A Spoonful of Compassion Helps the Chillaxin Go Down

If I have learned one thing since pregnancy and birthing Andrew, it is that any opinions (especially strongly-held ones) I have before actually experiencing a situation are going to be put to the test and are very likely to be modified or abandoned. Compassion and non-judgment are coming to me in greater measure all the time (don't worry, I am still a card-carrying member of the Better Bizards Bureau) and best of all, when I fear that science or my own body has failed me, I have discovered how surrounded I am by caring friends (and strangers!), who help me put my fears in perspective. Without getting too absurd, I am reminded of the teary conclusion to It's A Wonderful Life (sorry if I spoil it for you, but it's not like you haven't had 75 years to see it by now) when George Bailey's guardian angel leaves him a copy of Tom Sawyer with the inscription "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends." [sob]

Obviously, Andrew's two weeks post-dates birth at the hospital with an obstetrician using forceps and an epidural were NOT part of my original birth plan (full birth story to come). And yet, under the circumstances and given my state of mind and health and various other factors, I consider the whole experience a significant triumph, a case of divine intervention, and no small measure of hubris for me.

When my milk took a week to come in and Andrew's non-following to the letter of baby progress charts left me in mental anguish, I kept thinking I was an idiot for leaving the sample of formula in our hospital room in the hospital. And I am sure anyone reading this right now knows that I am a lactivist to the max. Fortunately, my milk did come in and nearly 3 weeks later, I am almost calm about it (ha!), but desperation is a bitter pill.

And in a less life-or-death situation, but no less a dramatic turn of events, I never thought I would feel so warmly towards Bass Pro Shops. Before this last Friday, my opinion of them was "Why would I go in there?" I have now softened to this REI for rednecks, where the whole business hums in the key of mossy oak, to appreciate how family-friendly it is. There are quiet, cool spots for nursing; the aisles are roomy enough to push a stroller; the bathrooms are very clean and have changing stations; and there's a restaurant inside. Sure, the heady youth in me has no use for these amenities, but the overwhelmed new mother trying not to pack saddle bags like I'm heading into the great unknown for 3 months instead of a shopping center while my car is serviced, is greatly, greatly appreciative of them.

And so I conclude this surprise testimonial to epidural and Bass Pro Shops, though I stop short of giving a kindly opinion of formula companies who enjoy swooping in during times of desperation. Though I certainly have a LOT better understanding of the kind of support it takes to be successful with breastfeeding and feel a lot of compassion towards new parents struggling with this decision, I still think formula companies do some pretty evil things to sabotage the confidence of new parents. So who would have thought this is where I'd stand on the issues just a few months ago in my roaring 20s when I was so freewheeling (freewheeling with nausea!)? Not me, but I am grappling with the fact that the universe/God/life-force has many plans not yet revealed to me. Though I can't plan for them and that makes the taskmaster in me nervous, I can put my trust in the wonderful people I have surrounded myself with, including Andrew. And I can just chillax already because there's nothing else to do.

Note: This will probably not cause me to chillax. I am still myself, after all.