Unassisted/Freebirth of 4th baby at 41 weeks (Husband assisted)

I stood on my front porch this morning (Oct.14th 2016) with my less than 24 hours old newborn son sleeping on my chest. I soaked in the warm autumn sunlight, smelled and kissed my son’s head, and considered just how incredibly healthy and happy I felt. My son is also healthy, calm, and peaceful.

I spent 41 weeks (well, one day shy) pregnant with this little treasure. My 4th pregnancy, my first son. I had wanted to birth unassisted with my 3rd baby and came close, but in the end I allowed fear to get the best of me. That delivery was a very difficult recovery. I knew I wanted better, needed better, this time around. After getting some minimal prenatal care with an OB practice along with the anatomy scan at 18 weeks, I just knew that I had to do the rest of this pregnancy unassisted.

Once I made that decision, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I spent the rest of my pregnancy learning to trust my intuition and body. I took care of myself well overall, and I paid close attention to the growing person inside of me.

Around 35 weeks I started to get some contractions that would come fairly regularly. Prodromal labor, again. Only this time, much more convincing to me that active labor would start soon. I thought about what I would do if my baby came early. I thought it was certain he would never make it to his due date!

Well, two serious false alarms later, I was past my due date and feeling depressed. I was so large, so uncomfortable. I had a lot of emotions that I needed to work through until I came to acceptance. As long as the baby and I were healthy, I would wait.

The morning of Oct.13th came and I woke up having a painful contraction. I was not fully awake yet and said to myself “no no no, not like that”. I knew these contractions were different, but after so many false alarms I was scared to say this was it. My husband went to work that morning and I told him I would let him know if anything changed. I texted my mother and told her “not sure if its labor yet, but please be ready to take the kids just in case.”

My last labor was 23 hours long, so I assumed that if this was actually labor, it would be a long time before the baby was born.

Throughout that afternoon I was getting contractions about every 20 minutes, sometimes even 30 minutes apart. I was leaning against the wall or table and “ooooo oooo oooo”ing my way through them. My little girls were curious, and tried to help me sometimes too.

I knew that these contractions were getting real. My husband came home around 1:30pm and I asked him to watch the kids while I tried to rest in bed. I would sleep for around 15 minutes and then WAM “oooooo ooooo oooooo”. I was not getting much rest, and it hurt more laying down.

I came out and my husband was looking tired. I told him he was absolutely not allowed to be in a bad mood, because I needed him! He asked me “you think this could be it?” (after so many false alarms he didn’t believe it yet) and I told him “no could be, it is!”

Then, he saw me have a contraction and he sprung into action!

I realized that I very much needed his attention and help to be on me instead of the girls, so I told him to text my mom to come over. I packed up their bags, leaning against the walls every so often. My husband looked at me and said “those are coming much closer than every 20 minutes hun”.

It felt like it took forever for my mom and kids to leave, but once they did I continued this pattern of moving around and then leaning against a wall or table and my husband pressed on my lower back. With my previous labor, I needed him to push as hard as possible against my back due to back labor but this time I really needed him in front of me with his hands to squeeze so I told him that as things progressed.

He ran the tub for me while I peed and passed a lot of bloody show. The rest of my labor I would bleed a bit throughout, my cervix was opening and opening much quicker than it usually did! I didn’t realize this yet. It was about 4:30pm and I imagined that I would be in labor the entire night, into early morning like usual.

I saw in the tub and had some really big contractions. This is where transition hit me. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t yet. I spoke my fears outloud to my husband “I cant do this” and he would answer “yes, you can do this!”

“I’m not strong!” I would whine

“your SO strong! You have this!” he replied

Sometimes I would have a contraction and I wasn’t prepared yet mentally for it. I felt like I was flying away in a sea of pain, unable to anchor myself. Then, I would change positions and ready myself “I will be stronger than this next contraction” I told myself. It would hit me and I would moan, growl, oooo and ahhhh, and squeeze my husband’s hand. Then I would look up at him and say “this is so hard” and he would sympathize with me but tell me I was capable.

“You’ve got me right?” I needed to know. I had to know he was truly WITH me. He couldn’t do this for me, but I needed him with me. And he was.

I had to move from the bathtub but we left it filled just in case I wanted to return to it. I knew I was in laborland. I couldn’t think beyond the next wave. Just one more wave. I can do this. I can do this.

I labored on the couch, hands and knees.

I labored on my bed, sitting and leaning into my husband.

Then, I moved down onto the ground next to my bed on my knees, and leaned over onto the bed. Fernando had left to get something for me, I don’t recall what. I was hit with a massive contraction. I clawed the bed and GROWLED and HOWLED and Fernando came running into the room and then POP my bag of waters exploded all over the place!

Fernando was so excited, “Baby! Your water broke!”

I felt a rush of energy. The smell of the amniotic fluid was like a drug to me, and I knew that I had one task; birth this baby.

Fernando helped me crawl to the other side of the bed (still on the floor, on my knees) so he could help me better. Here comes anotherrrrrrrrr oneeeeee!!

I roared again. I felt his head move down.

“I’m having our baby!” I said. I had to say it outloud. It was a declaration.

I felt suddenly focused and purposeful. My baby was coming and I had to get him out. It was that simple. Not easy, but simple.

Over the next 20 minutes or so, I pushed and my body pushed. At one point I realized that he was ready to be born, and I just had to give one tiny push and my body would do the rest. I took a deep breath. I was ready. PUSH.

My husband was behind me “Oh hunny, our baby is coming!”

“can you see him?”

“I see you opening, he is close”

My uterus was smaller, he was down in my birth canal, I felt his head start to come out.

“I see his head!” Fernando told me

I reached down and touched my son who was almost born. I wanted to get him OUT immediately but I knew I needed to breathe a little and not rush.

My body pushed. I panted. Burning burning burning…out comes his head!

His head is out! I see my baby’s head!

Fernando has his hand right there, “I’m ready for him don’t worry” and then “I see him turning his shoulder!”

He birthed himself the rest of the way!

He came out crying! Right there inbetween my legs, in own bedroom. My husband I exclaimed over how perfect he was, over how WE DID IT, over how AMAZING it all is!

I didn’t know what to do. I was so elated. I was beyond happy. I finally cried a little too.

I asked Fernando to wrap him in a towel and hand him over to me. I had a difficult time moving my legs to sit down but managed, then most of my placenta came right out.

I felt amazingly good. I had never been so energized and healthy after giving birth. I was overjoyed to be holding this little guy in my arms. Our son was here, in our home and we could just enjoy him.

Unassisted Pregnancy/Birth; Past 40 weeks with Prodromal Labor

(I wrote this after having yet another “false” alarm of the baby coming. I was feeling really down and discouraged. I really needed to remind myself of what I am fighting for, what I believe, and what I want. Prodromal labor and drive a pregnant woman nuts!)

The only thing I have to think about is you; baby Markos. The one swimming in my belly, pushing on my cervix, causing me to stop and breathe.

I had to hear that. I have your three older sisters to care for. It is so difficult to let go and allow my mom and aunt to watch them, take over for me. It is so difficult to not feel pressure to perform, to get you here earthside.

I have too much in my mind like a pressure cooker, ready to explode. I need to just b r e a t h e.

I feel you, right beneath my taunt belly. Your legs and feet pushing against my side, your back rising against the other. Your right here, but yet your far from me; someplace inside that I cannot reach into and hold you.

I wanted this unassisted birth because I believe it is best for you, and for me. I wanted it because I believe my body can do this. I have wisdom inside of me, from generations of women who have given birth down the line to this moment; you and me.

I have to remind myself of these things. When labor gets difficult, it is easier to hand over control to someone and someplace else; like the obstetricians and hospitals. It is easier to say “okay, you take over this situation. You tell me what to do. You tell me what is happening to my body and baby.” But, this comes at a great expense of losing something sacred. It also endangers us both physically and emotionally.

I have a vision of your father and I together, your head stretching and opening me, I reach down and feel your hair (I know you will have a lot of it), and then I push more and your body slides out into your father’s hands.

And then I will know—I did it.

So come baby, I am ready for you when you are.

There will be no bright lights to assault your senses, no cold gloved hands taking you from me, no needles stuck into your feet, no uncomfortable clothing and strangers talking.

There will be you, there will be me, there will be your father and then your sisters who are eagerly waiting for your arrival.

And peace, love, family.

 

 

37 weeks Unassisted Pregnancy

Well, here I am at (almost) 37 weeks pregnant. This is my second unassisted pregnancy but I transferred to the hospital with my first unassisted birth attempt (due to my own unfounded fears, we were fine!). A UP is when a woman receives no professional care during her pregnancy, with a OB or a midwife. This doesn’t mean that the pregnant woman does not take very good and diligent care of herself, often times we who make this choice pay far more attention to the details of our pregnancies and health than do women seeing traditional birth professionals.

I stopped seeing my OB practice around 18 weeks. I knew that I had zero interest in taking the tests they wanted me to take. I felt stressed and pressured after each appointment. Then, I realized that I was doing this to myself for no reason. Yes, I am pregnant but pregnancy is not an illness! I am healthy. I do not see a doctor on a regular basis when I am not ill, so why would I do that while pregnant? I went over all the painful memories of my first baby’s birth due to the cruel manner of my old OB. I thought back to my midwife hospital birth with my second baby and understood that although it was significantly better, I was still not given full control over my own body and had to fight to keep my baby with me after she was born. I thought about how I had never, ever been helped in any way, shape or form by any medical professional during any of my births or pregnancies! I realized how absurd it was for me to continue doing something for the fourth time that stressed me out and had never proven beneficial to my health or my baby’s health! I left and never made another appointment.

This is has been a time for to regain my power and voice. Pregnant women in American are treated like children who cannot make their own choices. We are told what we are “allowed” to do, and we are bullied and shamed into major medical decisions like c sections when we disagree or push back. They want us drugged up, numb, laying down and quiet. They want us to be “good” and obey their orders. They chastise us for not being happy our baby is healthy after we endure all manner of physical and emotional abuse in labor and birth. I, for one, have had it.

This pregnancy has been a time for learning how to trust myself and honor my body. I have paid attention to what my body needs in regards to food, rest, hydration, sex. I have chosen to believe that my body knows how to grow this baby and birth this baby. I have taken steps to connect to my body in a way that I never have before. As a survivor of sexual abuse and rape, it is incredibly freeing to connect to and honor my body as I grow this precious baby.

I have learned that many times you simply cannot please other people with your choices. I will be maligned and spoken badly of due to my choice to UP/UC (unassisted childbirth), but I will let it roll off my back. I have only told my husband and my mother, but I do not allow my mother to speak negatively about it to me. She can have her feelings about it, but I do not have to listen to it. After the baby is born and has been seen healthy for months, I might make my choice to UC public. I have really enjoyed connecting with other women over the internet who are making this same journey as I am.

Pregnancy is a spiritual time. I am connected to my child in a way that is unique; because pregnancy is unlike any other human experience. It is a creative time and a sensitive time. I am emotional, but not in that negative stereotypical way. Women are mocked for our emotions during this time, but it is good for the heart to open and grow and be shaped by deep empathy.

I think this baby will be born soon. I am ready to welcome him, and I am ready to wait for him in peace; either way. I am at peace.

 

 

The Wide Open Heart of a Mother

I think it may be the prenatal hormones that are kicking in. I am getting close to my due date (about 6-8 weeks away) and the baby is moving a lot, our connection has grown a lot already as I prepare myself physically and mentally for his arrival. It could be that, I don’t know. All I know is that I have found myself really contemplating and feeling the vastness of my love for my children.

My oldest is 5 and she will start kindergarten homeschooling within weeks. I am in awe of this little thinking person she has become. I miss her babyhood, yet I adore the child she is and look forward to the years ahead that we have of learning together. She is strongly empathetic and caring, her spirit is one that naturally wants to help others. My hips have been in so much pain lately from SPD (a condition of loose ligaments during pregnancy), and she has taken to rubbing my hips gently to sooth it. I never showed her how to do that, nor did I ask her to do it. She just knew. She just sensed what I needed and desired to help ease my pain. She is also strong, which is good because she is so sensitive. She hurts easily; but I see inside of her the strength of my mother and my grandmother and great-grandmother. Women whose blood runs in her veins; women who are and were strong. She is beautiful in so many ways, my little girl. My mother heart feels physically full to think of her.

And then there is my second, 3.5 year old Liora. She is fiery. She is powerful, all sinewy strength and muscle. She takes a lot of time, attention, and sometimes leaves me questioning my ability as a mother. Yet, she is tiny physically (all that solid muscle in a short petite frame). She is in some ways even softer and more easily damaged than her big sister is. She needs my love in a way that is fierce and terrifying for her. She will rage and tantrum if she is scared of losing it. Recently, she hurt her sister (again) and I was upset. She was all fury; fists, teeth, knees and jabs. But then, she broke down. She wept, and looked up at me with those amazing brown eyes filed with tears and said “mommy, you don’t love me anymore?” My heart broke. Shattered. I pulled her into me and assured with a thousand words and kisses that my love was still there, and would always be there. I spent time this week just holding her. She requires physical touch, and verbal affirmation. She will be a force to be reckoned with in this world, my little Li. A wonderful, loving, fiery force.

My current “baby”, my third daughter Zipporah. She is 2 years old and ready to do everything her big sisters do. They are her world, especially Liora. I labored for a day with Z, and fought hard for her after she was born and the hospital tried to keep her from me. She came home with me with a head full of dark hair and the fullest cheeks. I was a confident mother with her. I knew that I was her mother, and therefore all she needed as a babe. I nursed her, slept with her, and carried her everywhere. Yet, she was always my most independent baby. She rarely ever cried. She enjoyed the chaos around her formed by her big sisters, and as soon as possible she joined in. We called her “free-range baby” because she would just crawl around, then toddle around after her sisters. Momma is still important, but if big sisters are there than she feels safe and ready for adventure. When she says to me “mom mom” my heart is a puddle and she gets whatever she wants. She has an incredible vocabulary for a 2 year old, and she is still my easy going one although the toddler in her does protest when she wants. She adores babies. All babies. Any baby. Just give her a baby and she is in love. Also, food. She loves to eat. She is tall (unlike Liora), and sturdy. Her face reveals her family from Colombia, a beautiful mixture of daddy and me. I am relishing this stage of her life. I love the 2 year old age, despite the tantrums, because of the wonder they have and how every single thing she does is just cute.

And now, my baby boy. My first and only unborn son. I have yet to hold him in my arms but I have carried him and nurtured him for the last several months. Our bodies are connected, almost one. He moves inside of me, and I have learned when he is active and when he sleeps. He reacts to what I eat, and how I am feeling. He is my “healing baby”. He came to us at the close of a horrible, horrible year. He gave me hope. He gave me a reason to change (more of a reason) from the path I was going down. I cannot wait to see what his birth teaches me, and to hold him in my arms and at my breast.

Yes, my mother heart is full. It is full, yet it expands with every child. My mothers heart is wide and open.

 

 

 

30 Reasons Why I am Choosing an Unassisted Birth for my 4th baby….

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  1. I am stronger than you think I am
  2. I refuse to allow myself to be abused during labor again
  3. I am healthy
  4. My baby is healthy
  5. Pregnancy is NOT a disease or illness
  6. Birth is a normal physiological process, not a medical emergency
  7. I am prepared for the worst, but will not expect the worst with no reason to
  8. I deserve to be comfortable
  9. I deserve privacy
  10. I deserve respect
  11. My baby deserves to be born into a calm environment
  12. My baby deserves to not be taken from mommy
  13. The pain is more manageable at home
  14. Intimacy between myself and my husband matters during birth
  15. I will not endure harassment, coercion, and disrespect in labor again
  16. I am stronger than I think I am
  17. I want my husband’s hands to be the first to touch our son
  18. I want to eat, walk, drink, and rest as I feel lead
  19. I believe my health and safety is at risk the moment I walk into an ER with a healthy body and normal pregnancy
  20. I am sick and tired of cervical checks
  21. I cannot stand those (not evidence-based) fetal monitor bands across my belly
  22. I do not want anyone telling me what to do with my body
  23. It will be powerful, difficult, life-changing and beautiful
  24. I know what is best for my baby, and would always put his health before mine
  25. I am sick and tired of defending myself against unwanted medical procedures
  26. Birth is not scary!
  27. 1 out of 3 women get major surgery, that is too high of a risk for me
  28. Most routine practices in American hospitals are NOT evidence-based medicine
  29. America’s maternal death rates are *rising*
  30. Peace instead of PTSD

Journey to Breastfeeding- Part 2

Baby Liora was about 1.5 weeks old. I threw out the rest of those tiny bottles of formula. I didn’t want them tempting me and taunting me as I tried to nurse my baby. I began to feel as if I was never wearing a shirt. I was always topless and putting her to the breast. As difficult as that was, I started to feel as if we were making progress. My nipples never hurt or bled like they did with my oldest, her latch was perfect again!

And then, the growth spurt!

Now listen, when you say you want to breastfeed your baby the hospital will hand you a packet of information about it. I remember reading and being told that the baby will nurse approximately 10 minutes on each breast every 2-3 hours. My baby wanted to nurse much longer than that, and it was rare she would go 2 hours between feedings! I felt as if she was nursing 24/7.

The packet told me 10 minutes on each breast! And every 2-3 hours! Surely something must be wrong, because all of a sudden at around the same time every evening she latched on and refused to latch off. I sat on the couch, after three hours of nursing, and cried heartily. What’s wrong with me? I can’t do this! I can’t live like this! This is awful!

That is when I stumbled upon a website called kellymom.com, and it quite possibly saved my breastfeeding relationship. Apparently, you should take that handy packet they give you and throw it in your recycle bin or create a bon fire with it. It is useless, and inaccurate.

First of all, newborns love to nurse. They need to nurse! This is how your supply increases. This is also how they are comforted. Remember in my first post I discussed ditching the pacifier, well our breasts are natures real pacifiers! We pacify our babies at the breast, and we keep our supply regular as well.

Second of all, there was no mention of growth spurts! I was caught off guard completely when Li went hours on end nursing. I thought my supply must be gone. I must be starving my baby! Nope. She was just growing. She was just doing what babies do. It can be frustrating, but I promise it does not last forever. It is usually only a few days of extra nursing, and then your back on track.

I was thankful to know that she wasn’t suddenly starving, and also that this would not last forever; because let’s face it, 3 hours of nursing non-stop wasn’t very fun.

One major benefit was nighttime! Now I know often you hear that formula helps a baby sleep, but I really disagree with that. I formula fed my oldest and this is basically how it went….

  • Feed her a bottle before nighttime, rock her sleep and place her next to me in her co-sleeper.
  • Wake up two hours later with her screaming blood murder.
  • Slowly drag myself out of bed, and hold her in one arm as I shhhh shhhh her and make a bottle.
  • Warm the bottle. While she screams.
  • Take screaming newborn to my rocking chair and give her the bottle.
  • Burp her. Get formula puke on my shoulder.
  • Stand up and walk her around the room, patting her back, get her back to sleep.
  • Lay down in bed.
  • Wake up an hour or two later with her screaming bloody murder.
  • Repeat. ALL NIGHT LONG.

Yeah, not very relaxing or conducive for good sleep!

With my Liora, my first breastfed baby, I had her sleep in my bed with me (yes, it absolutely IS safe when done correctly) and this is how our nights went….

  • Nurse baby in my rocking chair before bed.
  • Baby falls asleep at my breast. Awe, so cute!
  • Read a little bit.
  • Go to bed with baby.
  • Baby starts to stir and make little noises.
  • Latch baby to breast while not moving from sleep position, or fully waking up.
  • Go back to sleep while baby feeds herself at my breast.

Guess which situation gave me better sleep?

So here we were, moving right along in our nursing journey.

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Nursing newborn Liora with big sis Noemi next to me

Things were starting to improve a lot. By the time she was 1 month old the days of struggling to latch her were long gone. Now, I had my toddler in the front seat of my grocery cart, and the baby under one arm nursing, while I pushed the cart with the other arm and finished my food shopping! NO joke, I really did this.

I was feeling a pro, finally. But there was still one problem left unresolved. I would keep saying “I am trying to breastfeed”, I still didn’t trust my body. Until one day, I was sitting at the edge of my bed nursing Liora when it dawned on me, “Wait…I AM NURSING!”

It sounds like a simple thing, but in that moment I realized that I had won. My body had not failed me. My baby did not need formula or bottles or pacifiers. All she needed, for the next five months of her life was ME. That’s it. Just me. I was enough. I was feeding her!

Those chubby thighs? My milk did that. Those adorable chubby checks? Yep, my milk again. I looked at my baby contentedly nursing and almost said out-loud to myself “I AM A BREASTFEEDING MOTHER!”

And the journey continued…

Journey to Breastfeeding- Part 1

*Warning: I do post a single picture of my baby at my chest and my breast is visible*

When I think about my second born child, another little baby girl, something that comes to mind immediately is our closeness. I am close to all my children, but I think of our closeness as something solid and physical. I can feel her body and mine together in a way that is very tangible and real. She was my first breastfed baby.

I did try to nurse Noemi, my oldest daughter, only 18 months before Liora was born. I was a new mother, and like many new mothers I experienced significant road blocks to success. Sadly, I was not able to navigate them, and I nursed her for only 2 weeks exclusively.

But Liora, I did things differently with her. First I went with midwives rather than sticking it out with an abusive OB (Noemi’s birth story, I will share soon). They supported me in a natural birth, which helps begin breastfeeding more easily. They believed in my body’s ability to produce milk to feed my baby. This made a huge difference in how we started our journey together.

During pregnancy, I was not convinced of my body’s ability to sustain my baby solely on my milk alone. I kept saying “I am going to try to breastfeed” or “I really hope I can breastfeed”, as if it were a matter of luck or chance. There are a very small percentage of women who have physical problems (IGT, hormonal problems, etc.) but it is quite rare and

I had no reason to suspect any of these. Yet, the memories of my first born screaming constantly, the bloody and painful nipples, and nights crying my eyes out on the front porch had left me feeling rather inadequate and suspicious of my breasts actually working.

The day of her birth came, and as soon as she entered the world she was placed on my chest. She was wide awake, unlike Noemi who was born drugged. She looked right at me, and gently I brought her near my nipple. She latched on right away, perfectly and peacefully. I almost wept with joy! Maybe, just maybe, this could really work.

I was being pressured heavily by the nurses on the ward to give Liora a pacifier. The main reason why my breastfeeding relationship with my oldest was destroyed was due to “nipple confusion”; she nursed as if she was using an artificial nipple, and this caused painful bleeding nipples and low milk supply. The nurses all assured me that it was a “myth” (I hear this often, it angers me so!) and they even gave her pacifiers without my consent on multiple occasions.

Pacifiers do what the name implies, they pacify the crying baby. I took her home using a pacifier, I hated to hear her cry, and it was such an easy solution. I told myself that perhaps I was wrong, perhaps it wouldn’t cause any problems.

Well, it did. Her latch began to become noticeably uncomfortable and she was struggling to get it right. I knew the culprit was the pacifier, but I was being told by everyone around me not to take it away completely. I ignored them, and finally did what I knew I needed to do—get rid of the thing!

I threw out every single pacifier in our home, and within 24 hours her latch was once again perfect. There was only one problem….

Jaundice!

Liora was only a about 5 days old at this point, but I had been taking her to the pediatrician for blood samples due to her looking rather yellow. Almost as soon as I arrived home after our last appointment, they called me back and essentially told me to rush her to the hospital because her levels were dangerously high.

I was still a tired, hormonal mess and our nursing relationship was just getting started. I was so scared for her! I was also worried that once again my milk was not enough. My mother drove us to the hospital while my husband stayed home with our oldest, who I missed badly after days on the maternity ward. I had never been separated from our first child before the birth of her sibling, who was now sick, and I just wanted to crawl into a ball and cry forever.

After getting settled into our hospital room, the nurses put Liora under the lamps to reduce her bilirubin levels. They seemed quite concerned about her but they helped me understand what everything was for, and how to take her out to nurse her.

I sat there staring at my little baby, with these silly goggles on and I could only touch her through a door in the plastic box she was in. I cried. I cried a lot. I stroked her little arms, and I thought about how hard this was and how badly I wanted to bring her home so we could all be a family.

This may sound a bit dramatic, but remember I had just given birth!

I pumped like crazy while she was sleeping, desperate to keep my milk supply going. I did not trust my body, and I felt as if I would surely dry up like a hot desert valley if I didn’t keep on pumping! But man, I hated that contraption! Also, my body just didn’t respond very well to it. I kept taking her out whenever possible and nursing her, but the nurses really discouraged me from doing so because she needed to be under the lights.

I was pressured into giving her a little formula. They kept telling me dire warnings of what could happen if she didn’t eat enough. I was reminded that excreting the bilirubin was the best way to get rid of it. I relented and gave her tiny bottles of formula after putting her to my breast.

I felt almost defeated. I was so happy that we addressed her latch problem, but now here I was giving her formula. My heart was heavy as I considered the possibility that this just wouldn’t work. I would fail again.

But then, the next day, they released her! I was overjoyed to be going back home with my little baby, to join her big sister and daddy. I wanted to stay home with them forever, and just enjoy being together.

The nurse gave me a bag of formula before I left….