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!