Those of you who know me, well or even not so, probably know that I have spent the last twelve weeks and five days fretting and kvetching about new-parenthood. I can't breastfeed. My baby's not gaining enough weight. I don't do tummy time with her often enough (she hates it). I hate pumping seven times a day – should I go to formula or not, what to do what to do? It has literally been a twelve-weeks and five-days worryfest.
Then the other day I received a dose of perspective; a friend came to visit by surprise, and brought along two other friends, one of whom had with her her fresh eleven-day-old baby. This baby was born at 37 weeks, so technically, it should still have been in the womb. She weighed 5 lbs 14 oz, and was so tiny I didn't even ask to get a clear view of her, let alone hold her. Nora looked like an absolute bruiser by comparison.
I recognized in Amy the look of the brand-new mother. Slightly pale, groggy, a look of absolute shaky disbelief on her face. This trip was her first big outing. She openly said that breastfeeding was difficult, she didn't know what she was doing, she felt uneasy about everything, etc, etc, exactly what I've been harping on about for twelve and a half weeks! Except that this time, I was the experienced one in the room. Yes, breastfeeding didn't work, but I have a great book to recommend. Yes, I'm pumping, it's a shitty routine but whatever; if you need any information on pumping milk just ask. Oh yeah, my baby's 11 lbs, 10 oz now (she's actually hit 12 now). She spent her time smiling at everyone and charming them with her little voice. She was sitting up (assisted) and looking around the room and being a perfect little human. That other baby was so unbelievably tiny that it seemed like Nora should be in preschool by comparison. It felt really strange for me to have the older baby in the room, as I've spent the last three months nearly thinking that my baby's smaller than all the others, the smallest one around, still a fresh newborn. I've been acting as though I'm still in the bubble of new-motherhood when the truth is that I take her out most days, I can casually haul her in and out of the truck and I have no problems managing the feeding/diapering/napping/nighttime routines. The fact of the matter is: she isn't the youngest one in the room. She's no longer newborn – we even have a bin set aside for clothing that no longer fits. Today her new thing was trying to roll over, and she came pretty close, considering. She sucks on her fists all day, and has developed a sense of humour – she can absolutely tell when something is supposed to be funny, and reacts accordingly.
I still spend my day fretting about feeding her, but the issues are different. I'm no longer worried about her basic survival (except I do still listen for her breathing all night). She takes forever to finish her bottles, and sometimes I wonder if she doesn't prefer formula to my breast milk. I resent my pump and the fact that I have to put her down in order to use it. I hate juggling tiny quantities of milk all day and worrying about my pumping schedule. I sometimes wonder if the benefits of breast milk would be outweighed by having a mother who is able to spend four more hours a day paying undivided attention to the baby, rather than being hooked up to a pump or worrying about breast milk production. Having a mother who's a bit more relaxed couldn't hurt. If I do make the switch, I promise to read her more books and feed her the very best solid food when the time comes. I already have squash from my garden pureed and waiting in the freezer.
When they left I felt jubilant. I felt like I'd made it over the hump, and I have. Nora and I are falling in love and making it work and our days are quite pleasant, for the most part. I understand her cries (which are becoming more rare), her patterns, and she sleeps through the night without fail, so I am not suffering whatsoever from lack of sleep. I have learned that I have to stop comparing her to other babies- especially those many months older than her. She is her own little person with her own little quirks, and our relationship and feeding routine is ours alone. Every mother and baby couple is different. I take strength from talking to other mothers, but I can't compare their situations to my own anymore.
The long and short of it is: my baby is doing great and so am I.
