Doning the flak jacket
I found an enormous sense of excitement in wanting to be part of the collective consciousness of motherhood as the baby inside me began to grow and my body showed signs of change. I could hear the little girl in me saying, “Here I will belong. Here I will be welcomed”. But it was as if old wounds were being brought up to heal because while I yearned to belong, there was that old companion, nervousness in my stomach. Hoping to avoid the let-down of feeling different again, I began approaching “the news” with women cautiously, listening to the personal stories while filtering for gems of knowledge and common values.
The news of my pregnancy is getting out into the universe and what returns are overwhelming messages filled with well intended advice, fear, regret, and what I can only qualify as “I wish I’d known” syndrome.
“You should really think twice about rejecting pain medication before you’ve been through labour” one voice cautions…“My labour lasted 23 hours and when I finally couldn’t stand it any longer, it was too late for the epidural. The doctor was brutal about my screaming” one woman remembers…”Have you put your name on a waiting list at the daycare centres you’ve visited? It takes forever to get a spot in a good daycare” someone admonishes…“You’re so lucky, now you can eat anything you want!” the chorus sings., Right I can! So the baby takes all the good stuff and I’m left with the French fries! Please stop the voices — I can’t hear myself think. Can I buy some sort of special issue Teflon for new mothers to deflect the anxiety and fear from other people which is creeping into my psyche? Which maternity shop offers that gadget for discerning working mothers?
Helpful, well meaning people recommend a doctor they like, how much weight I should gain, how to avoid water retention and stretch marks, and attempt to instil in me an expectation that my husband won’t be any help or support during labour. Imbedded in each little gem may be a pearl of wisdom or helpful tidbit to tuck away. But certainly, in every mouthful I hear beliefs and experiences about pregnancy, fraught with other people’s emotional stuff. Why should a pregnant woman trying to be healthier than she’s been in her life also suddenly be counsellor and empathizer? Whose idea of helpful information sharing is that? And how am I going to make all these decisions people keep bringing up, about which I know nothing and for which I have no experience on which to draw? I don an emotional flak jacket so I can tune out the white noise of pregnancy hype and tune into what is really important for me. This is where informed optimism begins.