Young Mother
By: Danielle
Bright
On
March 27, 1991 at 5:38 am my son Jordan Domonique made his way into
the world. He was so tiny, pinkish, and wrinkly with beautiful dark
hair, and chestnut brown eyes that would stare at me for a few seconds
and then close. He needed to get back to the business of being a newborn.
Now, me, I was used to hanging out until five or six a.m. with my friends.
However, hanging out for twenty four hours and being in labor for twenty
five and half hours are two different animals. Try having a full grown
lion for a house pet. Although I’m allergic, I’ll stick
to kitty cats, thanks.
There I was barely over twenty-one and really, and
truly for the first time in my life, ever…responsible. I was
now responsible for feeding him, clothing him, changing his dirty nappies,
entertaining him and just generally being the center of his Universe.
That was the easy stuff. At that exact moment I officially became responsible
for protecting him from hurt, teaching him not to hurt himself or others.
I also had to instill in him a belief in God and himself, social etiquette,
how to respect women, his elders, and a strong moral code. This realisation
exploded like a bomb through my young head. In a word, I was terrified!
Prior to my pregnancy my main job was ignoring the values that my parents
instilled in me, hanging out with my friends and which bar had no cover
charge and the best drink specials!
Kids don’t come with instructions. At one point
that phrase meant about as much to me as the Presidential election in
Mexico. Then one day the heavens opened up, the light shone down and
I just got it. Laying there with my beautiful new born baby in my arms
I decided to commit my first motherly act. Feeding. So, with good heart,
intentions and my newly acquired motherly instincts I decided that two
hour old Jordan was ready to eat. My mind gently glazed over the material
that I’d read about breast feeding. Yes, the factory was rapidly
producing and finally the one and only client had arrived to sample
the wares. I adjusted myself on the bed, put the baby in position and
produced the food vessel. I recall being a little nervous about doing
it wrong, but he latched on like an old pro, suckled for maybe two minutes
and then spit it out. Nice. I wasn’t easily discouraged, so I
set him up again only to get the same reaction. Hmmm, strange I thought.
So, I gave it the old college try one more time. Again, he wasn’t
having any part of it. By this time I was a little teary eyed, and a
lot paranoid. I didn’t want my little two hour old baby to starve
to death!
In my new young mother haze, and a stream of worried
tears I pushed the button and summoned the on duty nurse.
‘What can I do for you,’ the nurse asked.
‘Well,’ I began through a haze of tears,
‘My baby won’t eat!’ I was scarred, emphatic and incredibly
worried. I also wanted her to show me how to get him to eat.
She glanced at him with a look of pity mixed with
a healthy dose of fear, turned her gaze toward me, which had turned
annoyed, and says with absolute clarity, ‘He’s probably
not hungry.’
Mustering the intelligence of a grapefruit, and not
even the common sense that God gave a quarter, I said, ‘Oh’.
Well, he didn’t come with instructions after all. I was happy
to learn that he too, had to be hungry, before he would eat. Baby lesson
number one duly noted.
Finally I had the feedings and nappy changes down
to a science. Motherhood was definitely looking up for us both! The
time to leave the hospital was upon us. My son had been in nappies and
baby night gowns since his arrival. My mother, Florence, brought an
adorable outfit for his grand exit.
Jordan was lying on the bed screaming and generally
not cooperating. He’d stiffened up his little limbs and he was
wailing as loud as he could. Under baby induced duress, I began my attempts
at putting on the onesie, shirt, pants, and socks. My mother, God bless
her soul, stood by watching as this mess was going on. Jordan would
stiffen up every time I tried to get the clothes on. Then if he wasn’t
doing that, he began waving his arms and legs wildly. He was having
no part of getting dressed. I was getting frustrated, and my mother
was beginning to loose patience. After all, she’d just endured
my amateur hour labor and delivery on a broken foot. She too, was having
none of my attempts at dressing him. She didn’t scream and waive
her limbs wildly, she simply said, ‘Nikki, this shouldn’t
take this long’. She then calmly moved me out of the way. She
steps in and five minutes later he was fully dressed and ready to go.
Now, that’s some professional mothering in action!
I learned several lessons over my three day stay in
Wishard Hospital. Babies are little people. You can’t force a
two hour old child to eat if they’re not hungry. They also have
ligaments, which enables you to bend their little limbs when they decide
not to participate in the dressing process.
Perhaps the greatest thing that I learned was that
every step of the way with my new child was going to be a learning experience
for both of us. As he grew I grew. Nappy changes, feedings, temper tantrums
and laughter. I learned how to deal with all of those things. He learned
how to deal with my inexperience and newness to the game of motherhood.
My son and I fell into a comfortable flow; we were the stars of the
team! It truly takes a village to raise a child. My parents, their close
friends, my brother, who was fifteen at the time all pitched in. I learned
different things from different people. I learned, and continue to learn
from these same people.
Motherhood is filled with so much joy. There is so
much to see and learn as you watch your little person grow into someone
with a very discernable personality, tastes, opinions and feelings.
Motherhood is work. You work to teach your child, to understand them
and allow them to grow. This occurs even when they are babies, because
as a mother all you want is the best possible outcome for your beautiful
baby.
Those first few days at the hospital were like a highly
anticipated roller coaster ride. You anticipate going up that hill,
for that scary, but fun gut wrenching feeling you get on the drop! WOOSH!
The drop hits! That was fun! Then you begin the next climb, and anticipate
that same crazy drop with those same gut wrenching feelings. It’s
a continuous ride, but it’s always something new to give you those
feelings. Whatever thing you go through with your child, I’ve
learned it gets better and you make it to the other side.
Article by: Danielle Bright
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