Tolerance

Most of you know that I went back to work last week and Elijah started daycare the week before. Yes, it is as hard as people say it is. I cried the night before and then that morning when I was getting ready to put Elijah in his car seat, I bawled like a baby. My poor husband stood there helpless and asked, “what’s the matter?”. Really? I think he just didn’t know what to say. It has gotten easier and there are some days when I don’t even think about him while I’m at work. I take that back, I’ve been pumping at work, so that’s a lie. You can’t really not think about your baby while a machine sucks milk out of your boob. I read something that said it’s a biological reaction for a mother to not want to leave her baby. Back in the day, if she didn’t stay with her babies, they would get eaten by wolves or mountain lions or something. Dads don’t have that because otherwise they wouldn’t leave the cave to hunt and then everyone would starve. I don’t know why that makes me feel better.

All the parenting books are very clear that every child is different so you shouldn’t compare them to other kids. No one ever says that about parents. We are all different and handle things differently. But everyone secretly, and not so secretly, judges. You had an epidural?! You are not exclusively breastfeeding?! You put your baby in daycare?! Or maybe I’m paranoid and we are all looking for someone who does everything we’re doing so we have some validation for our choices.

Everyone says you will do anything for your kids and you will; but there is fine line where it is so bad for you that it is not worth it. Elijah took 4 weeks to get back to his birth weight, which is supposed to take 1 to 2 weeks. We had to go to the pediatrician’s office twice a week for three weeks to weigh him. Then we had to discuss how we were feeding him; could we hear him swallowing, and did he seem content. Every time we thought we were doing everything right and he seemed happy. And then, the dreaded scale would reveal... no weight gained or barely some weight or, one time, weight lost. It’s a horrible feeling. I’m supposed to be able to feed my baby and provide all the nutrition he needs, that’s what all the books tell you. I felt like a failure as a mom, even though before giving birth I was totally open to the idea of using formula if he needed it. I just didn’t think he would need it. That happens to other people, not me, I’m healthy. And if I couldn't nurse him, he wouldn't need me anymore. I cried every time we went to the pediatrician until he finally started gaining weight with supplemental formula feedings. Granted, I was also sleep deprived because it would take us an hour to feed him with nursing, supplementing and pumping and that equals 2 hour stretches of sleep. Then I started slacking on the pumping after his feeds because he was awake and I wanted to play with him. Sometimes I feel guilty about that and think if I had continued, then I would be able to only breastfeed him and I’d be able to produce enough milk to send him to daycare with a whole day’s worth. But my wonderful husband always reminds me that we were going crazy and something had to give. Feeding our baby formula is not a failure, it is great nutrition for the little guy. And to be quite honest, sometimes, it is so much easier. He’s growing like crazy and laughs and smiles at both of us more than the people at daycare, so I guess we are doing something right :P