Parenting is not all sunshine and bliss...

and that's ok. I came accross a link to this on Offbeat Mama. These people have it right and say it in a way that is concise and sensical. This video will make you smile. Watch it.

Afterbirth

So much changes after your baby is born; a drastic hormone shift occurs, your body shrinks and suddenly feels empty, you face the needs of a person who depends on you completely. All of those changes bring about their own set of challenges and rewards. My experience was exaggerated by having my son taken from me in the hours after his birth with his subsequent admission to the NICU. Just as nothing can fully prepare you for becoming a parent, nothing can prepare you to be separated from your child and having to observe him hooked up to oxygen, monitor wires and IVs. You just have to get through it, and you do.

When MLO was admitted I was in the baby and mother ward while Hubby was with MLO. I had no idea what was going on for a good 30-40 minutes before a nurse came in and told me that they had admitted my son and were running tests. I was very brave. I didn't cry, I asked the questions that satisfied my need to understand and I rationalized that my son was going to be fine, just as the nurse said, but that he needed a little extra care. I kept my brave face until, exhausted and with the shock of having labored and delivered wearing off, I was wheeled up to the NICU to see my son for the first time since he had been taken from me. When I laid eyes on him I lost it. I couldn't touch him, he was hooked up to several monitors, fluid bags and an oxygen machine. He looked so tiny and helpless and the only things I could do, provide for his nutrition and comfort, I couldn't do. He was receiving nutrients through an IV and I wasn't allowed to hold him. I felt powerless, unnecessary and heartbroken. I wanted to stay with him, but I knew I was worthless with exhaustion and sorrow. Hubby wheeled me back to my room. It rained that night and for days after.

The next day we made our way to the NICU. I was still too weak and anemic to make the walk so Hubby wheeled me down. This time I was allowed to hold MLO and they told me it was ok to try to nurse him. We had a hard time, as MLO was getting most of the nutrients he needed from the IV and was so apparently comforted to be close to me that he just fell asleep. This was the first of the challenges that led to my biggest post-partum frustration: everyone knew more than I did. I had at least two different lactation consultants giving me advice along with the NICU nurses and the physician. Having all of those experts sharing their opinion overshadowed my experience and essentially made me feel worthless and stupid. In hindsight I recognize that I let it bother me more than it should have, but I was hardly myself and I was losing the experience of learning on my own to the differing advice and opinions of experts. Frankly, I had a hard time keeping it together. I just wanted to cry. Hubby and I took turns holding our little fella and then he wheeled me back to my room for lunch.

Later that day I had a psychiatrist visit as is required for all moms with babies in the NICU. She asked the usual questions, "Do you use drugs? Does your spouse abuse you?". She tried to get me to talk about my feelings regarding my son's admission but the whole thing was forced and I just wasn't comfortable with her. I basically just tried to get rid of her. Once she was gone and Hubby was back I felt much better. Hubby could always calm my nerves and set things right. During labor and in the days after MLO was born I realized how profoundly lucky I was to have my Hubby. Through the challenges of the labor and an admitted baby Hubby and I acted as one and even at my weakest he gave me strength. I didn't think I could love him more, but after all that, I did.

In a hospital setting like that there are so many different people giving you advice and guidance. The bombardment is overwhelming and sometimes conflicting. We had the breastfeeding consultants telling us one thing, then when we discussed this with our NICU nurse she seemed to get upset and imply we were doing it wrong. I can't express how difficult that is for a new mom to hear. Not only are you new at this incredibly important job, but you have limited contact with the baby you have been longing to meet  for 9 months and you just want to do it right. Those feelings compounded into a lingering sense of ineptitude.

On the last day of my stay in the hospital all of this came to a head. Everyone was telling me how to do my job, some opinions differed from others and all I wanted was some relaxed, private time with my newborn. I generally felt like I just couldn't do anything right, and compared to these experts, I couldn't. On top of all that floated this cloud of guilt I felt about leaving my baby in the hospital and moving home. I had finally reached the end of my rope and needed to get away from the hospital. As I left the NICU I ran into the therapist and she took my arm and said in this over sympathetic tone, "You look sad." I wanted to yell at her, "Of course I'm sad! I'm leaving my newborn child in the care of strangers and going home! I can't seem to nurse him right! My milk won't come in! Everyone is telling me what to do! Are you kidding?" But all I said was, "I'm just really overwhelmed, and I need to go home" and I turned and walked away.

Once I got home I started to relax and recover. I regained my sanity and cried less when I went to the hospital. Hubby and I essentially took shifts at the NICU until he had to go back to work, then I split my days between bed and the NICU. MLO was recovering well and we were getting better at nursing. I got to enjoy just holding him and when something unexpected happened I had a whole cadre of experts to tell me not to worry about it. I started to reap the benefits of all that knowledge and desire to help. Concurrently the weather began to warm and the sun broke through the clouds.

On the day MLO was discharged the sun was shining. He had a flawless check up with the physician and was given the greenlight to go home. We packed him up and into the car seat. On the way home he slept peacefully. As I stared through the car windows I noticed that the whole world was fresh and bright. The hills were a brilliant green and the sky clear and blue. The beauty of it dazzled me. All the cars seemed to move so fast, I was taken aback by how hurried everything was. I felt content to take our time, our family complete, peacefully travelling home. I mentioned this to Hubby and he agreed. We were both just so happy. The world had never seemed so rich and beautiful to us as it did on the day we brought MLO home, and our lives have been enriched beyond description since.

So maybe all that sorrow and frustration helped us realize how incredibly lucky we were to simply drive home with our kidlet. It certainly made us stronger and in the face of all that doubt I have turned out to be as good a mom as ever I hoped (for now). At least I feel confident that I do right by my son. So yes, there are challenges but the rewards are beyond measure. As Richard Bach said, "There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in it's hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts."

Mindfulness

I have always had a special place in my heart for Buddhism. Though I don't practice it, I find its principles appealing. One of the principles of Buddhism is mindfulness. In raising my son I have found the principle of mindfulness vary handy and easier than ever to practice. My son, in a sense, has helped me be more aware, more present and thus, more thankful.

When I was pregnant, a friend of mine that had a child about a year older than ours impressed upon me the importance of savoring my little stranger's infancy. In essence, she said that though the time is difficult and exhausting, it is also beautiful and short. When MLO was born I didn't want to take anything for granted. I existed in a state of perpetual wonder: awed by his complete helplessness, his eclipsing cuteness and the all consuming responsibility of caring for him. I tried my best to live each day as it happened. This was aided by knowing that the sleep deprivation that plagued me would not ease up for a couple of months at least, so I tried to let go of wanting it to be different and instead focus on the little joys of everyday. I managed to succeed pretty well. I gloried in holding him while he slept, in watching him watch his world, in satisfying his hunger and in all the little signals he gave that showed he was growing and changing. Sure enough, before I realized it, he was too big to snuggle beneath my chin and instead of watching his world he was cooing to it.

Just the other day he tried butternut squash for the first time and delighted us all by responding with a look of total disgust, followed by an emphatically wide open mouth. He downed his bowl and proceeded to lick it clean. A few days later he learned a very basic form of 'High Five': when prompted he sticks his hand up and gives me this bemused smile. It cracks me up every time, which I think is why he does it. Last night I found him standing up in his crib holding the sides of the rails. I can't believe how quickly he is changing. It is the joy of my life to watch it all unfold. I am so incredibly lucky to be a mother, to be his mother, and to have the luxury to stay at home and raise my son. So today I am focusing on being mindful of my good fortune. Without mindfulness I would miss out on so much joy in every day. Thanks, Buddha.

The way things are.

I had the rare pleasure of watching my son fall asleep in my arms today. Usually, drifting to sleep is a physical battle not conducive to snuggling. As he slept peacefully in my arms I couldn't help but think about how much I love him. I always carry my love for him out in the open, no big mystery, but when I stop and think about how much I love him I feel like I might die. The feeling is simply the most intense adoration I have ever experienced. It completely overwhelms me and my ability to describe it. When I think about how much he means to me I just cry. It's all I can do. I love him so much.

So that got me thinking about spoiling my kid and whether I should never let him know how utterly taken with him I am. That led to my realization that no matter how I portray it to him, he will never really understand how and how much I love him. He will never be a mother. He will never know what it is to sacrifice his body for the healthy, happy existence of someone else. That is not to say that fathers don't love their children deeply and passionately. Indeed I know undoubtedly that they do. It just isn't the same sort of love.

I have to admit it breaks my heart when I think of that: when I note that my love for him can't be returned the same way. I suppose it's another sacrifice mothers make. I value my mother so much more because of that than I did before I understood. It also reminds me that he will break my heart a thousand times and thousand more before I kick the bucket. Every time he tells me I don't do it the way daddy does. The first time he vehemently opposes hugs in public and kisses goodbye in front of his friends. The first time that he shouts, "I hate you!" and slams his bedroom door. When he leaves home for college. Every one of those little triumphs that says your child is growing up, becoming more independent and learning how to care for himself is a little stab at your heart that you really shouldn't be sad about at all. They are all steps away from you, away from that little person you grew and birthed and fed and changed and swaddled. That little person who fell asleep in your arms.

I find this fact of life to be very strange. At first I thought it was karma for those nice young men whose heartfelt advances I so unceremoniously spurned. Then I realized that this is simply the way things are, that I shouldn't feel sad about it. I do, though. The same way I feel sad about having to grow old and die. I wonder, as I continue to grow up and change as a person and as a mom, will this sadness diminish? Is this the way it is when you start out, or a chink in my particular coat of armor; some artifact of an over-blown sense of fairness? It will be interesting to find out.

For now I will go on relishing the feeling of loving someone this much and just being thankful that he is my son: my healthy, happy (and for now, sleeping) baby boy.