It’s 2 AM, do you know where your children are?

My child is on the bed, refusing to wake up enough to nurse, leaving my heavy breasts in groaning agony, since she wouldn’t eat before bed either. So to the pump with you, Milk Maid!

I think she’s teething, oddly enough. I know, I know, she’s only two months old, she couldn’t possibly be teething, but there it is. She’s drooling like an overly excited mastiff, and refusing the breast and bottle while opting for the relief of a hard silicone pacifier, which she has been chewing on for a couple of days now. The chiropractor says that though it will probably be a few months before wesee a tooth, they are most likely starting to move down and causing her discomfort. He’s going through the same thing with his infant, who is a month and a half older than Ella.

She’s not exactly grumpy/fussy per se so much as just… fidgety. Like she can’t settle. I worry that she’ll lose weight again, since she just basically mouths the breast/bottle in a discontent whiny way, and then switches back to the pacifier with verve and relish. Ugh, I hate the judgment and lectures from the doc and nurses– like I’m some dumb teenager* who got knocked up and knows nothing about childcare.

Really, I’m a woman in my mid-thirties, of above average intelligence, the oldest of five kids (of whom the two youngest I practically helped raise), a former nanny and childcare worker with loads of experience with all stages of childhood development but especially early childhood; one who has read every book/link I could get my hands on throughout my pregnancy in order to be as prepared as possible for motherhood… In essence, though a new mother, I didn’t just get off the boat here. I wasn’t expecting supply issues while nursing (though I should have, considering my birth defect and resulting surgery.) I wasn’t expecting birth trauma to make nursing difficult for her. I wasn’t expecting that doctors and nurses (mostly nurses) would totally screw us up with their unhelpful methods and advice.

So yes, my baby was starving despite my best efforts to feed her. Yes, I was aware there was something wrong– that’s why I called the doctor in the first place and insisted she be seen. I don’t need a lecture and damning looks for “bad parenting,” or being told that if it got any worse, they would be forced to call Social Services on me.

Give me a frickin’ break over here.

Now it’s 3 AM I must be crazy. Or something. Not really sleepy, and I should “sleep when she sleeps” which is now and lately she’s not really napping a whole lot during the day. Bleh.

*Apologies to any teenagers/teen moms on my flist– this statement is a broad sweeping generalization based on a stereotype which is not reflective of anyone I know personally. 😛