Author: Sheila Quirke

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Letter to a New Mom: Unsolicited Advice From Someone Who Has Been There

Pffft.  Unsolicited advice — just what every new mom needs, am I right?  As if the poor gal isn’t the target of mountains of the stuff every.  single.  day (which is, in itself, a beautiful metaphor for the laundry that comes with motherhood).  My absolute favorite piece of advice I got as I neared motherhood myself came from a woman who happened to work at the same place I did.  She told me, with certain authority, that as soon as my baby was born, I would want to place a hard boiled egg in a baby sock and nail it above the baby’s nursery door.  This would prevent teething pain.

Of course it would.

Like I said, pffft.

The advice I am providing you, though, is different.  Of course.  My advice is golden, sure to calm, soothe, reassure, and provide confidence in this new role of a lifetime.  This advice is hard earned wisdom, yo, from someone who’s been at this thing since 2005 and whose motherhood carries several different descriptors to qualify it — grieving mom, biological mom, adoptive mom.  I dare say those things have earned me some serious mama street cred.

In the early hours of my labor with Donna. We went to the local mall as it was cool. I kept making Mary Tyler Dad take these photos of me with prophetic messages at Kohl's. Sort of breaks my heart when I look at them now, but that's motherhood for you.
In the early hours of my labor with Donna. We went to the local mall as it was cool. I kept making Mary Tyler Dad take these photos of me with prophetic messages at Kohl’s. Sort of breaks my heart when I look at them now, but that’s motherhood for you.

Humor aside, I have learned a thing or two along the way with my own personal motherhood trials and triumphs.  I’ve also learned that giving advice has to be done with a grain of salt, as most of us don’t heed the advice we get — even the advice we seek out.  Given that what I offer you is unsolicited, well, I get that most new moms will have to come to this wisdom on their own.  That’s cool.  You’re missing out, but that’s cool.

Ha!  On to the advice . . .

  • You don’t need that thingamajig.  Seriously.  You don’t.  Whatever you see on the end caps at Buy Buy Baby (the most egregiously named retailer in the history of retailers), ignore it.  Step away, new mom.  That shit is nonsense.  Wipe warmers?  NO.  Individual plastic bags to encase a poopy diaper like the most unfortunate sausage ever?  NO.  A bottle cover shaped like a stuffed elephant/giraffe/monkey for $19.99?  HELL NO.  Your baby might have been born yesterday, but you weren’t.  Think about what your grandmother used to raise your mom.  Buy that.  You’re done and would have saved yourself a ton of money that you can put towards diapers and bibs, of which you will use way more than you could have ever possibly imagined.
  • Put the book and keyboard down.  I have never ever read a parenting book.  Sure, I own a few, and even use them on occasion, just as I do a very few parenting websites, but overall I find that outlets for baby information tend to breed hysteria and insecurity.  They are full of mysterious letters, acronyms, and abbreviations that clearly mean something to the regular consumers, but for us mere mortals, they are confusing and lead to a state of feeling out of the loop and dumb where our own baby is concerned.  Ask a trusted source instead — your own mom, a sister, close friend, trusted neighbor.  Ask a person whose parenting you admire and, if you need to, put that person on speed dial until you get your feet wet enough to start trusting your own instincts.
  • Some days will be overwhelming in a really bad way.  I guarantee that at some point you will be lying on a heap in the middle of your kitchen or bathroom, rocking your baby, covered in pee or poop or vomit, unshowered, wearing maternity clothing whose expiration date was 8-14 months ago, feeling about just as bad as you can ever remember feeling, but you will be holding a little one, too, who will most likely be wailing to add to the atmosphere.  It’s okay.  It will all be okay.  This too shall pass.  I promise.
  • Some days will be overwhelming in a really great way.  You cannot imagine the joy and love and wonder that will be heading your way, the magnitude of which you yourself have not known since your own childhood.  There are days ahead that will be etched in your memory forever.  Days so profound and perfect they will bring you comfort in your old age while you rock back and forth waiting for that baby, now grown and off in the world, to come visit you.  Your heart will burst at the smiles you will receive, the spontaneous sticky hugs, the homemade cards, the pride felt at watching this beautiful creature you tend to every day fly like a bird.
  • Build a village.  This parenting thing is hard.  You will need help.  I don’t care how Type A, organized, or overachieving you may be, you will still need help.  Find that help.  For some, that will be grandparents.  For others, friends.  Nannies and babysitters are part of this formula, too.  Be creative.  I have a mix of friends, neighbors, and school support.  Know that your village will evolve, too.  Each of my three children has benefited from a series of people outside our immediate family that helped in their day-to-day care when needed.  I am still working on a solution for my youngest at eight months, so know that it takes time and effort, too, this building of villages.  The flip side of this, too, is making yourself available to be a part of another mom’s village.
  • You will make mistakes.  This has to be understood.  You are not perfect.  Do not expect motherhood to be different than any other venture you have set out on.  Our kiddos are resilient.  They actually improve with our mistakes, I am convinced, as long as those mistakes are not the same ones over and over.  And when you make a mistake, own it, learn from it, integrate it.  Then, by all means, move the hell on.  Guilt is no one’s friend, especially to the new mother.
  • Stop comparing yourself and your child to those around you.  Yeah, this is not good.  And with this social media, Pinterest world we live in now, comparing ourselves has become something of a blood sport in motherhood.  You don’t have to engage in that shit.  You really don’t.  If Jenny puts a photo of homemade cupcakes in her newsfeed, give Jenny a cheer, but don’t you dare for even one moment think that Jenny’s cupcakes have any bearing on your life in any way, shape or form.  Truth.
  • Control is an illusion.  With my first child, I breastfed and made my own baby food using organic produce.  She was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died.  We do the best we can, but in no way are we in complete control of what happens to our children.  And rather than that putting you in a place of fear, I hope it liberates you.  Life happens, but only if you live it.
  • You have a strength that you never thought possible.  You are a mother now, dammit.  I can hear your ROAR from here, and I’m all the way in Chicago!  This mothering thing will challenge you like nothing else you have encountered.  You possess a strength and core of steel that you never realized because you never needed it before these moments.  Use that strength, trust that strength, and never, ever abuse that strength.  Our babies rely on us for everything.  E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.  That is some powerful stuff, there, mama.  You got this.

So there it is, my unsolicited advice to new mothers!  Is it everything you thought it would be?  Better?  If so, spread the word and share it with the new moms in your life.  They won’t heed the advice, but chances are they will resent you for sending it to them, so there’s that.  Ha!

Got milk?
Got milk?

If you want more of this, I have invited all of ChicagoNow bloggers to do as I have done here today and write a letter to a new mom.  You know there are some words of wisdom to be found in this experiment.  You can find all the posts catalogued here.

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Happy Birthday, Audrey

Style icon, humanitarian, Google doodle cover girl.  Today marks Audrey Hepburn’s would be 85th birthday.

Audrey joy

If you peruse my Pinterest boards, it wouldn’t take long to see that I have a love for all things mid-century.  Audrey Hepburn is a large part of that. She had tremendous style.  She had powerful grace.  She had a kind and joyful heart.  Her vulnerability made her strong.  Her compassion was her best feature.  Simply put, she is one of my heroes.

If you like her for her little black dresses and pixie haircut, take a few minutes and read up about the woman behind the icon.  Learn about her WWII hardships or her work with the resistance movement and how her wartime experiences led to her amazing lifelong affiliation with UNICEF.

But in the meantime, take a look at this super cool graphic offered to me through the generosity of outletshoppers.com.  I hope you like it as much as I do.

Happy birthday, Audrey.  You were a true gem.

audrey

The Audrey Hepburn by the team at OutletShoppers.com

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Emotions 101

Everybody has a hobby, right?  Some folks run marathons, others read mysteries or climb mountains, twee folks go antiquing on the weekends. Me?  I emote.  It’s sort of my thing.  I’m damn good at it, too.

I’m so good at it, my friends, that I opted to make a career out of it.  In my mid-20s, after years of friends and strangers alike telling me their problems, confiding in me easily, I opted to get a Master’s degree is social work (the extremely versatile, albeit unprofitable MSW) and make emotions my life work.  That was one of the best choices I’ve ever made, as it harnessed a natural talent and paired it with education and training.

Much to my surprise, my clinical focus came to be on older adults and the hard work of aging.  I helped older adults talk about the difficulties and indignities of getting older, the insults of a body and mind that fail you slowly (or quickly), the prospect of growing limitations and dependence, how a family copes with a matriarch and patriarch who are aging and changing, and the grief and sadness that abound with the imminent prospect of death.

It was heady, amazing work and I loved it.  I was damn good at it, too.  I miss it.

Some of the work I did was in hospice, bereavement, and caregiving. That is no longer a good line of work for me after my daughter’s death. You see, when you are working with a 90 year old who is staring death in the eye and their 60-65 year old children who are traumatized with the prospect of losing mom or dad, you need empathy for them.  All of them. They deserve that.

Losing a four year old daughter has shifted my perspective so completely that I can no longer, at least right now, muster up the necessary empathy to feel what a therapist needs to feel when a 90 year old dies or for their survivors.  I feel sadness, yes, because anytime a light goes out it is sad, but I currently lack the empathy or patience to help people process the emotions attached to the death of an older person.  I no longer have the tools to sit across from a 65 year old daughter sobbing over her mother’s death, legitimately worried that she will not be able to cope.

Unpretty and unsympathetic as it is, folks, it is my truth.

One thing I have learned in my personal and professional life related to emotions is that we all have them.  Some of us feel them deeply, some of us stuff them completely, some of us actively run the other direction from them, worried that emotions are somehow frivolous, dangerous, or unnecessary.  Some of us think of emotions as something you “get through” or resolve in order to get back to the business of living.

I know better.

emotions

For me, emotions are as present as the sky, as necessary as oxygen.  Not all of us operate that way and I completely get what an exhaustive prospect that is for some.  My husband is not terribly emotional, though he is extremely kind and generous and sensitive.  We’re a good fit that way.

Emotions are like a pair of eyeglasses that I rely on to see.  They make things clearer or blurrier, they can make people look good, or just be a really bad fit.  They are, and always have been — even as a wee, young girl — my constant companion.

That is why I was surprised yesterday when I wrote a quick Facebook status update about being sad now that Mother’s Day nears.  For me, Mother’s Day is complicated on every front.  My Mom died in 2005, my daughter died in 2009, and this year I will be celebrating Mother’s Day with a baby that has a second mother, his birth mother.  I imagine the pain she too must feel as the day nears, and yes, feel some guilt attached to that pain.

It’s complicated, yo.

So I do what I do and popped off a status update.  Early in the resulting thread, a longtime reader and supporter gently told me that it wasn’t fair to my sons to feel sadness.  Huh.  Okay.  I gave her the benefit of the doubt and responded that I didn’t see the connection — that my sadness in no way prevented me from feeling happy for their presence or experiencing the joy they bring me daily.  I was simply sad.  She then responded that she totally understood, of course, but that I needed to be happy and understand all the blessings in my life.

Alrighty!

If only emotions worked that way.  Be happy!  Oh, okay, I get it now, thank you — I wish I had thought of that sooner!

Sarcasm aside, it grates on me that someone suggested my legitimate sadness was in some way harming my two surviving children.  I CHOOSE HOPE, dammit!  I work my emotional a$$ off to ensure that my burden of grief does not become my children’s burden of grief.

Long story short, emotions are not mutually exclusive.  It is entirely possible, and most likely probable, that any any given moment we are feeling a conflicting jumble of feelings.  Happy that Dad’s suffering is over, sad that he is dead.  Grateful for my child’s growing independence, lonely that he/she no longer needs me in the same way.  Terrified to get that pink slip, relieved to no longer have to deal with that madman boss.

To be sad and to state that sadness is okay.  To be happy and to state that happiness is okay.  But often times, it is more complicated than just the black and white of happy and sad.  To be both happy and sad, empty and fulfilled, resentful and grateful simultaneously is the stuff of life, folks.

One of the most lasting lessons I learned from Donna was to feel my emotions fully and completely — really feel those suckers, you know? — and then to move on.  To feel the fear attached to a needle poke, to cry about it, whimper a little, to smile afterwards, to show the scary nurse the door when she was done, and thank her for that needle poke, and then to play and get on with the day.

Feel your feelings.  Feel all your feelings.  Scary as that is, emotions are a beautiful, complicated part of being a human being.  And they don’t have to be so scary or sanitized.

Hey!  May is Mental Health Awareness Month!  If you want to educate yourself and learn more, let Moms Who Drink and Swear teach you!  Visit her site here.