I can admit it. I am independent to a fault. I am independent to the point of needing to be dependent because I didn't know how to ask for help when I had a handle on things. My very first words as a baby were "self", because I wanted to do every thing myself. So of course, when I transitioned into motherhood and my entire identity died a slow death (and it does, trust me), I had decided I'd get through it myself. I should've known this was wrong with during the birth (at home, in a tub) I needed my husband with me or I'd never get through it. But no, of course I was going to do every thing perfectly and all by myself.
When we first moved to Tennessee, when I was around 20 weeks pregnant, I didn't know a soul. I was lucky that my best friend and her husband had family here and stayed for a week only two weeks after we'd moved. But when they left the loneliness sunk in along with the intense heart burn, vomiting, stress and misery that goes along with a pregnant women with a slipped lap band (more on that here) and PCOS. I had no idea either of these things were affecting me. So, to ease the pain, I headed to the local yarn shop to knit my days away and talk to other women. I went to lunch with two middle aged southern women I had nothing in common with just to have some company other than my husband.
As luck would have it, I was soon introduced to the Bradley Method and my husband and I would start classes in October for 8 weeks and meet other expecting couples. It was really nice to talk to other women (and men) that were interested in natural delivery like us. 6 of the women in that class are still excellent friends that I constantly keep in touch with. Which is strange for me because for a long time, friends have been expendable.
Let me clear that up. I am not a monster (I don't think), I just don't have "friends forever". I feel as though, like guys I dated, friends come and go. I am afraid of attachment and being afraid to lose the ones I grow attached to. A huge reason I never wanted to have children was because of the idea of loving anyone that much would mean to lose them would be unbearable. I've worked hard for years to protect myself from this kind of love and loss. Falling in love with my husband is still something that I struggle with and sometimes I find myself working very hard to push him away so that if I lost him, I'd be able to move on (sick, I know).
I made friends with my midwife. She became a good friend. We talked about things that fascinate me and after I had Noelle, it was very sad that I'd hardly see her again. So, like I always have, I figured these people would come in and out of my life and I never really bared my soul. Then I had a baby. Noelle Snow came into the world at 3:39pm on a Saturday and I was a mother. After 19 hours of labor I had her, tried to get up out of the pool and fainted. My entire body went limp and I blacked out and woke up 90 seconds later on the floor of our back room. I needed people to pick up my 250 lb, naked body from the side of a pool and put me on the floor. I was spent, done, finished and I needed someone else to carry me. It was a very humbling experience.
Then there was the Bambino Brigade. I can't remember who it was exactly but someone commented on my wordpress blog about this little group in Nashville called the Bambino Brigade. Around that same time I'd been introduced to Micky Jones of 9 Months and Beyond who was helping me with my milk production problem. People were reaching out! A friend who was a former Bradley student brought me food a day after I gave birth. People called me, emailed and facebook messaged me. I found the BB (Bambino Brigade) facebook page and there it went! These moms were into cloth diapering, amber teething necklaces, holistic healing, babywearing (there's an actual nashville babywearers chapter), not/light vaccinating and meeting up! Moms were meeting up. Why, I thought? and how? Babies are so hard to go anywhere with, if she starts crying, they're going to hate me (yes, I really thought this).
Then the breastfeeding stopped (for me). I went through intense depression and self-hatred that I still struggle with because I could not produce milk for my baby. They swept in and offered me over 3,500 oz. of milk (total). I asked and they gave and that was it. My baby was fed donated breast milk for the first 6 months of her life because these women cared enough to pump, store it and even bring it to me, all while they were breastfeeding their babies. I do not take any of this for granted- it's a gift. One that I have no idea how to repay.
Around three months or so I finally got up the courage to start attending coffee meetups and met some of the most wonderful, caring, like-minded mothers. I started to realize something: I needed them. I needed these connections! They were getting me through those hard first months were I was completely losing the old me and becoming the new me. A transition that is still taking place. A happy transition that is so incredibly sad.
Throughout time, women have had other women. Tribes feed each others babies at the breast. Feudal Europe had a group of ladies in waiting that were there to help and get you through even while they were getting through motherhood. There's a connection that is primal for other women who know what you're going through. Sometime throughout history, we lost that. I think it's developed into something better in a sense that we aren't necessarily exposed if we don't want to be and the husband's involvement has stepped up considerably even within the last decade. But for a long time we lost that connection with each other and expected ourselves to suck it up and do it alone. The result? A rise in postpartum depression, suicides, murders and the other things that happen when we feel completely alone in a brand new universe.
The old me is slowly fading away. I mourn my childhood but not alone. And because of that I know I'll get through and even enjoy the hard, awkward, wonderful transition into motherhood my way. Mommy wars are ending and the peaceful acceptance is making us the best moms we can be. There's no room for perfection in this community- only understanding and empathy. We need each other and our connection. And I've learned that this is nothing to be afraid of. I just know that this type of community will positively affect our growing children who see us reach out and become better people for it.
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