the weight of it all

Waiting for her Daddy to jump out of a plane is boring

I consider myself a pretty strong person, but as I sat in my car crying the other day I thought to myself, just let it out, and get it out, and move on.

I took Ola in to be weighed at our health unit on Monday, like I always do. This time was different though, I was running late, I had Mark and Poppy with me as well, and it was a little bit busy in there. I always try to go in during the lunch hour so we have the place to ourselves. Poppy can play with the toys while I get Ola undressed and on the scale, I can take my time getting her re-dressed and even sit there for a while to feed her if I need to. We got in there at about 2 pm, and there was one appointment waiting, and two more on their way in. I wanted to just squeeze in, get weighed and get out.

The family in front of us, were taking forever...... left their stuff all over the change table, so I didn't even have a place to lay her down to squeeze in, and then decided that standing right in front of the scale was the best place to discuss their child's new growth chart. Mark was looking impatient, and I was starting to sweat like I do in there (it's so hot!)

I was excited to weigh her, we had been breastfeeding all week, she seemed bigger, and I was anticipating a big increase because she had been pulling large numbers for weeks now. I wanted to see 11lbs. instead I saw 10lbs 11.5 oz, only 2 oz more than last week. My heart sank and that immediate feeling of failure set in.

I could hear the numbers of the childrens weighed being listed off. 12lbs, 14lbs, and so on, then their birthdays. May 1st, April 29th, the were all younger than Ola, and all bigger. I had to get the hell out of there.

We drove away, and I was quiet, "what hapened?" I kept thinking to myself. "The breastfeeding?, Did I not feed her enough?"

Mark needed to stop somewhere and I sat in the car with the girls, and they fell asleep, we were out way past nap time, and I was alone again, and sad, just like I was in the hospital. I texted Cynthia and started to cry. I cried like I did 11 weeks ago in the hospital. Seeing those babies at the health unit thriving, gaining weight easily, holding their heads up strong, and smiling made me sad. It was a big hit with the branch of reality that Ola is different. Don't get me wrong, I know that she is, but at home in my little bubble, she isn't different, she is perfect and strong, and thriving, and smiling. But out in the world she is little, weaker than most and quiet, oh so quiet. Seeing her there compared to them made me sad, and made me remember things that I have gotten over and forgotten about. I don't cry about Ola at home, and I don't think I have for easily 8 weeks. I got over the fact that she has DS quickly and decided to move onward and upward, but it was so easily brought back to the front of my mind in that moment.

I talked it through with my Mom and Cynthia (Thank God for text messages in the middle of the afternoon!) and soon realized that being sad was 1. Okay, and 2. not necessary. I needed to be reminded of the things I already knew.

Ola is doing awesome, with the exception of this week, she has gained huge numbers (9 oz in 6 days!) We BREASTFED! which was a huge accomplishment for both of us. She is so smiley, especially in the morning when she first wakes up, she is so happy to be picked up and held. She is doing "crunches" in her bouncy seat, and can hold her head up really well when she is looking over my shoulder. She is so friendly, and is happy to be held by anyone, that other babies are small and quiet too, not just Ola and mostly, she is perfect, she is my perfect happy, healthy baby girl.

I think that our 2 week run of breastfeeding is coming to an end. My milk is fading, and I am not going to chase after it. We got to do what I had set out to do 11 long weeks ago when I started pumping and that was to breastfeed, and to get her mouth muscles stronger, and I did just that. She drank milk from her bottle last night with a tougher nipple, and hardly spilled a drop. I have worked hard to get her the most breast milk I could and I am proud of myself for doing what I did. (ok, enough patting myself on the back!)

I am looking forward to weighing her again on Monday, and no matter what that scale says, I am going to be proud of my girl and myself for all of our hard work.