(2 Karats and a Kid) Starve a flu, feed a heart defect...

Mommy-ism #7:  You already have everything you need to be a good mother.


I started to 'develop' boobs when I was in the third grade.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  There I was at our Spring play in a white leotard and pink tutu, ready to perform the rabbit hop to the Lisa Stanfield song, "Been around the world".  As I waited to go on stage, a male classmate ran up to me and pointed, "HAHA!  Kirstin has mosquito-bite titties!!"

I was so mortified.

By the time I was a freshmen in high school, I wore a "DD" sized bra and for many years after that, I wondered why I had the biggest boobs out of friends, my family, and most women on the south side of Chicago.

Now, I know the answer.

Since Roman's initial diagnosis, it was explained that his heart condition would likely affect his ability to gain weight.  Because his heart had to pump harder to circulate blood, what often happens is that babies quickly become tired during feedings and end up eating much less than they need to be fully nourished.

But what the doctor's didn't understand was that I had three things working in my favor:  Two "Double-Ds" full of milk;  love; and nothing but time on my hands for the next 3.5 months.

Roman's feeding regime rivaled the synchronization of the Queen's Guard.  Every 2.5 hours, 24 hours a day - the boob was in his month.  Whether he nursed for 5 mins or 45 mins -- he began to get the hang of this "eating" thing and even started to grab his "human bottles" in protest when I would try to pull away!

Soon, we began to see a trend beginning:

- 8 ounces gained in one week
- 15 ounces gained in two weeks
- 21 ounces gained in 10 days !!!

I don't know if Jesus put a special fat formula in my milk or whether Roman was just born greedy like his momma, but after his third week of life, Roman's weight gain never decreased or halted.  In fact, by the time Roman was two months, he was in the 95th percentile for his weight and in the 95th percentile for his height!  Neither his pediatrician, cardiologist, nor family members could believe what was happening.  Instead of seeing a child with a hole in his heart, they began to see him as the future linebacker of the Chicago Bears.

Every time his pediatrician would see him, he would meekly glance at my chest and say, "Roman is on formula, right?"

"Nope, he's on breastmilk,"  I would proudly say, squaring my shoulders and sticking my magical-milk breasts out even more.

So for the first time in my life, I was grateful for my boobs.  Not only were they giving men something to look at, but they were saving us a boatload in baby formula costs, and in their own little way helping to bring my baby to full health!