Adventures in Alison

My dad is a dentist. I don’t remember exactly how it was when I was a kid, but I know brushing was important. I think my parents brushed my teeth for me until I was quite old.

Anyway, despite having extremely relaxed ideas about what my toddler otherwise needs to do, for example, bed times or lack thereof, being naked most of the time, or eating what she wants when she is hungry, brushing her teeth was the one thing I exerted an iron fisted control. She MUST brush her teeth before bedtime, and if she didn’t want to do it herself or didn’t do a good enough job, boy howdy I was gonna step in and fix that!

Ugh! I shiver just writing that. As you can imagine, this did not go well. She looked horrified when I approached her with the toothbrush, and I am pretty sure she saw right through my singsong voice since she knew it was just a charade. I was going to do something to her, without her consent, and without even trying to make it easier for her. Terrible.

Finally, Hubby had to step in and ask me to make a change. For just two weeks, he asked, couldn’t I let her try to do it herself, and then if that didn’t work, let it slide? Two weeks was not a rotten mouth going to make. So I conceded.

Within a few days, she was doing some brushing on her own. Even the fact that she was interested in her toothbrush made me weak with relief. I made progress talking about how brushing got the “bugs” out of her teeth.

Then one morning last week, I was brushing my teeth and she wandered in, so I gave her her toothbrush with her tiny bit of paste on it. She handed it back to me, saying “done.” I drew on a few techniques I picked up from natural parenting sites and said something like, “I am confused, I wish we could find a way for you to want to brush, because I know it is good for your teeth. Don’t you want to get the bugs out?” She hesitated, and handed me her toothbrush, saying, “Mama help get the bugs out?” and proceeded to let me brush all the surfaces of all of her teeth. That has never happened before.

I know it wasn’t perfect wording for what I said to her, however, the sentiment behind it was sincere and apparently effective. Since then, she has not let me do that to such an extent again, but she brushes her teeth a little every day. And she lets me help a little sometimes.

This has been a great lesson for me. First of all, it reminded me not to shut out my hubby from the decision making process in our parenting. Even though I am the primary caregiver and researcher and reader of all things parenting, doesn’t mean he a) doesn’t have the instinct and b) can’t see what I can’t see in my behavior and actions.

Most of all it showed me the power of conceding traditional parental control. Me wielding the toothbrush was not effective. She anyway wants to model what I do (and I am an insane toothbrusher.) But not if I FORCE her. I was bypassing her natural instincts and desire to imitate. I was injecting my knowledge of dental health into a power struggle. It wasn’t working.

Once I left the power out of it, she was receptive to the idea that toothbrushing was something that happens in the evening, for example, before bedtime. Power struggles are a vortex of pain for toddlers (and their parents).

Wow, what a huge topic. I have recently begun dabbling into a combination of new age philosophy and work on myself.

I started to write a post about this a few weeks ago and reading it now I felt a bit sad. Instead of taking the good parts of this journey, the striving, the hard work, the digging deep, the epiphanies, the small victories, I was on a torrent of shame about how I wasn’t becoming perfect overnight. Well, I just don’t think that is helpful. So I am starting over.

I am reading Eckhart Tolle and using the life coaching tools of Tara Wagner, The Organic Sister, to uncover the best within me. Tolle would say it is already in me. Tara would say the same, probably. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard and a bit painful to get there.

This relates to natural parenting because I want to the best role model for my daughter, but also, I want to live my life in a way that is full of joy and wonder JUST BECAUSE and because I am worth it, and not because I should.

That is a good point to start out with. I want to be a better parent and a better role model, but I will not get there if that is my only motivation. Despite my strong Alfie Kohn-induced convictions that external motivation is not very effective for children, here I was sort of trying to use it on myself. I can’t think “oh, I MUST turn off the TV because it is bad role modeling”. I need to turn off the TV because I can’t wait to do other things. To read, go for walks, do projects, sew, cook, bake, and connect with friends and family. It sounds so obvious, but it wasn’t, too me, for awhile.

Through Tara´s stuff, I am learning to go back and rewire things in my self that were totally understandably wired in a destructive way. They weren’t wired TO be destructive, but because that was my coping mechanism at the time. Anyway, I wont go into more detail here. If you want to change yourself for YOU, check out Tara´s stuff. I will say that I am lighter inside, more forgiving of myself, but also more motivated for living MY life and not somebody else´s since I started working through Tara´s materials.

Which brings be toward wanting to be more present. Living in the now is a REALLY hard thing to consistently do. Every time that I get there, I feel wonderful though. It is a very simple concept at the core, but to even sort of achieve it, you have to break down everything you do already, out of habit. You can’t think of what to make for dinner when you are playing with your kid, because then you aren’t 100% there with your kid. When your kid is happily playing, or at 2pm sharp or something, you can take a break and think: ok, dinner. Then, devote your attention to that.

I think the mentality I get into with the being in the now is being more prepared, ironically, to drop everything and go somewhere. For example, last night I was considering the plan of going to a playgroup this morning. It is a 15-20 minute drive away. If we went, I could see some moms, A could play with some different toys, and we wouldn’t be stuck in the house all day. So last night, I packed a lunch for both of us in case we wanted to go and sort of planted it in the back of my head as one option for today. This morning, A woke up late and we played, danced around, and then when she was between activities I asked her if she wanted to go, and she did. She was bare naked, but we were out the door in about 3 minutes.

Compare that with last week, where I thought we should go, but I hadn’t prepared food, I wasn’t focused on playing with A because I was trying to get a few things done. We left the house at 11:30 and she ended up sleeping in the car and we missed playgroup. It was a fine day, but this one has been better, because I have gotten more out of the moments I have had.

Recently, I learned that after you learn the mechanics of how to drive a boat, you must learn the particulars of the area you will be driving in. I am used to using street signs and corner shops as landmarks, but off the coast, there are all sorts of different pitfalls. Narrow passages. Sand bars. Rocks that teeter like icebergs, partially or completely hidden under the waves. Before you can safely drive, you must learn your area.

I feel like that is a good analogy to parenting, heck, it is an analogy to living life in general! Those landmarks are the challenges in our lives. For me, my temper. It is there, a part of the landscape. I can’t really take dynamite and explode away my temper, although how ironic would that be? I can, however, remember that I have this personality trait in my life, and try to navigate safely knowing it is there. I can do things to minimize the situations in which it can become a problem. (Much like the toddler tantrum paradigm of HALT – Hungry Angry, Lonely, Tired – I can try to keep my mood stable by taking care of myself so that I can let out emotions in responsible ways.)

There will be days when all is smooth sailing. The speed is safe. The sun is out. The breeze in our hair. Tummies are full. Everyone is well rested.

But there will be days where we have to go through a tiny rock alleyway. We seem too big for the passageway. How will we fit?

Or we stray from the area we know – on vacation, maybe, or while making new friends or doing something for the first time – and there are rocks beneath the surface that are trying to trip us up if we don’t look out for them.

I am on the verge of depression every time I read the news. Middle class white guys in Colorado are shooting up movie theatres. Climate change is causes floods, high temps, and melting ice fields, meaning with in a number of years some countries will be under water. A 4 year old was killed in cross fire at a memorial basketball game of a shooting victim. Comedians are threatening women with rape, and making rape jokes, and then being defending by men everywhere. And more: women are beat up on tape, for fun. Women who breastfeed in public are tormented, photographed, and tweeted about, by ignorant, thoughtless people of all ages. People buy mountains of stuff every year, throw most of it away after not too long. They also use thousands of chemicals in various products, all of which get washed down the drain and into our water supply. Animals grow up and die without every moving a few inches in either direction, and are pumped full of antibiotics so they don’t get sick from their own shit.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH US!

It is an odd phenomenon when individual stories of terror, torture and torment make tragedies come alive, while at the same time we feel we as individuals cannot do anything for the big problems the world faces.

Gun violence? It won’t happen to me. The NRA is so damn powerful I can’t do anything to stop them.

Climate change? I recycle, but I need my car, and I love my bottled sparkling water, and we have to visit my parents halfway across the world 1.5 times a year.

Nursing in public? How am I supposed to stop negative attitudes about breastfeeding? I don’t want to feed my toddler in public and have her and me subjected to weird looks and nasty comments!

Waste and toxins? I do my best to use natural products – but I don’t want to advertise it too loudly – what if I have no more friends after everyone knows I shower only every several days with baking soda and castile soap and wash my house with vinegar?

Caged and drugged feedlot animals? I don’t eat much meat and I totally sympathize…

And worst of all – when do I have the time to do anything about this? Can’t I just sign a petition and get on with my life?

I am guilty of all of these things. This shit is depressing. I don’t want to dwell on it. I have life’s most important individual challenge at my footsteps: raising a decent human being. This is true. But what kind of example am I setting my focusing all my attention on her and none on the world around us – the world I am leaving behind for her?

I need to get my act together. We all do. Get off our asses. Figure out what most incenses us and devote some time to it each week. I think I might start with chemicals. It seems like a good inroads for me. I am passionate about it, and it isn’t so daunting as some of the other things I listed above.

I am conflicted.

I love spending my days with my daughter. Watching her learn new things, being playful, getting annoying and bouncing back, expressing herself, failing to express herself…it is so fantastic to be able to follow it along.

As one is wont to do, though, I sometimes question my decision to stay at home.

First of all, there is society, saying maybe I should give back. I spent yeaaaaars educating myself, and now I am not “earning” a “return” on that “investment.” Certainly the Norwegian state is built upon having women in the work force.

Secondly, there is my family. I want to be able to contribute to my marriage, financially and intellectually. I feel that I do, and I know that my husband sees it, but sometimes I wonder if by choosing now to stay home, it will impact my marriage down the road. Will I be less helpful later because I am spending my prime earning years at home? Will I become boring because all I focus on is my child(ren)?

Next, me. I don’t want to be unchallenged. I don’t want my brain to atrophy because “all” I solve all day are playground disputes and making a tasty dinner from whatever is in the fridge.

Finally, A. I truly believe it is best to be primarily with a parent during her first three years, and certainly not with someone else during the day and tired, cranky parents in the evenings.

This theory about the choice whether to stay home or not is great, but, when it comes down to it, I can’t think of a job that I want to do right now.

I was studying to be a teacher when I had A, but now, I am not even sure I want to do that anymore. I mean, I am seriously considering homeschooling/unschooling her, so how can I try to be a teacher to other people’s kids?

Do I want to be another kind of teacher? There is a Steiner college here, but it is a three year full time program, and I’ll be damned if I am going to spend three years of my daughter’s early life on something I think I might like. Plus we are probably moving soonish, certainly before 3 years.

Do I want to teach English at night school?

Do I want a part time job? 

I mean…not really! Maybe, if I could get a part time job that was 1 or 2 days a week, that was something like, teaching English, or…yeah, that is about it…I would consider it. But then, what would I do with A? Who would watch her?

It is so hard to try to imagine what I am going to want in a few years, with what I should be doing to help achieve those future goals, now. Should I be trying to take a class or two so I can take the teacher training? Or would that time be better spent learning guitar? Getting back in the piano? Sewing more? Reading more? Trying to learn more Norwegian vocabulary so I can be a better resource as A gets more towards school age? These are serious considerations!

Recently hubby and I got in a fight about cleaning. We are not the neatest of people. I am terrible at cleaning up after myself in general, and specifically pretty bad about totally cleaning up after myself in the kitchen. Periodically I will be better. Then it starts to slip again.

H got home and started banging around the kitchen, muttering, and talking about how he needed a clean slate to be able to use the kitchen.

I totally know what he means.

First of all, in this specific case, I knew I had left the kitchen messy. (H called it a disaster, it was not, because the dishes in the dishwasher were clean and with the five minutes of unloading it, and five minutes more of cleaning off the counter, it would have been usable.) I planned to clean up when I got home. I made lunch for a friend who just had a baby, and I had to run an errand to get one last vital supply this morning. So I was late getting everything packed up. When I got home, it was 23 degree Celcius out, and I took A to the park to enjoy the weather. I was going to clean when I got home. But H got home first. Commence banging and muttering.

Next, I will usually clean up my stuff before I start with the next project. Maybe this is a contentious point. I try to clean up after myself, but if I don’t, I don't mind doing a good clean before I start my next project in the kitchen. H SAYS he always cleans up after himself. This is totally a lie. He does do it sometimes. And when he does he does a damn thorough job.

BUT. It makes me angry that we always have this fight. In my opinion, we shouldn't. When I am messy, I should have some reminder that makes me get my butt in gear and start cleaning up more. But should it be a fight? It annoys me that it seems to be. I think part of the compromise needs to be that when H is upset about the cleanliness of the kitchen, he practices the same kind of self control that I need to do when I am frustrated and I have to anyway model good behavior in front of the kiddo. That is, that he take a deep breath and ask himself if this will seem like a big deal later, or will he laugh about it later? If it won’t be a big deal and he will laugh about it, please try to bring some of that levity to the current situation.

I get annoyed because 1) I wish I were cleaner, 2) I wish H helped more, either with the kid or with some of the household stuff that we both don't really like, or at the very least voiced his appreciation that his clothes are always clean and the bathroom is usually pretty clean, and we always have food in the fridge, 3) He is expecting me to change, basically, which is hard because, change is hard.

We talked about how we need to compromise. But how do we decide how to do that when both of us need to change? I need to prioritize cleaning more, at least in the kitchen, but he needs to control some of his judgments on how the house is when he gets home, based on the fact that I am not only taking care of the house, but also a child.

He always says he would change places with me in a heartbeat, and be the stay at home parent. This is a hard one for me because I definitely WOULDN’T trade with him. I do NOT want to go to an office all day. No way. But that doesn’t mean that sometimes it isn’t hard hard hard to be constantly responsible for a little kid, and also be expected to accomplish other things at the same time. Hell, before A was born, I could barely keep the house clean and put dinner on the table. So what makes him or me think that it can be different now?

For one, I want to set a good example for A. Sometimes, that means putting her first. Playing with her on the floor. Taking her to the park. Taking her swimming, and to music class, and to my friends house for some new play objects and a change of scene. Sometimes, though, that means setting a good example about cleaning up after myself and ourselves.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I tried to concentrate very hard on the moment, because I am quite sure it was that kind that we live for. And I get it almost every night: I was falling asleep cuddled up with my baby.

We have coslept, or, more precisely, bedshared, since A’s birth. I was terrified to when she was days old, so we would put her in a plastic IKEA bathtub between us in our king-sized bed. Then, we spent a few months swaddling her, having her start out in her crib next to our bed and, upon her first waking, come in beside me. Finally, when she was 5 months old, we visited the US, and since I was sleeping alone with her (my husband in the other room, due to smaller beds at my parent’s house), she and I slept so well together that she now spends the whole night every night with us.

There are hard moments, of course. When she won’t settle. When she pees through her diaper. When I drank too much tea and I can’t get comfortable and my stirring wakes her. But the vast majority of the time, I get the most fantastic cuddle session every night.

I don’t mean my saggy tummy. I mean my baby’s number on the scale.

She has always been a skinny girl, well, aside from when she was born. A hefty 4kg even at birth, she lost 10% of her weight initially (in what my husband likes to call “her giant tar poop”). Then, she was slow to gain, creeping slowly off her “curve” of projected weight gain for a 4kg baby, down and down until she is on the bottom of the chart for weight, and the very bottom of the chart for weight for height. This is because she is a very tall baby.

I never have thought anything was wrong with her. She is a perennially happy, calm, smily baby. She looooooves to nurse. She will nurse probably up to about 30 times a day, if you count all the discrete times she comes to the boob. But she never has been a big eater.

When I went to the doctor for the one year well baby check up, they were concerned. They listened to me tell about how she was not eating much and still nursing a lot and asked for a follow up appointment. I spent the week after the appointment spending lots of money on fatty ingredients, like chicken liver, crushed anchovies, creme fraiche, and parmesan. I made a polenta so rich I could only eat a spoonful. She ate one bite. I wrote down every bite she took and her nursing sessions in a notebook, and, when seeing how little actually passed her lips in the day, I became manical that she should at least have one TABLESPOON of food every time she sat in her high chair. I became so stressed at mealtimes that she ate even less, I am convinced.

So I stopped obsessing. I resigned myself to march towards the next weigh in armed only with hope that she was taking in more calories somehow, and she would survive. I bought a book called “My Child Won’t Eat”, by a Spanish pediatrician, and was instantly reassured that my instincts probably were right. As long as I offered healthy foods, she would eat what she needs, any freak illness aside.                                              

Well, we recently had two follow up appointments, and I have had a revelation.

Maybe the nurses think *I* and worried about her weight and that *I* want to see them to make sure she is gaining. Maybe they think I haven’t researched and researched and concluded that I am already doing everything I can to ensure she is getting properly nourished. Maybe they think I want more tips. Well, I don't. I am happy to say that I was the most confident I have ever been going to the health center this time. I knew that what I was doing was right. My baby was healthy. Was eating what she needed.

Now that my baby is one year old, I feel so much older and wiser. I feel like I have passed a test. She survived, we survived. No, that is not quite right. We are thriving.

In the beginning, I was so anxious about making the right decision. I didn’t have a lot of faith in my mother’s intuition because I felt I could never know enough. Oh, the books! They knew everything. I tried to find books that validated the feelings I had, of wanting to listen to my baby,  choose the gentle solution, and not worry about her (too much!). Even so, mainstream parenting advice was barking up our tree, making us second guess ourselves.

Many troubled evenings ensued, where I would swaddle and rock my baby to sleep, not wanting her to fall asleep nursing. God forbid she drift off to sleep in that natural way once, lest she learn only to do that, until she went off to university!

Once, I had the flu, and I asked my husband to please do the swaddling and the rocking. He tried for a minute and then laid her on the bed to cry. It was not a good moment for either of us. I felt betrayed. He felt frustrated. The baby probably felt abandoned. It was horrible. I picked up the baby and said some mean things about how he didn’t know what he was doing. He left the room while I stayed, crying and dizzy, to nurse the baby to sleep. It was agreed that we wouldn’t just change the status quo in a moment of frustration.

After that, we slowly continued the conversation about natural parenting. At 5 months, after a trip abroad, the baby started spending the whole night, unswaddled, in our bed, instead of just after her first waking. He would still ask when we were going to get her out of the bed. Six months, I would say. Then, nine months would probably be fine. Then, “I am not going to get up to feed her in the night and then put her back in some other bed, so when she stops eating in the night.”

Now she is 13 months old, and those conversations have stopped.

I nurse her to sleep, in bed, and stay most of the evenings in the bed so she stays settled. She wakes up between 2 and 6 times a night, including those evening waking. We love waking up with her in the bed. She is smily and chatty and happy.

We stopped reading the books for instructions. We started fully listening to our baby, and to ourselves. Even though I have a horrible hang up where I feel everyone is judging me, I feel mostly confident around my parents and inlaws when they ask “When will she move out of your bed?” “We will take it how it comes,” we say. My husband too!

I don’t want to send my child to daycare. Here in Norway, everyone does.

If you are Norwegian, you send your kid to “barnehage” or kindergarten, from when they are between 10 and 12 months old, or, if you have difficulty getting a space, when they are around 18 months. There they stay, in groups of like aged children, until they leave barnehage to start school at age 6. If you are a foreigner, you might keep your child home until they are 18 months or 2 years, but then you send them to barnehage, too, even if you don’t work, because, that is what everybody does. There aren’t a lot of activities for young ones, older than about 12 months, not the way there is in the US. And here they drill in the importance of socialization, about women being equal contributors to society. And by that they mean through work outside of the home.

I don’t want to go backwards to where women weren’t allowed to be many professions, including doctors and lawyers and politicians. But I do think in our current system, we are forgetting the children. They are the afterthought. In that way, they are also the new frontier of liberation, in society.

Children should be, I think, liberated. Liberated from the thought that they need a curriculum from when they are just months old. Liberated from plastic toys that beep and sparkle and spin, and are a promise for reaching developmental stages and breeding tomorrows geniuses. Children don’t need these things. They need love, for starters. They need nourishing food, and warmth, and security. They need to be exposed to life as it is lived, or maybe, as it is meant to be lived.

I was totally inspired reading John Holt’s How Children Learn. Children play by imitating what their parents work at. Washing, shaving, making breakfast, driving a car…and sadly these days, sitting behind a computer, making money, spending money, writing reports, and the like. Children for ages have been allowed to play, but they have also been exposed to food gathering and preparation, cleaning, clothes washing, and all these things. When we take kids away from this, show them that it is normal to stay with kids their own ages, and play with TV characters and plastic beeping toys, we take from them the connection with life. That life has necessary tasks that keep it going. That there is nothing wrong with these tasks, but if kids get no exposure to them, they become chores.

This is why I do not want to send my baby to daycare. There are other reasons as well, such as, I can’t fathom any more important work I could be doing in the day than caring for her, showing her the world, one little bit at a time, and watching her grow. And I don’t want to relegate these tasks to someone else, when I am available and willing.

It makes me uncomfortable to watch other mothers debating daycares, speaking of their need to actually get some grocery shopping done, and getting their hair done, instead of finding out about the best things to expose their children to during their days together. I don’t mean to judge, but I also feel judged. They tell me, “just wait until your daughter is walking. Busier. She will need more stimulation than you can give.”

We are trying to cut out (cut down on?) white sugar, white flour, and processed foods. I am having a hard time with this. For 4 days I ate nothing but wholesome, from scratch foods. Pumpkin soup. Chickpea flour quiche. Kale and lentils. Organic bread and butter (lots and lots of this!).

Then, I went to a lunch where people brought homemade sweets. I felt I had to either say, “I am not eating sugar or white flour” and feel the wrath and become defensive, or I had to eat some token bites. So I did. They tasted quite sweet. I didn’t really want to finish them, but I also didn’t want to offend the women who made them. So I finished the bits I took.

Then last night, I went to book club. Again, when dessert was served, I faced a dilemma. Decline, citing my newfound food rules, or just eat a small serving. So I ate a small serving.

I started this blog because I felt I always had ideas for something to write. Now that I started it, it seems I can’t remember the good ideas I had.

I have written several posts now that I can’t bring myself to publish because they seem not complete, or not well finished, or something.

The prettiest muffins I've ever made? Savory pumpkin muffins (Taken with instagram)

My good friend from high school just ran a marathon. I am proud of her, but to be honest, I am a bit jealous too.

I have never run a marathon. I have thought I wanted to once, years back. I even signed up and paid for one, once: the Athens marathon in 2005. But, I have bad knees, and only about a quarter of the way through my training I had to abandon the project.

Then, two years ago, I ran a half marathon. It was pretty fun! But I realized that I would never run a full marathon. My knees were in a lot of pain after 13.1 miles. I could barely walk the next day. And to be honest with myself, the last  few miles were extremely painful. So, I told myself, it would be silly to try for 13.1 more miles, equaling, then, about 16 extremely painful miles.

Why, then, do I get a bit jealous of her?

A marathon is a huge challenge. But, it is also a culturally acceptable and accessible challenge. It is an event that one can work towards, complete, and then either check off one’s bucket list, or work towards again and again. It also helps one achieve other acceptable challenges, i.e. getting in shape, losing weight, or being more healthy.

Some of the other challenges we face in our lives are not so simple or finite. Where is the finish line in raising a child? When they turn 18? 21? When they marry? Have a child themselves?

Where is the finish line in being a good role model? In aspiring to live with less waste? With more passion?

I think sometimes I feel like the goals I have for myself in life are hard to evaluate. I am “working from the home” as a “stay at home mom”. Even though my life is not "just" my baby, in reality, it kind of is. I try to play with her in ways that engage her and help her explore the world. I read up on gentle discipline,  natural parenting, breastfeeding, cosleeping, schooling or home-/unschooling, child development, and more.  I try to cook foods that she will want to eat, and that will keep my family healthy. I try to find ways to use less chemicals, to waste less, to buy less. I try to go to sleep early or nap so that I have enough energy to do all these things. Sure there are little mini goals within these. A smiling baby. A healthy meal. But tomorrow is a new day, waiting for a new installment within the greater goal.

I am not saying that running a marathon isn’t a good challenge. Physical challenges I have completed – a half marathon, natural childbirth – were exhilarating and rewarding, and it makes me happy that other people might feel these emotions too. I think, though, sometimes we put a higher value on goals that are more finite: running a marathon, getting a promotion, getting an award. It is important to look at other things people are striving to achieve that are less obvious and more long term.

I got mastitis for the first time two weeks ago. It was awful. I have had plugged ducts twice, but managed to resolve them just fine without any doctors. This time it set in with super speed. At noon I felt a bit of a lump. By 4pm I took some Tylenol to relieve the pain and my stabbing headache, and because I didn’t feel like eating. It probably masked the first signs of fever that roared their head at 1am. Before soaking my clothes and throwing off my sheets at 5am, I shivered under my summer duvet and dreamed fever dreams. At 5:30 I checked my temperature. Nearly 40C. I took some more Tylenol and swore and tried to pump.

The next day I went to the doctor. He checked my blood for bacteria and gave me Diclocil.

I tried everything to unplug the plug, but it was the same huge sore bump until maybe Saturday evening, when it started to shrink. I tried Lecithin, Epsom salt soaks, hot showers, hot baths, hot water bottles, hot cloths, dangle feeding and pressure massage. Now, five days later, the lump is pea sized. I am still doing Epsom salt soaks and taking max Lecithin doses. And dangle feeding.