u/NytaraHoTS

Jumbo Loan - 7 Year Arm - 5.500%

Good/Bad/Thoughts!?

I don't get embarrassed easily. Like... ever. But this story? I still cringe thinking about it.

Before I gave birth, I had a doula and spent months consuming breastfeeding content on social media. I genuinely believed formula was basically poison. My doula even advised us not to worry about buying a backup can because it'll all just work out. I believed it would. I thought if I just wanted to breastfeed enough, prepared enough, and worked hard enough, everything would fall into place.

Spoiler alert: it did not.

After 55 hours of labor, I ended up with an emergency C-section under general anesthesia. The first thing I remember is waking up yelling, "Where's my baby?!" While I was unconscious, my daughter had low blood sugar, so the nurses gave her formula. Still completely out of it from the anesthesia and fueled by everything I'd absorbed online, I actually called our pediatrician's office from my hospital bed to tell them the nurses had given my baby formula... like I was reporting a crime. Looking back, that poor doctor probably thought I was not okay. Later, she actually came to visit me in the hospital even though she wasn't even our assigned pediatrician. I still think about that phone call all the time and die a little inside from embarrassment.

The thing is, I wasn't trying to be difficult. I was terrified. Social media had convinced me that if breastfeeding didn't work, I'd already failed my baby.

Then reality showed up.

My daughter was born early at just over five pounds, dropped into the fours. She couldn't latch. I had severe preeclampsia, which can delay or impact milk production. Then the hospital lactation consultants told me one nipple was flat and the other was slightly inverted when it got cold so it was never going to work and I should focus on pumping. It honestly felt like every possible obstacle had lined up against me.

But I didn't quit.

After I returned home from a week hospital stay. I triple fed. I power pumped. I washed pump parts around the clock. I built my entire existence around trying to make enough milk. We combo fed because I never caught up to what my daughter needed, but I refused to accept that maybe my body just couldn't do what I wanted it to do. She cried at my breast. I cried. My husband stood in the corner doing everything he could to hold the three of us together.

Looking back, what hurts isn't that breastfeeding didn't work. It's that I missed so much of my newborn experience because I was chasing something I couldn't control. Instead of getting nap trapped on the couch, reading books to my tiny baby, making up little activities, or simply staring at her beautiful face, I was attached to a pump believing that if I just worked harder, I'd eventually get there. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a failure instead of a mom doing absolutely everything she could.

The irony is that i work in the tech industry. My whole career has been built on the idea that if I work hard enough, I can solve almost any problem. Breastfeeding humbled me more than anything else ever has because sometimes you can do absolutely everything right... and it still doesn't work. And that's just life.

What I wish someone had told me is this: if you had a difficult pregnancy, severe preeclampsia, an early delivery, significant stress, blood loss, or any number of other complications, your milk supply can absolutely be affected. Sometimes there is literally nothing you could have done differently. Social media doesn't tell you that. It shows freezer stashes, oversupplies, and perfect nursing sessions. All those "happy hormones and feelings from BF!". It rarely shows the moms whose bodies went through trauma and simply couldn't keep up.

If you're reading this while feeling guilty because breastfeeding isn't going the way you imagined, please hear this from someone who tortured herself for five months trying to make it work: your worth as a mother has absolutely nothing to do with ounces.

Today that tiny four pound preemie is a brilliant, hilarious, fiercely independent, incredibly strong willed two-year-old. Last week I held a five-minute plank at CrossFit. We're healthy. We're happy. We're even talking about having baby number two. WOW!

And here's the sentence I never thought I'd say.

If we have another baby, they will be formula fed from birth.

Not because I don't love my children enough to breastfeed them. But because I finally understand that the healthiest version of me is the greatest gift I can give my children. I can never redo my daughter's newborn days, and I'll always grieve parts of that season. But if we're lucky enough to have another baby, I want to spend those first weeks healing, soaking up the newborn snuggles, accepting help, getting sleep, and focusing on the things I know I'm good at, loving my baby, reading stories, making memories, and simply being present.

I never thought I'd be the person writing this post.

But if my story helps even one mom let go of the guilt and realize she's already enough, then every ounce of vulnerability in writing this is worth it.

Looking for boy name ideas! I feel like we’ve gone through every list on the internet and keep coming back to the same few names.
Our daughter’s name is Zoe, and our current favorites are Max, Jack, and Lucian. We’d love something that has a similar vibe.
What boy names would you suggest that pair well with Zoe? I’m hoping there are some great names we’re just not thinking of. Not a fan of Ezra, Zac, anything that ends with “son”.

My daughter turns two next week, and I thought I’d be less emotional this year.

I was wrong.

Almost two years ago, severe preeclampsia turned what I thought was a routine 37 week appointment into a traumatic delivery. A surprise 1st percentile baby. Immediate Induction, 55 hours of labor, into an emergency C section under general anesthesia. Followed by a hard recovery that felt impossible at times.

Back then, I couldn’t imagine what life would look like two years later.

Today, she is thriving. So am I.

What makes me cry now isn’t the trauma itself, it’s the gratitude. The realization that this little person has brought so much joy into our lives and the lives of others. People at the park know her by name. She’s helped me build beautiful friendships I never would have made otherwise. She makes strangers smile. She lights up every single room she enters.

I still wonder if there will ever be a birthday where I don’t sob thinking about how differently our story could have ended.

If you’re in the thick of preeclampsia right now, please know this: there is life on the other side. Beautiful, ordinary, joyful life. The kind where you’re chasing a toddler around the park, planning birthday parties, making new friends, supporting new moms and suddenly realizing how much goodness found its way back into your life.

I know I used to hate when people would tell me, “At least you and the baby survived.” In those early days, it felt impossible to hear. The trauma was still so fresh. It made me so angry.

But now, two years later, I understand what they were trying to say. Not because the trauma doesn’t matter, it absolutely does. But because one day you may find yourself watching your child laugh, run, and impact the lives of everyone around them and realize just how much life existed on the other side of those hardest days.

It gets better. And if anyone understands how hard it is to believe that while you’re living it, it’s the people in this group.

The hardest chapter of your story does not have to be the whole story.

Keep going. One day, you may find yourself crying happy tears, too.

Happy Birthday, Baby Z.

I see how much joy you bring to the world around you.

What a true gift it is that you’re here.

Hi everyone,

I’m hoping to hear from others who have gone on to have another baby after a scary preeclampsia/HELLP-type experience.

With my first baby, I had a pretty normal pregnancy until 37 weeks, when severe preeclampsia came on very suddenly. I was induced right away, labored for 55 hours, and ended up needing an emergency c-section under general anesthesia. Milk didn’t come in.. had to power pump and triple feed.. I never caught up and beat myself up over this. Since I wasn’t awake when my baby was born, and even though we are both healthy now, that part still hurts to think about.

Baby #1 is almost 2 now, and before all of this I was always someone who pictured having at least three kids. Now I feel so torn because I would love another baby, but I’m honestly terrified to go through pregnancy and birth again.

If we do try again, we’re thinking about this fall so the age gap is still somewhat close. This time would likely be a planned c-section, possibly around 37 weeks depending on what my doctors recommend, and I would be monitored much more closely from the beginning.

I’ve also done what feels like every test under the sun. The only thing that came up was a dsDNA of 7, but I have no lupus symptoms and my rheumatologist did not diagnose me with lupus. My repeat clotting/APS testing came back normal/negative, which was reassuring. I know I’ll likely be on baby aspirin early in pregnancy as a preventative measure.

In the meantime, I’m trying to control what I can. I’ve been working out a lot, doing CrossFit, and trying to lose about 15 more pounds before trying. I know weight isn’t the only factor with preeclampsia, but I’m hoping to go into a second pregnancy as strong and healthy as possible.

I guess I’m just looking for hope, experiences, and maybe some reassurance from people who understand. Did anyone have severe preeclampsia or HELLP with their first and then have a calmer second pregnancy? How did you mentally prepare to try again?

I would love to have another baby and actually feel more present for the newborn stage this time. My recovery the first time was really hard, physically and emotionally, and I just want a chance to experience postpartum with more peace.

One random thing I’ve never really heard anyone talk about: when I finally came home after almost two weeks in the hospital, my sense of smell was completely off. Everything had this strange earthy/mineral smell, and I couldn’t smell my baby when we got home. It eventually came back after a couple of weeks, but that still haunts me a little.

I have no idea if it was directly related to preeclampsia, the c-section, hormones, medications, trauma, being in the hospital so long, or just my body going through so much at once. I mentioned it to my doctor at my yearly checkup and she seemed surprised, so maybe it was just a random postpartum/hormonal thing. But I’ve always wondered if anyone else experienced anything like that after preeclampsia or a complicated birth.