Yeg Inspired, Baby Issue

IDENTITY
“Becoming a parent isn’t necessarily akin to drowning or walking
an endless desert (though, there are times, when it certainly feels
that way), but I feel like there’s this cultural expectation that
“good” mothers live their entire lives for their children. And this
pressure can make you feel like you’re the worst mother ever.”
WHERE DID I GO?
BY CHELSEY KRAUSE
To be honest, the first few months (with both kids)
are a blur. I’m so glad for photos, they captured the
months that I was too busy and frazzled to really
remember clearly. When I was pregnant for the first
time, I didn’t realize how fully and completely having
a baby would change me, change my life, my goals,
my worldview. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I
did with my time before I had kids; my day revolves
around them so much now, that it’s hard to remember
what life was like before them. Before kids, I worked
full time as a nurse on a busy acute care ward. I met
up with girlfriends, I read books, and I had sex with
my husband whenever we wanted, wherever we wanted
(can any of you relate? If not, I’m sure you’re laughing,
and that’s good).
And then, I had my darling baby girl and suddenly, my
entire life revolved around this beautiful, demanding
creature. Between feedings and naps and consoling her
cries, I rarely had time for myself. I was just so focused
on being a mom and keeping my baby alive that there
were days I’d forget to eat. And privacy? Pffft. Forget
privacy. For months, I’d set her up in a bouncy chair in
the bathroom with me so I could shower. (That doesn’t
go away, by the way! My four-year-old still loves to
barge into the bathroom just to say “I love you” or ask
what I’m doing).
Anyway. So had I this new baby. I loved this dear, sweet
little one more than anything. I loved cuddling her and
dressing her in cute outfits and talking to her. I enjoyed
taking her for walks, and playing with her, and giving
her baths. But there were many days (most days, in
fact), where I would cry and feel helpless and absolutely
lost when I couldn’t console her, no matter what I did.
And once I finally got her to sleep, and she slept for
three hours, I was convinced that she’d died then felt
guilty for wanting her to fall asleep at all.
I was in a body that I didn’t recognize, I felt
embarrassed that I had to wear maternity pants for
months after delivery because they were the only
thing that felt comfortable. My once clean, trendy
living room was peppered with gaudy toys and huge
battery operated swings and burp rags and wipes. My
pretty purses were replaced with ugly, squashy diaper
bags. My husband and I were usually too exhausted to
do much more than watch TV and go to bed. These
might sound like trite complaints, but damn, they
felt important! And though I absolutely loved being a
mom, I felt as though the things that made me me were
slipping away.
Life became more complicated when I had my second
baby. I was so excited to have a new baby girl. I loved
that my two girls were close in age, and envisioned
them being close sisters, but life got complicated fast.
My new baby projectile vomited at every single feeding.
She’d drink for a few minutes, and then wail loudly, as
through she were in extreme pain. She wasn’t growing
well. Changing her diaper and bathing her were
absolute torture because I could see each of her ribs,
so I consulted my midwife and doctor about possible
reasons and solutions. I tried feeding her upright. I
elevated the head of her bed, so she’d digest better. I
fed her in quiet, dark rooms, where she could focus
(because if the slightest sound or movement disturbed
her, she’d come off my breast, wailing). Nothing
seemed to work. My doctor thought it might be reflux,
but figured she’d grow out of it.
When she was older and I tried giving her solids,
she’d either choke or puke everything up, and cry
inconsolably. Every meal felt like going into battle. I
started to dread feeding her. It even got to the point
where I had to feed her with a syringe, a few millilitres
at a time, just to get something into her. At my request,
we finally got a swallowing assessment done, followed
by visits with dietitians and occupational therapists,
all of whom reassured me that I was doing everything
I could, and that she was probably just following her
Volume 02 Fall 2016 Issue BABY