Expectations

August 27th, 19 days old

Anyone who knows me, and I mean really knows me, knows that I set a lot in store by expectations. Perhaps it's because I'm such a planner-it's my way of controlling my environment. Creating expectations is my way of preparing.

Three weeks ago today, I went into the hospital to be induced. The irony here is that for my entire third trimester, we were worried that I would go into early labor. I was off work and on light duty for three months. I avoided travelling because I was scared that I would go into labor far away from the hospital I was registered at. The fact that I made it to term was a big accomplishment, and as each day passed, I felt sillier and sillier for even worrying that I would not have made it to that point. By the time my due date came around without so much as one contraction, I felt rather stupid about my initial worries and surprised that my expectations were not even close to reality.

Walking into the hospital on my due date to have the baby forcibly evicted from my body was not a situation that I had envisioned myself in. Also, my expectation was that I would have the baby that day. What ended up happening is that I was on cervadil for 30 hours, in labor for over 12 hours, pushed for 2.5 hours, and ended up with an emergency c section days later.

Before I got pregnant, and during my pregnancy, when I envisioned and planned for labor and delivery, I thought that I would have a birth free of interventions. I thought that I would go into labor on my own, before my due date, and that I would have an unmedicated water birth. I had planned on using a variety of positions to move the baby down into the birth canal and I had planned on using natural pain relief techniques to cope with the contractions. I was excited to birth my baby riding high on the euphoric waves of self satisfaction. I had envisioned that baby Jaxon would be birthed and placed on my chest for me to admire my handiwork. I had envisioned an empowered experience-one that would make up for the difficult pregnancy.

If you have read Jaxon's birth story, then you know it was full of interventions. Everything that I didn't want happened. True to the worst possible birth experience I had envisioned, I ended up hooked up to an IV, confined to a hospital bed with monitors on me and inside me, unable to birth him in the tub. I was not able to labor in any other position than flat on my back-which is the worst position to labor in. After my water broke, and after having dealt with oxytocin induced contractions for hours, I caved and got the epidural. After hours of pushing in every position I was capable of, and having Jaxon manually turned while inside my belly, I was told that Jaxon would not be able to be birthed vaginally and that I would have to have a c section. At that point I broke down in tears and I said that I had failed. And I did fail. If I had been patient, and waited to go into labor on my own, then I may have escaped the series of interventions that led to Jaxon's birth.

When I look at my precious baby crying in pain everyday because of his upset stomach, I think about how Jaxon could have been born vaginally and exposed to the bacteria that helps with digestion. When I look back on my expectations, my baby was supposed to be chill and easy going, not colicky and hard to comfort.

When I look back on my expectations, I never envisioned I would actually need a c section, even though I had one booked for my due date due to his size and the complications that may cause. Had I really prepared myself for this possibility, perhaps I would not be grappling with a sense of loss.

When I look back on my expectations, I think about how I always envisioned breastfeeding Jaxon for a year. He would be receiving the perfect milk that his body needs, and he would be better for it. He would never be given the man-made sawdust they market as formula because I was better than that. In reality-he sometimes gets more formula than breast milk because I am not able to breastfeed or exclusively pump successfully. Another failure of mine. Every bottle of formula, every unsuccessful latch or pumping session is another nail in the coffin and another scoop of formula.

When I look back on my expectations, I think about how Jaxon would sleep in the bassinet beside our bed and that I would just reach over the side of the bed when he woke up and breast feed him. In reality, Jaxon hates the bassinet and does not sleep at night much at all, and only when he is in my arms. In reality, I sleep in the living room, on the couch and I never get to sleep in bed or cuddle with my husband. It's isolating. In reality, I'm staggering around, delirious and exhausted washing bottles, pumping, and mixing formula.

When I look back on my expectations, I realise how foolish I was for even having expectations. As a new mother, all my preconceived notions are out the window and each day is just about survival. It's about meeting my son's needs first. It means sleepless nights, a dirty house, formula feeding, c section recovery, and a colicky baby. It means learning how to relinquish my expectations and control. It means learning that my life revolves, not around my own schedule, but around this tiny, dependent new life.

And perhaps the biggest learning experience of all is learning to raise my son in the way that works for us, and to let go of the expectations of others. Perhaps it's learning that although unmedicated vaginal deliveries and breastfeeding works for some mothers and babies, it did not work for me...and most of all, that I'm not a better or a worse mother for it. Perhaps it's accepting that motherhood is both a universal and an individual journey.

At the end of the day, my son is healthy, well fed, and most of all, loved. So loved.

I am a good mother. And hopefully with each passing day I can relinquish my expectations and embrace the untold possibilities of each coming day-no matter if they happen in the way I had expected.