that feeding tube was hell and totally unacceptable and the tyrannical, suffocating thought, “WHY WON’T SHE JUST EAT?” robbed me of my own appetite and mental stability (what little I had to begin with). The really sad part, I suppose, is that I know there were stretches of time during which worry over her unwillingness to eat, and knowledge of the pain she was in initially, and the resulting lack of weight gain robbed me of much of the enjoyment of some her early little triumphs–the ones that are actually incredibly huge–and anxiety sometimes prevented me from savoring that fleeting, precious time in her life. That’s what gets to me as I look back.

But now, here we are at one year old. We made it! We kicked some ass. Holy crap. We moved MOUNTAINS, we hit the three-pointer at the buzzer, we saved the world! (Our little corner of it, anyway.) I could not be more proud of her. And you know what? I’m proud of me too. I love where we are now. She is such a happy and active child and so strong and vibrant and resilient. She glows! Everyone sees it. I am tempted to quote Jack Nicholsen here, which seems inappropriate and perfect: “You make me want to be a better man.” Because she has inspired me to let go of what doesn’t matter and to cherish what does. Heck, if she is this awesome (and she really, really is–like when she spots her Cookie Monster doll across the room and lowers her voice several octaves and talks in scruffy baby talk all the way over to him), I must be pretty great. So, to be better, I don’t really have to do much at all, except be kinder and gentler toward myself. That’s the example I want to set for Stella.

Just after proving that guacamole has a calming effect.

Just after proving that guacamole has a calming effect.

We threw a very small, delightful and heartfelt party on Sunday (yes, it’s true, a party can be heartfelt). My parents were visiting from Boston, which made it all the more fun. I think we were all shocked when Stella refused to eat her cupcake. Wouldn’t even touch it. We got her to lick the candle, an attempt to help her enjoy some of the Trophy Cupcake frosting magic, but it must’ve been too sweet for her, because she reacted as if she’d been force-fed a heaping dollop of Vegemite. (I reacted the same way, when, during a soiree I attended amid my study abroad experience in Melbourne, I loaded up a cracker with what I thought was Nutella. Let’s just say that I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.) Total disgust. However, she eagerly ate my mom’s super fantastic guacamole, and had some flaky crust from one of the three types of quiche (crab, broccoli, and bacon-loaded Lorraine–all were superb).

She looked as adorable as ever, but, not at all used to wearing a floofy dress, she tried to undress herself constantly. Also not accustomed to so many people (and all were adults save for one toddler) crammed into our small abode, she got a bit clingy. I have to say I enjoyed that, because she’s usually far too busy sprinting around or doing headstands on the coffee table (trying to, anyway) to be held. Oh my, she WAILED when we sang “Happy Birthday.” It was funny, and got a big laugh (which probably didn’t help matters!) but I really felt for her. Actually, I set her up. I know full well that when you sing to her on your own, she’ll not only be mesmerized, but she’ll often sing along, or more likely try to one up you with her angelic singing voice when you’re done. But don’t you DARE sing with anyone else! Not even one other person! It is absolutely *terrifying* to this otherwise fearless girl. Cody and I learned this a few months ago. I was singing some old Cookie Monster song (that Cody taught me) while feeding Stella, when Cody chimed in. She looked at me with an expression of total horror, then looked at Cody, and back at me. And then, the tears and hysterics began. Sometimes we forget about this and absentmindedly join in if the other is singing and holy cow does our self esteem take a hit when she gives us the biggest and most terrified thumbs down you can imagine.

Cody made a bound hardcover photo album recapping Stella’s first year of life, as a surprise for me. It arrived yesterday, and it’s fabulous. I just love it. (Thank you very much, Cody!) Somewhere toward the middle, there’s a photograph from Christmas day. She’s on her tummy, wearing her green candy cane (striped) PJ’s, with her fists restly cutely under her chin. Her expression is priceless. She is clearly thrilled and her grin could not be any wider, but there is an undeniably devilish glint to her smile. She’s up to something. The tube is there with its horrible, all-too-temporary tape job, but at first, I didn’t even see it. All I saw was her beautiful face. And as I realized this, I was struck with how far we’ve come.

Stella, happy, happy birthday! You are a wonder to behold. We feel so lucky, so incredibly thankful to have you in our lives. I love you so much I would stand on my head all day long just to prove it to you, or even eat a whole tub of Vegemite. May your second year be as triumphant as your first, and even more joyful! We can’t wait to see what you do next.

Why I haven’t written in so long

Posted on by amberhj

You know Nervous Nelly and Debbie Downer. But have you met Anxious Amber?

I’ve found that anxiety is a worthy and conniving foe. We’ve battled it out for years and so far, it hasn’t defeated me. But, as is required for proper tension in any comic book or superhero flick, it does get the best of me temporarily and puts into question my ability to keep the upper hand. Perhaps the worst incident occurred during my senior year of high school (pretty much a living hell), when, after being verbally attacked by a fellow member of the softball team, I collapsed at the bottom of a stairwell and literally could not move my strangely numb, curled-up fern frond arms for a good hour. That has happened–without loss of arm function but with complete loss of my head–numerous times since Stella’s birth, most notably during her now legendary, but thankfully resolved, feeding aversion. This past Sunday, anxiety dealt me a huge blow and it took two days to catch my breath. In an extreme bout of panic and lingering postpartum depression I projectile vomited despair in every direction, not as actual puke but in the form of desperate phone calls and/or emails t0 Dooce (yes, I emailed a celebrity blogger who doesn’t know me from a speck of dust on her fancy “#26”-engraved computer monitor), a member of my PEPS group, my sister, my mom, and my therapist. At the time, I thought I was going to break. My recurring thought was, “I can’t do this anymore.”

What caused this latest attack? I have been pondering this question and, amazingly, reached a conclusion, which I rarely do, preferring instead to roll around in indecision and agonizing in-between-ness. First off, I don’t take care of myself. I drink less water than is required to keep a cactus alive, I stay up too late, and I eat about half as much as I should and most of what I do eat is chocolate and coffee. I rarely take the supplements that I invested $250 in, thereby dismissing the solid hour that I spent with an insightful nutritionist in order to come up with a way of out feeling so crappy.

That lack of self-care puts me on shaky ground. I’m not nearly as stable and healthy as I should be, and perhaps because I’m not on solid ground, I still worry about Stella too much. Or maybe because I worry about Stella so much, I don’t take care of myself. Either way, it has to stop. Afterall, Stella is thriving to such a fabulous degree that I cry when I think about it.

The thing is, I’m an incredibly determined and persistent person. This helped me get Stella off of her feeding tube–I mean, no other outcome besides “Stella, with no tube, eating happily on her own” was acceptable (I told her doctor this) and I literally would have cut off my arms off if helpful. But there’s a dark flip side. When I don’t have anything to worry about, I find something to worry about, damn it! I recently realized/admitted that when I don’t have anything tangible to obsess about, I swear, there is an uncomfortable void. So in my spare time, I’ll read a book or website that plants problematic mental seeds. Voila! Worry and a sick sense of order are restored. Stella had a small mark above her lip this weekend. I convinced myself that it was a cold sore that I caused by kissing her, and that I had doomed Stella to a life of humiliation due to constant cold sore outbreaks. The mark was gone on Monday, and was clearly not a cold sore at all. More likely a little nick from her razor-sharp finger nails which I don’t cut enough because Stella. Never. Stops. Moving. I don’t even get cold sores. Nope. But my worry was hungry, and I fed it.

I believe I am addicted to anxiety. I’m so used to it that I can’t function without it. Granted, I function poorly with it, and it’s really no way to live, but I simply don’t know how to live without it at this point. And that is what I need to work on and move past.

I find that it helps to have other people around. A healthy distraction, a necessary part of a balanced life. We don’t have family in the area, except for one fabulous cousin, so that doesn’t help matters. I have kept a possible move back east (I’m from the Boston area) on the table, and we continue to consider it, though the economy seems to get in the way. I know that moving wouldn’t solve my problems, but it might help create some much needed breathing room and comfort.

At the end of the anxiety-ridden, dehydrated, unshowered day, I have to ask myself, “Why?” Why don’t I take care of myself? The answer is probably very simple, and sad. Though I must say, most new moms go through this and in that way, I’m pretty normal. I realize that. But I think that in my case, it’s a bit extreme–the lack of self-regard and eating and whatnot. On some level, the simple truth is that I believe I am not worthy of care. I don’t deserve it. I’m awkward and “less-than” and disorganized and crazy and, for lack of a less cheese-tastic cliche of a term, unlovable. Yet, amazingly and immediately, when I look these hidden beliefs in the face, when I pull them into the light and dust them off, they start to fall apart pretty quickly. They’re old and worn out and need to be tossed out like the garbage they are (as do the entire contents of our basement). I am a really, really great mother. I care about Stella, and all babies and people, really, so much that sometimes it’s hard to bear. I am practically Gandhi! (Yes, I know I sound ridiculous but I do care a lot.) But if given the proper balance, that sensitivity is a powerful and good quality. I am a warrior and I can do any-f’ing-thing I want. I can help myself and others, with great success. I’ve proven it time and time again. Now it’s just time to pick myself up (again) and do it.

Steps in a new direction

Posted on by amberhj

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!

*Overly dramatic sigh*

Posted on by amberhj

I should be blogging often as Stella is giving me tons of Grade A writing material. She took her first steps last week and is getting four new teeth (all at once). But I’m feeling pretty depressed lately, so every time I go to write, I quickly tire and say to myself, “Why bother?” It’s horrible to think that I don’t have the energy or enthusiasm to write about my precious Stella lately. It’s not for a lack of love, that’s for sure.

The truth is, I weaned myself off of my antidepressants about three months ago. Stella was better, eating happily and no longer tube fed, so I thought I was in the clear. Now I am thinking that it was premature to go off the meds. I am down in the dumps much of the time.

I don’t know exactly why I am feeling so sad, but I hope to rebound soon. Even with all of that heaviness on my shoulders, Stella makes me smile and laugh often. Not that she actually has to do anything to lift my spirits. The mere sight of her is a mood enhancer. Her cuteness forces me to say, at least a dozen times a day while hugging her tightly, “I love my munchkin!”

So, I need to devise a plan for feeling better. If only laziness and Facebook weren’t getting in the way…

Support and community for parents of tube-fed children

Posted on by amberhj

Trying to wean your child off of a tube? Bravo! You’ll find comfort, resources, and encouragement in this online support group:

Tube Fed Children Deserve to Eat

It’s a social network powered by Ning Grouply, with the purpose of “Connecting Parents of Children with Tube Feeding Issues.”  There you will find a wealth of information and wonderful people who are all going through (or have been through) your stressful situation!

Best of luck to you!

The truth about moms

Posted on by amberhj

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.

Well nourished

Posted on by amberhj

Super Stella can eat a pancake in a single bite (practically).

Super Stella can eat a pancake in a single bite (practically).

Sometimes I worry (shocking, I know) that Stella and I don’t venture out often enough for grand adventures. You know, to the Woodland Park Zoo or Pike Place Market. But then I turn on the vacuum or open the refrigerator door, and she goes absolutely bonkers with joy and excitement, and suddenly I’m certain in the knowledge that she gets her share of thrills right here at home.

The fridge is by far her favorite destination at the moment. She’s developed a particular fondness for a large bottle of light dijon dressing. If there happens to be some Cava chilling in there (which is often the case), she’ll  make a beeline right toward it, and I’ll smile and think to myself that we are incredibly alike.

Food and drink remain a big focus of our days. But a shift is underway–a very healthy shift in thinking and eating. Stella is eating plenty of food via bottle, spoon and finger. I think–I really, really think–that she has finally convinced us to chill the F out. Really. This is big, and it’s about time. I mean, on how many occasions has she rebounded from eating “less than usual” to eating “more than usual”? Tons. How many bottles has she drained? Countless. How many Cheerios and pieces of tofu has she stuffed in her mouth? So many that her grocery bill is starting to rival mine and that is really saying something, people.

I purchased a horribly edited but very helpful and well intentioned book called Super Baby Food by Ruth Yaron. The purple tome has helped me change Stella’s diet for the better (and by “better” I mean healthier and fresher). The book is frustrating on one hand, because it confusingly cross-references itself to the point of eye-crossing ,book-hurling annoyance, but it’s also empowering in that, by patiently plugging through key parts of the book, I’ve established a real plan for giving Stella a complete, incredibly nutritious, age-appropriate diet. Until recently, I really felt like I was just winging it. I had the feeling I could do better. Also, Stella has enjoyed three nasty colds in as many months, so I’d been wondering if there was a way to boost her immunity, even just a little bit, through her diet.

In a nutshell, the book encourages you to make baby food yourself, using lots of “super foods”–not just fresh fruits, vegetables, grains and legumes, but with those that are especially jam-packed with nutrients. At the heart of Super Baby Food is Super Porridge, which should constitute the baby’s biggest and most hearty meal of the day. You make it by throwing grains into a blender (I’ve been using brown rice and millet this week), then cooking them in water. You make a few servings at a time and put them in individual containers in the fridge. Come meal time, you take out a serving of Super Porridge and add stuff to it. In ice cube trays, I’ve frozen portions of pureed fresh vegatables and fruits of the “super” variety (including kale and papaya). So I pop one or two of these veggie/fruit cubes in the porridge and microwave briefly, and mix it up with a bit of flaxseed oil and brewer’s (nutritional) yeast. Every other day, I add an egg yolk to the porridge, per the book’s suggestion. On Sunday, I hardboiled four eggs and put them in a sealed container in the fridge. I eat the egg white as I mash the yolk before dumping it into Stella’s porridge. And the shocking thing is, she likes it. She really really likes this porridge stuff. Her favorite seems to be Super Porridge with a cube of mashed avocado, a cube of mashed papaya and an egg yolk (the flax and yeast are givens). I make an effort to prepare the porridge in a way that is appetizing. I’m not down with making her food that is nutritious but unappealing–what fun is that?

According to the book, yogurt has enormous health benefits (big revelation there, right?) and should be the base of one meal per day. I haven’t full-on incorporated this into our routine yet, because Stella is not supposed to have dairy until one year of age. However, I do stir some rice yogurt into her morning fruit meal, and I plan to grab some soy yogurt at the grocery store. I’ll probably do my bowels a favor (I owe them one after months of Pagliacci Pizza, RoRo’s BBQ and Mighty O donut dependence) and stock up on some Greek yogurt for myself.

Super Porridge may sound a little crazy and, well, it is–when you compare it to our old mode of using Earth’s Best jarred baby food and cereal (which I still use here and there as I am not going to become militant about what Stella eats and want her to enjoy a wide variety of foods). Super Baby Food isn’t exactly “simple.” But the level of effort wasn’t too excruciating this first week. I get the sense that in another week or two, I’ll be in the flow of it, making only small batches here and there. I expect this plan to become a habit that doesn’t require the current level of thinking and deciphering. Besides, I feel so good about feeding Stella this way. I love knowing that even on days when Stella doesn’t eat much, each bite she takes is off-the-charts nourishing. At times I still want to chuck the book out a window because it’s such a convoluted read, but I am really grateful for the hearty bits of wisdom nestled within pages full of rampant bolding and italics, near-criminal use of indentation, and random tangents and unneccessary side notes. All told, I love the book and how it’s enabled me to boost the quality of Stella’s daily meals.

I am finally taking better care of myself. As I plan her meals in advance,  I find that I am doing the same for me. I eat when she eats. We eat together, and though feeding her used to feel like a dreaded chore, it’s becoming more fun. I wore earrings and a skirt yesterday, and felt somewhat cute for the first time in ages. Nothing fancy, mind you. But I brushed on a bit of my beloved Jane Iredale SPF 20 Warm Silk mineral foundation, thought for more than five seconds about my outfit, and even accessorized. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I may shave my legs soon. (It’s blond and fine so not very visible. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.)

Maybe it’s because we visited Stella’s OT last week for pointers. Maybe it’s the weather or my improved attitude rubbing off on Stella. Maybe it’s a growth spurt or her new homemade super food. Perhaps it’s all of the above. For whatever reason, Stella is chowing down. She seems to enjoy eating more than ever before. I’ve said this before many times. But maybe now, after all these months, we can stop the counting and obsessing and begin a new era of enjoyment. It would be as nourishing for Stella, and myself, as anything I can put in a bowl or bottle.

Bon appetit!

Open wide

Posted on by amberhj

So, as I reported earlier, we visited Seattle Children’s Hospital this week to see Robin, Stella’s wonderful and very wise occupational therapist. We wanted to check in and see how Stella is doing with solids. We were worried because she wasn’t eating as much as a nine-month-old is “supposed to” by now. She had not been showing any aversive behavior, and once in a while she’d chow down on bananas, avocado or toast, but overall, her intake of solids seemed pretty low–maybe 1/4 of a cup for an entire day and a few bites of finger food. And it was taking *forever*.

Well, Robin assured us that Stella was just fine. In fact, Stella has no feeding problems anymore, at all. I knew this deep down, but it was an incredible relief to hear it from our trusted expert.

We realized that the problem was us–not Stella. Robin gave us some very valuable pointers on how to feed Stella more effectively. It turns out that we’d been so afraid to push Stella, based on early battles over breastfeeding and bottle-feeding, that we weren’t offering her enough via spoon. We were way too timid. Stella doesn’t need to be coddled. Ever since our meeting with Robin, we’ve pretty much been “shoveling it in” and Stella has been enjoying 1/4 to 1/2 cup of baby food plus a few bites of finger food at each of her three meals. Just like she is “supposed to.” It’s amazing!

She seems to really enjoy my homemade blueberry puree mixed with a bit of cereal, and that makes me so happy! That said, Stella has a nasty cold, which is making food less appealing to her–especially chunky things like finger foods. She’s thrown up immediately after some of her meals due to coughing fits, but it’s tapering off as the worst of her illness appears to be over. It hasn’t slowed her down too much, but I’m interested to see how eating goes when she feels better.

Stella had been taking enormous bottles, up to nine ounces at a time for a total of 30 ounces of formula a day. Contrast that to the days when when 3 and a half ounces was HUGE! So in the two and a half hours before her first nap, she was getting 400-450 mls (that’s up to 15 ounces in the first couple hours!). No wonder she wasn’t into solids. She was full! As a result, we’re in the midst of a schedule shift. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but it’s made me anxious.

We had our old schedule *down.* I knew roughly how much she would eat when, and it created a nice comfort zone–for me as much as Stella. Well, as she grows we need to adjust, and that’s what we are doing now. But a low-level panic infiltrated my day. By fitting in these larger meals of solids, we are messing with the timing and amounts of her bottles. She doesn’t seem hungry enough to take a bottle RIGHT after solids. I don’t know exactly when she’ll get her 24-30 ounces for the day and it makes me nervous. I have to watch for hunger cues more closely. So, I am officially out of the comfort zone, and am figuring out what works and what doesn’t. It’s a bit of a throw back to when Stella had her tube and when we were weaning her. I never really knew when she would want to eat. I just had to pay attention and wait–not my strong suit.

I’m giving myself pep talks, and they are effective.  They sound a little bit like this:

“If I can survive the anxiety of a newborn that won’t eat, pumping around the clock, mastering the use of a god damned supplemental nursing system, navigating the complexity and chaos of hospitals and healthcare, inserting and maintaining an NG tube, getting no more than three hours of sleep at a time for two months, weaning my baby off of the tube and curing her aversion without (completely) losing my mind, I think I can figure out a new feeding schedule. Damn it, I can do just about ANYTHING.

And so can Stella.”