After Birdy was born, there were a whole host of things I felt guilty about. This was before we realized she was dealing with colic and I was dealing with PPD/PPA, but at the time, it was just so. much. guilt. I felt awful that as much as I loved her I just wanted her to stop crying. That I wanted to be able to put her down. That I craved sleep above almost all else. That I missed the relationship I used to have with Hubs, because I just couldn’t give him the same attention that I gave Birdy. That I was mentally and emotionally exhausted from being super-vigilant all the time because I was so worried something would happen and we would still lose her (ahem, PPA). That I couldn’t do it all, that I needed help, that I was already failing at being her mother (thanks, PPD). And on and on and on.
It seemed like, and still seems like, the only things I didn’t feel guilty about, didn’t feel the need to apologize for, were the things society at large kind of passively aggressively tells new mothers they should feel bad about.
Namely, for me, the big two of how I gave birth and how I provided nourishment.
I decided very early on in my pregnancy that I wouldn’t be breastfeeding. It’s my body, it’s my choice, and I shouldn’t have to defend it, but I did have my reasons and had they asked I would have had no problem laying it out for them. I’m about to get all kinds of personal, so brace yourself: my nipples have always been extremely sensitive. I mean to the extent that often during our adulting I have to declare them off limits to Hubs, and that an accidental graze can be painful. So I knew that breastfeeding would be an awful experience for me. I knew I would dread it. And I also knew that Birdy would be able to feel my dread and I didn’t want feeding her to be a negative experience for either one of us — that wouldn’t allow for a lovely bonding experience at all. I know all the benefits of breast milk for an infant, but I also know that many infants have been formula fed due to choice or circumstance and turned out just fine. Like me. So I did my research and found a formula that I thought would be best for Birdy as far as nutrients, development, digestion, etc. and that’s what I went with. But oh lordy the looks I got when I said “no” to the question of are-you-breastfeeding in the hospital. It was a lot. Multiple times a day. Even in my haze I wanted to ask, “Isn’t this on my chart? Shouldn’t somebody have written down that I said no a bajillion times already?” A part of me thought that maybe they believed if enough people continued to question me I’d break down and do what they wanted.
But I didn’t, and Birdy is doing very well in her development. Sorry, not sorry.
Birdy was breech most of the pregnancy, but flipped about a month before she was born. After the Spectacular Failure of the induction (more detailed post on that to come), the medical team wanted me to wait two weeks and then try another induction. I refused and asked for other options, knowing the hospital was very proud of their low C-section rate and didn’t really want to go that route if they didn’t have to, and also knowing that that’s what they were going to damn well give me. The thing was, even though they said Birdy was doing just fine to sit tight and wait it out another two weeks, even though they were the medical professionals, they weren’t me or Birdy and they didn’t experience the induction the way we did. No matter what their tests said, I knew the induction was rough on her, and knew it was rough on me, and I wasn’t doing that to us again. I know a C-section is major surgery, I understand it comes with risks, but at that point I truly felt it was the safest way to get Birdy delivered. I was terrified that we would wait too long and we’d lose her before she could be born. I didn’t want her birth to turn into an emergency situation where we ended up having to get an emergency C-section anyway, I much preferred we prepare for it ahead of time. I felt like people were acting as though “C-section” was a dirty word, something that if it had to be uttered aloud, needed to be whispered or mumbled (which is exactly how the doctor presented me with the option after I nixed induction number two).
As it turns out, the doctor who did my C-section (different one from earlier) said during the procedure that it was probably a good thing I’d gone that route. So, sorry, not sorry.
New mamas (and in general, anyone at all, really), it’s okay to trust your gut and stick to your guns. As a neighbor said to me when I was very carefully trying to recount all this, “they may know the medicine, but you know your body”.