The First Appointment
“Do I look like a mommy?” I ask my husband as I hold our son in my ring sling. “Yes, you do. Now let’s get this mommy and baby out the door and to the doctors!” We stumble to the car with the overly packed diaper bag. Did we bring the wipes? Do we need the sound machine? Is he in the car seat correctly? Did I pack my peri wash bottle in case I have to pee? Does my unwashed messy bun look decent enough? Can you drive a little slower please?
As we wait in the lobby to get my son’s blood draw before the appointment, I notice an elderly couple across the room who are smiling at us. I tell myself a story that they are remembering what it was like the first time they brought their newborn to the doctors. I wonder if we look like naturals, and if we look as under-slept as we are.
The heal poke for the jaundice test went off without a hitch. My baby is snuggled deep into my chest in the ring sling and barely stirs with the poke. We make our way upstairs to the lactation consulting area. We are greeted by a kind nurse who was worried we had gotten lost.
She first observes me nursing and gives me some pointers. My milk has not come in yet. She is hopeful that it would and states that our latch, though not perfect, has the potential to get there.
…And then she weighs him. She tells us that the calculated weight loss percentage was alarmingly high.
My baby is starving.
The nurse consults with the pediatrician to see if we should be sent back to the hospital. It was decided that we would be on a strict supplementation plan and come back for a weight check in 24 hours. The nurse asks us how we would like to begin supplementation; formula or donor milk.
I start to weep and am not able to stop.
The nurse steps out of the office to give us a moment.
How did I not understand the assignment? How could I let this happen? How could I have spent the last three days doing anything other than trying to feed my hungry baby? The guilt washes over me and doesn’t leave. The nurse gives us a quick lesson on how to syringe feed so as not to disturb his learning to latch. She prints out a strict feeding, supplementation, and pumping schedule for us to follow. I request a bottle of extra formula and we feed it to him promptly via syringe before leaving the office.
On the walk out of the doctors office I begin to tell my husband how mad I am about the surprise Shabbat dinner that his family had at our home the night before. How could we have wasted that time? I should have been doing skin to skin, pumping, and most of all, feeding the baby. I unravel completely in the car and cry harder than I ever have in my adult life. Husband tries to comfort me and reassure me. He calls my family for help. He has not seen this side of me and is unsure how to support.
It’s been four months since this appointment. The worry that my son hasn’t had enough to eat continues to plague me. Even now, as I see his little rolls increasing, and see that he is growing on the growth charts beautifully. I still worry.
—Alicia E.