I'm Not a Sappy Mom

I’m going to tell you now, that I am not one of those sappy Mothers who goes on and on about her child/children and how she can’t bear to be without him/her/them.  My conversations were and are never filled with story after story about my son, his daily activities, etc.

I remember once, a long time ago, a fellow new Mother was telling me of how she and her husband had gone out for a date night, with the promise of reconnecting and being a couple, and somehow, the conversation always turned back to their angelic child.  She further mentioned that she missed her child and couldn’t wait to get home, she adored her so much and isn’t that sweet?

Good Lord.  You’re telling me you can’t spend three hours away from a kid who has been attached to your body in one way or another for the past year, and will still be attached, pretty much, until the day you die?  Please.

Now, I know that I’m going to come across as cold and unfeeling towards my darling boy, but I tend to define it as being “realistic” and “honest with myself” in regard to the whole Motherhood thing.

My first real moment of “honesty” came in the hospital, as I was preparing for the birthing experience, yet not in full labor; thus, I was able to surf through some of the channels on the hospital television in relative comfort.

One of the channels was a hospital sponsored channel, and showed streaming video on how to care for your newborn, how to breastfeed, changes in your body, etc.  The episode, at the time, was on breastfeeding, and the first glimpse upon switching to this channel, was of a gargantuan nipple.

I didn’t even know what it was, at first.



“What the HELL is that?!” I thought to myself, with a look of shock and utter dismay on my not-yet-a-doting-mother face.

As the program continued, with more gargantuan breasts (you’d think this would be a possible checkmark in the “woo” column for me, I’ve always wanted slightly bigger boobs), and newborn babies, and breast pumps, I found myself increasingly turned off and grossed out by the entire process.

I decided, rather immediately, that there was no way in hell I was going to breastfeed.  I had previously entertained the thought that I would (and should) breastfeed, along with using no epidural for labor, and using cloth diapers to save the environment.  Yes, it’s good for your baby, it supposedly promotes bonding, and is the totally natural and lovely thing to do.

To bolster the reasons behind my decision, let’s start with the whole colostrum thing.  For Pete’s sake, can’t they come up with better words for this stuff?  The word itself sounds gross.

“Your breasts produce colostrum beginning during pregnancy and continuing through the early days of breastfeeding. This special milk is yellow to orange in color and thick and sticky. It is low in fat, and high in carbohydrates, protein, and antibodies to help keep your baby healthy. Colostrum is extremely easy to digest, and is therefore the perfect first food for your baby. It is low in volume (measurable in teaspoons rather than ounces), but high in concentrated nutrition for the newborn. Colostrum has a laxative effect on the baby, helping him pass his early stools, which aids in the excretion of excess bilirubin and helps prevent jaundice. “   (taken from http://www.llli.org/faq/colostrum.html )


That’s lovely and all, but I can’t get past the yellow to orange, thick and sticky part.  Just.  Ew.

Let me clarify, though.  Ew, for me.  I have great respect for Mothers who breastfeed, it is completely natural and womanly (that’s what they’re intended for, sorry, Men), and takes time and real dedication during your baby‘s growth process.

Apart from the fact that I had become completely grossed out by the procedure, it was the “dedication” part that kind of stiffened my spine.  I completely didn’t go for the whole “studies show that children who weren’t breast fed turned out to be mass murderers because they didn’t bond” theory.  What I did realize, however, was that I wanted to have some semblance of my own body back, after childbirth.  I said once, privately, to someone “Listen, this kid has been with me for 40 weeks.  I’ve kept healthy, stopped drinking coffee, stopped smoking, had to give up ice cream.  I think I’ve done enough for now.”

And, that was it.  There goes my nomination for “Mother of the Year.”

Apart from the emotional rollercoaster I was on during my pregnancy (that is a different story, one I likely won’t tell), physically, it was a very easy one.  The no breastfeeding thing was really more about moving onto the next phase of my life, and trying to identify myself as “Catherine plus baby” rather than “Catherine, the very pregnant unwedded mother, tsk tsk.”
I didn’t want to have to continue watching my diet, worry about leaking breasts, and being completely controlled by this child who had already controlled me for 40 weeks, and would be controlling me for the rest of my life.

I know it sounds awful, but it was something that I just didn’t want to do.  I could formula feed my cherub, spend equal amounts of time cooing and worrying over him, and love him the same as any woman who chose the breastfeeding route.  And I did.  And I do.

Luckily, some of my later guilt was removed by the fact that, after Spenser was born, I was completely knocked out in the operating room, for several hours.  If I had chosen to breastfeed, I shudder to think of how that would have been accomplished when I was in a state of delirium and complaining that there was “some baby” crying in the room.  While I was still incoherent, drugged up, and snoring, his first bottle feeding was administered by my mother, with my father,  my Godparents, and almost entire family present.  I think that’s a pretty damn cool way to be welcomed into the world of gastronomic pleasures.  It wasn't the perfect and natural way, but it was the Catherine plus un-named (because she's still mostly unconscious) Baby way, and I'm okay with that.

Anyway, enough about breastfeeding and my dawning hours of Motherhood.  I realize that I kind of digressed from the whole “I’m not a sappy Mom” subject, but I guess I had more to say about my first “honest” Motherhood moment than I originally planned.  Have no fear, there is more honesty to come.  18 more years worth, to be precise.

As for my original plans pre-childbirth, I will tell you: I refused the epidural until I had no choice due to the impending C-Section, and I only lasted for a few months with the cloth diapers before I gave them up almost entirely for the Earth destroying kind.  BUT.  At least I never heated his formula in the microwave.  And, for your information, Spenser hasn’t murdered anyone.  Yet.