Motherhood, Breastfeeding, and Humility

At a recent appointment at our local WIC office, I saw a poster that read "Breastfed Babies Smell So Good!"  I understand the need for such breast-feeding support posters but this one had the aftertaste of a political smear campaign.  The next thought that came to my mind after reading that statement was "um, so bottle-fed babies STINK?"

The thing is, when I was a first-time-new-mother, such a slogan would have made me think how I'm such a good mom because I would NEVER even consider using nasty formula to feed my baby.  I would nod approvingly at such a poster because it confirmed that I was doing the right thing.  And, other mothers who do not make the same choices as I do are definitely inferior and probably shouldn't be allowed to care for children anyway.  Well, I wasn't actually that harsh, but if I'm honest about it, there's always a black part of my heart that thinks and feels differently than I would ever like to acknowledge.

I guess the only reason I can acknowledge it now is because life has since beaten any such thoughts out of my heart.  Motherhood brings many lessons in humility, many opportunities to change one's mind, and many occasions to feel guilty...no mother wants to make mistakes when it comes to her child.  (Sadly, there are  exceptions to the rule; lack of humility is probably most frightening and dangerous in a mother.)

My first son was breastfed for a whole year, had cloth diapers, never went to daycare, and had all homemade baby food.  He never had formula, never even took a bottle.  I would shake my head disapprovingly when I saw those other moms making a selection in the baby-food aisle at the grocery store.  I just couldn't understand why so many moms refused to use cloth diapers.  Breastfeeding didn't come easily for me, it was actually a very painful struggle, but there was no way I would have fed my baby powdered poison in a bottle.

Then, my daughter was born.  She had a few minor issues in her first weeks that had us in the doctor's office too often when I needed to be home recuperating.  We had recently moved a half-hour away from everything, so what used to be a quick trip became a voyage that needed to be well-planned and well-stocked.  It was exhausting and isolating.  Add postpartum depression and the fact that I not only had a new baby, but also a fresh 2-year-old...well, let's just say some of my ideals took a whack.  For some reason, pumping breastmilk was not something I ever could fully get the hang of...not that I didn't try.  In my desperation for reprieve, those formula samples the doctor gave us were starting to have more appeal.  Unlike my son who never took to a bottle, my daughter loved it.  SHE weened ME at 10 months.  Yes, that is more than most moms BF their babies, but it was a slight failure in my eyes.

The story of my changing opinions continues into the lives of my next two children as well.  It's not so much the details that I wanted to write about...it's what I've learned.  I still have strong opinions about some things.  But they are just that: opinions.  Not rules that apply to everyone.  Not opinions that I will necessarily hold to the rest of my life.  It is ironic that I have become one of those other mothers by making choices that I would have disapproved of 6 years ago.  I am confidant that given all my circumstances, information available, and abilities...I am doing the best I can.  The "good" moms who have never swayed from their ideals may think otherwise, but it doesn't matter to me.  There is freedom in not judging others....because I really believe everyone else is doing the best they can as well.  Circumstances change...abilities change...opinions change...we need the freedom to allow such change.  Motherhood has been the biggest responsibility, the greatest burden I've even had...and it has also brought me the most freedom and joy.

And...formula-fed babies DO NOT stink.  My youngest was a horrible nurser.  I stuck to it two months past my breaking point and weened him at about 4 months old.  Now, we are both very happy with formula.  He is the sweetest baby and smells just like a baby should smell.  (Except that I would NEVER use any of those heavily-scented, paraben-laced, mineral oil-based lotions that the other mothers use to cover the natural scent of their baby!  NEVER!  If you could see my face, you would understand the smirk.)

Stretch Marks and Depression

I was paging through a parenting magazine in the doctor's office and noticed an advertisement for some kind of lotion that is supposed to keep pregnant women from getting stretch marks.  The tall, beautiful (and airbrushed) woman was saying something like "I used such-and-such cream and didn't get ANY stretch marks, even though my mother and sister did!"  I'm pretty sure the unprinted message was intended to be something like "YOU, my mom and sister are idiots because if you had JUST used this lotion, you wouldn't have stretch marks....like ME!  I'm mentioning my mother and sister just to show that your sorry excuse of blaming genetics for your disgusting belly is just WRONG!"

Yup, I have stretch marks.  I used LOTS of lotions with my first pregnancy and got LOTS of stretch marks.  I used less lotion with my second pregnancy (because it's harder to take the time to put lotion on after an elusive shower with a toddler running around) and the stretch marks climbed higher.  After four babies, I am basically one big stretch mark.  I have evolved enough to be genuinely happy for those women who don't have stretch marks.  I can ooh-and-ahh at their bare-belly pregnancy Glamour shots with sincerity (mostly), so my sore spot with this issue is not really jealousy.  It is the self-doubt.  Was there something I could have done differently?  Could I actually have prevented this?  Maybe.
Self-doubt.  Old frenemy. 

Another long-time unwanted companion of mine is depression.  I have suffered from a wide range of depression, from simply blue to barely-able-to-function.  I am thankful to not have experienced the CAN'T-function variety...but I know it's out there.  Looming.  I do my best to stay proactive, to fight the good fight, to do things that I know will keep me on track, and avoid things that I know will bring me down.  I have joy, thankfulness, humor, and contentment...things that help keep me afloat.  But there have been at least 3 times in my life that it all wasn't good enough.  Regardless of what I did, I felt like I was treading water with quick sand.

It seems that any time the topic of depression surfaces, there are always "tips" offered by the well-meaning person who has:  1. encountered some sadness, 2. did something, 3. felt better, and 4. swears that whatever s/he did is what "cured" it.  And if it worked for them, it should work for everyone, right?  In the well-meaner's defense, I have not been immune to this type of thinking either.  I think we all do it on some level.  The topic doesn't have to be depression...or stretch marks...it can apply to so many things.  We grasp at the things we think we do right to quell the self doubt that tells us we are doing it all wrong.

Perhaps this sounds like a pessimistic viewpoint (I am depressed, afterall).  Rather, I offer a ray of compassion on our humanity.  Perhaps we ARE responsible for our failures, perhaps we are not.  More likely, it's somewhere inbetween. I'm not debating the necessity of personal responsibility and good choices; I'm saying maybe we should just focus on being grateful for the good things we have and not judging or offering our unwanted "helpful" suggestions to those (including ourselves) who are struggling with something.  Let's not feed the universal beast of self-doubt.

Even our faith is not our own, but a gift.
Same goes if you don't have stretch marks.