Sucker punched

Sometimes motherhood is just a big punch in the gut.

You carry the baby inside you for 9 months.  You’re exhausted, sick, misshapen, and swollen.  You lovingly note every kick and turn and anticipate the day the discomfort will all pay off.

You endure pain and stitches and sleepless night after sleepless night.  You change diapers and cuddle and coo and rock and sway and bounce and then you do it all again.

You love.

And you worry.  Oh, how you worry!  And you know the worry will never end.

And you love some more.

And then…

Cold, hard REJECTION.  Your toddler that you nurtured and sacrificed for and loved and worried about wants nothing to do with you.  She buries her face into her daddy’s shoulder when you try to say hi to her in the morning.  She bypasses you as she reaches her arms out to be held by her daddy.  She bawls when he leaves in the morning and pushes you away.

KID, I AM YOUR MOTHER.

Did I do something wrong?  Do I not sing enough songs or make enough silly faces?  Are my hugs inferior?

The guilt sets in.  Maybe I’m too impatient.  Maybe I’m not around enough.  I work too much…maybe…maybe…maybe…

Or maybe it’s just a classic case of a Daddy’s Girl.  And I am grateful that my girl has a daddy who loves her.

All I can say is my future boys better be Mama’s Boys.

Tags: daddy's girl; toddler; rejection; love

A mother’s intuition is born

I decided to document my experiences here because I’d like to have a record of my successes and failures in child rearing.  I will destroy the evidence of the failures later of course so no one can point and say with proof that I’m a terrible mother.  I realize now that the firstborn truly is the test guinea pig.  I’m the oldest child in my family, and I guess I turned out ok, for the most part, so I’m crossing my fingers my daughter does too.

Generally speaking, when it comes to raising my daughter I rely on a mix of advice from the experts and my own gut instinct.  I basically treat anything from my pediatrician’s mouth as The Gospel that must be obeyed.  He seems like a pretty down to earth guy that knows what he’s doing, and I assume he knows a whole lot more than I do.  So far he hasn’t led me astray, so I still trust him.

However, I am very wary of old wives’ tales and such.  Overall I just think its a load of crap and tune it out as much as possible.  I’ve learned that in most instances my motherly instinct will serve me much better when taking care of my child.

One instance in particular really drove this message home.  Let me preface this story by saying that generally speaking I tend to be a bit of a worrier.  Ok, maybe I should be more specific:  I worry a LOT.  More than I should.  And I knew that with a new baby I would be a bundle of nerves and anxiety, so I made the conscious decision to not be an overbearing mother and to try to relax.  Certainly our loving friends and family members would not hurt my child, so there was no need to be completely neurotic as others held and cooed over her, right?  So during the first month or so and often in new situations I was constantly repeating to myself, relax!  Everything is fine!  Most these people have their own children, and they’re ok!  A little dirt never killed anyone…just relax.  Relax!  RELAX ALREADY, WOMAN!!

Anyway, on with the story.  Claire was six weeks old and we were visiting family for the weekend in another town.  That Sunday we ended up basically doing a tour of the town so family could see our newborn child.  Why the various family members didn’t come to where we were staying rather than us visiting each home individually is beyond me, but hey, who am I to argue? 

Well, I should’ve argued.  Poor little Claire was strapped in her carseat, then taken out, then back in, then out, then in…all the while being passed around from stranger to stranger at each location.  We stayed at one house for a while to visit, as the family there had just barely had a baby a few days before and a few other people were stopping by to visit.  At that point, Claire reached her breaking point and began wailing.  Every adult woman present and about half of the men seemed to feel it was their moment to comfort the screaming child, and all manner of comforting commenced, but to no avail.  At some point in all the commotion the women determined that she had a gas bubble that was bothering her.  “Yes!  A gas bubble!” they all said, and suddenly the comforting ended and the thumping on the back began.  Maybe if I put her over my shoulder!  THUMP THUMP THUMP  No?  How about if I lay her over my arm and thump her back that way?  THUMP THUMP THUMP  Hmm, still no?  “Give her to me, I have a technique that works every time!” some complete stranger says, and my poor baby gets handed off to be pounded on the back by some lady I’ve never seen in my life, all the while still screaming.  “Should we try some infant gas medicine?” someone from the crowd cries, and before I knew it drops were being put in her mouth.

Where was I during all this you ask?  I was standing on the sidelines telling myself to relax.  I didn’t want to come off as the overprotective mother by snatching my baby away while all these well-meaning and loving people were trying to help.  But all the while, my instincts were SCREAMING at me that I knew what was wrong with my baby.  I knew it wasn’t gas, she’d never struggled with gas before.  I knew that the only reason she was screaming was because she longed for some peace and quiet.  She’d been driven around and manhandled for the last two hours, and frankyly, she was sick of it.  She wanted a cozy place to sleep without interruption.  It seemed as though every particle of my body knew this, but I was trying to fight it. 

When I could take it no more, I swooped in, grabbed my unhappy baby girl, and ran for the car while shooting a look to my husband that said you better follow me or this is the last time you’ll ever see me!.  Fortunately for him he caught on, and we zipped off in the car with little explanation to the rest of the well-intentioned family members.  We were actually supposed to make another stop before being done for the day, but this time I was wise enough to put my foot down.  My daughter needed a nap, and she was going to get it no matter what anyone said.

Sure enough, as soon as we got back to my husband’s childhood home where we were staying fo the weekend, I swaddled my baby and laid her in her pack and play.  Within seconds she was out like a light, and she slept soundly for a good two hours.  I felt validated, and proud, realizing that I did have a mother’s intuition after all.  I knew how to care for my child and what her needs were.  I just wish I had had the guts to speak up about it earlier.

Tags: family, mother's intuition