Mommy Guilt

I admit it. I have a serious and prolonged case of ‘Mommy Guilt’. I feel guilty when I take Gaia out without a hat on. When she wakes up in the morning hours before I’m ready to get up I feel guilty for wishing she’d just go back to sleep. I feel guilty when I choose to make myself supper and let her to amuse herself in her swing, even though she’s usually laughing. I feel guilty when I wish for extra-long naps so I can have a few hours to clean. I feel guilty if she sits in poop for more than thirty seconds. I feel guilty if I don’t anticipate she’s about to get hungry/sleepy/playful and haven’t got a bottle/nap/structured play prepared. I feel guilty that I miss working. I feel guilty when I call her chubby, lest she get a baby complex. I feel guilty that I bounce her to sleep every night instead of arming her with the skills to fall asleep on her own. I stay up at night with guilty dreams of a co-dependent three-year-old dancing in my head. Sometimes I feel guilty for considering how well I would handle the guilt if I stopped bouncing her to sleep at night and let her cry-it-out. I feel guilty when I take her out and I feel guilty if we stay in. I feel guilty about the fact I have to use the bathroom and shower and sleep. I feel guilty about just about everything I do and I can’t help it. I especially feel guilty for feeling guilty because by all accounts there should be no room for guilt amongst all the joy. Still, my guilt knows no bounds. Why is my guilt topical you ask? I’ll tell you. After twelve-weeks as the happiest baby I’ve ever met, Gaia has spent the last three days in the worst baby mood I have yet to experience. Tonight my guilt came to a head as she screamed herself hoarse and I lay beside her crying and repeating “I’m sorry... I don’t know how to help you...I’m sorry...” When she stopped screaming and put her hand on my chest I felt guilty that she’d noticed my breakdown. Like a loyal dog who lays beside their dying owner, Gaia quietly laid beside me like that for twenty minutes and all I could do was feel guilty.

I pulled myself together eventually, as I always do, and got her lulled into a fitful sleep. Since then I’ve been doing some research on the internet and am starting to suspect she might be developing a milk allergy (which coincided nicely with what I think was her twelve-week growth spurt). She’s got the inconsistent, greenish poop, the sudden fussy and erratic behaviour and the small dry patches on her cheeks have turned into full-on scaly rashes. My guilt knows no bounds. Did I mention I had to diagnose this myself on the internet because there isn’t a single family doctor or paediatrician in Regina who is accepting new patients? Inevitably I feel guilty about living in a province with a shortage of doctors. Now I’m faced with the predicament of finding a lactose-free formula that isn’t iron fortified (since the iron has given her rock-hard poop in the past). From what I can tell this might be impossible. Of course this whole evening just has me sinking deeper into the thing that gives me the most ‘Mommy Guilt’ of all.

The ugly guilt-monger who’s taken up residence in my head keeps repeating “if Gaia was breastfeed we wouldn’t be having these problems.”

I knew absolutely nothing about infants when I got pregnant but I did know this... I was going to breastfeed. My breasts have always been on the smaller side of average. Never in a place to flaunt them for fun breastfeeding was going to be their moment in the sun. Sure they’d never draw eyes the way some breasts do, but they were going to feed a baby and frankly, that’s what they’re there for right? Gaia took to breastfeeding like a pro. She latched in mere seconds only minutes after being born. The nurse watched in awe, ready to jump in and fix the inevitable problems that never came. It seemed I was a pro as well, if I do say so myself. I never experienced a single pain, crack or blister. Even as we made our way from the hospital to home and Gaia began cluster feeding my breasts never complained. I was worn out and sleepy and achy but my breasts soldiered on. They were the heroes in our epic first days. Unfortunately about a week later my milk still hadn’t come in. Gaia was undeniably starving. I made an appointment with Regina’s own ‘Nipple Whisperer’ – the crème de la crème of lactation consultants. We were all confident she would have me lactating in no time. She took one look at Gaia at my breast and determined we had a good latch and adequate suction. Save for a few pointers on positioning (which did make me much more comfortable) she didn’t have much to say. She told me to ignore the Public Health Nurse and her insistence I begin supplementing and wait it out. She assured me my milk would be in by the following day. By this point Gaia had dropped over fifteen percent of her birth weight. I gave it a day and began supplementing with formula, offering each breast for a minimum of fifteen minutes before giving her two ounces of formula per feeding. Nipple confusion be damned, Gaia accepted both with ease. In the moments I had my hands free I pumped at least fifteen minutes per breast. For over two months Gaia took both breast and bottle. Her weight improved and she began thriving. My milk never came in. At one point I went to see a doctor who prescribed me a stomach acid drug whose side-effects included an increase in milk production. I can count on one hand the times I’ve agreed to take pills for anything in my adult life and I took pills for this. I was breastfeeding regularly (day and night), pumping a minimum of five times a day and taking two pills every four hours for almost a month. My milk never came in. Gaia was a trooper but it soon became apparent my breasts were more soothing device then sustenance. About three weeks ago I gave up entirely.

In the time I was struggling I read a number of books and articles on breastfeeding. All of which inevitably made me feel like if I formula fed exclusively I would end up with a lethargic, obese baby who, would have serious trust and attachment issues, drop out of high school and have a string of abusive relationships as she searched for the love she never got from her mother. The mother who didn’t love her enough to breastfeed her in the first place. And that was just if she didn’t die of SIDS. But as everything I read warned me, she probably would. Every mother has their cross to bear and breastfeeding is mine. The guilt damn near crushes me and I find myself soul-shatteringly jealous of every breastfeeding mother I know. I tried to tell myself there was a time (AKA: The 1970s & 80s) when formula was thought to be superior to breastmilk and we all turned out okay, but I remain unconvinced. After weeks of searching I finally found a website that assured me that my loving attention, and not just my breast was the most important thing I could give my baby. I turned a blind eye to the fact it was a website written by makers of a name brand formula. My breasts may be faulty but love, I feel confident I’ve mastered that.

On Saturday Gaia and I are flying to Vancouver. Of course, I feel guilty for going ahead with the trip when she’s obviously distressed. If I didn’t worry about the wife-guilt I’d feel over not going we’d probably forfeit our ticket. I know, I know. With all this guilt piling up around me you’d think I was Catholic, but no, I’m just a mother.

For those of you who know where I live please don’t worry. You don’t need to put me on post-partum-suicide watch or anything. I’m fine. Gaia’s fine. We’re going to be just fine. It’s just been a bad week. We’re strong, hearty, Saskatchewanese women and if nothing else we’re both due for a pretty serious family hug on Sunday. I can’t imagine any better cure for ‘Mommy Guilt’ then a hug from a man who tells you every day how lucky he feels to have found the perfect mother for the baby who means the world to him.

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If you’re having trouble breastfeeding there are a number of support systems available in the Regina area. To get started check out La Leche League Canada or call Linda Cheston (AKA: The ‘Nipple Whisperer’) at (306) 586-4930.