It takes a village...

The moment it becomes apparent that a woman is pregnant her body is suddenly transformed into public property.  Precious new life is growing inside of her, and people have an uncontrollable urge to help that child and its mother.  While this sounds nice, the “help” is frequently offered in the form of unsolicited advice and criticism of the mother’s choices.  Everyone has opinions about what she should be doing, what kind of birth she should have, and what she should do for her baby when it arrives. While the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child" implies that a child is impacted by a great many people besides his or her parents, loving support goes a lot farther than criticism and judgment.  In my experience, society at large does not seem to share my viewpoint.

My husband and I had only been trying for a few months, and while we were impatient to start our family, we didn’t want to get our hopes up when I came out of the bathroom carrying the most recent pregnancy test.  We started the timer and sat down on the couch, trying to avoid staring at the little stick, willing it to be positive.  Finally, the time was up, and we gently lifted the test and looked at the results.  A million thoughts and feelings coursed through me as I looked at that little window and saw not one, but two little pink lines.  “Oh my god,” I said, “It’s positive!  We’re going to have a baby!”  I went through what a lot of women go through in this moment: I was simultaneously the happiest and most terrified person in the world.  “This is amazing!  I can’t wait to be a mom!” I screamed internally, trying to drown out the shouts of “What if I’m the worst mom ever?  Am I really ready?  Are we really ready?”

Many hugs and tears later, after the initial shock wore off, we started making phone calls.  I called my midwife’s office, to set up our first prenatal visit.  We took turns calling my parents, my husband’s parents, and two of our best friends.  We went out for a celebratory breakfast (“Well,” I said, “I guess this explains why I’ve been so ridiculously hungry this week.”)  The fear was still there in the back of my mind, but the joy was much louder, and I couldn’t wait to go to work and share the great news with my boss (and request a day off for my appointment with the midwife.)

At first, I was excited to share the decisions I was making: I was going to have a midwife deliver my baby as naturally as possible, I was going to breastfeed, I was going to use cloth diapers, and I was going to use a co-sleeper so that my baby would be right next to me for late night feedings.  I quickly became discouraged when I realized that some people thought that my decisions were silly, or worse, dangerous.  “You have to get one of those c-sections,” one of my husband’s friends told me, as he spoke fondly of his son’s birth.  When I tried to explain that I wanted a natural birth with a midwife, he exclaimed “Why would you want to do that?!” and then went on to share a story he had seen on the news about a midwife who had been reckless and caused the death of a baby.  “They sued her and she went to jail,” he said, implying that all midwives are incompetent and that we were endangering the life of our child by trusting one.  What he did not understand is that while there are bad apples in every profession, having a trained midwife attend your birth is very safe.  Natural childbirth can also allow a mother more time to bond with her child, and gives her more control over the birth itself.  Not to mention, any doctor will tell you that a vaginal birth has a lot fewer risks than a cesarean birth, and that major surgery such as this is not something to take lightly.  There are, of course, instances where a c-section is the safest option, and that is why they are available.  I wasn’t going to run out and “get one of those c-sections” unless it was medically necessary.  He was not interested in hearing about our research on the subject, assuming that because he had a child, he knew better than we did.  We walked away from the conversation feeling angry and frustrated, and not at all appreciative of his so-called advice.

Well-intentioned coworkers and customers, specifically the veteran mommies, pelted me with a variety of comments that I found only slightly more helpful.  “You should stop drinking coffee right now.  Otherwise, your baby will be hyper.” “You shouldn’t be climbing that ladder.”  “Your cloth diapering won’t last 3 weeks.  You’ll go to disposables.”  “Your mom cloth diapered?  Did you always have diaper-rash?"  Here I was, simultaneously blissful and frightened, and everything that I said or did was being challenged.  As if pregnancy isn't taxing enough, we have to withstand constant, and often conflicting, criticism and advice.  Do I think that any of these people intended to make my life harder?  No.  Do I think they could have shared the same ideas in a much more constructive way?  Absolutely.  How about, “What does your midwife say about caffeine consumption?” “Do you feel comfortable climbing that ladder?  If you start to feel unsteady, don’t feel obligated to get the higher items, just ask me for some help.” “I’ve never used cloth diapers. How does that work?”  See the difference?  Instead of telling me everything I was doing wrong, they could have asked why I thought my decisions were the best for me and my family.  They might have learned something, and I might have felt supported instead of bombarded.

Ultimately, what we parents need here is respectful, supportive information-sharing.  We don’t all need to make the same decisions in birthing or raising our children.  What we need is love, support, and open communication.  (Sounds like the recipe for a good marriage, doesn’t it?  That’s not a coincidence!)  Let’s face it, we’re not getting enough sleep, so we’re a little more sensitive than usual.