Things I Wish I'd Known

my very first moment of motherhood, February 2006

My friend Graeme recently posted a blog entry asking for the advice mothers wish they had been given while they were pregnant. I was going to leave this as a note on her blog, but then it got really long because (surprise!) I have a lot to say. So here we go! This is what I wish I'd known.

Enjoy the belly as much you can while you're pregnant. I threw up almost every day through both of my pregnancies, but I have also never felt so great about myself and my body. I was growing a human! I'm not looking to have more kids right now, but damn I miss the feeling of a baby kicking me in the bladder.
 
It's good to have a birth plan. It's good to be educated and to read whatever books you want to read to feel ready. When I was pregnant with my first baby, my mother and I watched TLC's "A Birth Story" for two hours every single morning. I had a book called The Pregnancy Bible and I treated it like it really was the word of God. I memorized that thing. With my second pregnancy, I decided to have a natural birth with a playlist and a birthing tub and candles and instead I had a breech baby with a cord wrapped around her neck several times and a c-section. It happens. A plan is great, but birth happens with or without your plan. Your health and the health of your baby are the most important things. Everything else is sprinkles on the cupcake.


There are a few times when it is totally understandable to act like an asshole, and the delivery of your baby is one of those times. I had a wonderful midwife to assist with the births of both my children, and I developed such a wonderful relationship with one of my nurses that she actually came to the hospital on her day off to visit and bring me a candy bar. Midwives, nurses, doctors...they can be wonderful people. But they are people, which means they can also be awful. If you don't feel you're getting the treatment you deserve, or you feel uncomfortable or shamed ignored, it's okay to let that be known. Don't suffer through a crap experience because you ended up with a crap nurse. Say something.

When it comes to post-delivery (at least in my experience), there is going to be a LOT of blood and a LOT of oversharing. I had one vaginal delivery with an epidural and one c-section. My vaginal delivery was super easy (I only pushed for twenty minutes) and I never felt more than a little discomfort, so when the epidural wore off, I was totally unprepared for how much my crotch would burn and how much blood would be coming out of me. With the c-section, I sat in the bathroom for a full hour in absolute hysterics because I couldn't pee. When I finally managed it, my husband had to put my (giant, mesh, hospital-issued) underwear on for me. I had to have help in the shower both times. That's life.

Witch hazel. Witch hazel, witch hazel, witch hazel. Your vagina is going to burn like hot lava. Yes, it is.

You don't have to "sleep when the baby sleeps" or risk failing as a mother because you're too exhausted. If having a clean house will make you feel better, clean when the baby sleeps. If showering and/or putting on makeup makes you feel more like yourself, that's great. If getting out for a bit to go to the store or a movie will make you feel better, do that. If sleeping helps, that's good too. You don't exist only for the baby. You are still a human being with emotional and physical needs. They're just as important as the needs of the baby.
 

Round two, October 2009

Take pictures. All the time. Take pictures of their baby ears, their baby hair, their baby fingers and toes. Before you know it, they'll be little people instead of babies and you'll miss those infant features. Also, smell the hell out of their heads while you have a chance.

Breastfeeding is great for your baby and for a lot of women, it is also great for bonding and it's just the most magical thing on earth. For other women, it's kind of painful and kind of crap, but they can deal with it because for them, the benefits outweigh all the suck. For other women-- and I am one of them-- breastfeeding is a special hell that makes you seriously consider throwing yourself or your baby across the room and beg your doctor for antidepressants. If you are in that last group, for the love of God, do not torture yourself. Your baby needs a sane mother more than it needs to be breastfed. You're not making your baby weak or stupid by refusing to feel suicidal for a year after giving birth. I promise.

It's ok to ask for help. Not just when you have a newborn, but all the time. It takes a village. At the very least, it takes help from your partner (if you have one). Try to find someone you can call on in the middle of the night if you're really about to lose your mind. If you don't have a person like that in your life right now, mommy groups and support groups are great resources.

The baby will eventually sleep, I promise.

If you feel overwhelmed and the baby will not stop screaming and you feel the urge to shake the baby, put it down. Put the baby somewhere safe and walk away for a minute. This sounded like advice I would NEVER need to use, but then I had a baby and I realized how easy it is to want to shake a baby to "snap them out of it."  You're not a horrible person for having the passing thought, you're just exhausted and you can't think of anything to do to help. Both my babies had colic, though, so maybe this doesn't happen to everyone.

If you don't bond with your baby immediately, try not to worry about it too much. I expected motherhood to be something out of a movie, so when I had sore boobs and a fussy infant and post-partum depression, I really had myself convinced that I was not only the worst mother, but also the worst person, in the entire world. I thought I should be able to do everything, and if I couldn't do it, then none of the things I'd thought about myself were true. Who cared what else I accomplished in my life if I couldn't even bond with my baby? Fast forward almost eight years, and I would jump in front of a train for that kid in a skinny minute. I loved both my kids from the time they were born, but I love them both so much more now. It can be hard to bond with a sleeping/eating/pooping machine, but soon enough you and your child will have a real relationship and inside jokes and shared memories and it will be wonderful.
 

motherhood, 2012

Do what you feel you need to do, what you know is best. Even if it flies in the face of all advice. You can do it! It's going to be a hell of a ride.

But You're Such a Pretty Girl!

I'm over it. I'm letting it go. Clare doesn't need to fulfill my vision of how she would look most beautiful. She doesn't need to care about being beautiful. She DOES have to wash her hair at least once a week. There I will not budge. But my girl won't define herself by her appearance the way I did. The way I still do.

As both a mother and a daughter, Shannon Bradley-Colleary's article really gave me some thoughts and feelings. I definitely remember fighting with my mom before every school dance because she thought I "would just look so pretty with a little bit of mascara" and fighting with her when I went through a phase (an ongoing phase) where I only wanted to wear neutral colors. That I would look so pretty if I'd just get the hair out of my face, or buy a dress, or put some makeup on or just show SOME interest in how I looked and other than the few times a year (mostly proms) when dressing up felt like wearing a costume, I just didn't care. 

This is not an attempt to make my mom feel guilty or make her seem superficial. Wearing makeup, shopping, and getting dressed up just made my mom really happy and confident, and in her eyes, I think my refusal to take pleasure from that stuff looked to her like depression or self-hatred. She just couldn't imagine that I could both value myself and give very little value to my appearance. Granted, I did have some self-esteem issues, mostly due to a particularly traumatic high school relationship, but I always felt pretty comfortable with myself. When I did have issues with my body or appearance, I was quick to call myself out on them. When I went through a period in high school when I felt too fat to have friends, I wrote an essay about it and read it at a creative writing reading in front of all my friends and family. I had so much to worry about, and wearing uncomfortable clothing or makeup that made my eyelashes feel too heavy just didn't appeal to me. I lived very deeply in my own mind and wore the almost comically thick black glasses to let everyone know it. I still cut my own hair. I don't shave my legs unless I'm feeling particularly fancy. I didn't own a pair of jeans until sixth grade because they were uncomfortable and I refused to wear a bra until high school because WHY WOULD I DO THAT IT'S CONSTRICTING ME I CAN'T BREATHE, MOM!

Fast forward a decade and I have two daughters of my own. And because life is just this way, my kids love fashion. They "dress" to eat pizza in our living room, and every time we go to the playground, I have to explain over and over again that Christmas dresses are not appropriate playtime attire. Each kid already owns more dresses than I have probably worn in my entire life. They are comfortable in dresses, they feel confident in dresses, and while they also feel comfortable rocking a pair of holey jeans and a t-shirt, they feel most themselves when they're all dressed up. And it's hard for me, I'm not going to lie. When my seven-year-old asks me why she can only wear chapstick when all her friends are wearing lip gloss, it makes me uncomfortable. When she wants to get her ears pierced, I remember piercing my own ears twice before finally giving up on the whole damn thing, and I cringe. When she asks how old she'll have to be before she can shave her legs, I groan. "You don't have to shave your legs and wear makeup to be a worthwhile human being," I want to shout. But then I remember that she knows that. She knows she doesn't have to be conventionally girlie to be awesome. She dressed as a knight for Halloween and regards stereotypes about girls hating math or being bad at science with disdain. She is a good kid, a smart person, and yes, sometimes she wants to feel beautiful. And just like my mother finally gave up and stopped bugging me about mascara and embraced the frumpy, sweater-wearing daughter she was blessed to have been given, I have to embrace my fashion-loving, fancy dress-wearing daughters just the way they are*. Because they deserve to do whatever makes them feel best. And because I love them.

*Within reason. There will be no makeup or leg-shaving in this house until these kids are at least a couple years into the double digits.