Eau de Maple

In order to maximize milk production, it is recommended that a lactating (or would-be lactating) woman consume ridiculous amounts of fenugreek. One of the side effects is that one starts to smell like maple syrup. Now I don't know if the aroma is emanating yet from my pores, but I do smell maple all the time. Yep. Fo' real. That's pretty much all I can smell.

Maybe this explains why Brent has requested pancakes so often this week.

And the midwife says...

I went with J to her latest check-up and the midwife gave the thumbs up. Baby P is, by all available signs, a healthy, strapping young chap. We're all hoping he comes a little early.

We also learned that this doctor, too, did not know much about inducing lactation. The hunt for knowledgeable support continues. I have a few leads, though, and yet hope to find some medical council. Everyone keeps telling me to see a lactation specialist, but even the lactation specialists at two different hospitals could not tell me anything other than to spend a lot of time with Miss Lactina. Miss Lactina sucks.

I did read that oatmeal stimulates milk production, so guess what I had for breakfast this morning? And poor Brent was asking for pancakes...

Meet Miss Lactina

I wanted to introduce you to my new friend, Lactina. She and I are going to be spending a lot of time together in the next several weeks. You see, I am planning to breastfeed my son.

What?! But you're adopting!

Well, non-pregnant women can nurse, too! We're a non-discriminatory lot, we mothers. Go ahead and ask...how, er, does a woman who was not pregnant, um...

It's called "induced lactation". Basically you do enough sucking on the darn things and they'll produce. Of course it's slightly more complicated than that, but that's the bottom line: supply and demand. Or demand and supply, I guess.

Hormones and herbal supplements may come into play at some point, but for now I am spending time with Miss Lactina every two hours by day, and, soon, every 3-4 hours by night. I'm getting broken in to the baby schedule already. But it's not as pleasant as nursing, I don't think. It's more like an experience with the gruff Russian nurse in an Ethiopian clinic: hard, cold, a bit rough, without compassion, definitively to the point.

I'm off now to press two cold, plastic suction cups to my breasts.

**If you've induced lactation yourself, what was your experience like? Did you require hormones? How much of a supply of milk were you able to produce?

Of Diaper Bags and Donkeys

All right, experienced post-modern mothers. What system do you have for carrying around all the stuff that leaves a woman feeling like a mule? Are you the all-in-one jumbo bag type? Or are you the specific-bag-for-every-occasion type? Upon first thought I decided, I am a simple girl. One bag is all I need. But then I saw the size of the bag one woman I know carries. She loves it, but HOLY CRAP! the thing is the size of a baby elephant!

Now I understand that the transformation into pack animal will occur, what with car seats and play pens, strollers and...oh, I can't go on. Part of me wants to cry at the loss of simplicity, and another part of me cheerfully wonders how many calories this will all burn. Winter is coming, though. Winter. Bitter cold...and baby accouterments swinging from my shoulders, neck, back...entangling in my scarf and squashing my innocent babe in his sling while I swear like a sailor into the wind...

Mamas? What's the word? What works for you and why?

Pictures of Baby P's Room

Cloth Diapers, not Pampers

I am motivated enough to attempt using cloth diapers. I might need a few plastic pampers on hand for traveling or for anyone kind enough to babysit, but I am really, truly going to try to do this (hey, if my mom did it...).

Now there are a host of other questions to be answered:
-- How many diapers does a baby go through in a day?
-- Pins or pockets?
-- Heinies or Fuzzi Buns?
-- Terry or wool?

Do any moms want to weigh in? Please, if you have thoughts, wisdom, or advice, leave a comment.

Unto Us A Son is Given...

That’s right, we have been chosen by a birthmother. Our son-to-be is due on December 5.

We are so fortunate to have a birthmother who is healthy and taking care of herself during her pregnancy. She is also very warm towards us and open in how she views our involvement on the birth day (she asked us to be present to cut the umbilical cord). She would like a relationship with us and the wonderful thing is that she is the kind of young woman we could have in our lives, if that makes sense. In some adoption scenarios, it would be quite challenging to maintain a relationship with a birthmother due to mental health or other issues.

Though we are adopting locally, our child will have international ties. His mother is originally from the Philippines and was, herself, adopted at the age of 7 by an American couple. His birthfather is originally from Panama, though he is not in the picture right now so I don’t know if he’s an American citizen, or really anything else – except that he’s reportedly 6’4”! I didn’t know Panamanians could be so tall.

Brent and I are now wading through names – J (the birthmother) requested that we include Caleb somewhere in the name. We like Caleb very much, but wonder how to put anything else with Caleb Petrencsik (ain’t that a mouthful!). So, he may just be Caleb Petrencsik. I was hoping for something with a Spanish flair and we’re working on possibilities. Who knows? We might just decide when we see the little guy.

And yet, with all the excitement and the planning that must be done, the accumulating of necessities for the first month, we are being told, warned, by our agency not to get too involved. Sigh. In New York, a birthmother has 30 days after the birth to change her mind. The agency has caused me sufficient worry about the risk in J’s scenario and the likelihood that others will pressure her to change her mind and parent. Brent continues to remain optimistic. He says his gut is feeling sure of this.

This is sure, and yet tentative. My hope is that in January we will send word that it’s official; there’s no going back, baby [insert-name-here] Caleb is truly ours.

Until then, it’s time to go buy a car seat and some diapers!