When my baby boy was just two days old, the pediatrician made a special trip to my bedside, a gesture I assume is customary for new mothers. She delivered the alarming news: if I brought my son into bed with us, I might accidentally roll over and smother him in his sleep. “Just don’t do it. Horrible things could happen,” she warned.
Horrible things? More terrifying than suffocating my baby? Good grief. Thus began my plunge into the overwhelming world of motherhood.
I tried to follow her advice, but the reality was different. I was breastfeeding, and he was nursing every hour and a half for nearly forty-five minutes each time. Naturally, I would doze off during these marathon feedings, waking up in a panic, visions of the pediatrician’s warning swirling in my mind: WHERE IS MY BABY? WHAT HAVE I DONE?
To my relief, I would find him peacefully nestled against me, fast asleep and breathing. As we settled into our new life, we faced another challenge. When he was six months old, we moved to a freezing brownstone in the middle of winter. The fear of him freezing to death in his crib outweighed the anxiety of smothering him in bed, so he began sharing our space.
This shift brought a new layer of panic. Now, I worried not only about myself but also about my husband potentially smothering him with a pillow. “Never let anyone but a breastfeeding mother sleep next to a baby!” I seemed to hear echoing in my mind. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but you get the idea. Parenting literature can be downright terrifying.
One night, as I lay half asleep, I awoke to find half my child under my husband’s pillow. My husband was sound asleep. Parental guilt hit me hard, and I found it impossible to sleep for the rest of the night. The following day, I decided to take a cleansing shower to wash away the guilt. Yet, no one warned me how tricky it is to shower with a newborn in the house.
I thought back to the days when he was small enough to nap in his car seat, before warnings about the dangers of letting babies sleep in such positions. He loved that seat, and we never had any issues with it.
I would wait for him to doze off and then dash to the bathroom for a shower. About a minute in, my maternal instincts kicked in, and I leaped out of the shower—naked and dripping—to discover my son had somehow managed to wriggle partway out of the car seat, his legs hanging dangerously over the edge.
This was a wake-up call. If teenagers can manage to keep babies alive—remember the movie Babies, where Mongolian nomads tie their toddlers to bedposts?—what was wrong with me? It dawned on me that the pediatrician’s warnings were not malicious but rather a necessary jolt of fear. After all, how else can one convey the weight of responsibility for another life than by suggesting that you could accidentally end it in your sleep? Welcome to motherhood!
And now, as I glance over to my toddler, who appears to be putting a quarter in her mouth, I realize the journey is just beginning.
For more insights on the realities of parenting and home insemination, check out this blog post. If you’re looking for guidance on artificial insemination, I highly recommend this authority on the topic. Also, don’t forget to visit this excellent resource for pregnancy and fertility to stay informed.
In summary, parenthood is filled with moments of terror, guilt, and chaos, but it’s also a journey that brings immense joy and growth.