Playing Nice

Why can't we just play nice? I mean, seriously, why can't we all just treat each other with respect and dignity and kindness?

I've been thinking about this a lot in relation to motherhood. The various camps we set up - the working vs. at homes; the breastfeeders vs. the bottle feeders - set up a kind of adversarial dynamic that seems so counterproductive to me. Certainly, there are exceptions, but for the vast majority, don't we all want to do what is best for our children and our families? And isn't what's best different for each family? And shouldn't we, within reason, understand and respect that?

I've been a working mom. I've been a stay at home mom. Both are absolutely brutally hard. Being a MOM is hard. Period. There are a million reasons why women choose each option. And there are women who don't so much choose an option as do what circumstance dictates. In fact, that was the case for me - I didn't CHOOSE to be a working mother, per se. I had a baby and at that time, we couldn't afford for me not to work, so work I did. Miserably. For two and a half years, until we felt like we were at a point when I could stay home for a while.

Now, I stay home. And it. Is. HARD. Anyone who claims it isn't has never done it full time. Full stop. You can stay home with your kids on your two week summer vacation and think, "This is cake!" But you don't know what being a stay at home mom is until you've done it in the dead of winter with a cranky toddler who's got a wicked case of cabin fever and it's literally too cold to play outside. And I'm not talking one day of that, either. I'm talking full on MONTHS of tedium. And as much as you love your kids, you can't help but feel stifled on a lot of those days. And then you feel guilty for not feeling constantly grateful and present.

And if you've never been a working mother, then you don't know what it is to be a working mother, either. You can judge the woman who harriedly drops her child off at daycare and realizes she's forgotten some daily item, and you can think, "HOW could she forget that?!" or whatever. But until you've BEEN that woman, trying to herd a one year old up, into clothes, through breakfast, into the car and into the school, you don't know how excruciating it is to kiss your baby goodbye for the day and cross your fingers that nothing horrible will happen to him while you're gone. And you don't know the crushing guilt you feel about that separation. And you don't know the seething jealousy you sometimes feel toward the women who get to spend all day with their kids.

On the breastfeeding front, there is a similar type of judgment. Listen. I agree, wholeheartedly, that breast is best. I do. I've breastfed both my children. I'm not going to lie to you here, it hasn't always been my favorite thing to do, but I've recognized its importance and benefits. HOWEVER. There are cases in which breastfeeding isn't feasible. I've had friends and relatives who haven't been able to breastfeed. Not who didn't feel like breastfeeding, but who couldn't. Maybe the baby didn't latch, maybe their production wasn't enough, whatever the reason, they couldn't sustain that human life without the aid of formula. And to them, I have said that formula, that option, exists for a REASON. Is it preferable to breast milk? No. But is it better than a malnourished baby? Oh, HELL yes. And yet, the judgment.

This particular issue is hitting very close to home for me right now, since I'm still battling the terrible anxiety, and in order to treat it properly, I will need to stop breastfeeding, since anxiety meds and breastfeeding don't mix. And the guilt I feel at the prospect of stopping breastfeeding is unreal, because after all...breast is best, right?

And yet, I have done nine months of breastfeeding. And the reality is that my anxiety being properly managed will be beneficial to both my children, won't it? Not that I've been unable to care for them or anything like that, but the fact is, kids are perceptive. So, if I'm anxious and scared and tense, they pick up on that, don't they? Probably. And I want to be fully myself for them. I want to be fully present. They are gifts. They are treasures. And I DO get to spend every day with them, and I don't want anxiety to cloud my enjoyment and gratitude.

To be continued, I suspect...