GUILT

A close third to the feelings most commonly experienced by mothers (running just behind love and fatigue) is guilt.

Unlike exhaustion, guilt follows mothers throughout the journey, morphing slightly to fit the demands of their changing children. With newborns, the guilt springs right alongside the nightime feedings and constant diaper changes. (Will I really mess up nursing if I give him a pacifier just this once?? Oh no! I never gave him infant massages . . . will be we be connected?). Oftentimes, due to competing, irreconcilable voices in my head, guilt is the only option. If I don't pick him up everytime he cries, I feel like I'm neglecting him. If I do pick him up everytime he cries, I feel like I'm spoiling him.

My interactions with my three year old prompt guilty fears about what I should be doing with her (I barely even read to her or work with her on fun educational pursuits. She's totally getting neglected with this new baby on the scene.), as well as what I shouldn't be doing with her (What kind of mom gives their kid a sucker BEFORE dinner? Seriously- I'm letting her watch Toy Story AGAIN tonight?). Most menacing, however, is the guilt that springs up when I observe Lucy's development or behavior. (I can't believe she just ripped that toy out of her friend's hand! WHERE did I go wrong? How can my daughter be the only almost-three-year-old in the world to still need a pacifier to sleep and to actively resist potty training. How did I screw her up this much?)

My midwife explained it to me this way, when she lectured me for 30 minutes before we left the hospital: Most people are content to NOT be perfectionists in life. We don't feel like we have to be NBA stars or high status political figures, or famous published authors. But nearly EVERY parent feels they have to be, at all times, amazing. This is unrealistic, and because human beings are pretty darn resilient, it doesn't matter that most of us can't measure up. Most of the time, it's just about showing up and being there, with whatever strength and wisdom we can muster up for that moment.

So today, I commit to (slightly) lowered parenting expectations. I do not have to be up-to-date on every parenting theory out there. I do not ALWAYS have to be totally consistent. The odds are my kids will be decent people because Justin and I are decent people. And the odds are, at some point, when my daughter makes up her stubborn mind within the next ten years, she will stop peeing and pooping in a diaper.

I'd write more- but I've got to run and spend some time with the newborn. After all, what kind of mother am I to blog instead of give him 100% of my undivided attention? :)

A Thing Too Impossible . . .

"Before she goes into labor, she gives birth; Before the pains come upon her, she delivers a son. Who has ever heard of such things? Who has ever seen things like this?" -Isaiah 66: 7-8

I cannot stop smiling. This is incredible to me, because from the third day until about the third month of my daughter's life, I was an emotional, sobbing, depressed mess. Now six days into the life of my son, I am beginning to trust that I may not again fall into that oblivion of despair again. No one knows precisely what triggers PPD, but it's hard to believe that the actual birth experience that occurred couldn't be one contributing force. Instead of leaving the hospital sore, drained, drugged, and in-shock from an emergency c-section and a daughter thrown into NICU, I got to leave with a very large and healthy son and a clear mind. Just in case you may be interested, here's my Zander birth story:

5/31/11

4AM: I wake up with some good contractions. They were good enough to start timing (10 minutes apart), but not good enough to convince me of a thing, since my body had been revving up for the main event for nearly three months.

6AM: Justin gets up to leave for work, so I tell him about the pain. He tells me to keep in touch, and is off (this was not, after all, the first time this pregnancy he went to work when I thought I could be labor.) They were now more like 7-8 minutes apart, and increasing in intensity.

6:30: With Lucy now demanding and awake, I call Justin on the phone: "I am getting s-c-a-r-e-d," I tell him, not wanting Lucy to know my emotional state. "These are getting really bad." "Call the office," he replies, "I can't leave work unless we are actually going into Labor and Delivery."

6:45: I text my doula, and guiltily dial my midwife as well. My doula has advised me to stay home and labor until I can't take it anymore, but my midwife has advised that I don't labor at home since this is a VBAC. I feel a bit stuck between these two minds, and am definitely in a doable state of pain. But I want my husband with me, so I call the midwife and am advised to go to labor and delivery by at least 9AM.

9AM: We drop Luce off at a good friend's house. She is happy and content. She knows today could be the day.

9:08: Contractions are 3-5 minutes apart, and I cannot talk or walk through them. I still feel great in between them, and am excited. We go through a McDonald's drive thru, where Justin gets some greasy breakfast and I get a large iced tea, which ends up seeing me through my entire labor. I wonder if a lot of people go through drive-thru's while in labor.

9:15: Justin and I talk about how GOOD we feel about this, how at peace. This day, this moment, this decision to go to the hospital feels completely right. His guess is that I'm at 6cm, and my hope is that I'm at least past the 2-3 I have been for the past month. We say a prayer in the hospital parking lot.

9:30: I'm relieved to see my amazing midwife AND doula already waiting for me at the hospital. My midwife says (slightly disappointed): "She's still smiling." (Aka- she can't have progressed much.) I sign some consent forms, pausing between contractions. My midwife comes in and checks me immediately. "Well- you're 8cm and 100% effaced. Things are going to start moving quickly." Utter shock and millions of phone calls commence. A flurry of activity. IV is inserted, water is broken (thin meuconium puts everyone on high alert, but my midwife assures me this is normal for post-term babies), I meet the OB on call.

10: Flurry of activity has ceased. There is only peace. Soft music from my doula floats around me, and this is profoundly helpful for me to focus on during contractions. I am completely happy. In between pains, we make small talk about various things. During contractions, I like things to be silent. I close my eyes. I breathe. I am astounded at how much I want my husband beside me. Hugging him during contractions while my doula pushes on my back is my favorite position. I try the birthing ball, kneeling on the mat, standing, lying on my side.

12: My parents come and the pain gets serious. I am now content to just lie in the bed on my side, and I find I now need to vocalize the pain in some way, so rather than being silent, I moan. Everyone encourages me to make my moans low and deep. I do my best.

12:30: I start to feel pressure. After a check, the baby is at +1 station, but I am at 9cm. I feel strangely relieved that I don't have to push.

1: I feel the most insane sensation of a baby suddenly slipping down my pelvis. My cry alerts my midwife to check me, and she assures the room that I am, as they say, "complete." "I always knew my daughter was a perfect ten," my mom quips. I do not smile at the joke.

1:15: My memory fades at the pushing stage. This was, for me, the most intense part of the experience. I mostly recall hearing the authoritative voice of my midwife: "Push through the pain, around it, above it, right towards it." "Reach deep within. You can do this." At one point her voice gets serious and she has me switch sides. I know this means the heart beat has dropped, and they strap me with oxygen. The next push I get him out from under my pelvic bone and her serious tone evaporates. My back suddenly stops hurting during contractions. I am so hot I can't even describe it. I'm also shaking uncontrollably.

1:30 I can't really think about what is happening, because it seems too incredible. The phrase "a thing too impossible" keeps going through my head. I keep pushing through contractions, but hurt so much all the time that I'm unsure when they stop or start. I'm advised to relax between them. "I'm having trouble relaxing," I cry out shakily. Everyone laughs.

1:45: At some point my mother-in-law enters the room. I am so beyond the point of even noticing or saying hello.

2: I know I'm getting close by the gasps in the room. "He has so much dark hair." "He's right there, Julie!" "You are almost done!" Now I hear the voices of my family members. I can't bring myself to open my eyes, or look in the mirror I asked them to set up, or even really feel for the babies head. I can only exist in the moment of excruciating pain.

2:11: A feel a sudden release and quick movement leaving me. To my absolute shock, a wet, floppy BABY is thrust on my chest. Astonished. Amazed. This was it?! I did this? Seriously?! He isn't crying, and he seems nearly asleep. "Is he okay?" "We are going to clamp and go."

2:12: The minutes they whisk him away, he revives with a hearty cry. I get my baby back. He is 9lbs, 4 oz. Another life begins.