Last Thursday evening fans everywhere tuned in to watch the miracle of birth The Office style. Michael got an eye-full when he prematurely marched into the delivery room, Dwight was inspired to grow his business by growing a family, and love bloomed between Andy and the new office receptionist. I could almost hear little birds chirping sweet songs of spring. (Birds chirping? I might be pushing it just a little bit with that last comment.) Aside from watching Jim and Pam swim through the rush of emotions as they wrapped their brains around the reality of becoming parents, anticipating the welcome of their baby girl, I found myself walking through this awkward forty-five minute journey with them. For anyone who has become a parent, you know exactly what I mean. It is both exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.
My favorite part of the episode was after the adrenaline died down, baby was born, and the visitors departed, Jim and Pam were left all alone with their tiny infant child. I could so relate to the wave of emotions they were portraying – ah…sweet parenthood. And then, as if this precious seven-pound creature had some foreknowledge and insight that this was her cue to speak up, her moment to shine in the spotlight of celebrity, she began crying. Crying loudly, I might add. Apparently, she was hungry. Pam tried to nurse her, but their perfect bundle of joy was not going to have anything to do with it.
Now for the reality check: the struggle, the stress, the perfect couple-with-happily-nursing-baby occupying the bed next to them, and the awkward visit from a male lactation nurse.
I immediately found myself transported back to the Cascade Valley maternity ward, holding my 6 pound, 12 ounce baby girl, Sydney. Joel and I would unwrap and wrap her back up in her swaddle over and over again, just to take a peek at her tiny feet and hands. I gazed for minutes on end at this sweet miracle, completely mesmerized. When she was asleep, I was in love.
But when she woke up, I was scared out of my mind! And here is where art imitates life. My cute bundle of joy didn’t want to nurse. She didn’t want to eat. When she was conscious, she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I was heartbroken, in tears and fighting a major battle with raging hormones. Motherhood wasn’t supposed to look like this. Nursing was supposed to be natural…right? A baby was supposed to bond with its mommy…right? So, what was wrong with me, what was wrong with my baby, and why couldn’t we get this thing right…the one thing that was supposed to come naturally to both of us?
We had nurses, lactation specialists (all female, thank God), and our pediatrician at our beck and call. I had so many different hands and machines on my “you know whats” that I didn’t quite feel like a woman anymore. I was the cow. I was a milk producer who felt as though she was failing at the one job she believed she was made to do well. I found myself irritated with my newborn. Sydney was already getting on my nerves and she wasn’t even forty-eight hours old. Her strong will and my strong will came head-to-head. Devastated and discouraged, I sat in my hospital bed watching all the sweet visions of the nursing mother with child go up in smoke right before my eyes.
Unlike Pam, who was nursing brilliantly by the end of the show, it took us five weeks, a couple of home visits from my lactation nurse, and one or two “mommy time-outs” to finally get the breast feeding thing figured out. Once Sydney got the hang of it, she became the biggest baby in the church nursery, ballooning to a whopping 20 pounds by the time she turned six months old. We became pros.
As Sydney has grown, I’ve seen much of those early lessons learned in the first few weeks of her life transition right along with her- and me. To achieve the next milestone there is often times resistance. She will fight it. We’re maneuvering through some math challenges at school currently, and I can see that same fight or flight attitude flaring up in her. It takes everything within me to not lose my patience when she is facing a new growth challenge. Why she resists it so much is beyond me. But rather than fight along with her, I am learning to relax, listen, observe, and support her. I can’t make her understand math, or friendships, or failing at something, or whatever “crisis” she may be up against. I can, however, be her steady support. Listening, coaching, loving, and guiding. Eventually she’ll get it. She’ll overcome. She’ll succeed, but she will do it in her time.
The one thing I believe I am helping her learn- and it started in that cramped hospital room with nurses, electric pumps and family members cheering us on- is to never give up. If it takes until the end of the sit-com, or five weeks of sticking to it, or years of practice and failure, never, ever, ever give up. If it’s worth anything, then it’s worth the pain and the struggle, the blood, sweat, and tears to see it accomplished.
Sydney is only six-years-old. We have a long way to go together. We are both learning and growing. My hope and prayer is that we will not give up, no matter what obstacle comes our way.
My best wishes go out to Jim and Pam, fictitious characters who well portrayed a very non-fictional reality for so many of us. The adventure has just begun!