On Becoming a Domestic and Laboratory Goddess

I'm enjoying the discussion that is occurring on the Ask Dr. Isis thread. I think some of you have offered great advice to GwB, but there is something else I want to write about today. I thought about waiting a few days, but I can't seem to stop thinking about it.

Late last night commenter Mara wrote this in response to a post I wrote on Christmas:

I offered a one sentence response, but I have spent the morning feeling like I needed to offer something more. Plus, I am learning that you folks seem to enjoy seeing the cracks in the armor of the domestic and laboratory goddess.  So, I'll show you my cracks, but let's not forget who is the amazingly hot one around here, eh?

I have so often felt like women imagine "normal" motherhood like this:

Figure 1: The perfectly blissful motherhood that I expected would accompany the birth of my child

At lease, I know I did before I was pregnant.  I imagined that I would relish and adore every moment of motherhood.  I would have a perfect pregnancy in which I would glow like the statue of  the Virgin Mary expecting the birth of The Savior I saw every week in church.  I would constantly adore my cherubic little infant.   He would be a wonderful eater, a terrific sleeper, and he would be constantly ahead of the curve in reaching developmental milestones. I would nuzzle his sweet-smelling little body and he would look at me with adoring eyes that said, "thank you, Mommy.  You are perfect in every way."

But the fact is, this has not nearly been the reality.

Figure 2: This has, more frequently than I'd care to admit, been the reality.  Except, I am, of course, much hotter.

With Little Isis I had a largely enjoyable pregnancy, but there were also moments I cursed the little beast that was squatting in my womb.  I had my 20 week ultrasound repeated 3 times because Little Isis was oriented in such a way that they could not image his front, including his heart.  Before the first ultrasound I drank (as I was instructed to) what seemed like a volume of water equal to that of Lake Michigan in order to ensure that I had a full bladder.  And then I promptly vomited it back up.  Mr. Isis poured me another round, which I again proceeded to spew all over the bathroom.  By then I had developed quite the aversion to water and it took two more rounds before I could keep it down enough for the ultrasound.  When I was told I had to come back to do it again, I cried like a little girl.  I soldiered through with the cycles of water drinking and vomiting, even trying lemonade instead of water and then finding that lemonade burns when it is vomited back so forcefully that it comes out of your nose. 

When I was told they would need a third attempt because they simply could not image Little Isis's heart because of how he was positioned, I had a full blown tantrum in the middle of the doctor's office.  The doctor calmly explained all of the reasons it was important (and they were all entirely rational), but all I could think about was the burning in my nose and throat and lungs from vomiting and the cramping in my stomach from having a full bladder and the ultrasound technician kneading me like a loaf of bread.  I had slime dripping down my thighs because they had tried to image him using transvaginal ultrasound and I was completely and totally irrational.  I will never, ever forget saying, "I don't give a fuck what happens, I am not doing this again."  I was so, so angry at Little Isis, my little unborn fetus, for not being oriented properly.  Later, after I had the opportunity to calm down a bit, I realized that I did "give a fuck" and I went back, but not without plenty of self-flagellation for my selfishness. 

 But, this has not been my sole foray into resentment and unhappiness. A couple months after Little Isis was born I returned to work.  I spent my days working and pumping and my nights working and nursing.  All of the time away from work I took to pump had to be made up during parts of the day I would have normally spent doing things I enjoyed.  Several months later I was sitting in my son's room, rocking him and nursing in the middle of the night, and when I looked down at him I felt as though I was holding a stranger.  A total and complete stranger -- as though I had been handed someone else's child and told to let it latch on.  All of the cycles of feeding and working had left me feeling entirely unconnected and exhausted.  Mr. Isis was going through a period in his career that let him be home a bit more and he once jokingly and innocently referred to us as "Daddy and The Food."  Looking back it was funny, but at the time I was angry at him for getting to bond with our child in a non-nutritional way and I was angry at my child for not feeling like he belonged to me.

The difference between this and what I had experienced with my ultrasound experience was that the earlier experience was fleeting.  The feelings that I had related to Little Isis and our inability to bond outside of feeding lingered and I quickly became depressed over what I felt were my own inadequacies as a mother.  After all, I imagined, women had been successfully nursing for ages.  Why did I seem unable to do it without feeling angry?  Eventually I got to feeling bad enough that I mentioned it to my doctor.  She gave me information for a breastfeeding support group that was affiliated with the MRU I was working at.  The women in this group offered me both emotional support and resources to help make the feeding process easier.  I learned ways to use my time during the day more efficiently and was given access to physical resources at the university (like a room where I could pump and work simultaneously that had a freezer whose sole purpose was breastmilk storage) that I had no idea existed.   Nursing went from feeling like a distancing burden back to something I could enjoy because I regained some time for myself and time to bond with Little Isis outside of feeding time.

 Mara, you're are not a bad mother.  You are a human being who is trying to figure out how to integrate your new role as mother and  fleeting anger and resentment are part of the normal range of emotions a new mother feels.  What is abnormal is when those feelings last long enough that they impact your happiness or feelings of well-being.  I once believed that I should be able to be a perfect mother and a successful scientist on my own. I now know that, for me, this is not possible.  I've had to learn to ask for help from my family and to try to take advantage of the resources available to me.  When life in the Isis house gets tough, I have been known to pack the family up into the car and send them away to visit Mama Isis-in-Law so that I can have a break.  That has not been easy for pride-filled Isis, but it has saved my sanity on occasion.  Since we've been visiting family, I have asked my in-laws to take Little Isis for a night so that I could get a good night's sleep.  This has not been easy for pride-filled Isis, but it has saved my sanity. 

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach, but it's also not impossible -- it's especially not impossible if you are willing to ask for help and are willing to let the people who care for you offer support.