Motherhood

For whatever reason, the concept of motherhood seemed far more natural and "right" to me the first time around, with my son. He was my first born, so wanted, so special. Although he gave me a huge run for my money as an infant with colic, endless crying, anxiety-causing fits in public places, etc., I loved him more than life itself since the moment I laid eyes on him.

Ever since I caught sight of the faint pink line materializing on the pregnancy test with my second, my thoughts have been conflicted. I wanted her, I wanted her very much. Yet her appearance in the incarnation of that faint pink line brought mixed emotions from the start. I've written about this before - there were several extenuating circumstances that made this the case. However, I want to write about a specific thing that's been playing on my mind since the moment I heard the words "it's a girl." from the ultrasound technician.

To be mother of a girl. I can barely elaborate on what it is that causes my discomfort. There are a few pieces to the puzzle, and I frankly can't pretend to understand it all. One, I'm certain, is my own difficult girlhood and my adulthood as a woman. There are challenges that women only face, and they were definitely challenging to me. Issues of body, confidence, self-worth, etc. If I'm honest, these issues stem to a large extent from my own relationship with my mother. This was brought home to me again yesterday, when I paid a quick visit to my parents' house to wish my father a happy birthday. I settled the little one in with me and set to chatting with my parents. My mother took a look at Ada and said "she's going to be like the rest of the family - she's not very photogenic." I couldn't process this fast enough to come up with a suitable response, and my mother continued. "Those recent photos - she has crossed eyes...she's...not going to be a conventional beauty.."

At the time, it rolled off my back to a great extent. Now, I realize this is probably due to the fact that I'm very used to this type of comment from my mother. Do I think she meant it meanly? No. Yet, it wears at the soul. It still wears at me, and gnaws at my consciousness. So, my child, my little girl, is ugly? Is that it? I have been faced with this relationship, these types of off-hand comments, my entire life as a girl, and then as a woman. Do I think that my mother ever meant to be negative, to undermine me? NO. I absolutely do not. Yet, something in her psyche, something that has probably been imbedded in her consciousness since SHE was a little girl, has made her this way. And it has cast a shadow on me, on our mother-daughter relationship, and in turn it is casting a shadow on her relationship with her infant granddaughter.

I swore, when I heard the words "it's a girl", that I would do all in my power to have a relationship with my daughter that was supportive, and loving, and positive. That I would not walk down the path that had been laid out by my relationship with my mother. I'm not saying that my mother doesn't love me, or that I don't love her. I love her more than anything, and I know she loves me as well. Yet, there was always that subtext, that passive aggressive shadow that stood between us. I can already feel it slipping insidiously between my daughter and I, borne on the current of what I'm used to..what I considered normal throughout my childhood and still expect in my adult relationship with my mother. My mother is a brilliant, amazing woman. She has a doctorate, she's written books. She came out of the workforce for almost a decade to raise three children and see them safely into the school system before returning to work and building an amazing, fulfilling career from a temporary gig at CRA in an admin role - she climbed all the way to the manager/Director role, travelled the country, and did alot for her field. I admire all of this tremendously. Yet, for whatever reason, a reason I will never fully understand, she never "clicked" with her daughters. Okay, she clicked a bit more effectively with my sister, but that is likely because my sister came out a carbon copy of her.

I never felt close to my mother. I don't want that for my daughter and I. I want something very different. I only hope that because I am so painfully conscious of the damage wrought by my mother's and my relationship, that I will work my ass off to realize a very different, nurturing, and positive relationship with Ada. I need to do this for myself, as well as for her.

Descent and ascent

It's time, and I know it. It's time to go see the doctor, get some help, get on the right track again. It's so hard to pull up your bootstraps and and work towards the ascent though, when you are slowly and steadily descending in a cold and comfortable way. Descent is easy, though of course it's also very, very hard. Hard on the spirit, the emotions, on our relationships with others, on our relationship with ourself. Yet easy, because it takes no effort to stay down in the ditch with our darkest thoughts, our laziness, our disgust with ourself. Anyways, I know it's time, and those around me do as well. Those that really know me. Though I don't really feel the hope or the spirit of ascent yet, I challenge myself to work towards it, because I suppose that's all that will really help, and will really catalyze any change. I need to use sheer force of will to ascend. And I will. Tomorrow it begins, when we go see the doctor. I hope to be honest, not just with my husband and my doctor, but with myself. I hope that I will see some light at the end of the tunnel soon. I'm looking forward to trying, anyways.

Pros and Cons of formula vs. breast

So it's come to this - I struggled and mostly persevered to breastfeed George for over a year. I was proud of it, but frankly, didn't give it much thought. It was just what I was going to do. It seemed natural. And though there were definitely days (and nights!) that I wished he would take a bottle of formula from his papa, and there was that moment of desperation when I bought the super-expensive Alimentum formula to try to soothe his poor colicky tummy, alas he was never very interested in either formula or bottle. Ada was introduced to the bottle and to formula early, since she needed to be topped up and fed while I was kept in "intensive care" post-partum for a day with blood pressure issues. We kept with it as a supplement to breastfeeding for the first few weeks. Why? Because it allowed Jean to participate in the feedings, because she seemed fine with it, because it was easy. There, I said it. The first few days, Ada was a breeze. I knocked on as much wood as I could find - George had always been a colicky, gassy, unhappy little thing. Here was a baby that would calmly breastfeed, and be placed in her bouncy chair for a nap with little to no incitement. I was in heaven. And then it began again. The obvious discomfort. The sudden crying jags, the rock-hard stomach, the frantic but fussy feedings. And, as my previous post laid out, the second-guessing started. Overactive letdown? Foremilk-hindmilk imbalance? I googled madly with one finger as I held a crying, inconsolable baby in my other arm. The nights became endless and insupportable. We had to take it in shifts - Jean would bottle feed her for the first three or four hours of the night and bring her to me for the rest of the (largely sleepless) night for her to writhe in discomfort beside me, often breaking out in crying fits.
Thank goodness George isn't a light sleeper!

I set out on that mad see-saw quest to figure things out that I remember dimly from George's infancy - should I cut out dairy? Green peppers? Caffeine? Alcohol? Should I block feed? Feed her less but more often - more but less often? I tried several solutions, all to no avail. Granted, many other moms have been far more persistent, patient and have shown far more endurance than I did when I finally decided yesterday to go to the store and buy the lactose-free formula for sensitive stomachs. I would try it, and see what happened. Within a few hours of her first feeding, she had slept longer than ever before during the night, she wasn't writhing or in discomfort. She had a bowel movement that wasn't full of unhealthy-looking mucuousy strings. (sorry for the TMI). Here we are, the morning after - she's still had some gas issues, but I'm once again knocking on wood, because she's had her bottle this morning and she's asleep quite contentedly in her swing (I have become such a career pessimist that I had to force myself to type that - convinced that she will wake immediately once I press "publish post" and will be an inconsolable mess for the rest of the day)..

My point, you ask? Well - if this is indeed a solution to her discomfort, to our hideous sleepless nights, to my endless questioning of myself and my breastmilk, then frankly, I think I'm on board with continuing with the formula feeding. Yet, there is a reticence that eats at me - for obvious reasons - society has conditioned moms to believe that "breast is best". I don't disagree - in fact, I agree quite strongly. Yet, if the bottom line is that both mom and baby are happier and are still healthy with formula feeding, then my fundamentally selfish soul seems to be curbing towards relying on formula instead of continuing the harrowing breastfeeding journey. Anyways, I speak to soon - it's totally wishful thinking on my part that this will be the solution to our digestive woes. If it's not, I guess we're back to square 1, and I'll probably start back with breastfeeding her within a few days (I'm pumping to maintain my supply until the jury is back in on this one). If she does get significantly better on the formula, then I really need to ask myself - which way do I want to go?

I'm going to make a list of pros and cons for bottle vs. breast - maybe this will help me decide (though if I'm really honest and things go well with the formula, I think I already know the answer.)

Breastfeeding

Pros:

-Best for baby in terms of nutrients, immune system
-Bonding with baby
-Makes cosleeping a breeze
-Portable food supply
-Less expense
-Social stigma of not breastfeeding
-Natural pacifier
-Easier to travel/camp/etc. - less logistics
-Weight loss

Cons:
-potential digestive issues from overactive letdown, oversupply, lactose intolerance..
-need to watch what you eat
-$ spent on pumps, breast pads, nursing clothing, etc.
-difficult to tell how much baby is eating
-awkwardness of public nursing
-pumping is time consuming
-leaking, engorgement, discomfort


Formula

-Digestive issues addressed
-Can tell how much baby is drinking
-Still has nutrients required for baby
-Sleep longer (?)
-Less embarrassment/awkwardness with public bottle feedings vs. public breastfeeding
-My breasts become mine again - spend less on nursing pads, etc. - no engorgement issues, leaking, etc.
-No time pumping required
-Dad and others can participate more fully in feedings
-Can eat, drink what I want when I want

Cons

-Less nutritionally complete, less beneficial for immune system
-Social stigma of not breastfeeding
-More expensive
-More "equipment", logistically more difficult

I'll report back when more time has passed and we've made some decisions.

Second-guessing

More like seventh-guessing. Or eleventh-guessing. You'd think that after having gone through the gauntlet of parenting a newborn once already, I'd have become a tad more self-assured, that some of the mysteries of the little life rocking away in her swing beside me would become a little less mysterious. Not so! No indeed, the questions, the confusion, the constant state of uncertainty is still very much the reality of life with a two-week old, I'm afraid. It is a new mother's constant companion, boon and bane.

Take, for example, my little one's near-constant issues with gas pains. She wriggles, writhes, grunts, and in the end, shrieks, on repeat. After a week of relatively easy babyhood, during which she happily ate, slept, and pooped - this has become our reality for the last week or so. Enter the guessing game. Is she not getting enough? Is she getting too much? Do I have overactive letdown? Do I have oversupply? Is her latch not correct? Is she lactose intolerant? Should I block feed? Should I change breast-feeding positions? Am I burping her wrong, or not enough? Is it the formula? The bottle? Does she have reflux? Should I be pumping more, less? What colour is her poop, what consistency? Should she be doing it more, less? Should I elevate her crib? Should I stop feeding on demand and feed more but less often? Less but more often? Should I cut out the formula completely, or stop breast-feeding completely? Do an elimination diet? But what? Dairy? Caffeine? Gassy vegetables? Alcohol? Um. How am I to survive eliminating these things??? Yikes.

Doctor google doesn't help much either. There is such an overabundance of information on-line and elsewhere now. Again, the bane and blessing of new moms. Definitely, a blessing at times, when you're looking for some answers. At the same time, there are generally at least two dozen "answers" to your questions, with varying degrees of usefulness, subjectivity, and judgement. Perhaps it's time for a google-free week, and a time of depending only on my mommy instinct for a bit. I'm not sure if I could do it. All I want is for Ada to be happy and healthy and for all of us to get some sleep!

Make Do

I admit, like any good member of a capitalist society, part of any new endeavour includes a frisson of excitement over the acquisition of new stuff to go along with it. A baby is no different. In fact, having a baby in Western society is kind of the epitome of this cult of things. From the $800 bugaboo stroller to the baby Mexx garb to the of-the-moment organic bamboo baby wrap, there's always something more to get to (supposedly) make the whole parenthood experience better, and richer, and to show off that fact to all your mommy and daddy compatriots (or is that competitors?) with logos ablaze. I've participated as gamely in this as anyone else, I admit it. Did the nursery up to the nines, got the austentatious but not-quite-bugaboo-level-pimped-out stroller. But now, as I struggle my way through the first few weeks of motherhood for the second time, it's come to me that the things aren't what have the power to make a mommy, or a baby happy. Let's face it, some of the most joyful, and precocious and accomplished people out there in the world came from very humble beginnings. They probably even endured babyhoods completely devoid of mei tei carriers and sophie the giraffes and organic purees!

I'm bringing this up for a few reasons - first of all, one of my plans for this year is to be *alot* more careful and responsible with my money. Second of all, I am hoping to find some fulfillment over the course of this year, not from acquiring things, but from what I accomplish, and how I feel about myself and my baby, beyond the filters of the adorable ruffly baby garb and all the other trappings of motherhood. Hence the motto "make do". This saying has two connotations here - first of all, it bears the usual meaning, to "make do" with what one has. I intend to spend this year, not by spending money on all sorts of extraneous stuff, but by appreciating what I have already, by learning to live on less, and by wringing meaning and experience and happiness from the raw material we already have at our disposal. This flows into the other meaning of "make do" that I will try to abide by - to "make" and to "do". Last mat leave, and in general, we try to pull far too much meaning and emotion from the act of getting, or buying, of acquiring the new. I want to switch this up - by taking what I have already in terms of raw material (my two hands, my sewing machine, my talent, my time, my camera, my computer, etc.) and making and doing with these raw materials. Making - making stories, making photographs, making memories, making clothes, making crafts, making money eve, maybe! Doing - doing more than sitting in front of the computer or the tv - exercising, photography, writing, crafting, creating, spending time with my family, learning, reading. I am hoping that this mantra will carry me through the year in such a way that I can look back on this time fondly, and feel better about myself and the future of my family as 2011 comes to a close and 2012 approaches.

What am I "leaving"?

Well, here I am - on mat leave. Once again, while my husband rushes off to the rat race, I stay tucked cozily at home, my little girl sleeping fitfully in her swing. The concerns of my workplace seem distant and trivial now, compared with the tiniest grunt of dissatisfaction issuing from that swing. Gone are my tan leather stiletto boots, Coach bag and wrap dress. In their place - Joe Fresh leggings, a grungy tank top, a nursing bra and a sweatshirt. Gone are the days of regular showers, "poor me" moments when I got less than 8 hours of sleep, straightened hair, regular meals, and...time.

So, what am I "leaving" on mat leave? I guess, in a way, I'm leaving a part of myself behind for awhile. I'm leaving my selfishness, and part of my dignity. I'm leaving a good chunk of my sleep, and a somewhat equal portion of my sanity. I'm leaving my career for awhile, and the pleasures of adult rhetoric and analytical thinking.

But what am I coming to in their stead? I am coming into the love of a little girl who is new to this place, I am coming into the unbelievably important and awe-inspiring role of a role model and a teacher. I am coming into a beautiful family of four. I am coming into the role of a mom - and all the adventures and misadventures that that implies. How does this make me feel? A little terrified, to be honest. I'd forgotten all about the foggy, sleepless nights with a restless, grunting baby writhing at your side, the sheets damp from breast milk. I'd forgotten about the constant scrutiny and judgement that you're faced with at every turn. Oh, the baby's not sleeping? Oh, you're topping her up with formula? Oh, you haven't enrolled her in eight zumba and baby yoga and Beethoven for tots courses yet? I'd forgotten about the moments when you tip-toe around your own living room, hoping to goodness that the weight of your footfall on the hardwood won't wake the finally napping infant in her swing..the desperate creep to turn the endless banal lullabye back on when it ends its song. The desperation and anger and sheer misery that wells up in you when you have a baby crying endlessly in your arms, obviously in pain.

Yet, I'm also honoured. And awe-struck. And in love. Whenever she turns her little almond-shaped eyes up at me, I can't believe how I feel. It's just a sense of pure wonderment. How did I get so lucky? First my beautiful, beloved George. Now Ada-Marie and me. We're unbelievably lucky and in spite of my anxieties and fears, I feel unbelievably privileged to embark on this adventure once more with Ada-Marie. This is a place for me to write, to explore how I feel about it all, to record the year that I will be spending with my little girl as she grows and learns and becomes a little person in her own right. I only hope that I will grow and learn and discover more about myself as a person in my own right as well. It's not going to be all rainbows and cupcakes and kittens. It's got to be honest, for my sake. So bear with me, if you happen to fall on this page. It's more for my own benefit that anything, but I am pleased to share my thoughts as well.

So, welcome to the world little Ada-Marie! You are so very loved and you are in for one heck of an adventure.