Sorry for the long delay--we went out of town to visit Willow's other side of the family, and I will be back to tell you more about that, since there were buckets of cuteness and I'm not one to be stingy, but I figure a few weeks between posts about family members is probably not a bad thing.
Anyway I have less fun matters on my mind. When we were in Massachusetts this past weekend, I told my sister-in-law that I pretend Willow isn't my first child, that I've had this whole other baby before, who is all grown up, and that I made tons of mistakes raising that kid and I was really cautious and scared and all those things that first-time mothers are, but that it all turned out fine. It's a good strategy, and I really am very chill, relatively speaking (I suppose it depends on who you ask).
But I had my first tiny overreacting first-time mom moment yesterday, and it ended up translating into this much larger issue, and now everything that I was trying not to be scared of is, well, a little scary.
Willow had some weird goop in her diaper, and I played it safe (translation: I forgot that my imaginary older baby had funky diapers all the time and it never meant anything and that mothers are insane about their children's diapers and let's not give them complexes, shall we?) and I called her doctor. They too played it safe, and so we went in. To discover that the weird goop was in all likelihood the result of too much swallowing of saliva. Duh.
Since we were only two weeks away from her nine-month checkup, they kindly saved me from a wasted trip and did the checkup yesterday. Willow got her shots, got measured, and got weighed--and came up light. In the last three months, she has put on only 6 ounces, and dropped from the 41st percentile to the tenth.
I know, I know. Second-time moms don't worry about percentiles. And I wouldn't if she had always been a small baby--Dave is not a large fellow, and I never thought we were going to have some amazonian child. But the stall is weird, especially since it comes when she should, theoretically, start packing on the pounds, given that she's starting--and inhaling--solid foods. The doctor said "feed her more." How much more? "As much as she'll eat."
And here I'd been thinking we were overfeeding her as it was (Willow will eat an entire banana for breakfast and still be clamoring for more. A banana fills me up to the brim). She doesn't feel underweight to me--and she's plenty tall. Doesn't she look nice and chunky?
Of course I'm obsessing over what the problem might be. Not enough protein? Birth control pills? I started them about a month ago, and in that time, I have dropped two cup sizes, stopped leaking like a faucet, developed a very delayed letdown reflex, and stopped getting engorged every time Willow misses a feeding. Now, I don't exactly miss any of those things (with the possible exception of at least one cup size--I'm smaller than I was before I got pregnant!) but if they are an indication of lower supply, which I can only imagine they are, then the pill certainly isn't helping matters.
This sort of worrying bleeds over into everything. Willow has been horrifically fussy lately, and doesn't seem to believe in sleeping. Is this because she's starving all the time? I'm resisting the urge--so far--to offer her food/milk/both every time she cries, but is that even wise? Should I be doing just that?