It’s a septoplasty, which is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I’m a little anxious about the recovery experience. From what I’ve read, it sounds like it’s going to be incredibly uncomfortable – at best. Try googling “septoplasty splint removal.” Just kidding. You should never, ever do that.

Anyway, they’re doing the septoplasty, which basically means that they will slice me up a little and straighten out my septum. To look at me, you can’t tell that I have a pretty seriously deviated system, but if you had a CT scanning machine thingie at your disposal*, you’d see that it leans way left. Appropriate.

Apparently the wacky septum and one of the turbinates, which I don’t really understand, are really disrupting the airflow, and are possibly behind all of the weird sinus pressure shit I’ve been dealing with for the last few years. They will also be reducing a turbinate, whatever that means.

I also have this weird ginormous bump in my mouth that came from accidentally biting the same spot on my cheek repeatedly, and the doctor is going to get rid of that while he’s at it. It’s big enough that it will require stitches. Yum.

I’m not freaked out about the surgery, but I’m concerned about sinus headaches and pressure in the week following the surgery, as well as how the splints will feel. To save you from the horror of a Google image search, I will just tell you that the splints are flat, curved pieces of plastic (sort of a banana shape) that appear to be AT LEAST two inches long. They also have a straw-like tube running down their center to help air get in and, uh , all manner of other stuff get out.

Plus, I will have to be careful about not letting anything bump my nose. This means that living with a wild one-year-old is about to become an exercise in fear.

I’m mostly looking forward to getting this over with, but I can’t help the nervousness that’s creeping in.

*How cool would that be? It’s like being in a space ship. You know, probably.

Anyway, I got to thinking that adults need nap mats. Just think about it: you know you want a little bedroll at work so you can nap under your desk Costanza-style. You know I’m right.

Back when I was pregnant I took a pretty hard line on breastfeeding. While I still basically stand by what I said (specifically that, if you are medically able, you should give it a shot), I want to walk it back a little.

For a combination of reasons that go along with having a baby, not the least of which was labor, I was totally exhausted in the hospital (and for weeks after). As is standard, a lactation nurse came through to see if I wanted to her to work with us, but I declined. Besides the fact that I thought that I was breastfeeding correctly, I was just too damn tired to do the consultation.

Cut to a couple of days later when we took Z to see the pediatrician. She had lost some weight, as babies do in their first few days, but it was a little more than the standard weight loss. The doctor said he wasn’t concerned in her case, though, because she was an abnormally large baby at 11 pounds 4 ounces.

Then we brought her back for the two week visit. J.R. and I both looked and felt like zombies because Z didn’t allow us much sleep. I expected this, but it was exhaustion like none I’ve felt before. It made me cry more than a few times. I just didn’t know why the baby was so angry!

It didn’t take long for the doctor to figure it out the problem. He weighed her, and her weight was down some more, which is not what’s supposed to happen at the two week visit. He had me feed her in the exam room, and they weighed her again when I finished. I can’t remember what the difference was, but it wasn’t much. Basically, she wasn’t getting enough to eat (I later determined that what I thought was a good latch wasn’t). We talked over some options and I decided to supplement with some formula after breast feeding so I could watch how much she was taking in. He scheduled us for a followup visit a few days later.

When we returned for the follow up, her weight was up, which pretty much settled the issue. The next decision I had to make was how to proceed. I talked over some different options with the doctor, and settled on exclusively pumping breast milk and feeding it to her by bottle. As he said, I had probably saved my supply because I had been pumping after feedings in order to stock the freezer with milk. In fact, I think I probably had an oversupply because of it. He had written me a prescription to see the lactation consultants at the hospital, but I opted not to go that route because, honestly, I was just too tired. There are people out there who would want me to feel guilty for making that choice, but those people are awful, and they can suck it (oh shit, I swear there was no pun intended).

What the doctor didn’t tell me – and maybe, as he isn’t a woman, he didn’t know – is what a tough road exclusive pumping would be. I look back now, 10 months later, and I can’t believe I didn’t quit. I’m pretty sure that it causes serious exhaustion that regular breastfeeding doesn’t cause (don’t know why  - maybe because I’m putting out more at a time, since I do it fewer times per day), and that has been debilitating for me. As I mentioned yesterday, I’m struggling while trying to get my anxiety back under control, but I have a sneaking suspicion that at times, the exhaustion that has come along with this has set off some panic attacks.

I’ve wanted to quit so many times, but the number one reason I haven’t is that formula is soooo expensive! I’ve also not quit purely out of the culture of guilt that surrounds the topic. Spend a little time reading message boards dealing with breastfeeding issues. It won’t be long before you run across someone accusing another woman of not doing what’s best for her child because she had to stop breastfeeding to take some medication that she needed. It’s terrible. So you go looking for support, and maybe you find it, or maybe someone just judges you.

Luckily, there is a light at the end of the tunnel for me now. It was always my intention to quit when Z turned one, and that’s only two months away. My milk supply is dwindling because I cut one pumping situation just to avoid a nervous breakdown, so I may have to stop before then. I can’t say that it would bother me. She seems not to care whether she gets formula or milk anyway, as long as you hand her that baba as soon as she asks for it.

I will, however, give some advice that I intend to take myself the next time around: no matter how exhausted you are, take the time to have the lactation consultant evaluate your technique in the hospital. If you run into a situation like I did, go back and see the lactation people again. It’s a crazy time, but it will save you stress later on.

Another piece of advice: be supportive of other mothers. It’s not your place to decide what is the best way to nourish their children. Be ready with a kind word or to share your experience in a non-judgmental way, or just STFU.

I didn’t really want to jump on here and spend a lot of time talking about what I do and don’t do with my boobs, but I felt like I wasn’t being honest given how hard I came down on the topic previously.

I probably ought to follow up on the other posts I did around that time with what I’ve learned. I pretty much haven’t changed my opinions (other than softening up on the breastfeeding thing), but maybe I will have something to add that will help someone.

Also, please don’t misinterpret this as me being unhappy. This has been the best time of my life, and I’ve never been so happy. I’m just going to be happier when she’s getting her milk from a cow.

Oh, one last thing: There’s some good stuff about moms judging moms in this interview with Nashville transplant (and Six from Blossom) Jenna von Oÿ.

The drug I’ve had success with isn’t available in generic form, so it is a stretch to work it into our budget. That makes me want to throw things.

Anyway, I haven’t been terribly social for quite some time thanks to all of this. People probably think I’m a flake. Hopefully I’ll find a solution soon. I’m trying.

I don’t understand this game, so I’m not playing.

I like all my friends – close friends and more casual acquaintances, and I hate having any of them mad at me. In the real world I’m shy and battle with a great deal of anxiety, so I don’t really know how I made the friends I have, but I want to keep all of them!

Here’s a picture of Sully to change the subject: