Three weeks.

It's been a rough week, and it's had nothing to do with being a new parent. Just like I was warned, I've spent the past five days in what I can only assume is a fairly major flare-up of Crohn's. I've barely been able to eat (which makes breastfeeding sort of tricky) and barely able to perform the simplest of tasks (like getting off the couch, for example) without feeling instantly ill. Needless to say it's made taking care of a newborn even more of a challenge.

I've never been a religious girl or one to turn to spiritual ideals for guidance. But I can't help being reminded of the oft-heard around the Bible Belt saying that God doesn't give you more than you can handle at one time.

Because I think I can now definitively say that I've been gifted with a good baby. She's straightforward and calm. Increasingly predictable and always adorable. Her worst habit so far is a tendency to stay awake for a couple of hours at a time during the night. And I can't fault her for it, since the time is spent, usually, in her quiet-alert state. No matter how tired I might be, it's that quiet-alert time I cherish the most, when I can see her eyes reading my face, figuring me out, memorizing the smells and sights around her.

Let's hope it keeps up. At least until my health is in order. Then God can deal me another hand, and I'll have the energy to put up a fight.

I got some hopefully good news today at a meeting with my gastroenterologist. Jason's mom watched Adelyn so I could go. (It's funny how a doctor's appointment, after being stuck at home for three weeks, can seem exhilarating.) Turns out the IV-antibiotics I was given during labor since I tested positive for GBS can cause a postpartum infection in some women, and this is made exponentially worse for women with Crohn's or Colitis. I have to wait two days to know for sure if I have it, but every single symptom described how I've been feeling to a T. So I've been given a medicine to combat it and scheduled a colonoscopy and stricture dilation for this coming Monday.

Just figuring out the logistics for Monday have already been a headache (the solution: Jason will be home Sunday while I do the prep for the procedure--if you've ever had a colonoscopy you understand why I need help taking care of a baby that day--and my mom has taken off work on Monday to watch her while Jason and I go to the doctor.

Sometimes having Crohn's makes life feel so needlessly complicated. Add a baby into the mix and it's easy to fall prey to a mindset of worry, worry, worry. So even though it's been a tough week, I think I'm starting to find my place within the chaos. I'm finding a rhythm to taking care of her. A new philosophy to meeting her needs. Feeling so sick has forced me to kind of chill out, to take each cry one step at a time, meet each need without anticipating the next one. When she's hungry, she'll be fed. When she's gassy, she'll be held. When she's fussy, she'll be shushed and rocked. And if I guess the cause of her cries incorrectly, I'll take a moment to myself to calm my mind. It sounds like common sense, but I'm just starting to figure it out.

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Only the beginning.

She's been here, what, a month? A decade? Forever? It's hard to believe it's only been a week and two days. I can't remember a life without her. Already. Without her coos and gas disguised as smiles and demands.

And it's only the beginning. In just a week I feel like I've been confronted with a deluge of parenting battles, but I know better than to think this is the hard part, or even the tiniest, tiniest glimmer of the battles to come.

At her first doctor's appointment Monday she got a clean bill of health. I put her report on the fridge--the first in what I'm sure will be many excuses to brag about my perfect little girl. The doctor wrote "100% healthy!" and circled it three times. I could cry I'm so proud (or so hormonal).

The only problem is that Adelyn has lost more weight than "normal." She was born 7 pounds, 5.2 ounces. We left the hospital at 7 pounds, 0.2 ounces. And a week later she was only 6 pounds, 8 ounces. The doctor wanted me to supplement with formula. I said no. She asked me to come back this afternoon to have her weighed again--if things hadn't improved, it would become more of an issue.

So yesterday, I fed her constantly. Every time she opened her mouth, even showed the smallest hint of hunger, I offered her milk. Usually she took it, but not for long. I called one of Jason's cousins, a lactation consultant, who told me to sit back on the couch with my shirt off and Adelyn dressed down to a diaper, and to lie skin-to-skin all day long. My sister was in town visiting, but I still gave it a try.

Two hours later, I had to pee. I am, after all, human. I handed her off to my sister for just a second. A little while after that, I was hungry. And after dropping too many crumbs on Adelyn's poor little naked back I realized that this 24/7 skin-to-skin thing just wasn't for me.

It's only the beginning of the guilt. She's genuinely not getting enough to eat. And I am trying with all my might to give it to her. I feed her every single time she cries, and if she doesn't, every two hours religiously. I set alarms in the middle of the night. I let her eat until she falls asleep. Even more, I actually love breastfeeding. I wasn't sure if I would. The first time, though, the nurse brought her into my hospital room to practice, I fell in love with her all over again. I don't want to stop breastfeeding.

And still, she's losing weight. She never seems to want to eat for more than 10 minutes.

And on top of all that, I can't eat. I'm not hungry. I went from a ravenously hungry pregnant woman to forcing myself to eat a small meal. I don't know if it's Crohn's or lack of sleep or anxiety, but I honestly am having trouble sustaining myself. I heard about the after-birth contractions, and mine are either still going strong or I'm on the verge of a flare-up. They double me over in pain. I keep asking other mothers--and my doctor--if they remember this pain. They all say yes, but not for this long. Mine are getting worse.

So, tonight, we'll supplement with formula. Even writing that sentence makes me want to cry. She's lying in her swing right now, finally--finally!--asleep.

And I'm sure other mothers can understand when I say that looking at her face and feeling like I'm somehow letting her down is almost too much for a one-week postpartum woman to digest.

Look at her.

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Flare-up.

Most days I can convince myself that I am fine. I've lived with whatever abnormalities I suffer for 13 years--probably more--and therefore can carry on an active, even too busy, lifestyle without batting an eyelash or complaining about a stomachache. I've even mastered the art of discreet bathroom visits. You'd never even know I went, and if you did, you surely wouldn't know that I'd just been 30 minutes before. I'm a master of disguise, and delusion, and lying to myself.

But then there are days like yesterday. And Monday. Sunday. And Saturday. When the second I stand up out of bed I have to run to the bathroom, gripping my stomach, and there's no time for grand delusions or putting on a fake smile.

My obstetrician thinks it could very well just be pressure. Little Adelyn Belle, the soon to be light of my life, pushes against every inch of my bowels each time I stand up, sending mommy-to-be on a stampede to the nearest toilet, usually to just sit there in pain, unable to go, letting reality sink in more and more each time. I have Crohn's Disease. And Ulcerative Colitis. I'm pregnant, and I'm in a flare-up.

For the first time this weekend, I found myself seriously considering the thought that I don't know if I can do this. How can I be a mother, if I can hardly get out of bed? What will Adelyn do while I'm at the doctor, or in the bathroom for the millionth time that day, or god forbid in the hospital, or if I suddenly lose all my confidence and find myself, like I did then, questioning my ability in the first place?

I was put on a new medication yesterday, so hopefully that will help. I've been prescribed iron supplements, because my anemia has come back with a vengeance, so hopefully that will curb the constant fatigue.

I know that when I leave my job in November and am able to--finally--sleep like a normal person, I might feel good as new without any other intervention. My doctors don't seem to want to do too much else unless I find myself in a critical situation, like with an obstruction. Then they'd take the risk of harming Adelyn with surgery, because then they wouldn't have any other choice.

I asked my doctor yesterday--for the first time--what I was going to do after she's born. I've spent so much time praying I can deliver a healthy baby I haven't given a lot of thought to what I'll do once that baby is there, depending on me, needing me to be healthy. And he didn't have a clear cut answer, as doctors never do. I only told him that if I have to get an ostomy, I want to do everything to wait until after my wedding. Because as trivial as it may be in the grand scheme of things, I don't want to wear an ostomy bag with my wedding dress, if it can all be helped. I just don't.

I've developed a huge complex throughout the years with seeming like the sick girl, to the point that I often find myself downplaying my situation to doctors, just because I don't want to complain. I've had a hard time writing this because all it is just one big complaint. But I needed to explain why I haven't written much lately. Because, at the moment, a lot of what comes out of my mouth sounds like whining. And I'd rather just be quiet.

But I woke up this morning feeling a little better, as in I stood up out of bed and walked into the kitchen instead of running to the bathroom. Baby steps.

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