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Off My Meds

I finally ran out of the domperidone that I had been taking to increase my breastmilk supply. I don't know what is going to happen now.

After finding out that my insurance wouldn't pay for it, I had a big decision to make. By that time he was 3 months old, and I was back at work. I decided that, as directed for going off the med, I would slowly decrease my dose until my milk supply began to decrease. At that point, I would stick with that dose until I ran out of pills. I knew that some people could go off the meds and maintain supply, but I also knew that some people cannot. Generally, the supply can't be regained once lost. I decided that I was prepared to take that risk.

I gradually decreased from 10 pills a day. I would subtract one pill and wait a few days. When there was no change I'd remove another pill. I eventually got down to 3 pills a day (the minimum dose). The amount I pumped each day at work had stayed level at 8 ounces, so I continued to take 3.

A little over a week ago I finally ran out of the pills. Coming to the end was really scary. I knew that breastfeeding to 7 months isn't too bad, and I enjoyed my time doing it. Still, I was scared to lose that connection with my boy.

He has begun breastfeeding less frequently. He'll latch on well first thing in the morning when he's very hungry and I'm very full. Most other times of day he'll squirm and cry if I try to put him on the boob, even if he's hungry and will subsequently chug down a bottle. My pumping has decreased to about 6 ounces a day.
Maybe his feeding is slowing down because my supply is decreasing. Maybe my supply is decreasing because he is slowing down. Maybe it is just his time to wean. I don't know.

I keep trying. Sometimes, the critter will surprise me with some good breastfeeding. Sometimes, I pump an extra ounce. But I'm not confident that I will be able to breastfeed for much longer. I knew it wouldn't last forever, but it will make me sad when I have to stop.

Things I will miss about breastfeeding:
the closeness I feel with my boy;
the way he looks up at me when he's feeding;
the way he plays with his feet when he's feeding;
the strange wonder of being able to make milk (albeit not a lot);
and, okay yeah, the bigger boobs.

There are, however, things I won't miss about breastfeeding:
pumping;
nursing pads;
and if this ends soon, I won't be sad to miss out on breastfeeding a baby with teeth!

For now, I'm going to keep going as best I can.

A lot of loss

My son was born this year, and that has been awesome. Unfortunately, the rest of the year has been a whole lot of suck for my mom's side of the family. My grandfather died in February. My grandmother on the same side died in August. Now, in October, the dam was washed out at my grandparents' place (now cared for by my parents) thus eliminating the beautiful lake on which the house sat and leaving only a small creek and a lot of mud. I'd like to think the losses are over, but my mom also inherited my grandfather's very old German Sheppard, who is very slow and nearly blind.

"Turn, turn, turn," I know. But it is hard to have so much taken away in one year. Although I realized that nothing is forever, I was hoping the critter would have more opportunities to hang out with his great-grandparents by a serene lake while petting a big, friendly dog. (His great-grandfather died two weeks before he was born, but his great-granny did get to meet him once.)

A Better Form Letter of Rejection

(Literary Managers, feel free to use this!)

Dear playwright:

You are awesome. Seriously. You wrote a play. You didn’t just get an idea that you eventually forgot about. You didn’t jot down notes on a piece of paper that you later lost. You didn’t leave a few pages of dialogue in a long unopened file on your hard drive. You didn’t say that you would write a play. You actually wrote a play. I applaud your obvious passion for writing.

Not only did you write a play, but you took the time to submit it to us. I appreciate the time, dedication, and bravery it takes to send your work to be judged by strangers. I am honored that you trusted our theatre with your words.

I regret to inform you that we will not be producing your play. You and I both know that this is a form letter, so I won’t insult you with vague excuses for this rejection. You can’t learn anything from the phrase “not a good fit” even if it is sincere. However, I can truly state that I wish I had better news for you. I took this job because I enjoy working with playwrights and getting to produce plays. I don’t like having to be the bad guy.

Please keep writing, and keep submitting your work wherever you can. Go and prove me an idiot for having sent this. I hope to someday hear your name in connection with a highly successful production or prestigious award, and I hope I will recognize you as someone whose work I allowed to pass across my desk. I don’t want to think that I killed your dreams or chances at success. Your success will help to ease my conscience, which is burdened by having to reject so many plays that I need to do it via form letter.

Sincerely,
Literary Manager/signed