Author Archives: Callie
My Labor Story
I have to admit, I am absolutely and unapologetically one of those people that is completely and totally obsessed with Kate Middleton and her royal baby. I can’t tell you how many times I have wished and prayed that I could just give her a call and spill all of my maternal knowledge on her. I also must admit, since I am making confessions, that I have always felt a strong connection to Prince William- we were born the same year you know!
So naturally, with the news today that Kate has gone into labor and all of the news channels are spouting off all of the stats and factors that contribute to how long and what kind of labor she will have, it has made me think a lot about my labor with Noah.
Let me first say that, before going into labor, I was very private and modest when it came to my body, my personal business, and telling my story. I have always guarded my experiences as my own. Somewhere along the way, I decided that if I told someone my business, it no longer belonged to me. I even told my mother and mother-in-law that the main rule for being allowed into the delivery room was that “what happens in the delivery room, stays in the delivery room!” No exceptions!
But something changes. It is almost like a switch flipped in my brain the minute those contractions started. I didn’t realize it at the time (I was a little preoccupied with trying to push a baby out of my body) but after he was born, all I wanted to do was tell my story- to anyone! I wanted to share my labor story, I wanted to hear everyone else’s, I wanted people to ask me all about my experiences, and I wanted to ask other women really personal and private questions. My filter was gone.
So, whether you wanted to know my labor story or not, here you go…
Noah’s original due date was July 28th. This date came and went. For two weeks I fielded questions that ranged from, “what is wrong with you? Why haven’t you had that baby yet?” and, even worse, “Why don’t you just have them put you into labor? I didn’t think doctor’s let you go this long.”
The day before Noah was born, I had an appointment with my midwife and she told me I was 50% effaced but still just 1 centimeter dilated. She did some crazy midwife trick to some membrane and said that she really thought that would do the trick. She said, “Give it 24 hours. You’ll go into labor. Just you wait!” Best news I had heard in months.
That night, about 3am, I woke up with a sharp pain in my abdomen. I sat there, waited another minute or 2 and there was another one. I tip-toed down the hall to our computer where I had saved a website that tracks your contractions and I started timing the pains. I didn’t want to wake Matt up until I was sure. I was shocked and a little freaked out when the time between the past 5 contractions was only 2 minutes. Seriously!?! Two minutes!
This is when the vomiting started. Again, I would like to say that none of the baby books tell you that you may vomit uncontrollably throughout your labor. Just know- it’s possible and it sucks!
I called my midwife. She told me to take a shower, to calm down, and head on to the hospital. She also told me that vomiting is normal. One of the best things about her is that she always tried to educate me along the way. She rattled off something about hormones and how they make your body go crazy. I didn’t hear everything she said (obviously) but I appreciated the gesture.
I get to the hospital and they make me fill out all of this paperwork. I assumed that pre-registering took care of this process but, no. They make you sign all of your rights away between contractions. Then they take you into a room where they weigh you and take your blood pressure. They then take you into another room where they strap you up to all of these monitors to, and I quote, “make sure that you are actually in labor.” Listen lady! I am 2 weeks past my due date, I am having obvious very painful contractions every 90 seconds now, and I am vomiting about every 5 minutes. I am in “actual labor.”
They finally admit me to my room. It is close to 7am now. After I explained to 3 different nurses that my birth plan was to have a natural delivery and that I didn’t need to speak with the anesthesiologist, my midwife, Tanya, comes in and immediately gives me some anti-nausea medicine and the vomiting stops. Thank goodness!! She checks my cervix and I am dilated 7 centimeters. Matt calls my mom and tells her to hurry quick because labor is going fast. Turns out, she and my mother-in-law had been casually driving the 3 hour trip because they figured labor would “take a while.” Man, were they wrong.
Tanya asked if it was okay to break my water because, with past-due babies, the chances of meconium in the water was high. Tanya was always so amazing at including me in the decisions about my labor and delivery. So glad I had her. I highly recommend midwives. She broke my water and it was green and gross. She inserted an IV in my uterus and began flushing it out with saline.
My mother and mother-in-law got there around 8:30am , right as I was ready to start pushing. Here comes my mom, strolling in with a giant bag of things she was planning to do while waiting for the baby to come. Turns out, she wouldn’t be doing any knitting today!
I started to push and I could feel him coming quick. Tanya asked me to turn on my side because the baby’s vitals weren’t that great. All of a sudden, there were about 13 nurses and doctors in the delivery room. They brought in the giant NICU cart and the nurse shoved an oxygen mask on my face.
Turns out, every time I pushed, Noah’s heart rate dropped dramatically. His umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around his neck twice and was suffocating him when I would push and apply pressure. Tanya, thankfully, did not tell me this part until after he was safely in my arms.
This man appeared in my face and said, “Hi. My name is Dr. so-and-so and I will be in charge of your C-section.” I replied, in the nicest way possible, “Like hell you are!” He turned around and said to one of the nurses, “Why hasn’t this woman received an epidural? This is going to make everything more difficult.”
If I had not been trying to push a human being out of my vagina, I would have stood up and punched this guy in the face. Tanya, sensing my frustration said, “Callie, if you can push this baby out on the next contraction, there will be no C-section.” Well, all I needed was a challenge. I took a deep breath, pushed with all of my might, and Noah’s head appeared. I took one more deep breath, pushed even harder, and Noah shot out like a canon. I think it even took Tanya by surprise because she actually had to catch him like a football. And, to make matters even a little messier, all that saline that had been flushing out my uterus came gushing out too. It felt like a waterfall! And I am pretty sure it probably looked like one too– A giant vagina waterfall. :)
Because of all of the saline, Noah came out all pink and shiny. There was none of that goo on him that always kind of grossed me out. He looked around, eyes wide open (he was, after all, 2 weeks old already), and after a few seconds, started screaming. Tanya put him in my arms and I was excited and scared and so happy. I looked at Matt and said, “And, this is our family.”
So today, or whenever Kate Middleton gives birth to what will obviously be a well-loved and very attractive baby, I wish her the strength to deliver the way she hopes to, I wish her the courage to parent the way she and William choose to, and I want her to know that she can give me a call whenever she wants. I am happy to tell her my story.
To be or not to be…
First off, let me say that no, I am not pregnant. But lately, Matt and I have begun discussing when and if we want to increase our family size. I’m a planner (or at least I try very hard to be). So this is a major decision in our lives and requires a significant amount of conversation.
I did not enjoy being pregnant. There was nothing terrible about my pregnancy. I didn’t have a lot of morning sickness- a good bit of random nausea but nothing severe. I didn’t gain a ton of weight, there were no health concerns, and I like to think that I was rather pleasant to be around. But I absolutely could not stand being pregnant.
The main reason is that, despite all of my efforts, when you are pregnant you have zero control of your body, zero control of your emotions, and you lose any and all sense of self. All of a sudden, your body is no longer yours.
Now, for a control freak like myself, this is a nightmare. And, to make matters even worse, everyone and their brother feels that they have the right to comment on your belly size, your weight, your due date, your restaurant choices, your moodiness, and anything else that apparently is no longer private or personal. And, on of the hardest parts for me is the fact that strangers feel the right and responsibility to touch you. People come out of nowhere, people you have never met before, and touch your belly. I had to actually come up with my own personal mantra to repeat to strangers on a regular basis because I don’t like it when people touch me without permission.
Because I know you are wondering, my mantra was, “Oh, I’d rather you not touch the baby. My belly is a little sensitive today.” This created enough awkward discomfort that the person usually skulked off without any further unnecessary conversation. It was much better than, “I don’t know you and I sure as hell don’t want you to touch me! Go Away!”
In addition to the loss of control, pregnancy symptoms suck- or at least mine did. I had heartburn non-stop for the last 6 months of pregnancy. I had to start sleeping sitting up because whenever I laid down flat, the acid reflux made me throw up. All I wanted in the whole world was a giant leather recliner to sleep in but, because I was a poor pregnant graduate student, it was not possible.
My hair got even curlier than it already is. And while some women love the fact that your hair stops falling out when you’re pregnant, it was awful for me. My already fluffy and voluminous hair was twice as big and curly. And no one tells you that, a few months after you have the baby, all that hair that never fell out suddenly all falls out. I could pull chunks of hair out for months. I thought I was sick! Then, after that finally stopped, all of it started growing back and I had stupid little short hairs sticking out all over my head. I never read about any of this in the 19 pregnancy books I read. This is the stuff women need to know! Plus- imagine a giant pregnant lady, tons of curly, fluffy hair in the middle of summer in 90 degree North Carolina. Not exactly the most pleasant experience.
And then there is this huge part of me that feels completely guilty for even complaining about pregnancy because there are so many women out there that cannot get pregnant. I am sure they would kill for all of the hormones, nausea, and weird bodily functions. And then there is the fear in me that, even though the first pregnancy came relatively easy, what if the second pregnancy is not so easy? What if we can’t get pregnant again? Can I be happy with Noah being an only child? And then, heaven forbid, what if there are complications with the next pregnancy? Noah had a perfect bill of health when he was born. What if we aren’t so lucky next time?
So, with all that I know now that I didn’t know then, do I want to be pregnant again?
Yes.
But when? When is it the “right” time to bring another baby into our almost-perfect family (written with extreme sarcasm)? How do we know if we are ready to do the newborn thing again? My friend says that there comes a moment when you only remember how wonderful the good parts were and it makes the bad parts seem not so terrible. Not sure when that time will come for us… soon (maybe).
The weight of the world…
This has been a really stressful week for me. There have been numerous times that I have had to take a step back and look at how much I was letting other people’s behaviors affect me. Which, I must say, I am very disappointed in myself about.
Since becoming a counselor and a mom, I have never been more reminded of the fact that we can’t control what we can’t control. Sometimes crap happens; sometimes other people just suck; and sometimes shit piles up. There is no reason for it, and if there is a reason, we can’t do anything about it.
Now– I say that. I know that it is true. And still, this past week I have screamed, I have cried, I have not been able to sleep, and I (with shame and embarrassment) admit that I may have pitched a temper tantrum that could rival my toddler’s all because we didn’t have any wine in the house.
So yesterday morning, after waking up at 3:30am for the second day in a row with way too many to-do lists running through my head, I went running. And, let me preface this by saying that I am not a hit the pavement, rain or shine, “I love running” kind of runner. I am a on the treadmill, air conditioning, listen to Pandora while I read the closed captioning on the news, kind of runner. I ran and ran. I just kept watching that mile counter go higher and higher and it felt amazing. And even as my legs started to get tired and a bit wobbly, I just turned up the volume on my ipod and kept running.
To me, there is nothing better than that moment at the gym when you are completely zoning out to the point that you don’t notice all of the people staring at you because you are singing out loud to the songs on the “Pitch Perfect” soundtrack station.
[Side note- awesome Pandora station for dorks like me!]
I think at times, and this especially applies to mothers (and maybe even a few dads), that we let the weight of the world pile up on us without even realizing how heavy it is. As a self-proclaimed control freak, I know exactly what it is like to try and be in charge of everything. I am guilty of truly believing that nothing will ever be done as well as when I do it. I take on too much, I struggle to delegate, and I get upset when things don’t go exactly right.
I am trying to change. I would like to say that I am getting better at letting other people be in charge (even though I have delegated a good bit of planning for Noah’s upcoming 2nd birthday party and it is making me very nervous and a bit panicky). Matt and I use the “do what works” style of parenting which has helped to take away a lot of pressure on getting it right. And, even though I have 2 jobs, a toddler, a husband, and a new blog, I am making sure that I take time for me and that Matt and I make time for each other.
I have learned, though not without resistance, that I can’t do it all and, what I do take on doesn’t have to be perfect. I can’t let the things that I cannot control be in control of me. I have to say “no” sometimes and I have to recognize when I am in too deep.
This realization hit me square in the face yesterday morning. This is the moment I realized that I had let someone else make me furious. I gave someone else the power to determine how I was feeling, how I reacted, and ultimately how my entire day played out.
Thankfully I have the gym, a treadmill, and Pitch Perfect.
My Brutally Honest “junk”
This past week, I introduced my blog to my Facebook family. I finally mustered up the courage to exclaim that my blog existed. I know- it sounds crazy silly that posting an internet link on Facebook would be such a big deal. But, let me tell you (and Matt can attest to my ruminating) that I have been debating and flip-flopping and basically whining about revealing to my family and friends that I have a blog.
For those of you that know me, I am loud and opinionated and, at times, incredibly socially inappropriate. A good friend of mine in grad school called me “Confident Callie” because I just put it out there and didn’t worry about what other people thought or said. Let me announce now, with shaky hands and a knot in my stomach, that most of the time, I am faking it.
I have never been one to reveal all that much about myself. I somehow decided a long time ago that the less people knew about me, the less likely they will hurt me. I put tiny tidbits of info about myself out there- just enough to create a curiosity- and kept everything else for the very few people that truly knew me.
I don’t think I ever really did it on purpose- I have only become so unbelievably aware of it since I became a counselor and even more so since I started blogging. But as I began reading so many other blogs out there, I discovered that I learned more about myself by reading other people’s truths. Discovering that other writers put their personal struggles and humiliations out there for the world to dissect and judge and understand, made it easier for me to be proud of all of the junk that I have been hiding for so long.
I use the word “junk” because that is what it is. If there is one thing I have learned over and over again as a counselor it is that everyone has a crap-load of “junk” that they carry around with them. It determines their relationships, their attitudes, their emotions, and every other aspect of their daily lives. And my “junk” was keeping me from putting myself out there and letting people know me- the real insecure, self-conscious, dorky me.
For the past year, I have been working really hard on becoming more authentic and transparent. While I value privacy, I feel like I need to take some big personal risks in order to accomplish my personal goals. Not to say that I haven’t taken some pretty big risks in my life (more on those in a later post), but they haven’t been related to the character building goals I have set for myself now.
Becoming a mom has made me put my goals and aspirations into a whole new perspective. Wait- let me rephrase that. Now that my child is a toddler and I see how much of an influence my choices and behaviors have on an incredibly impressionable future-citizen, I have realized that my goals need to be bigger and reach farther than I could have ever dreamed before.
When he was a baby, my one job was to keep him fed, changed, and alive. I focused on those 3 things constantly. When I wasn’t waking up to nurse him, I was waking up to make sure I could see his belly rise and fall to prove that he was breathing. Now, my job is to make sure I am helping him to develop into the person that I hope he will become. Help him to be confident and independent, generous and strong, thoughtful and caring, humble and forgiving. And, all the while, make sure he is fed, changed, and alive. Which, let me tell you, with all the cuts, scrapes, bruises, and pump-knots is a lot harder than it used to be.
So with my new goals in mind, I am now a blogger. And, I cannot say enough, how much I appreciate all of the support and encouragement I have gotten from friends and family in just the couple of days since I announced my website. The texts and messages have been amazing. I encourage each person that reads a post to make a comment- about whatever. It helps.
I hope- through this blog and through other changes I am making in my life- that I can become a more transparent and authentic person. That by letting my weaknesses be known to the world (and even scarier, to the people who actually know me), I can teach my son to be proud of the struggles, the mistakes, and the messy moments in life because they make the joys and the successes so much better. They also make for some pretty funny stories to tell your friends later.
Instead of building walls and letting my struggles hold me back, I plan on celebrating the humiliating and funny side of life. I tell my clients all the time that walls will protect you from getting hurt, but they also keep the people out that can help you heal. It’s time I followed my own advice.
Toys R Us Complaint
I have a complaint. Last week, Noah’s teacher informed us that he constantly plays with the baby dolls in class. She said that he hugs and kisses them, puts them to bed in their cribs, and carries them around everywhere. Noah is a very loving and affectionate kid and this news about him at daycare made me smile. His teacher suggested that, if we didn’t have a problem with it (she was very diplomatic when she brought up the topic), that we get him some baby dolls for him to play with at home.
Of course we would love for him to have baby dolls at home! I love the fact that Noah wants to kiss and hug us- and everyone else. I think it is wonderful and should be cherished and encouraged. Thank you, Miss Kristin, for bringing this wonderful news to our attention.
But you haven’t heard the complaint yet.
On my lunch break today, I drove to Toys R Us. Because this store is so huge and overwhelming, I immediately find a store associate and ask, “Do you have any baby dolls appropriate for boys?” You would have thought that I asked for a screaming purple monkey. This woman completely glazed over and stared at me as though I were speaking a different language. She asked for clarification by saying, “You mean action figures?” I replied (in a slightly elevated tone), “No. I mean baby dolls appropriate for boys.”
I realized I was getting nowhere and supplemented my request with, “you know, like a boy Cabbage Patch Kid?”
She finally figured out that I was not crazy and walked me over to the pinkest and most princess-laden section in the store. Everything was covered in Cinderella or Belle and sparkled with pink glitter. In a small section were three rows of Cabbage Patch Kids. I finally told the woman I could figure it out from here (because her utter disbelief was making me angry) and I began to rummage through the dolls.
There was 1 boy Cabbage Patch Kid. ONE!! Of the 40+ Cabbage Patch Kids, there was 1!
All the other dolls were fairies or princesses or mermaids for goodness sake! Who needs a mermaid Cabbage Patch Kid???
So, aggravated with this isle, I perused the other doll selections. I could not find a single baby doll that was not slathered in pink from head to toe. And, don’t get me wrong. I am not opposed to boys playing with pink or liking pink. Noah’s favorite crayon in the box used to be the pink crayon (until our dog, Poplar, found it lying around and ate it- now Noah likes the red crayon). But I want him to have a baby doll that looks like him or that he can relate to. And I don’t want to constantly explain my opinions on dolls to strangers and family members who question the pink doll.
Seriously people- it is 2013. Make a boy doll!
Coping with Tragedy…
A friend of mine lost her baby today. She was 10 weeks pregnant. I heard the news and I burst into tears. Those big, can’t catch my breath, smear my make-up all over my face even though I am at work kind of tears.
My thoughts began to race. Images of my pregnancy- my struggles, my joys, my plans for the future, sharing those images with family and friends- it all came back in a rush of emotion. I immediately reached out to her and I could tell she was trying to stay strong and brave for everyone else. I was trying to balance all of my personalities: (1) the friend in me who was so sad and heartbroken for a friend who is so kind and full of life and doesn’t deserve anything bad in this word, (2) the mom in me who is so scared and afraid everyday that something might happen to my family, (3) and the counselor in me who just wants to immediately refer her to someone to talk to because I know that the worse is yet to come.
The moment you decide that you want to be a mother, your life changes. It literally happens immediately. The second you make the choice to stop taking your birth control or you have that conversation with your gynecologist about pre-natal care, your life changes. I know, for some, the planning isn’t as big of a deal as it was for me. For some women, the life changing moment is when that pink line shows up (and then you go right to the pharmacy and buy the expensive digital tests just to make sure that the pink line wasn’t a fluke).
But I never realized- until it happened to me- that wanting and preparing for a child actually changes the way you think, the way you look at life. You join a club of women who all have one major thing in common- they are scared to death, scared of everything. All of a sudden, you are living for someone else. You think about everything you eat, everything you do. If you’re trying to get pregnant, your sex life changes, you make weird choices about what you eat and drink, and you feel like a failure every time you get your period. It consumes you.
Then, when all the stars align, you get pregnant. Emotions run the gamut from happy to scared to anxious to “what the hell were we thinking?” You immediately begin making plans. I need to make a doctor’s appointment. When do we tell our families? When is the due date? Childcare, breastfeeding, baby showers, etc., etc., etc…
And, after the baby is born, you discover how wrong you were about everything you ever thought. But you have a baby- that baby you have known from the moment you decided you wanted to be a mother. He’s perfect.
But, for my friend and for thousands of other women, a miscarriage stops you in your tracks. All of those joyous and exciting plans are now painful memories. Because, even though that baby is no longer living inside you, you knew him. He was yours. In your mind, you were already trying to figure out how you were going to cope with his first skinned knee and his first hussy little girlfriend.
I cried when I heard about my friend’s miscarriage because I was reminded of how lucky I am. I am so thankful that I have never experienced a loss as tragic as hers. And I cried for her and for the hell that I know she has yet to face. I have seen my clients struggle as milestones approach. I have seen them feel enormous guilt when they get pregnant again. I have seen their marriages dissolve because grief just sucks. It takes a toll on every relationship and, without help, it can become overwhelming.
I don’t think we talk about miscarriage as much as we should. It is not something to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. Pregnant women are afraid to even say the word for fear that it might jinx them. It affects so many more women and families than you could ever imagine. People don’t discuss it. A loss this big is not something that can be carried alone.
And you don’t have to be strong for anyone. Now is not the time to put on a brave face. As a southern woman, it is hard for me to say this. But it has never been more true.
Marriage…
The recent Supreme Court decision to overturn DOMA has really got me thinking about what I want to teach my son about marriage and relationships. As a marriage and family counselor, I see all kinds of relationship. I have seen marriages at the most poisonous of stages. And I have seen amazing couples struggling to figure out a way to make their families work. My husband and I are always super conscious about talking to our son with an open mind about our expectations. I know, he is not even 2 yet, but habits (both good and bad) are hard to break and I want to be sure we start thinking about these conversations and lessons now.
One of the things we do all of the time, and it totally takes certain members of my southern family by surprise, is that we always make sure that any discussions of future partners is kept gender neutral. We say things like, “Noah, you are really going to make some woman or man really happy one day.” Or we will ask him about a girlfriend or boyfriend from school. We just want to make sure he knows, from day one, that we will love him and support him no matter who he grows up to be.
On a separate but related note: It really stresses me out when adults place job labels on my toddler based on his current interests. For example, Noah LOVES to play with my shoes. He puts on my high heels and wears them around with more grace and ease than I ever could. We recently spent some time at my mother’s house and, of course, he got in her closet, put on her spring sandals, and took off running. My mother says, “I really think Noah is going to grow up to be a show designer.” To which I replied, “Or he could be cross-dresser. “ Seriously- stop it!
We have also always talked about marriage as choice. My parents got divorced when I was about 5 years old. I took it really hard, needed lots of counseling, and eventually learned to cope with the craziness through writing. But, the remnants of the divorce never went away. My parents fought for years- about child support, visitation, college tuition, holidays- and, as a result, I developed some nasty ideas about marriage and commitment. Why would anyone ever want to get married if this could happen? Yes, there were other successful marriages that I knew about but, like I tell my clients every day, your children learn how to be in relationships by watching their parents. There is a reason that women with “daddy issues” make terrible relationship decisions. They never learned how to be an equal partner as part of a healthy couple.
I became one of those girls. Fortunately, I had Matt. We met early. We were 16 and went quickly from best friends to high school sweet hearts (maybe I will tell y’all the story one day). I fell hard and fast and, after a couple of years, when I knew I had him wrapped around my finger, I began doing everything I could to try and get him to leave—just like my father did. I won’t go in to the details (for his sake) but there were a couple of years that I treated him and our relationship like crap. And I came home every night expecting his stuff to be packed and him to be gone.
But he stayed. He grew up in a home with parents that loved and supported each other. They weren’t perfect- far from it. But they showed Matt that marriages are forever. They take work and commitment and communication. Gender roles were non-existent. Men were gentlemen- polite and caring and hard-working. Women were all of the same things too. So, Matt stayed.
He ended up convincing me to figure out to come to terms with my “daddy issues” and so, after a long year of the silent treatment and some pretty severe soul searching, my father and I figured out how to start over. While I have never really given my dad a lot of credit, I would like to tell him out loud that this took A LOT of courage. My dad drove to Chapel Hill, not really knowing what I had in store, and listened to 20 years’ worth of hurt and pain and abandonment. Now, don’t get me wrong, he had a few choice words for me as well but, he allowed me the space to stand up to him. Allowed me the opportunity to say what I needed to say and fight the fight I had wanted to fight for a long time.
And, while I am so grateful that my father and I now have a very good relationship, this “fight” made it possible for me to evaluate my behavior in my relationship with Matt and gain some awareness as to why I was so desperately afraid of letting him love me. I finally conquered my “daddy issues” and Matt and I learned together how to be in a healthy relationship with each other. We are honest, we talk about everything and anything, we confront each other, and (probably the best advice I could ever give any couple) we laugh and laugh and laugh- all the time. Our home is full of funny. We make jokes; we make fun of each other; we don’t take each other or ourselves too seriously. We truly enjoy being married to each other.
And that is what I immediately thought of when I heard about SCOTUS and finally figuring out that everyone deserves the right to feel the way I feel every morning when I look at my husband in the bed next to me. I always thought of marriage as a choice- something 2 adults decide on together based on history, logic, and maybe even love. But in watching all of the media coverage and seeing the true joy and celebration in people’s eyes as they finally feel the way I felt when Matt proposed, I now know that marriage is not a choice. Marriage is a basic and human right. I want to teach Noah that relationships are valuable and deserve respect from everyone. And I hope that, one day, he will be lucky enough to meet a person, woman or man, that makes him feel the way I feel about his father.
Breastfeeding- My Brutally Honest Truth
Yesterday, I posted a link about the costs of breastfeeding. It really got me thinking about my experiences breastfeeding Noah. I was so very lucky to have the support of my husband, family, and friends during what was, I can honestly say, the hardest thing I have ever done. I was also lucky that my job as a family counselor, allowed me to make my own schedule. I stayed home with Noah during the day and worked in the evenings after my husband got home from work. It made it possible to nurse for the first full year of his life. This was great, because he refused to drink from a bottle after he was 3 months old. All that liquid gold that I pumped (and man did I hate that horrible pump) went down the drain. With that aside, it takes loads of support and encouragement to breastfeed, no matter how long you choose to do so. That first month is so unbelievably hard and you think about quitting a hundred times a day. I want this Brutally Honest post to provide a little insight into what breastfeeding was really like… for me. It could be the complete opposite for everyone else. I just know that, as prepared as I thought I was, I was nowhere near prepared for reality.
A little bit of background on me- I am a Type A personality through and through. When I was pregnant, I researched everything, read all the books and literature, cover-to-cover. I read What to Expect about 4 times; I read Ina May’s Guide to Natural Childbirth (with horror and appreciation); if it had a picture of a mother and baby on the cover, I read it. I also took the classes- Childbirth 101, Breastfeeding Basics (more about this little “gem” later), etc… And with all of this preparation, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how hard breastfeeding actually was.
Noah had to be the hungriest infant ever born. He breastfed for the first time just 20 minutes after being born, and he latched on instantly. I would have been so excited because you constantly hear horror stories about how some babies just can’t figure out how to latch, but I couldn’t get past the absolute and unexpected pain that came the minute he started to suck. And, let me just say, I have an incredibly high pain tolerance. Completely drug-free, all natural childbirth had just happened moments before. But this little baby could suck like nobody’s business.
In the Breastfeeding Basics class offered at the Women’s Hospital (just a few floors down from where I was currently suffering), a class full of incredibly pregnant women and scared-to-death dads were told that if you experience any pain while breastfeeding, you are doing it wrong. LIES!!! Noah was nursing so often and so effectively that my milk came in in full force in less than 36 hours. With that incredible efficiency came chapped nipples, cracks and bleeding, aches and pain in my abdomen (breastfeeding stimulates oxytocin which helps your organs and muscles get back to where they need to be), and a big fat lesson in how no amount of research can prepare you for what breastfeeding was really like.
Now, please don’t take this as an attempt to scare you or anyone else out of breastfeeding. All the pain went away after about 3 weeks and my boobs kind of got numb to it. And a few months after I stopped breastfeeding, all of the feeling and sensitivity came back. I just wish, in that stupid Breastfeeding Basics class, they didn’t lie about it. I actually wish that I could give the class myself. One of the first things I would do is throw away that silly fake boob they pass around so you can practice how to hold it while your baby latches on. Seriously- we have our own boobs. We don’t need a fake one to “practice.”
The class was presented in Power Point format. Each slide listing a different “Rule” about the best way to breastfeed your baby. Now, I will admit, I was extra sensitive and emotional and my perceptions may have been a little over-dramatic at the time. But the class is for pregnant women who are all overly emotional and sensitive. The “rules” they laid out were about alternating between boobs, making sure the baby is on each boob for no longer than 20 minutes, waking the baby up in the middle of the night to make sure he is eating on a schedule, etc… And with all of these “rules” came scary and intimidating consequences like, “your baby won’t get enough nutrition,” “your baby won’t figure out how to bond with you,” “your baby will pick a preferred boob and the other boob will quit making milk.” All of us soon-to-be new mothers were already anxious and scared, and now we were being made to feel like not doing it the way this Power Point says to do it will make us bad mothers. We have enough pressure from the media and the celebrities to make us feel like bad mothers. We don’t need a class in our hospital to place judgments on us too.
The truth is, every baby and every mother are different. Noah nursed every 90 minutes for 45 minutes each time. I literally had to plan my day in 45 minute increments because I had the “My Breast Friend” pillow strapped to my waist for nearly 12 hours a day (as a side note- the My Breast Friend pillow is the greatest invention EVER! I used it for the entire year that I breastfed and for a few months after that just to make it easier to rock Noah to sleep on rough nights. Buy one! Put it at the top of your registry! It’s amazing!).
But you develop a routine, you get to catch up on all of your favorite shows, you finally find out what kind of shows come on throughout the night (I watched a lot of HGTV and ABC News), and you get to watch your beautiful baby lay in your arms, fall asleep with a full belly, make the sweetest suckling sounds, and look at you with the warmest and most amazing look of gratitude and love. It makes me tear up now thinking about how those times are over for me as Noah runs (literally runs- the child went straight from crawling to running) and only lets me hold him and rock him when he is sick.
Breastfeeding is a choice. It should be made with all of the information possible; it should be made with both parents involved; it should be made with support and without judgment. I found it helpful to talk about my struggles with anyone who would listen. I really loved talking to other moms about what I was going through and hearing their stories and their struggles. You are not alone in this process- even though it feels that way sometimes.
And, while I can laugh about it now, when Noah would wake up during the night to nurse, I would strap on my nursing pillow, climb back into bed, get him all situated and happy, and look at my husband, all fast asleep and comfortable, and think about how bitter I was that he gets to sleep and I have a baby attached to me. Now, he gets up when Noah has “one of those nights” and refuses to sleep. It totally makes up for it!
Mothers, remember that you are so much stronger than you think you are. You are the best mother that you know how to be and that is enough. Love your baby and love yourself. You don’t have to be perfect, there will always be critics, and other people’s rules are crap. Follow your own rules, or don’t. And, most importantly, find supportive people to talk to. If you can’t find anyone, email me!
The costs of breastfeeding- Huffington Post Article
A friend of mine posted this Huffington Post article on facebook and it got me thinking… What do you think?
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elisabeth-dale/rising-price-of-breast-mi_b_3416768.html
Becoming a parent…
I have been thinking about what my first “real” post should be about. I have conversations in my head all the time about things I would like to say out loud if someone would just listen- or pretend to listen. Starting this blog is, what I consider, step 1 in moving forward with my professional and personal goals. I have always thought of myself as a writer but, as I grew older, wrote hundreds upon hundreds of papers for college and graduate school, read thousands upon thousands of books and journal articles, I have realized that I am less of a writer, and more a conversationalist.
The way I write (and speak) has changed even more now that I am a mother. I want what I say to have some kind of influence- a lasting impression for someone, anyone. When I read books, journal articles, or even magazines now, I am more emotional about and invested in the content. When I watch news stories I think about how I would react as a parent. I think about what this event might mean for my son. For the first time ever, I stopped making fun of the people that say “How am I going to explain this to my kids?” and I actually started trying to figure out how I would, one day, explain something like this to my kid. I am constantly reminded that every moment could be a teaching moment, every event can be a learning experience, and I can’t be afraid to have the tough conversations from the beginning.
My husband and I talk a lot about how our lives are different now that we are parents. He recently revealed to me that he thinks about what kind of world he wants our son to grow up in (which is very rare because he is not the guy that goes abstract or existential- ever). We were watching “Red Dawn” and he starts explaining his plan for how he would react if North Korea or Russia or whomever came in to the US and occupied our neighborhood. He went in to great detail about how he would instruct the family to act, where we would hide, and what kind of skills we would need to know ahead of time… I mean some real thought went in to this. We laughed about it in a funny-but-kind-of-serious way and I made a comment about how insanely attractive Chris Hemsworth is, asked when the next Thor movie comes out, and we went to bed. But I went to bed thinking how crazy it is to think how much the wiring of your brain and the difference in your thought patterns are just because you became a parent.
I cry… a lot. I have always been a crier (as anyone in my graduate program can tell you) but, man, I cry a lot more now. I also find that I have so much more patience and I am able to stop and breathe first before reacting. Becoming a counselor taught me all of the skills for how to do this. My son has helped me to apply the knowledge.
[There is a huge caveat to this statement, however. My patience goes out the window when my toddler decides to wake up in the middle night. I can only be calm for the first couple of times he asks me for yogurt, more milk, cereal, French toast, etc… After that, I start breathing heavily and whining about how I just want him to go back to bed. My husband, however, is amazing no matter what time of night. Thanks, by the way babe!]
I think the biggest thing that has shocked me is how quickly all of this change happened. I mean, yeah, I started to think differently when I was pregnant. One of my best friends (and great moms by the way) had to remind me a few times that “it isn’t about me anymore!” But giving up wine, sleeping sitting up for the last month or two, and putting on the pregnancy weight was no big deal because I was doing it for the baby. Now it just feels so much bigger. While I have always been a control-freak, I am a relatively laid back person when it comes to my personal life. My husband and I both take things in stride pretty easily. Then, all of a sudden, I am measuring toys to make sure they aren’t choking hazards, I am checking 19 times a night to make sure he is still breathing, and I am making enemies of family members because they don’t do everything exactly like I do. And, for me, it took a very long time to get past this obsessive part (if I am even past it completely now that the baby is almost 2).
This change in thinking happens for a reason. While it makes us feel a little crazy at times, it keeps the baby safe, it prepares us for the days ahead, and it reminds us that life will forever be different. I instantly stopped thinking about myself, and put him first (regardless of how crazy, rude, or obsessive it made me seem). Becoming a parent is more than what it looks like on paper. It rewires us, it encourages us, and it reminds us that that world is big and scary…and wonderful.
Brutally Honest Mom 