It's Sunday morning and I am soon to be heading out to church. It looks like I'll be going without my baby, which will be only the second time since she was born that I've done that. She's sleeping, and I'm definitely not waking her up just to give myself the privilege of stressing out about whether she'll stay quiet and content during the sermon. Heck no, let the child sleep!
I get out without Gwen three to four times a week: to yoga class, to Weight Watchers, during Gramma time, and occasionally another outing such as today's to church. Yoga and Weight Watchers are okay, but during other outings I usually feel pretty weird without her. Like I've gone out without my pants, or something.
The first time I went to church without her was just a few weeks ago, under the same circumstances. Chris stayed home with the napping Gwen while I went to church, and when I got there, another baby from our mom-and-baby group was being baptized, and his little siblings and cousins were there, and then in addition to the family we usually sit beside (whose younger daughter is the only other child under ten at our service), another family with three little ones showed up and sat down beside me. So I was completely surrounded by kids, and didn't have my own to cuddle. I felt all left out. Which is completely bizarre, I know.
It's even worse when I go out shopping, which usually happens during Gramma Time. I'll inevitably end up at Babies R Us or the Wal-Mart baby section, perusing the goods and wondering what Gwen "needs". And there will inevitably be other moms and dads and even grammas there with their own wee ones, and I'll smile dotingly at them, and maybe even ask "How old?", and then realize that my mommycred in the form of my own adorable baby is absent, and so I just look like a weirdo. A mamawannabe.
Maybe my own identity has been so swallowed up by the identity of Gwen's Mom that I don't know who I am, or how others view me, when I don't have her there to instantly serve as my introduction. Moms meeting in public places strike up conversations quite easily, and without my Gwen I don't have the "in" to join the discussion, because who am I if I'm not carrying a baby?
Being a mom is really weird sometimes.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Returning to Work, Part Two: Gwen and Me
So, what does it mean if I return to work full time?
The previous plan of Gwen in daycare for two days, with Grandma one day, and with me two days gets tweaked a bit. Instead, Gwen would be in daycare three days a week, with Grandma one day, and with Chris one day (because he doesn't work for the government, so his hours are a lot more flexible). If I examine this schedule objectively, I realize that it still gives Gwen a wonderful, well-rounded week with a good balance between family care and professional care. Gwen is not losing out, here. I am.
No more taking Gwen swimming in the mornings. No more walks with other moms and babies. No more baby boot camp workouts at the gym. No more storytime at the library. No more playdates.
Ultimately, no more opportunities for me to socialize and compare notes with other moms. And no more chances to spend quality time doing fun activities with my daughter.
I'm scared that if I work full time, arriving home at 5pm five days a week, my time will be fully claimed by preparing dinner and getting the chores done, and I'll have no time to spend with Gwen. I'll be in a mad rush for an hour, and then it will be time for the dinner-bath-bedtime routine and that will be that. Aside from my own feelings of loss, there's a bigger reason I care about this.
There's a psychologist who claims that whomever your kid spends the most amount of time with, will have the biggest influence on him or her. Especially in the younger years when value systems are being formed, it's crucial to be your child's primary influence, rather than peers. Yes, peer time is valuable, but it's still an adult's job to 'socialize' a child: throwing a bunch of kids in a room together doesn't turn them into good citizens.
This rings true to me, and so it contributes to my fear as well. How can I be a primary influence in Gwen's life if we have no time together? Or, put another way, how can Gwen know that she is important to me if we don't have time to spend together?
This is all compounded by the fact that I am convinced Gwen is going to become a lot more fun to be with, right around the time I have to start leaving her. She'll be mobile, she'll be starting to talk, she'll have definite preferences for different toys and books and activities, she'll be even more interactive and yet somehow more independent as well. When we go to playdates, she'll actually be able to play instead of just lying on her blanket and watching the big kids. When we go for a walk, she might actually walk a bit herself, and be interested in our surroundings and what's happening around her. When we go to a playground, she'll actually be able to play on the equipment. You know - she'll start to be a kid, not a baby. I don't want to miss that! I want to be a part of all of it. I want to be the one who teaches her what a cow says, and what colour lemons are. I want to take her to the petting zoo and help her learn her numbers and letters. Is that selfish?
On the other hand, this is a situation that millions of families have to face, and they all survive. Yes, working full time sucks, but millions of other moms have done it and I can do it too. Or so I try to convince myself.
I spoke to my sister last week about her experiences, as she has two young boys and works full time. She was full of good advice and a thoughtful pep talk, including the point that if I worked full time I could hire a cleaning woman to come and take care of the house, so I would have a smidgeon more family time.
The irony here, I suppose, is that I'm not full of perfect bliss during this time when I am with her all day every day. I get frustrated when she's whiny or when she needs a nap but won't take one. I snap at her when she's so clingy she won't even let me put her down to get the bottle she's so hungry for. I get relentlessly bored and cabin fever-y. And yet when I'm away from her, I miss her so much. It's a ridiculous dichotomy, and I guess that's why I wanted to work part-time, to give not only Gwen but myself as well the best of both worlds.
Anyway, I am far from reconciled with the thought of working full time (obviously), but I am working on it. Hopefully sometime within the next six months the perfect answer and accompanying mental peace will present itself.
The previous plan of Gwen in daycare for two days, with Grandma one day, and with me two days gets tweaked a bit. Instead, Gwen would be in daycare three days a week, with Grandma one day, and with Chris one day (because he doesn't work for the government, so his hours are a lot more flexible). If I examine this schedule objectively, I realize that it still gives Gwen a wonderful, well-rounded week with a good balance between family care and professional care. Gwen is not losing out, here. I am.
No more taking Gwen swimming in the mornings. No more walks with other moms and babies. No more baby boot camp workouts at the gym. No more storytime at the library. No more playdates.
Ultimately, no more opportunities for me to socialize and compare notes with other moms. And no more chances to spend quality time doing fun activities with my daughter.
I'm scared that if I work full time, arriving home at 5pm five days a week, my time will be fully claimed by preparing dinner and getting the chores done, and I'll have no time to spend with Gwen. I'll be in a mad rush for an hour, and then it will be time for the dinner-bath-bedtime routine and that will be that. Aside from my own feelings of loss, there's a bigger reason I care about this.
There's a psychologist who claims that whomever your kid spends the most amount of time with, will have the biggest influence on him or her. Especially in the younger years when value systems are being formed, it's crucial to be your child's primary influence, rather than peers. Yes, peer time is valuable, but it's still an adult's job to 'socialize' a child: throwing a bunch of kids in a room together doesn't turn them into good citizens.
This rings true to me, and so it contributes to my fear as well. How can I be a primary influence in Gwen's life if we have no time together? Or, put another way, how can Gwen know that she is important to me if we don't have time to spend together?
This is all compounded by the fact that I am convinced Gwen is going to become a lot more fun to be with, right around the time I have to start leaving her. She'll be mobile, she'll be starting to talk, she'll have definite preferences for different toys and books and activities, she'll be even more interactive and yet somehow more independent as well. When we go to playdates, she'll actually be able to play instead of just lying on her blanket and watching the big kids. When we go for a walk, she might actually walk a bit herself, and be interested in our surroundings and what's happening around her. When we go to a playground, she'll actually be able to play on the equipment. You know - she'll start to be a kid, not a baby. I don't want to miss that! I want to be a part of all of it. I want to be the one who teaches her what a cow says, and what colour lemons are. I want to take her to the petting zoo and help her learn her numbers and letters. Is that selfish?
On the other hand, this is a situation that millions of families have to face, and they all survive. Yes, working full time sucks, but millions of other moms have done it and I can do it too. Or so I try to convince myself.
I spoke to my sister last week about her experiences, as she has two young boys and works full time. She was full of good advice and a thoughtful pep talk, including the point that if I worked full time I could hire a cleaning woman to come and take care of the house, so I would have a smidgeon more family time.
The irony here, I suppose, is that I'm not full of perfect bliss during this time when I am with her all day every day. I get frustrated when she's whiny or when she needs a nap but won't take one. I snap at her when she's so clingy she won't even let me put her down to get the bottle she's so hungry for. I get relentlessly bored and cabin fever-y. And yet when I'm away from her, I miss her so much. It's a ridiculous dichotomy, and I guess that's why I wanted to work part-time, to give not only Gwen but myself as well the best of both worlds.
Anyway, I am far from reconciled with the thought of working full time (obviously), but I am working on it. Hopefully sometime within the next six months the perfect answer and accompanying mental peace will present itself.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Returning to Work, Part One: Work
I've been meaning to post here for a while about the return-to-work dilemma. I can't believe that Gwen is already six months old, or, more to the point, that I am more than halfway through my maternity leave. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, more than perhaps is healthy. Let me lay it out for you.
First of all, I *have* to go back to work for the Health Authority - not because we need the money (although we do), but because for the first six months of my leave, my union was paying me a top-up to my EI benefits, and if I don't go back to work for them, I have to pay all that money back. So becoming a stay-at-home mom is out, which is fine by me because I think being at home all the time would drive me completely bonkers.
For the past year or so, I've been quite contentedly planning to go back to work part-time. To me, this is the perfect solution for our family, and gives Gwen a great blend of both worlds: professional care (new environment, toys, socializing with other kids) and family care. She'd be in daycare two days a week, with Grandma for one day, and with me for the other two weekdays, leaving the weekends for family time. Recently, however, this option has started to look less and less possible.
Unlike a retail or service position, where I could just tell my boss that I want full time or part time hours, working in a union government job means that my particular position is rigidly defined. So rigid, in fact, that if I wanted to make my job into a part-time position I would have to 1) convince all layers of management that the work could be done in half the time, not just by me but by anyone; 2) convince them that losing a fulltime staff is a good idea, since this ultimately affects their budget and thus their relative importance as a department manager; 3) wait for them to re-post the position, which could take months; and then 4) re-apply for the position. For the job I already have. And there is a chance, however slim, that I would not be the successful applicant, which would really be a smack upside the head with the irony stick.
So, the second option is to jobshare. I asked my union rep how this works, and it's pretty similar to the option above in terms of the convincing management and so on, but also includes the fun (impossible?) task of finding someone who wants to jobshare with me, and creating a full written jobshare plan that would detail exactly who would be responsible for what, and what hours each person would work, and so on. Even if I could find this magic person *and* find the time to create this document, I don't have the knowledge to do so because of one more sticky little fact. Sometime in my year of leave (the date has been changed twice already), a new software program is supposed to be adopted by our department that will basically eliminate the data entry position. Which is, um, my job. So how the heck do I write a hugely detailed document about how I'm going to share my job with someone when I don't even know what that job will be?
So, on to the third option. The major bonus of working for the Health Authority is that I can apply for any internal job posting, even when I'm on leave. In fact, I think if I apply and am the successful candidate (due to qualifications and seniority) they then have to hire a temporary person to do the job until my leave is finished. So I can scour the postings every week for part time jobs, right? Yes I can! And I can apply for every appropriate part time position that comes up, right? Yes I can! And I can count the number of appropriate part time positions that have been posted in the past six months on approximately zero fingers, right? YES I CAN!
So, um, yeah, that's not looking so good either.
Anyway, barring unforeseen miracles or found wealth, it is starting to look a whole lot like I will have to work full time come April. Of course, there are still many unknowns. Maybe the new software will change my job so much that the management will have to re-post the position anyway, and I'll be able to persuade them to make it a part-time position. Maybe another perfect part-time position will present itself. I don't know. But in the meantime, I am trying to change my attitudes so that if I do end up working full time, I will feel okay about that.
First of all, I *have* to go back to work for the Health Authority - not because we need the money (although we do), but because for the first six months of my leave, my union was paying me a top-up to my EI benefits, and if I don't go back to work for them, I have to pay all that money back. So becoming a stay-at-home mom is out, which is fine by me because I think being at home all the time would drive me completely bonkers.
For the past year or so, I've been quite contentedly planning to go back to work part-time. To me, this is the perfect solution for our family, and gives Gwen a great blend of both worlds: professional care (new environment, toys, socializing with other kids) and family care. She'd be in daycare two days a week, with Grandma for one day, and with me for the other two weekdays, leaving the weekends for family time. Recently, however, this option has started to look less and less possible.
Unlike a retail or service position, where I could just tell my boss that I want full time or part time hours, working in a union government job means that my particular position is rigidly defined. So rigid, in fact, that if I wanted to make my job into a part-time position I would have to 1) convince all layers of management that the work could be done in half the time, not just by me but by anyone; 2) convince them that losing a fulltime staff is a good idea, since this ultimately affects their budget and thus their relative importance as a department manager; 3) wait for them to re-post the position, which could take months; and then 4) re-apply for the position. For the job I already have. And there is a chance, however slim, that I would not be the successful applicant, which would really be a smack upside the head with the irony stick.
So, the second option is to jobshare. I asked my union rep how this works, and it's pretty similar to the option above in terms of the convincing management and so on, but also includes the fun (impossible?) task of finding someone who wants to jobshare with me, and creating a full written jobshare plan that would detail exactly who would be responsible for what, and what hours each person would work, and so on. Even if I could find this magic person *and* find the time to create this document, I don't have the knowledge to do so because of one more sticky little fact. Sometime in my year of leave (the date has been changed twice already), a new software program is supposed to be adopted by our department that will basically eliminate the data entry position. Which is, um, my job. So how the heck do I write a hugely detailed document about how I'm going to share my job with someone when I don't even know what that job will be?
So, on to the third option. The major bonus of working for the Health Authority is that I can apply for any internal job posting, even when I'm on leave. In fact, I think if I apply and am the successful candidate (due to qualifications and seniority) they then have to hire a temporary person to do the job until my leave is finished. So I can scour the postings every week for part time jobs, right? Yes I can! And I can apply for every appropriate part time position that comes up, right? Yes I can! And I can count the number of appropriate part time positions that have been posted in the past six months on approximately zero fingers, right? YES I CAN!
So, um, yeah, that's not looking so good either.
Anyway, barring unforeseen miracles or found wealth, it is starting to look a whole lot like I will have to work full time come April. Of course, there are still many unknowns. Maybe the new software will change my job so much that the management will have to re-post the position anyway, and I'll be able to persuade them to make it a part-time position. Maybe another perfect part-time position will present itself. I don't know. But in the meantime, I am trying to change my attitudes so that if I do end up working full time, I will feel okay about that.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The only time I'll be posting a picture of myself in a bathing suit
Yesterday was Gwen's third time at the pool. She loved it! She stayed happily in the water for about an hour, long enough that her feet were wrinkly when we got out. She kicked and splashed and bounced and jumped and played with the other babies and just had an awesome time.
Here she is in the lobby of the rec complex as we wait for the pool to open.
And here she is in her adorable bathing suit, doing a stomach crunch (which she does nearly constantly), before going in.
And here we are in the pool.
On the way home from the pool, despite me singing the Stay Awake song (lyrics below) and poking Gwen repeatedly in the head, she fell fast asleep in her carseat. Then Chris carried her up to her room (still in the carseat) and she slept for two hours straight.
On the way home from the pool, despite me singing the Stay Awake song (lyrics below) and poking Gwen repeatedly in the head, she fell fast asleep in her carseat. Then Chris carried her up to her room (still in the carseat) and she slept for two hours straight.
Our swimming lessons start in two weeks. I'm looking forward to learning more about what to do with her in the water, since she is enjoying it so much.
Edit: Damn! I forgot to put the lyrics of the Stay Awake song. And no one even noticed, which I guess means no one really reads this thing anyway. Oh well, here are the lyrics of the Stay Awake song, sung to the tune of "Alouette".
Gwen J. Buechler, Gwendolyn J. Buechler
Gwen J. Buechler, stay awake!
Stay awake in the car ... though we're driving pretty far.
In the car, driving far, ahhhhhh..... (repeat)
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Second Chance
I am quite emotionally attached to my blogroll. I keep it small, because I actually read every single entry on every single one of those blogs (and for most of them, I've read years' worth of their archives, back when I had a government job and tons of time on my hands). I don't have time to check them every day, but once or twice a week I'll find myself with baby asleep, dishes and laundry done, and I'll grab an hour or so to catch up with all the other mommy- and daddy-bloggers on my list.
Two of my favourites, Amy and Emily, recently posted about issues close to my heart. What else? Breastfeeding.
Amy and Emily both had a lot of difficulty with breastfeeding their firstborn sons. Amy just had her second son, and Emily is expecting her daughter in December. So they are both facing the same issues again.
Emily writes: "I always wondered if the reason Asher and I had such a frustratingly terrible nursing relationship was because he was born so small and weak (one of the effects of preeclampsia is compromised blood flow to the placenta, which results in retardation of fetal growth and nutrition).
"No one ever speculated on why we were so crappy at it, but in the 12-ish weeks that I breastfed, we never once had a nursing session that lasted less than 50 minutes, unless it was because I ended it myself. I heard from eighteen million different people—friends, doctors, the Internet, CERTIFIED LACTATION CONSULTANTS—that when he was full, he would pop himself right off. As GOD AS MY WITNESS, PEOPLE, this never happened to us. Never. As in, not even once."
(I can so relate.)
After a pledge to stop breastfeeding without (too much) guilt if the same thing happens again, Emily reaches the crux of the matter:
"But I’m also terrified that it will go well, especially if this baby is born a little bigger and stronger than Asher was. I’m terrified that it will go well and I’ll still hate it. I’m terrified that it will go well and I’ll still feel resentful. I’m terrified that I won’t know how to do it right, especially since one of the things I’m looking forward to MOST about having a second baby is knowing exactly what to do with it. I know how to formula feed; been there, done that, and did it SUCCESSFULLY. Breastfeeding? Still kind of a big, fat mystery, since my entire experience with it is clouded by feelings of sadness and confusion and anger and also a lot of hysterical crying."
My emotional response to this is a great deal of empathy. Emily is one of the biggest reasons why I blog, specifically her entries on breastfeeding which - long before I even became a mother - I recognized as groundbreaking for the simple reason that she was being honest about her experience of motherhood, putting her guilt and pain and vulnerability out there for the world to see, speaking with such raw emotion and honesty about how damned hard it really is. While she likely made that post just as a way to work through her conflicting emotions, it has come to mean so much more to me (and, I'm guessing, to others): because women out there having the same difficulties now knew they weren't alone. There's a lot of propaganda out there about mothering in general and breastfeeding in particular, and it all depends on us not copping to the fact that this is really hard, instead pasting smiles on our faces and chirping mindlessly it's all worth it!
The fact that Emily is still facing the birth of her upcoming child with fear and doubt in her heart really resonates with me. Her post perfectly sums up the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" nature of much of motherhood.
Meanwhile, Amy writes:
"During the five months that I nursed Noah, I can probably count the number of times I could have described it as "blissful" or "wonderful" or even "pleasant." It was...mildly tolerable, most of the time.
"This time has been completely different. Unbelievably different. When the nurse first plopped Ezra rather unceremoniously across my chest in the recovery room post-surgery, leaving me to struggle with positioning him while mostly numb and immobile ... I was able to get him on and nursing vigorously almost immediately -- you'd never know that his birth had been such a rude surprise for him, and so heavily medicated. He was awesome. I'm using words like awesome and wonderful and blissful a lot these days. We're good at this. It works. It insert-Keanu-Reeves-style-WHOA works.
"He'll take the bottle grudgingly, suck it all down, and then demand one more go at the breast to fall asleep. Because he loves to nurse. And, amazingly, so do I.
"I had one recurring dream during pregnancy: I gave birth to a baby boy, and I breastfed him. And everything was fine, and then I woke up. So while I will resist the urge to end this post with a trite and corny saying about dreams coming true, you should know that I'm totally thinking it."
Oh, this one breaks my heart. Amy has gotten the nursing relationship she always wanted, and while I'm so very happy for her, it also hurts me deeply to know that there is one less mom out there in the "breastfeeding FAIL" boat. Though obviously drastically different in terms of scale, I compare it (very humbly) to the way it must feel when someone on an infertility message board announces their pregnancy: yes, you're happy for her, but you're painfully aware that that leaves one less person in your situation, and doesn't that just mean that she figured out something you didn't, and doesn't that really mean that you just suck somehow?
The books and the lactation consultants and the health care professionals and the Internets all use these words, "bliss", "wonderful", "beautiful", "bonding", "natural", "peaceful", when describing breastfeeding. It's so much more comforting for those of us who don't feel that way to cynically believe that no one does, that it's all a sham perpetrated by the patriarchy, that all moms dislike it but some are just better at tolerating it (and lying about it) than others. It's a bit of a blow when it turns out that one of the cynics changes her mind and says (in effect) "Oh, NOW I get it! THAT'S how it's supposed to work!"
The part that's hardest for me to swallow is that I will never get that second chance. Gwen is going to be an only child, a choice that I am perfectly happy with and have no conflicting emotions about. Still, when I read about Amy's experience with Ezra and her newfound love of breastfeeding, it does make me sad that I'll never have that. Not sad enough to reconsider having another child, because dude, what a crappy reason to reproduce - but just wistful. Then again, when I'm in my more rational mind I think, "If I hadn't already decided to only have one child, the disaster of breastfeeding definitely would have convinced me."
Two of my favourites, Amy and Emily, recently posted about issues close to my heart. What else? Breastfeeding.
Amy and Emily both had a lot of difficulty with breastfeeding their firstborn sons. Amy just had her second son, and Emily is expecting her daughter in December. So they are both facing the same issues again.
Emily writes: "I always wondered if the reason Asher and I had such a frustratingly terrible nursing relationship was because he was born so small and weak (one of the effects of preeclampsia is compromised blood flow to the placenta, which results in retardation of fetal growth and nutrition).
"No one ever speculated on why we were so crappy at it, but in the 12-ish weeks that I breastfed, we never once had a nursing session that lasted less than 50 minutes, unless it was because I ended it myself. I heard from eighteen million different people—friends, doctors, the Internet, CERTIFIED LACTATION CONSULTANTS—that when he was full, he would pop himself right off. As GOD AS MY WITNESS, PEOPLE, this never happened to us. Never. As in, not even once."
(I can so relate.)
After a pledge to stop breastfeeding without (too much) guilt if the same thing happens again, Emily reaches the crux of the matter:
"But I’m also terrified that it will go well, especially if this baby is born a little bigger and stronger than Asher was. I’m terrified that it will go well and I’ll still hate it. I’m terrified that it will go well and I’ll still feel resentful. I’m terrified that I won’t know how to do it right, especially since one of the things I’m looking forward to MOST about having a second baby is knowing exactly what to do with it. I know how to formula feed; been there, done that, and did it SUCCESSFULLY. Breastfeeding? Still kind of a big, fat mystery, since my entire experience with it is clouded by feelings of sadness and confusion and anger and also a lot of hysterical crying."
My emotional response to this is a great deal of empathy. Emily is one of the biggest reasons why I blog, specifically her entries on breastfeeding which - long before I even became a mother - I recognized as groundbreaking for the simple reason that she was being honest about her experience of motherhood, putting her guilt and pain and vulnerability out there for the world to see, speaking with such raw emotion and honesty about how damned hard it really is. While she likely made that post just as a way to work through her conflicting emotions, it has come to mean so much more to me (and, I'm guessing, to others): because women out there having the same difficulties now knew they weren't alone. There's a lot of propaganda out there about mothering in general and breastfeeding in particular, and it all depends on us not copping to the fact that this is really hard, instead pasting smiles on our faces and chirping mindlessly it's all worth it!
The fact that Emily is still facing the birth of her upcoming child with fear and doubt in her heart really resonates with me. Her post perfectly sums up the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" nature of much of motherhood.
Meanwhile, Amy writes:
"During the five months that I nursed Noah, I can probably count the number of times I could have described it as "blissful" or "wonderful" or even "pleasant." It was...mildly tolerable, most of the time.
"This time has been completely different. Unbelievably different. When the nurse first plopped Ezra rather unceremoniously across my chest in the recovery room post-surgery, leaving me to struggle with positioning him while mostly numb and immobile ... I was able to get him on and nursing vigorously almost immediately -- you'd never know that his birth had been such a rude surprise for him, and so heavily medicated. He was awesome. I'm using words like awesome and wonderful and blissful a lot these days. We're good at this. It works. It insert-Keanu-Reeves-style-WHOA works.
"He'll take the bottle grudgingly, suck it all down, and then demand one more go at the breast to fall asleep. Because he loves to nurse. And, amazingly, so do I.
"I had one recurring dream during pregnancy: I gave birth to a baby boy, and I breastfed him. And everything was fine, and then I woke up. So while I will resist the urge to end this post with a trite and corny saying about dreams coming true, you should know that I'm totally thinking it."
Oh, this one breaks my heart. Amy has gotten the nursing relationship she always wanted, and while I'm so very happy for her, it also hurts me deeply to know that there is one less mom out there in the "breastfeeding FAIL" boat. Though obviously drastically different in terms of scale, I compare it (very humbly) to the way it must feel when someone on an infertility message board announces their pregnancy: yes, you're happy for her, but you're painfully aware that that leaves one less person in your situation, and doesn't that just mean that she figured out something you didn't, and doesn't that really mean that you just suck somehow?
The books and the lactation consultants and the health care professionals and the Internets all use these words, "bliss", "wonderful", "beautiful", "bonding", "natural", "peaceful", when describing breastfeeding. It's so much more comforting for those of us who don't feel that way to cynically believe that no one does, that it's all a sham perpetrated by the patriarchy, that all moms dislike it but some are just better at tolerating it (and lying about it) than others. It's a bit of a blow when it turns out that one of the cynics changes her mind and says (in effect) "Oh, NOW I get it! THAT'S how it's supposed to work!"
The part that's hardest for me to swallow is that I will never get that second chance. Gwen is going to be an only child, a choice that I am perfectly happy with and have no conflicting emotions about. Still, when I read about Amy's experience with Ezra and her newfound love of breastfeeding, it does make me sad that I'll never have that. Not sad enough to reconsider having another child, because dude, what a crappy reason to reproduce - but just wistful. Then again, when I'm in my more rational mind I think, "If I hadn't already decided to only have one child, the disaster of breastfeeding definitely would have convinced me."
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