An Unfairish Life: The Bitter Diatribe of a Working Class Family

Just a warning, some of this may border on ranting but let’s just get it all out in the open.

Now I like to think of myself as traditionally untraditional, meaning we take a little bit of morality, ethics, and ideals, and mash them into what works for us. By nature, I’m a very cynical, sarcastic and outgoing being. My father forced me into optimism. Every time people screwed me over he kept reminding me that faith in the human race is worth it after all.

Now I don’t want to say certain things are “right” and others “wrong” but there is a societal and social order in which things are more easily accepted. I chose to follow that order and it came as such: Date some boys, play some games, find the one you can make it work with, move in together to test the last-ability, get engaged, graduate school, get married and have babies.

We live in a universe where families of all shapes, sizes, makes and molds exist, but in the secretly conservative world we coexist in, should we really expect the idea of first comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage to be out of style? Sure we’re more accepting of the out of tradition molds. Divorce is like a staple of the nation now, but can I just ask for some brownie points for doing things as society asked and really making it work?

Not only that but to come into a union out of choice instead of circumstance? Where’s the certificate of achievement for that!? There are so many walks of life, and we are forced to recognize, respect and celebrate all of them at one time or another, but what about those of us that worked at it? Yes, all relationships and facets of life itself are “work,” but some have it harder than others.

Personally I have overcome severe depression without medication, family addiction, personal losses such as death and grief, and the general betrayal by and of loved ones in the form of money, personal conflicts and judgments. And who hasn’t?! But there is a dignity with which to accept the lot in life you are given, and even with a fit of rage and many mistakes, the choices to guide yourself out of the darkness should be rewarded.

My husband and I CHOSE to be with each other because we knew we were a great match. I CHOSE to turn my outlook on life around without being medicated. I CHOSE to finish school and create an opportunity for myself. I CHOSE to take my family history into account when making lifestyle choices to better my situations. My husband and I CHOSE to live within our means, to move into new surroundings to enrich our lifestyle and adulthood and we CHOSE to have our amazing child.

Many aren’t so lucky. Although I may seem ungrateful at times, I know how lucky I am, but that doesn’t deter the periodic frustration with the general dealings of the world we live in.

So many American households have mountains of debt, student loans and consumer credit issues. My husband and I have never had more than 5,000$ in debt at one time. We have both sustained full time jobs and taken care of ourselves without too much dependence on the outside world with two exceptions, and one of those was a medical emergency.

Since medical debt is as trendy as divorce, it shocks me that this actually counts against you. Even when someone has great health insurance, you still end up paying medical bills, and the amounts of said bills are enough to put you right back in the hospital with a heart or panic attack!

We have no car loans or outstanding tickets. We’ve never had a car payment and have come into car ownership within the means of the money we have. When we needed extras, we turned to credit cards, like most. And by extras, I don’t mean flat screen TVs and fancy vacations. We paid for a vet visit for the dog that snuck up on us, a repair on the car that was overlooked, and new shoes for work, new glasses, or a walk in clinic visit for a minor medical emergency.

So after the birth of our amazing daughter and feeling triumphant that we’d done so well with money and hadn’t racked up too much in my absence from work, we thought we should really do some future discussion and enter the world of grown-ups: house ownership.

One of our closest friends had just purchased a house and we thought, well why not. Now all the hoops you have to jump through could practically be written in Greek. I don’t get it, but that word “pre-qualify” came up and we knew the numbers would have to be “run.” Now I knew my husband’s credit was trashed but mine was pretty good, but he made all the money.

After being optimistic out the ass as I always have to be, even when I really just want to run into a cave and hide from the unfair nature that is our lives, the nice lady over the phone with the results basically told us that our ideals and optimism were shot. No house this year, and we had a bit of a yellow brick road situation with some flying monkeys to deal with. Perhaps having a house actually fall on us would be the most viable option.

As she was winding me around all the jargon I don’t understand on the phone and I’m shaking my head to my husband all I could picture was the moving poster from Harry Potter reading “Undesirable #1.” And then I got a bit worked up.

Why is it that some of the most rotten people we know get things handed to them like inheritances, newer cars, and an endless supply of family hand outs, and we live paycheck to paycheck, pinch pennies and have no luxuries in our midst and can’t catch a break? And it’s not just us! Some of our most wonderful and hardworking friends ALSO have shit luck, and then we watch these thankless, selfish assholes make the grade!?!

For lack of a better word: Bullshit. So I wound myself into a mental cyclone and then look down at my daughter, who had a very challenging first month of life, and was reminded of something: things aren’t really THAT bad. And as bad as it is to say, they can always get worse!

It’s an unfairish life if you ask me, but in turn, I shouldn’t be looking for others to justify my life. Sure I may have played it “by the book” and made choices as close to the guidelines I’d been raised with as I could, but just because some of our “frenemies” lived outside of it, is no true reflection of what we have made for ourselves. We get enough judgment in the world without asking, so I shouldn’t be seeking approval from anyone. Why waste time longing for brownie points when we could just be making brownies?!

I think about the people I admire the most that have had to deal with some horrible things in life. I think about the people who work so hard and who have shared their worry and stories with us. I think about karma and how the truly wretched people will pay for their wrongdoings and mistakes. But mostly I realize that those people who seemingly have it “better” than you or us probably have a whole set of problems we couldn’t even fathom! The more money the more problems, right P. Diddy?

So I put myself back into check and realized no matter how bitter the diatribe, no matter how bad the moment, the day or the situation, we have more than we’ll ever need: each other. It’s corny and cliché for sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

We, as a society, live very closed and secretive lives. Somewhere along the timeline we lost our ability to sympathize and share heartfelt stories and now relate almost everything to a “status” change or “check in.” These updates currently allow us to call ourselves socialized. Well, my status change will read “On our way to the life we want, one day at a time.” And I guess we’ll check in as we end up in each stage of life, however bitter the diatribe that the unfairish life had brought us from.

The Birth Story: A Day Late, A 7lb-9oz, 20.5in Cutie

My daughter, Luna Raylee, was born on January 31, 2013 at 11:30am and this is our story.

I had an amazing pregnancy. The first three months I did have morning sickness and horrible nausea if I didn’t eat a small snack every couple of hours. I’d never been so tired in all my life. The second trimester brought typical hunger and energy spurts. By the third trimester I was tired again and my only real complaint was excessive swollen ankles and feet because I worked a desk job.

I worked the entire nine months of my pregnancy and only called in once, well I guess by the end of it, twice. I was pretty regular although I did gain a lot of weight, but not a dangerous amount. Creepily enough somehow I gained almost the exact amount my mother gained when she carried me.

Luna was due on January 30^th, 2013 and I only became truly uncomfortable during my 40^th week carrying her. We’d had a doctor’s appointment that week and they said if she didn’t come out by the time Groundhog’s day rolled around, they’d induce.

Tuesday January 29^th I had an induction massage to help start things complete with Reikki. My husband and I had planned to start the at home induction methods after my last day of work if she didn’t appear on her own.

After 7 months of constant heartburn and staying away from anything with too much spice or flavor, I finally caved on Wednesday, my due date and demanded Thai food. Shrimp spicy curry was my delicious dinner and I think between that and the massage we definitely encouraged her to come out.

I was technically scheduled to work on January 31^st, 2013, but Luna Raylee had other plans for mommy. I remember being uncomfortable that night; waking up every hour to change positions and get comfortable again.  I woke up around 7 the next morning and left a message at work saying I wasn’t in labor but wasn’t feeling up to coming in. I took a long hot shower because my lower back was sore from the massage and then got dressed.

I was trying to let my husband sleep in because he’d worked a lot previously but by 8am I was uncomfortable. My dad had been staying with us to help us get ready for her arrival, and I remember he asked if I wanted coffee, made me a cup and then when he gave it to me, I was too uncomfortable to grab it and finally woke my husband. We realized I was in labor and everything had begun.

I’d made plans with a bunch of friends to hit a local restaurant as a kind of last pregnant night out and started texting everyone that I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t want to create a stir so I just told them I’d keep them posted.

We sent my dad to the store to stock up on reserves for the hospital: granola bars, hard candies, and snacks. I’d asked my husband for pancakes and within 5 minutes the thought of eating was too horrible to bear. My phone was blowing up with texts and I remember throwing it across the floor telling my husband to make it stop. It was a distraction I apparently didn’t need.

The contractions were nothing that I could have imagined. I was moving all over the living room, crawling around desperate to find comfort. At one point I was on the couch with the heating pad on my lower back. Our poor two-year-old pug was so concerned about me. He wanted to lie at my feet but that was adding to my discomfort. My husband was holding my hand and helping me breathe while staring at my focal point of a sonogram picture of our daughter.

At one point I was mostly comfortable but the pain was increasing, our pug crawled up on my back on top of the heating pad and applied just the perfect amount of pressure to alleviate some of the pain. It was an amazing moment between mommy and pup!

After that I was so uncomfortable and sick. Here’s something I never knew happened: I was vomiting during contractions. It was horrible. After a few trips to the bathroom my husband urged me to get into bed. I said no. I’d been standing and he’d been applying pressure to my hips with his hands to help ease the discomfort, a trick that made no sense to me in childbirth class but was a life-saver during my labor. I refused to get into bed.

I ended up on the living room floor with a mixing bowl for me to be sick in and he turned on my favorite show. I remember yelling, “Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!” The noise was too much for me to handle for some reason. My dad returned from the store and sat quietly reading while I was all over the place desperate for rest from the pain. For me, the contractions were the worse menstrual cramps and back pains I had ever experienced. I must have cried, “I can’t do it, I can’t do this,” a thousand times, and every time my husband responded, “Yes you can, because you’re doing it already!”

We’d chosen the natural birth route, no pain assistance whatsoever. Around 10am, about 3 hours into the growing discomfort my husband finally got me to retreat to our bed. I remember screaming so bad and literally passing out in between the contractions. Around 10:15, after some painful cries, my dad popped his head in the room and said, “Those last two were kind of close together, we may want to head towards the hospital.”

The hospital was a good 30 minute drive. We all scrambled to get ready and I was in and out of the bathroom with the sensation I needed to pee. I was concerned about not leaving the dog in a strange frenzy. Poor pug had no idea what was going on. My dad and husband got the bags, got me safely down the stairs and loaded us in the car. I wanted to stretch out in the car, a physical impossibility. Luckily for Florida, it was exceptionally cool. I remember when I first got in the car I got stuck because I rolled in a painful outcry. It was both funny, and horrible all in the same moment. We had a Tupperware for me to be sick in, just in case.

We got on the highway and I sat up, screaming. My husband was on the phone to my mom as I was yelling. I gave up breathing and just started wailing in pain. It was the only thing making me feel better. It was about 10 minutes from the hospital, at a stop light that I screamed profanity and apologized to my dad who just said, “Oh, that’s okay honey, you’re entitled to swear as much as you want.”

It was then I started screaming, “It hurts so bad, there’s sooooo much pressure.” My husband in a calm yet vaguely panicked voice asked, “Like what kind of pressure?” I responded, “I don’t know but I feel like she’s so low; like she’s close to being here.” My husband just reminded me we were almost there.

We left the house at about 10:30am and made it to the hospital by 10:55am, a record considering it was downtown. When we pulled into the hospital area, a mere moment away from being there, we stopped at the pedestrian crosswalk between buildings and an old, hunched over gentleman was literally walking at a snail’s pace across the road in front of us. My husband yelled, “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”

He pulled into a drop off area and I cried, “THIS IS THE WRONG ONE! YOU HAVE TO GO UP THE RAMP!” Even during labor I was bossy and right! The valet and people in the emergency area were barely helpful and we had to ask for a wheelchair. When we arrived in the women’s center, I was still screaming a bit. Everyone kept calmly saying, “And this is your first baby?” To which we replied, “YES!” No one seemed to be in any hurry for me to do anywhere. I screamed again and a nurse said, “Oh honey, don’t scream, just breathe.” I shot her the dirtiest look, as if to say, “Are you fucking kidding me right now!?”

They took me into a room and asked me to undress. My husband had to help me. They said, “Ok we’ll do a quick check to see how far you are.” They laid me down, did a “quick check,” and then said, “Ok, we need to go STRAIGHT INTO DELIVERY!”

They wheeled me down the hall and then had me bed hop into one of the delivery beds. I remember telling one of the midwives that I was very dehydrated so I may need an IV. The midwives came in and introduced themselves and said we were all going to be delivering my daughter. I was still yelling and I had a nurse tugging at my arm for IV purposes. The midwife said, “Alison, don’t yell because that pushes out and it’s time for you to push down.” That, I could wrap my head around!

There were no stirrups and they wanted to me to hold both my own legs, which was so tough for me. It seemed like a million things were going on at once and everyone was telling me to do this that and the next thing but she was on her way out, and it was all happening quickly. One nurse was trying to get my IV ready and my midwife scolded, “Forget the IV, she needs to start pushing, NOW!” My husband was right next to me, my dad was sitting on the comfy couch area out of the way with our bags, and there was a male and female resident in the room to see it all happen. The male resident almost dropped during the event!

My husband grabbed my one leg, the midwives helped me with the other one, I pushed one, rest, pushed, two, rest, pushed three, rest, pushed four and there she was. “She has red hair,” my husband exclaimed. They immediately put her on my chest and I just held her tight and said, “wow.”

The midwives cleaned me up and my adrenaline was running so high. I’d done exactly what I wanted to. I delivered completely naturally, and from the time we arrived at the hospital, she was born about 35 minutes later! She was perfect.

My legs were shaking and suddenly I became cold. My midwives massaged my deflated stomach which felt so strange and slightly uncomfortable. Since I hadn’t technically been admitted yet, all the medical questions were asked afterwards. I was completely disoriented and exhausted. The only thing I could focus on was her. They took her over to a small area to clean her, measure her and weigh her after about a half hour. Then they gave her to daddy. My husband and dad had started calling everyone. Luna Raylee had taken the world by storm.

It was an incredibly fast moving, life-changing, truly epic event. We were so proud of me for doing everything naturally. It wasn’t until later that we’d realized my labor started at about 11pm on Wednesday evening. I’d had contractions every hour but I slept in between them. My water must have broken in the shower because when they asked when, we had no explanation because we hadn’t seen it. The funny thing is, if I hadn’t been screaming and pushing out instead of down, she may have been born in the car!

When she came out she had the cord around her neck once, but because the birth was so swift and my husband cut it so quickly, it didn’t constrict her airflow, but she does have a little birth mark on her neck from it. From other posts you know that after her birth we faced many challenges but her birth and her time growing in my womb were little perfect.

I look at her and I don’t understand those mothers who harm their children. She changes so much every day and we’re so lucky we get to watch it all happen. And all of those women that told me I couldn’t handle it without the epidural seriously underestimated me. And almost allowed me to underestimate myself!

The last day in January, a mere day after her due date, our wonderful daughter was born. And we love her like we never thought possible. Her birth story will be our family tale to tell for the rest of our lives!

Bad Mom...My Parenting Nightmare

In the midst of all the books and parental preparation that comes with growing a life inside you, I remember coming across a piece of literature that said “Parenting is not instinctive; it’s not an innate ability.” And that quote pissed me off. In my mind, parenting is completely based on instincts because you’ll just know what your baby needs; right? Apparently, wrong. Or at least, it’s no longer completely instinctive.

Although it makes complete sense to me that cavewomen were just built to know how to care for their newborns and breastfeed, we now live in a world with endless information, interference and advice. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

When my daughter was born, I was so overcome with relief and joy, my adrenaline running from a swift and all natural delivery that you can barely grasp much of a thought beyond a love so intense for the little being. We’d read the books and gone to the classes. I was so excited to breastfeed because I’d read how awesome it is in every way.

What I never read, or perhaps I just don’t remember reading it, is how much of a challenge breastfeeding can be. And no one, not any mother friend or relative, ever told me…until I finally asked around, and then the truth came out. Our first 48 hours together, spent in the hospital were filled with nurses coming in and out to bother us both. At one point, one nurse scolded me, telling me I needed to wake my baby to feed her.

Now all my life, all my years of nannying and childcare led me to believe you should never wake a sleeping baby. Apparently, this was another idea that’s more of a loose guideline than rule. First the nurses proclaimed I had flat nipples…guess I’d never really examined my own nipples because this came as a total surprise to me. Then they fidgeted with our hold having me move her all over. My daughter and I just looked at each other wondering what everyone was doing. She wasn’t very interested in eating and when we woke her she’d cry in anger and then want to eat less.

A very good lactation consultant came to help during a successful feeding and had very little input. Later when we had an issue, a nurse handed me a nipple shield, but  didn’t explain to me what it was for or why she gave it to me, just commented on my flat nipples again scolding me for not working harder to get her on there.

We were relieved to get home and then the real fun began. Our daughter was a great sleeper, which shocked the hell out of us. Once my milk came in my nipples became cracked, bloody and so sore that breastfeeding was almost more painful than my contractions. I cried every feeding and dreaded it for the first 10 days after my milk came in. Feeding her was such an ordeal. My husband had to get me fresh water and a hard candy because I was in such misery I needed distraction. I wasn’t enjoying the bond at all and wasn’t healing, everything was just getting worse. It hurt so bad that I would instinctively pull away because I anticipated the immense pain, which would make my daughter more irritable and she’d latch more feverishly to get what she needed.

Finally my amazing husband, after hours on the internet got me a nipple shield to help me heal. This saved breastfeeding for me. All the lanolin or non lanolin cream, everything just made my nipples stick to my nursing bras and pull off scabs. Going braless hurt my back and I’d leak all over everything. The nipple shields helped me heal and I checked to make sure there was milk in it so I knew she was getting what she needed.

I remember just around her two week birthday a close friend came over to take her newborn photos. He and his wife were pretty much our only parenting allies. I’d spoken with his wife and she helped me so much and convinced me to speak to a La Leche League Leader, and when he came over he told me that it’s not easy to breastfeed and everyone has to get used to it. That day I’d started weaning us both off of the shield because as soon as I told people I was using it, all the advice about why NOT to use it and scary stories about how it’s “bad” and problems it causes came out.

The day of the photo shoot we’d successfully breastfed with almost no pain. I cried from joy and our photographer got some great shots of us sharing that moment. I’d reached out to a mom’s group on Facebook and got the most amazing feedback. I felt much less lonely and started to feel good about breastfeeding again. I remember thinking I’d contact a La Leche League Leader the following day when I realized we had company arriving soon to stay with us. In anticipation, I’d been so stressed I thought, “Better wait until after the visit; I’ll just focus on my daughter this week.”

 In an effort to keep things simple, while company was in town I’d relied on the nipple shield again. I was very afraid to let on that breastfeeding was a very big challenge for us. All of the hurdles made me feel as though I was somehow being judged by others. I’d cried over and over again. I didn’t understand why it seemed so natural for others, and was so difficult for me. I’d rationalized that because my pregnancy and her delivery went so well, it was only fair that breastfeeding was something that would be harder.

I’ll admit something that I’ve only ever said out loud to my husband: I’ve always wanted children and we waited so that we could be better equipped to care for them. Because of my childhood and personal experiences with my own mother, my biggest fear is being a bad mother. I was a nanny for most of my life and I always gave “my kids” everything I could. I wanted to be for them, what I didn’t really have. Now that I had a precious girl of my own, the thought of letting her down was unbearable.

Her two week check up fell on the first official day our visitor was here. We drove downtown to our appointment and were told we didn’t have one. We were so frustrated. As someone who made appointments for a living, I thought about it rationally and asked when the appointment was made for and was shocked to find out that they made a same day appointment for the day my husband called to make the appointment, two weeks ago. However, no one called to inform us that we “no showed.” Also, when I’d called to let the front desk know we were running a few minutes late due to traffic, no one told us we didn’t have an appointment to be late to. They couldn’t get us in until 5 days, almost a week later, which made her almost 3 weeks old.

The next five days were horrible. My stress levels were off the charts, which must have projected onto her. Although I didn’t really feel like breastfeeding was particularly troublesome at this point, I was distracted to say the least.

It was on the actual day of her check up that feeling like a bad mother hit a whole new level. When we went to see our pediatrician, whom we love by the way, everything seemed normal, until she reviewed our daughter’s weight. Instead of gaining back to her birth weight, she’d lost weight. And our doctor then explained that this was the kind of weight loss that required hospitalization. It wasn’t anything to worry about yet, but we needed to make sure her little body was ok.

I immediately burst into tears. Our pediatrician calmly said, “You guys have done nothing wrong. We just need to make sure she’s getting what she needs ok?” No…not okay. We were a mess as we were admitted into the hospital. I was scared shitless. My husband was too, but always manages to hold it together far better than I.

When we were admitted into the Pediatrics ward it was all business. Our nurse was amazing, very sensitive and sweet. A cadre of caregivers showed up, including the lactation consultant. She had us try out a new hold and looked generally horrified at how badly my nipples were damaged. The first task was to see how much food my daughter was actually getting. This required her to be weighed before and after each feeding.

From the moment the doctors came in, everything had gotten crazy. My husband had run home to get us all clothing, as we were informed we’d be there for a few days to run some tests. While he was gone, everything seemingly happened at once. Our doctor, whom I liked, and her team of residents and nurses informed me that I just wasn’t producing enough and that our feedings were ineffective.

This just broke my heart. Everything had been such a challenge with breastfeeding and this was an utter failure. Failure was even in the title of the condition “Failure to Thrive.” And suddenly bad mom overload kicks in; I felt as though it was my fault. I just wasn’t a good enough mom.

I flashed back to every obstacle and was able to sit there and over analyze all the should-haves, could haves and would haves. How did I miss the signs? How did I not know? I WAS HER MOTHER, and somehow I missed giving her something she needed for life in this world. There are no sufficient words to describe what you feel the moment you feel you’ve failed your child.

Failure to Thrive is a term that covers a wide array of issues. I wasn’t producing enough to feed her because she wasn’t demanding enough from me. It was a collection of intertwining issues. Either way, these issues needed to be fixed. It wasn’t an easy process, mentally or physically.

Everyone said this was not my fault and that it happens often, but as in most situations in life you search for someone to blame. When the one to blame is you, it’s a pretty dark moment. The doctors and nurses were all in the business of getting us back on track. We had a ridiculous schedule to keep up. My daughter was to eat every 3 hours: 10 minutes on each breast, I’d pump for 15 minutes on each breast and then she’d supplement formula for the rest. If she didn’t take down the whole bottle of formula, they had to give her the rest via a feeding tube down her nose to help expand her tiny tummy so she could get the calories she needed.

Watching them put that feeding tube in was horrible. They’d asked if I was ok to watch and I said yes but nothing can prepare you for the mental anguish of watching your child in that kind of pain and hearing her screams, knowing you can’t just make it all better.

As for the whole formula thing, I’d fought it but when you’re told your body isn’t giving your child what he or she needs, you change your outlook a bit. In no way did they discourage me from breastfeeding. They wanted me to get that baby on the boob properly but I felt so…depleted, in every single way.

The first 48 hours in the hospital were the worst. Everyone kept harassing me about eating right and drinking plenty of water but I was so exhausted and so upset, food was the last thing I wanted and any water was immediately cried out of me. I remember sobbing and apologizing to my 3 week old for being a bad mother. My poor husband just kept reassuring me that it wasn’t my fault. At one point we both just let out all our crazy thoughts for what caused this. He said he was working too much and would have noticed if he was home more. I said I was stressed out and failed to pay close enough attention. We went back and forth for hours and got almost no sleep.

They started running the tests to make sure nothing scary was happening in our little one’s system. Unfortunately our daughter inherited her parents’ hard-to-find veins so when it came to drawing blood, it was horrible for her. I couldn’t watch. My husband had to do it. My poor baby was tortured. For 5 days my husband and I were in the hospital with her. I never left her. My husband ran errands for food and clothing but I never left my daughter.

Our visit totaled 10 miserable days. Within the first 72 hours she was eating well enough she didn’t need the feeding tube. Plus my little warrior tried to pull it out herself. She took to the bottle better than she ever took to the boob. It was our 8^th day that the lactation consultant came back. At this point I’d given up on having her on the breast and was just pumping. After the issues with cracked and bleeding nipples, having a plugged duct, issues with engorgement and ongoing discomfort, and then seeing her success with the bottle, I figured giving her any breast milk at all was better than none, and it was okay for it to be in bottle form. On the 8^th day however, the lactation consultant came back and had me put her on the boob. Miraculously, she latched effortlessly and perfectly. Somehow the bottle actually improved her latch! I felt like a real, live mother again!

All of her tests came back fine. She had no internal issues. The hospital stay was very uncomfortable. Of course I understood that I needed to get my daughter healthy, but being away from home that long was terrible in every way. She made daily progress but every day they’d say “tomorrow or the next day” we’d go home. They wouldn’t allow her to sleep with me and they had no swings or rockers so if she wasn’t in my arms she was stuck in a hospital bassinet. We liked most of the nurses we had, but a couple were horrible.

I felt like the hospital robbed me of my child. For those ten days I couldn’t enjoy her. I was completely disconnected out of sheer exhaustion. I’d opened up to everyone about our problems and it comes with a very wide array of responses. Most were supportive, some were slightly judgmental and some people decided to further scare me into thinking worse things would come.

We’re so grateful for the people who came to our aid but having visitors was difficult too. Being such a physical, emotional and mental mess, having guests was sometimes an intense experience, so I had to just let people see me falling apart. Falling apart was somewhat freeing; to embrace the pain and let go.

 We’ve been home a month. I started reviewing baby literature today and I had an overwhelming rash of emotions. I read a few paragraphs on breastfeeding and thought, “Well, that information would have been useful before!” It’s a shame the books don’t warn you about the obstacles. They make everything so benign and as a parent, concern is healthy. You can’t walk into parenthood blindly, or at least you shouldn’t. There are so many things I “should have” done, or “could have if I’d only known.”

Once I came out and discussed my challenges, I was met with open arms, but until then it was amazing to me how something that billions of women do every day was such a tough task, and amazing that I felt so lonely in my challenges with it.

I’m still saddened, disappointed in myself and angry, but I’ve had to pull the positive from the situation. I have a very healthy little girl now. We learned a lot about her and ourselves. We are stronger because of it all. She now sleeps effortlessly in her bassinet, which prior to her hospital stay she did not. I miss her sleeping with us, but we both sleep better with her right next to the bed in her bassinet. Now we share other snuggle time that I truly enjoy. I’ve revisited some old obstacles mentally and  emotionally but have de-stressed and taken care of us both more intensely.

Our daughter is so…wanted. We did not enter parenthood hastily and we do not take it for granted. I appreciate each moment with her now. I appreciate each minute of every day more than I ever thought I could. She is my reason for existence and I fully intend to live as such.

I still have momentary feelings of being a “bad mother,” but I know I’m doing the best I can and being there, wherever there is, for her is all that matters. We hit many speed bumps on the drive of new family life. We had to adjust our “plans” and expectations, but that’s what parenthood is! We are a better family because we overcame those obstacles and even though some “critics” may say otherwise, we know we have love and support from amazing people to carry us the distance, and boy are we ready to go the distance!