Insitinctive Mothering

And today...an article I wrote for a magazine that didn't quite make the cut...but here it is, in blog post form because it still demands to be released from my dusty hard drive!  


Instinctive Mothering


Mom; a title I’ve held onto now for nearly eight years (plus some if you count gestation!)  This is the first job I’ve ever been able to fully dedicate myself to, commit fully, despite a lack of sick days and all the 24-hour shifts required.  At the same time it’s also been the most terrifying and unpredictable position I’ve found myself in.  It’s a world of juxtapositions: rewarding and demanding, comfortable and so very messy, frustrating and breathtakingly perfect. 

In today’s world, the myriad of what “mom” is expected to be is further complicated by the accessibility to the world wide web of parenting practices. We Google and Pinterest discipline techniques, nutrition plans, crafts and rainy day fun, birth options, side effects of added Calcium, all in the endless pursuit of molding the perfect new person to add to the ranks of society.  Enjoying motherhood, now more than ever, gets obscured either partially or completely by the fear and constant second-guessing we do when comparing ourselves to Tommy and Jane’s mom based on her Facebook posts.

In an effort to present ourselves and our child-rearing ideals to others simply and easily, we pack them into pretty parcels to present to the parenting community.  We try to classify ourselves as this kind of parent or that, or we use harsh monikers such as helicopter or absent parent to describe others.  It’s all so tempting, those preset parenting parameters.  The fancy titles to define our choices by.  Problem, is, perception and the individual can make all the difference when it comes down to the different definitions of this type of mom or that.  What, then, do we do?  Argue for the case of our own personal classification system?  Or succumb and be ousted after being told you don’t belong?  And is that really what we want to do, to reject and ostracize moms who don’t follow to the most minute of details what we feel is the proper parenting path?

If you’re anything like me, when you hold your standards of care and your choices up to others who identify with whatever style it is you’re claiming, then find even the slightest discretion, it’s maddening to feel as if you’re coming up short.  It’s as if you don’t quite fit in with any particular subculture of moms and anywhere you go someone is going to criticize some factor of your personal mom equation.

           

But, maybe baby-wearing just isn’t comfortable for you; perhaps you cry at the thought of mixing that bottle of formula despite your pediatrician’s concerns at a slower than American average growth rate; these jars of baby food either delight or repulse you.   All that, and then don’t forget to take the baby’s comfort into consideration, for he’s part of this relationship as well.

The thing is, as different as we moms all are from each other, so too is our first from our middle to our last, whether there be four or nine of them.  It was in discovering this about my own three children that I realized to encase myself within any firm boundaries of attitudes and beliefs towards child-rearing would not only be disheartening and incredibly impossible to live up to, but also a disservice to my children.  I’ve found that my confidence as a mom is strongest when I make my choices based on who they are and less on what works for other parents and children

What teaches A right from wrong is mere irritation to W.  What comforted N at 2am is simply unnecessary to W who sleeps through the night with ease.  Where N required close, cuddling parents throughout the day, A was a craver of autonomy and never would’ve accepted being wrapped and worn.  All of this we learned as we went, a sort of trial and error, flying by the seat of their diapers as it were.  Combined with my visceral instincts and their subsequent overall happiness and contentedness, it all adds up to simple and plain instinctual parenting.  It could be that our wisest and most patient teacher on this tangled and wildly raw, beautiful subject are the little ones we’re trying to raise.  Indeed, our mistakes are forgiven by them far quicker and easier than by the onlookers who seek to judge and rebuke.

Don’t get me wrong.  Research is important for any parent, but with so many differing opinions out there and as much evidence stacked up on one side as there is on the opposing, it can be tough to navigate this jungle understanding that there is more than one right way to do things.  Getting overwhelmed and mixed up is inevitable.  When you make a firm stance, it’s without question that there will be just as many people supporting you as there are admonishing critics ready to demolish your months of intense homework.  

 

My three births were as different as different could possibly be.  My first came a week early, by choice (aka: the high-blood-pressure-high-sugars-baby’s-too-big Friday night induction special).  I made it to an 8.5 then caved to repeated offers for pain relief, despite being committed to a drug-free labor.  I birthed in a bed, unable to move around due to nurses’ orders.  All of this, and I hadn’t spent even ten minutes on reading about all of my options and the ideas behind the choices that were out there.  They’re doctors, I’d say to myself, of course they only have my health and well-being in mind, what else would motivate a healer?  Later in life I came to understand the pricetags that adorn every decision available in the healthcare system.  At the time, though, it felt right.  I was young and insecure…I needed guidance and those were the ideas and practices presented to me.  Five years later, it felt perfectly normal and obvious to birth #2 at home in my bathroom upstairs with nothing more to comfort me than my midwife and a strong husband.  I spent days worth of time on the computer searching for the answers to every question you can fathom, packed my poor midwifes text inbox, but when the moment came…the AH HA! This is it! moment washed over me, all fears and questions melted away and I just knew this was how N was meant to join us.

 That’s the thing about following your gut and placing the utmost importance on your soul’s reaction to the choices you make rather than the neighbor who heard you crowning, the man at the grocery store who disapproves of your shoeless babe (yes, that really happened), or your sister-in-law’s best friend’s pediatrician.  When it’s right, you know immediately and the gratification is instantaneous.

Ever mention off-hand, whether in response to a direct inquiry or pitching in on a friendly conversation about the topic, something as loaded as how you birthed?  The foods you ate while pregnant?  If you have, you likely (at least once) were on the receiving end of a barrage of defensive remarks from the other party(ies) involved, as if your choices are a direct attack on theirs.  In an effort to live in peace with one another and within ourselves, perhaps it’s time to make a conscious effort to live and breathe by our own convictions instead of wavering in the face of what we’re told is the “right” or “proper” thing to do?  I know that was myself, once upon a time.  I so badly wished to breastfeed, a dream that ended abruptly without proper support or education and once I convinced myself wasn’t possible and so when others celebrated their nursing milestones and achievements I would clam up, pout, and fight back all of the imaginary slights on my choice to bottle-feed formula to my baby girl.  If we all took the time to dig deep within ourselves and discover the paths and choices that jive with us on the deepest levels, we’d no longer feel that need to defend our honor in the face of others making choices maligned with our own; it’d no longer be a question of whose decision was wiser because we would understand that we, all of us, exist on different planes in this same existence and as such are impacted in very unique ways by varying our actions even just slightly.  We must then decide for ourselves what works and what is impossible.  Perhaps then we would quit questioning each other.

As humans, we’re driven to find patterns and ways to organize groups of things, all things.  To transcend that cerebral need and live moment-to-moment, perhaps we should try to parent in the now, quit trying to recall page 107 of that mommy rulebook, how freeing that could be.  To know that untitled does not equal unstructured or poor parenting.  As for myself, I’ll be here trying to start a trend of following those kneejerk mothering reactions and watching my kids thrive happily and peacefully, confident in the choices they make as they watch my confidence soar in my own.  



Ah!  And of course, the obligatory post picture.  How could I have forgotten?