I Am Mother, Hear Me Roar
I wasn’t a pleasant first-year mother. Or a second year mother. True, I loved the smell of a newborn, the cuddling, the ity bity clothes that just make you coo that noise that only an expectant mother can.
But honestly, I hated the constant diapers. The fact that sleeping was really only a figment of one’s imagination. The fussing over the sleeping positions. The company. Phone calls. Thank you notes for gifts. Spit up being an accessory on my left shoulder. And the fact that no matter if I actually MADE it into the shower, the scent of breast milk was my constant perfume.
Truly, I just wanted to find my way into this whole parenting thing. Hold my baby and figure out who he was. And why I had been chosen as his mother. Don’t worry I’m not getting all spiritual on you. I’d just gotten a bit fed up with the whole questioning and cajoling of the new mom.
I mean how many times could I repeat this conversation:
“Oh, isn’t he cute! How’s he sleeping?”
“Well you know… he’s still up every couple of hours.”
“Really?” Eyes wide in apparent shock.
“Yep. I mean he’s only 4 weeks old. I am pretty sure that is normal—“
“I am sure he should be giving you a bit more of a break,” Pat, pat on my arm, “Oh that’s right. You’re nursing. Nursing babies just don’t sleep.”
What? They don’t sleep? I’d rush home, open my Internet browser and search the living daylights out of breastfeeding, sleeping, infants, and any sort of magical cure for sleeping babies I could find. I’d search, take notes, ask The Husband. We’d venture to book stores, doctor’s appointments, grandparent’s houses… and all I could think about was how much was I hurting my baby.
Unfortunately, it didn’t end. There was the nursing frequency conversation. And the putting a hat on his head while running to the grocery store thing. And I really can’t forget the whole co-sleeping arrangements. The working at home or stay at home debacle. Crying it out. Or not. Weaning (or not). Bottles. Pumping. Child care arrangements when I had to travel.
Or just plain old playgroup politics. I’ve yet to meet a group of playgroup mommies that aren’t comparing their children’s milestones like prizes. But, I’ll also be the first to admit, the two I trialed, didn’t match my motherly attitude. Or meet when I could attend. Remember, I was the working mom on the block (well one that worked from home and had conference calls most afternoons).
Don’t forget, through all of this I can barely string a sentence. Let alone stand up for myself against the pack of wolves that were constantly throwing advice around. There was a constant slinging of judgment and comments all thrown at just the right time and landing smack on my face. Just in time to make me feel bad, or worse since I hadn’t slept in days. What changed from the Ooooh, You’re Pregnant Oogling to the Oh My God, You Did What Mentality? I was horrified. And completely lacking any sort of confidence to pull myself through.
Here’s the little secret that took me two-years, a lot of heartache, and one final blow to my ego to figure out—we (as in baby, me, and Husband) were normal. One nasty argument with a family member, saved my inner me and my mom-me in one blessed afternoon.
The once self-professed I Don’t Want To Be a Mom was doing the whole parenting thing right all along. All it took was an accusation of NOT doing it right for me to finally stand up and speak for myself. I am mother, hear me roar!
Well, maybe not exactly like that. But at least I finally faced my motherhood fears and myself. I was doing what was right for my baby, my family, and me. And there is no arguing that. Conveniently enough, in that one afternoon my confidence came back. My inner Mom-Mojo returned. And life suddenly became a bit more enjoyable. Even when I had to change countless diapers, fold laundry, nurse a crying child, and take a conference call all before dinner. And now... I'm doing it again.
But honestly, I hated the constant diapers. The fact that sleeping was really only a figment of one’s imagination. The fussing over the sleeping positions. The company. Phone calls. Thank you notes for gifts. Spit up being an accessory on my left shoulder. And the fact that no matter if I actually MADE it into the shower, the scent of breast milk was my constant perfume.
Truly, I just wanted to find my way into this whole parenting thing. Hold my baby and figure out who he was. And why I had been chosen as his mother. Don’t worry I’m not getting all spiritual on you. I’d just gotten a bit fed up with the whole questioning and cajoling of the new mom.
I mean how many times could I repeat this conversation:
“Oh, isn’t he cute! How’s he sleeping?”
“Well you know… he’s still up every couple of hours.”
“Really?” Eyes wide in apparent shock.
“Yep. I mean he’s only 4 weeks old. I am pretty sure that is normal—“
“I am sure he should be giving you a bit more of a break,” Pat, pat on my arm, “Oh that’s right. You’re nursing. Nursing babies just don’t sleep.”
What? They don’t sleep? I’d rush home, open my Internet browser and search the living daylights out of breastfeeding, sleeping, infants, and any sort of magical cure for sleeping babies I could find. I’d search, take notes, ask The Husband. We’d venture to book stores, doctor’s appointments, grandparent’s houses… and all I could think about was how much was I hurting my baby.
Unfortunately, it didn’t end. There was the nursing frequency conversation. And the putting a hat on his head while running to the grocery store thing. And I really can’t forget the whole co-sleeping arrangements. The working at home or stay at home debacle. Crying it out. Or not. Weaning (or not). Bottles. Pumping. Child care arrangements when I had to travel.
Or just plain old playgroup politics. I’ve yet to meet a group of playgroup mommies that aren’t comparing their children’s milestones like prizes. But, I’ll also be the first to admit, the two I trialed, didn’t match my motherly attitude. Or meet when I could attend. Remember, I was the working mom on the block (well one that worked from home and had conference calls most afternoons).
Don’t forget, through all of this I can barely string a sentence. Let alone stand up for myself against the pack of wolves that were constantly throwing advice around. There was a constant slinging of judgment and comments all thrown at just the right time and landing smack on my face. Just in time to make me feel bad, or worse since I hadn’t slept in days. What changed from the Ooooh, You’re Pregnant Oogling to the Oh My God, You Did What Mentality? I was horrified. And completely lacking any sort of confidence to pull myself through.
Here’s the little secret that took me two-years, a lot of heartache, and one final blow to my ego to figure out—we (as in baby, me, and Husband) were normal. One nasty argument with a family member, saved my inner me and my mom-me in one blessed afternoon.
The once self-professed I Don’t Want To Be a Mom was doing the whole parenting thing right all along. All it took was an accusation of NOT doing it right for me to finally stand up and speak for myself. I am mother, hear me roar!
Well, maybe not exactly like that. But at least I finally faced my motherhood fears and myself. I was doing what was right for my baby, my family, and me. And there is no arguing that. Conveniently enough, in that one afternoon my confidence came back. My inner Mom-Mojo returned. And life suddenly became a bit more enjoyable. Even when I had to change countless diapers, fold laundry, nurse a crying child, and take a conference call all before dinner. And now... I'm doing it again.
Labels: baby, life, motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge
