Do you see change as beautiful?
Have you wrestled a bit under it, and later, found that there is beauty in it?
Elizabeth's sister, who is famous in her own right, but best known here as Elizabeth's sister, Katherine, recently published a memoir called Any Day a Beautiful Change. It is a powerful and courageous study on what defines us as people at the crux of marriage, motherhood and career.
As part of the celebration, people are sharing their beautiful changes, linked to Katherine's blog. I invite you to join too, if you so desire.
In thinking about my own story, I considered and decided against several ideas. Curtis' retirement date has been set. That will change many things (big and small) that has been true for us for as long as we've known each other. But, I am not ready to write about it.
Or, I could write about Silas, who is so unexpected, even now.
But instead, I will tell you this:
I have truly failed at three big things in my life:
1. Playing Volleyball
2. Doing math for fun
3. Breastfeeding
And, of these things, it is the third that is the least understood. Frankly, I don't explain it very often.
To back up a bit, with Laurel, I fully intended to breast feed. I was certain of it, as it was best for her, best for bonding, and the most natural approach. I took the class. I read several books. I committed myself.
I also didn't know anyone who was using formula.
Then, Laurel arrived in squalling splendor. We had been in Virginia a few weeks, and it was not the Virginia we left in 2009, but the Virginia that was almost a foreign country it was so different than what we'd known. When Laurel was born, I had met one friend in Virginia who had a baby.
There is a kind of overwhelmed that is unique to being a first time mama. It is a beautiful change, but I would argue a very lonely one. There is no crystal ball, and you just don't know what it will be like. There isn't the perspective that will come later when the hormones ebb, sleep returns, and a tiny bit of confidence has been built up.
So it was that at I time I should have reached out to people, I didn't.
And, so it was that I made an unbelievable effort to breast feed... first in the hospital, with every nurse, every gadget, every piece of advice. If force of will could bring about success, I would have succeeded. Instead, I don't know if Laurel every stopped crying.
When I arrived home, the situation didn't improve. Working on trying to make breastfeeding work took all my time. At Laurel's two day appointment, she'd lost weight. Enough weight to concern the pediatrician, who I'd never see before or again, but who destroyed me with his demeaning comments.
I went to the lactation consultant. I pumped every two hours, night and day, day and night. I pumped, fed, and slept 20-30 minutes and pumped again. In 40 minutes, at first two ounces, then only one... I fought infection. I cried into magazines at 3 am. I cut things out of my diet. Laurel cried and cried and cried and cried.
After nearly six weeks and three more visits to the lactation consultant, who in desperation gave quite bad advice, emails exchanged with experts at home in MT, a different lactation consultant, and more reading... I took Laurel to the last military doctor I'll ever see. She had blood in her diaper and was still losing weight, resulting in part from my inability to feed her enough and in part from a lactose issue that may or may not have been related. The doctor was horrible. I left the appointment hysterical.
My mom said, Give it up. It's time to make a change. You cannot do this like this any more.
She was right. I couldn't.
But, such are the stigmas about bottle feeling that I felt terrible, swirling guilt and depression about my decision. I felt certain that giving up would ruin my baby's life.
It didn't. It was a beautiful change.
I could not have continued to function as a mama in the way that I was then. I was exhausted. I cried all the time. I didn't have the resources to even call someone to ask for help. I wasn't doing Laurel any favors.
I could not have had another baby if I hadn't let go of all that society demands of mamas when it comes to breast feeding. The occasional unkind thing that someone says, even now, can make me cry.
Still, it is a change in my thinking, in my humility, and in my vision of what mamahood should be that I have come to accept. The terrible fears have not come to pass. Laurel loves me. We have bonded. She is not sickly, and she isn't lacking intellectual or social skills.
I can mama because I can accept that there are things that I can't do just the way everyone else is doing them. And, often, perspective is a beautiful change, however it has been earned.
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