He was born small, 2.2kg, at exactly 37 weeks. Prior to his birth, between 35 and 36 weeks, we found out during a routine check up that he wasn't growing very well. It seems he wasn't putting on enough weight.
That scared the shit out of me.
Straight away, I thought back on the food I ate, did I consume any wrong things, have I been regularly taking my pre-natal vitamins and whatever nots. My mind was racing so fast and at the same time, the gynae was going through the options of delivering the baby early to avoid any complications. But my mind wasn't registering anything that he was saying because all I felt was, GUILT.
Guilty that I didn't ate well, guilty that I had pushed myself too hard at work, guilty that I had neglected his well-being and guilty that I had been complacent as he was my second pregnancy. The first pregnancy was smooth sailing, so what can be wrong with this second one?
Thankfully, when the day for his induced delivery came, his water bag broke on his own and we didn't have to have any induced done. He was born healthy and though he was small, he had a set of powerful lungs as he screamed and cried when he was out.
So right now, at coming 6 months, he is considered small for his age, around 3 percentile for his weight, height and head circumference.
He was breastfed for 3 and a half months before I stopped and switched him to formula. This is where the feeding nightmare starts.
Every single time when its time for him to feed, he would put up such a struggle that anyone would have thought we are torturing him instead. He would pushed the teats out with his tongue, stretched his hands and feet, huff and puff, used his hands to push the milk bottle away and for his latest trick, he would actually lay there with the bottle in his mouth, but would just let the milk spew and flow right out of it.
The only times he would gladly drink well are the early morning and last feeds when he's still in the half alseep zone which he is able to finish the whole feed. Other times, he would simply not finish or drink. And that is after a 5-6 hour interval.
It's simply frustrating.
And it breaks my heart to see him like this.
There was this one time that I was so angry with him for refusing the milk bottle that I left him just crying his heart out for a good 20 or 30 mins, I don't really remember as I was so tired and helpless and at that moment, I felt detach from him.
Immune to his incessant cries, void of any sympathy for him.
If that's what he wants then that's what he gets, I thought.
Don't get me wrong, I truly truly love him and am really thankful for him, but at that point in time, that is how I really felt.
|I love my family!|