In Reality...

I had this crazy idea, a new mom sort of mentality, that raising a baby would be near flawless.  I mean, I went through infertility treatments to get this child.  That means that all would be rainbows and sunshine when it came to childrearing.  Right?... those first few days when all my new mom eyes saw was the wonder of this child.  I didn't know life could be so blessed.  I was a mom.  To my son.  It's an amazing feeling.

Reality did set in though.  There's the special way to wrap up newborns to keep them snug and warm and feeling safe like they were in the womb.  The nurses could get him wrapped up like that.  And he'd stay like that until someone unwrapped him.  It seemed to be something he'd only comply with for those lovely ladies though.  If I or his father or anyone else wrapped him like that, getting him as snug as possible, in a few minutes he'd have an arm free, and then the other arm; without fail.  At home, we'd have him in a sleep sack, and he'd get his limbs out.  He'd be sleeping on his back, manage to get loose from his wrap, and jerk himself awake, and then awake mommy and daddy of course.  We tried propping him on his side to see if that would help.  (We were trying our best to comply with the advice that "back is best")  But being on his side didn't last.  He'd roll back on his back and jerk himself awake again.  Ultimately, we realized that he just wanted to sleep on his stomach.  He moved his head well, so I wasn't as concerned.  And the child stayed asleep for longer than thirty minutes.  We were thankful and prayerful that God would take care of him because even though I wasn't as concerned, I was still concerned enough to pray about it.  (For those that don't agree with this decision, let's just agree to disagree.)

Then, there was the whole breastfeeding thing.  I tried that.  Maybe I didn't give it enough of a try.  I lasted for maybe 3-4 days.  But I feel like we had latching issues.  Again, he seemed to do okay when the nurse was in the room to help me figure out what was going on.  But when they weren't there, and I used the techniques that showed me, it didn't go well.  I was hurting because he'd only take one side which in turn made me frustrated.  And then he probably felt my tension, and that didn't help us get anywhere.  Even pumping didn't seem to work for me.  My hormones were a mess which made me super emotional.  All of this combined with my lack of sleep made me break down.  I told my husband we had to start our son on formula.  I wasn't in a good place, and that wasn't good for me, my husband, our child, no one.  And I have to say, I felt a little sad that I couldn't do the motherly job of feeding him like my ancestors.  But the relief that swept over me when I handed my husband the baby bottle for the first time to feed our son was exactly what I needed.  A weight was lifted.

And changing diapers and clothes: that was the most awkward thing to do for my child.  I thought it would just come naturally.  But babies wiggle and move a lot.  And they are so small.  He seemed so fragile when it came to these tasks.  It took quite a bit of time to just change and wet diaper (no poo included).  Let's not forget how little boys can somehow manage to soak their clothes even though the diaper appears to be secure.  And if their clothes are dry before the diaper change, they may very well get wet during the diaper change, or maybe it's the unsuspecting parent who gets the shower.  We were fortunate on the latter part.  We tried to keep ourselves protected and tried to stay attentive during these times.  There were a lot of wet pajamas in the mornings though or wet clothes after nap time.  Eventually, we both got much quicker with the process of diaper and clothing changes.

The worst day for me was when my two-week-old son fell off the couch.  He was protected (or so I thought) by pillows that would keep him propped up and unable to roll off.  But those same skills he used to wiggle out of his snug blanket wraps and sleep sacks, they also worked on the couch.  I go into the kitchen and hear a thud coming from the living room, and it's like my gut just knew what happened.  The screams from his little lungs confirmed my gut.  I scooped him up and looked him over from head to toe to check for injuries, and then I proceeded to join him in crying.  I have him in my care for two weeks, and I let him fall off the couch!  I felt like I should have been branded with the words: "Worst Mother in the World."  What kind of mother was I?  A mother.  Normal.  We had an appointment with his pediatrician a few days later, and I mentioned the incident (maybe expecting some ridicule), but instead, she checks him over thoroughly and tells me about an incident she had with her own child.  And later, my gastroenterologist mentioned an incident with his child as well.  That made me feel much more accepting of the fact that I'm a mom, but I'm still human.  And when my son fell off the bed several months later (after he started crawling) while myself and his father are standing there with him, I felt awful again because it's one of those "really?" moments.  But I allowed myself some grace.  (After I found my baby to be okay and apologizing to him over and over and over...)

This post had nothing to do with my Crohn's Disease this time.  But maybe it will reach someone with Crohn's/IBD and/or an ileostomy or anyone who may be expecting a child.  Maybe it will bring a little humor to those who aren't expecting.  This is just some of the stuff I learned in just the first few days, weeks, and months of my son's life.