Ten Reasons (Not) to Have a Baby

Before having a baby my only examples of motherhood were watching the women around me who had already taken on the task. Some were just at the beginning, others chasing around a brood ages 12 to 3, and many were watching their children scatter to college, marriage, and child-rearing of their own.
Most of the time I had admiration for these moms. If ever I was in a group where I was the only childless, married female the thought would cross my mind, "Man...I am not ready for this." But then I would wonder if that were true. Was I really not ready? Or was I just scared? What was I waiting for?
That is when I would hear a mom, (usually holding a squirming toddler in her arms), swoon, "I just want another baby so bad. I miss having a baby."
Something about that sentiment always made me cringe a little. Do we women actually have babies to satisfy our own needs? Visions of an Opera show about children forced to do tap-dancing because their mother always wanted to be a star herself would float through my brain. Or worse...maybe the mother had forgotten that infants grow up to be two-year-olds, then four, then eleven; from my observatory experience these were not always pleasant phases. Picture the owner who gets a kitten because it is just so cute and fluffy, then abandons it outside of a theatre because lo-and-behold the thing turned into a cat!
To me, my reason for having a baby could not be to satisfy some biological programming that made me want to spew my genetics all over the planet.
(Ok, pause: to all of you out there who have ever said anything similar to what I have transcribed, please do not take offense...yet. I am going somewhere with all of this, and I promise brutality is not on the agenda for this post. I love you.) 
Such thoughts would torment me when I contemplated conceiving a child. How would I know that I truly was having a baby for all of the right reasons? Not because I wanted to throw my self-esteem into a helpless, innocent little person and hope that they could solve all my issues. Not so I could live my aspirations through their life. And certainly not to have a baby, but a person. Someone who would come into the world with its own personality and spirit, (maybe really different from mine), and turn into an adult that I would still be mothering!
When my husband and I decided we were ready all I could hope was that I would be equipped to raise this precious little being, whether or not my reasons for conception were perfect.
I am sure that is how many mothers feel.
The great news is that I now understand why moms say they want another baby. Chances are there are a few misled women who actually spawn in order to raise their own status. But for the most part, I think that the smart, fun, innovative mothers I have met were as scared as I was, and probably are every time they go through with another birth. Like me, they decided that this was worth it. And then when they held their first baby for the first time, they knew that the choice was the right one. From there they would do everything they could to allow that little angel to spread its wings and grow.
As long as us moms feel all of that, maybe we can be allowed a little selfishness now again. Every morning I have a daughter who loves me, even if my hair looks like a hen had a hay-day in it, or my mascara is caked down to my chin, or my baby-weight is still what supports her little bottom as I carry her through the house. Snuggling is great for her, but if I did not get in at least a few good hugs a day, I think I would be the one to feel a little depleted. Successfully wiggling a giggle out of my sweet girl is better than any success I have ever had outside of my home. Her little glow is a piece of heaven that everyday reminds me to be a better person. What would I do without her now?
I am proud to say that I am among the mothers who looks forward to the next baby, when my husband and I are ready. Of course the plan will be for the baby, but a little will be for me too.

I Would Try For Peace

Somebody once told me that the only emotion that Satan cannot duplicate is peace. There are synthetics for joy, (such as being drunk), love, (a one-night stand), or safety, (being with friends who may not be good for you, but they are comfortable). Peace - the type that comes from living a good life, being in tune with yourself, and trying to reach for those things that really matter - has no substitute.

Trying to put peace in context of the moments in my life where I felt that emotion, I think of being outdoors. The nights staring into the stars, or a day by a lake. No music, or movies, or cars, or rowdy people. Just beauty and greatness and a chance for my mind to ponder on possibilities.

Mostly I remember my wedding day. When marrying my husband felt so right that nothing but a calm, quiet, reserve to go through with what would be the best decision of my life filled my entire being. Taking my husband's hand that day was the most peace I have ever experienced.

If all of this is so huge and important, I feel that nothing in the world could be more important to give my daughter than to be able to be comfortable and happy in a life full of peace. And I know that there is nowhere else but my own home where she will be able to learn about peace and discover the soothing calm of quiet moments. Schools are never going to teach her to sit still and listen. Surely the friends that my little girl makes someday will be more apt to teach her the latest fashion or pop song than about meditation. And media is about flashy sounds, concepts and images. Books were my last hope for a peace outside of my home; my daughter being able to be lost in someone else’s marvelous ideas all on her own. Apparently these paper dinosaurs are going out of style though, so I cannot hope my baby will stumble on them by herself.

Today I took a little time to think what it is I need to have for my daughter to not just feel peace, but have it be an intimate part of who she is. I want to instill in her this little "Peace Package," that she can draw from out of it tranquility, or a quick breath of air, in a moment when others around her are spiraling in confusion.

My very first inclination was to think, "simplicity."

I am only 26 years old, but sometimes I feel like the 80 year old woman saying, "Kids and their gadgets these days." Personally I have carried a cell phone since I was 18. Before that I had a walkman, and before that a stereo. But growing up as a child I had very little. I am the oldest of five, therefore I was around when my parents were establishing their life and barely making ends meet. My toys required imagination, the few I had. Blocks and model horses only came to life because I made them. Now I see children listening to their own iPods before they can even read. Computers guide them in letters and numbers and worthwhile activities, but they do not allow for wandering off of the path of what was programmed. Most baby toys have to have lights and levers that whistle. But is it any wonder? From the time my daughter was born she has witnessed my husband and I play video games, watched movies with us, had digital cameras flash in her face each and every day. So of course she is going to want her toys and games reflect something in the life that she sees every day.

Is this bad?
I am not sure.

What I do think is that there must be a balance. How cliche, I know. But really. If I can take the time for her and I to just sit and talk. Read a book. Take a walk. For just a few different intervals everyday, do something where we are engaged in a world outside of what we are being told we have to have and see. Then maybe she will learn to enjoy the blocks and model horses. Maybe she will be content one day with laying on a blanket in a field, finding constellations with her father and I, or taking a hike somewhere other than the mall.

I hope.

Soon, in my wishing for a feeling of being content with what we have, I realized my sweet child will never seek for simplistic life-options unless there is gratitude. Most of the time my husband and I have an underlying feeling of doubt when it comes to our financial situation. We definitely are not in running with the Hilton's or Trump's, let's just put it that way. Yet if I really think about our standing, I always come to the realization that things are not just fine, but are really great. Our house, our pets, our lifestyle is comfortable, and full of what we have chosen to spend our "excess" money on. Never do we starve, or have a leak when it rains, or tear a whole in our shirt with the worry of replacing it. Most days I wonder what the heck we are going to do with all the "stuff" we have that never seems to fit in the storage areas of our house.

So often I feel I fall into the "comparison trap." For instance, I have to hear about a family whose husband lost his job after 30+ years at the same company, had their house burn down, and a son get killed in a car wreck, all in the same year, (true story, by the way...how sad can it get?), to remember that my life is not just adequate, but is downright glorious. But I do not want to be that way. Everyday for about the last week I have been filled with this overwhelming thankful spirit for everything I have, and for the freedom I have to be able to do exactly what I want. I can learn Spanish, practice the guitar, attend my church, get a masters, and be a mother and stay-at-home mom, all because I want to. But if I wanted to be an astronaut, learn how to make fat-free donuts and pick up ballet I could. The option is there. Perhaps I do not have a huge house, or more than one car, or even a few things I want, but all in all, I have everything I need to be happy. Which really comes down to a few things: my husband, my daughter, my pets, and freedom to do whatever I want.

That is what I want my sweet girl to learn; she does not always have to have bigger and better, just to "have." But she can appreciate everything we provide, then make her own opportunities wherever she sees a need.

By the time I had the "simplicity" and "gratitude" "steps to peace" down, I realized that the most important, beautiful, fulfilling aspects of my life have always been with my relationships with the people in my life. Once I met my husband he trumped all of those relationships. Then our amazing daughter arrived and added a wonderful element to that bond. When my marriage is in full communication, my husband and I on the same page, I have peace. I figure that rolls into our relationship with our baby. If she feels her parents are in love and on an unstoppable team, she will be able to concentrate on all the other life lessons she's trying to ace. Likewise, if we are effectively reaching out to her, listening to her, sharing in her hopes, dreams, fears and triumphs, then the channels will be open for us to slip our ideas of a simplistic, thankful attitude to her.

When I started this blog I was trying to stick to what I know. Things like: always wear your hair back when you change a diaper, or cut it short like I did. Or: babies will try to defy any parenting book you have read when feeding, sleeping and development are concerned. However, I guess a big part of parenting is hoping that you will do well. And I hope that everyday.

If I can be responsible for an inch of peace along my daughter's life travels, I think that I will feel I did alright, at least in one way.

Meet Your Baby - Even if you can't see straight

These first weeks with my gorgeous daughter have been, for lack of a better word, amazing. Sometimes that amazement is felt toward the joyous moments a baby brings. Sometimes I am amazed I am still alive.

From day one in the hospital life with a new life has been about the little breakthroughs. Peeing by myself seemed to deserve a celebration complete with cake, ice cream, and of course that little bottle they give you to clean yourself with, (not all at the same time, I hope). Once I could actually stand without any assistance from my ever-supportive husband I began to think, "Ok...maybe I can do this...maybe I'll actually be able to take care of my baby." Little did I know standing was the only easy feat I would conquer.

Breaking out of the hospital had a fugitive feel. For three days people had been waking me up every few hours to make me feed my baby. Hello! Did anyone notice - she is asleep?! When is the last time you sucked down a Slurpee at 4am just because someone shoved the straw in your mouth? The fact that my daughter kindly just kept sleeping is a blessing. If I were her I would have dug my tiny, newborn claws into my mother's boob and said, "Don't worry...I'll let you know when this is necessary!"

Nurses would coo, "Now sleep when your baby is sleeping," as though they actually cared about my rest. Five minutes into my first nap in 22 hours I would hear, "I just need to take some blood and check your vitals and push on your sore uterus. Oh...and here is your pain medication!" Is that medication for the pain in my butt? (and I'm not talking about the stitches).

Deciding to breastfeed is actually giving the green light for every staff member to fondle and view your assets. When the third nurse in a row is showing you a different, "sure-fire" hold, guaranteed to make a baby who is just not hungry start to gulp down colostrum, you have to pray for the ability to not slap their, (always cold), hand away. The fact that the janitor, food services worker, and a dad who made a turn into the wrong room came in just in time for the show becomes the norm. Anyone else want a peek at awkward nursing attempts? Come on in! As long as you are wearing your shirt and shoes we are in service!

I imagine a lifer would hardly get as much joy being freed from jail as I did in being wheeled to my car.

At last I was home, so now came the time to set up "The Routine." After arranging a bed and dresser full of sleepers for my baby I figured all was set. Mealtime would be every three hours, my daughter and I would sleep in between, and all would be well.
I can just picture every mother out there laughing their head off at that sentence.
Nobody ever told me that the term "sleeper," is actually a joke, printed on the tags of newborn pajamas by someone who thinks cruel irony is good for a giggle. A so-called sleeper is actually just what separates you from your child's diaper and umbilical cord stub.

Maybe some babies fall into a steady pattern right off, but imagine my surprise when my baby, my perfect, little girl did not. Some instances of feed then sleep did occur, here and there. Usually though the slumber lasted only an hour. (Interesting when you consider meal time often took about an hour.) Luckily for that first week after delivery my euphoria had not dimmed. Each time I woke up to change the diaper of my daughter and nurse her I would look into her sweet face and think how happy I was to be up with such an adorable, little creature.

Week two I still felt my daughter was adorable and worth every inconvenient moment, but the hormone-induced elation of being awake for 36hrs at a time was wearing thin. I would have random moments of insane cackling when I thought back to the nurses telling me not to let my baby sleep more than four hours at a time. Clearly RNs not only go through medical training but are coached in comedy as well.

While this entry is stumbling close to the line of complain-fest, let me take a moment to say I count my blessings everyday for a healthy, colic-free, good-natured baby. The days and nights could be much more difficult. At the same time, while I crave every tender moment I can have with my daughter, every once in awhile a breakdown occurs. Suddenly I am crying because the movie I want to watch is not on T.V. Or my husband is bombarded with sobs because my belly is not shrinking more than is humanly possible. Then Baby finally sleeps for a four hour stretch, at a time I can actually lie down and catch some Z's, and I wake up trying to remember why I was so upset.

 Somehow through all this hysteria my girl and I are getting to know one another. The other day the thought occurred to me that I loved this little person so instantly, so unconditionally, even though I had not really met her yet. She was just prods and kicks inside of my body. Now I can look into her beautiful eyes, hear her breathing and sweet murmurs, hold her tiny, perfectly-formed hands, and listen for each different cry that tells me exactly what she needs at that moment. All I can hope is that what she is discovering about me is as interesting and lovely to her.

The beginning bumps on the road of being a mommy are starting to level. Even through sleep deprived eyes motherhood is looking bright.

Becoming a Mother

Look around and you can witness all of the ways and rationales couples have for making a baby. Perhaps they arranged the wedding, the career, the home, then finally a nursery and pregnancy, (order of those events varying from couple to couple, of course). While that is one simple explanation, (and by far other options are innumerable), the motivating factors behind the actual act of going through with that plan can be quite unique. Maybe one or both spouses felt obligated; "we are married so we are supposed to have children." Possibly each spouse had individually desired kids their entire lives and just could not wait to meet that special someone they would build a family with. Or then there is the horrible, yet true-for-a-reason cliche: "I thought it would make things better," (usually and unfortunately spoken by a struggling wife...I cannot imagine I have met many men who thought a kid would make things easier or more pleasant). Obviously I have hardly covered a portion of all the routes and reasons that take a couple to the point where they choose to procreate.
 As for myself, I assuredly fall in the category of one who fell in love, married that love, and later planned a pregnancy with my amazing husband. We discussed the fact that for many years I had no desire to have children. Only because I felt that very few parents escape the folly of "messing up" their offspring in some way or another. However, my heart expanded to allow for a love deeper than any I had ever experienced when I married my man. I knew then that regardless of what might happen, all I wanted was for little pieces of us to become a new person. One that would take from us hopefully only our best qualities and all of the love that we possess.

In 2008, two years after becoming a wife, I was ecstatic to find myself peeing on a little piece of plastic that could not wait to show two pink lines. We were pregnant, (because the joy of our pregnancy was truly something we shared, though as I would find out, only one of us would get to claim morning sickness, acne, gas, and "pregnancy brain"). Neither of us could really grasp what that meant, what would happen, or what changes would come into our relationship. Exciting and scary all at once.

All of the anticipation would screech to a halt around week 16 when we would learn the pregnancy had terminated.

Describing the pain that set in, (for days, and weeks, and months), would be like trying to explain what it feels like to be stabbed in the heart. Only those who have gone through such an experience know the despair and hollow hurt that follows such news. And there are many women and couples who do know.  Unfortunately, I had to find out twice, when I lost a second pregnancy, this time earlier on though. By this time it was April 2009 and my soul was being wrenched apart by sorrow. Would I never have the joy of giving my husband the greatest gift I felt I could give, that of a child I had borne and birthed for him? I ached for the experience, and the fear that my body was incapable of carrying a child was beginning to creep into my mind.

Taking the chance of losing a baby, (no matter when you miscarry, if you wanted that pregnancy then you feel as though you lost a child and all the dreams that would have come with them), for a third time almost paralyzed me to the point of not trying again. However, I knew of multiple couples who have/had gone through many more years of bereavement and much worse miscarriages. In June of 2009 I was pregnant again and barely willing to hope that all would be well. Looking back I think I may have actually held my breath until week 25 of the gestation when I realized that having a baby was going to happen this time.

No matter your state before a little person takes residence in your body, through talking to others I think most first-timers have a constant battle with reality. Every little bump and kick from my unborn child sent a shock of surreality up my spine. Was this moving, expanding stomach of mine actually holding baby? And was I going to be a mother, my husband a father? There would be a crying, soft, warm, alive, newborn laying in my arms, outside of me soon? Accepting such thoughts was impossible...my brain simply could not wrap around those notions.

The day in March of 2010 I was told I needed to be induced I felt huge, wobbly, tired, ready, and insufficient all at the same time. Mostly though I shook with excitement. Finally I would meet the human being that my husband and I had created. At last my love would hold what I had carried just for him- and me.
Sitting in push position, going through physical exertion beyond what I believed myself capable of, suddenly a furry, slightly gray, BEAUTIFUL head began to emerge. Through blurred vision I beheld a miracle which brought instantaneous rapture, amazement and relief. As tears fell I watched the body of my baby slip out behind that gorgeous head; I heard the raspy wail of one trying to grab hold of its God-given drive to live. Every pain, loss or grief I had ever felt poured out with my child as I heard my husband turn toward me and say, "It's a girl!" A joy, more intense than any sorrow I could experience, cascaded down from my head to my toes. My baby was here in the world. My baby.

When they placed our daughter on my chest and my husband leaned in to kiss my forehead, for once the reasons behind having a baby did not matter.

It just was, and we were happy.