Chicken Soup for the Soul: New Moms
BY: Ronda Ross Taylor
A mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
~Emily Dickinson
"I won't need any help," I told my mother as she visited me in the hospital after I had delivered my first child, a healthy baby boy.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "I can take some time off work."
"I'm sure," I said.
And I really was certain that I could handle a newborn. After all, I'd graduated from college, owned a house, taught elementary school. Plus, I was married, so my husband would be there, too. How could I possibly need any more help?
"Let me know if you change your mind," she said.
I smiled. Not likely, I thought. I knew what it was like to be around babies. I'd had a lot of babysitting experience, most recently with my nephew who was almost three years old. Just because my sister had needed help right after he'd been born didn't mean that I would. And, although I tried not to show it, I felt that needing help was a sign of weakness.
The afternoon we brought our newborn home, everything started out smoothly. Sure, my body ached in places -- and in ways -- I'd never experienced before. But I was coping. I just needed some rest. I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep in the hospital because of the unfamiliar noises and the baby's feeding schedule. But now that I was back in my own home, I expected to sleep better, and things were going to go just fine. My husband and I could handle this baby on our own.
I fed the baby, changed his diaper, and gently placed him in his bassinet. Then I sat in a nearby rocking chair, waiting to relax. But the baby didn't fall asleep. Instead, he started crying. He seemed to have his own agenda.
Thus, my husband and I began playing "take the baby and try to figure out what's bothering him" tag team. Unfortunately, despite all of our prior babysitting experience, this activity continued throughout the night. It seemed as if the moment I got a few precious seconds of sleep, the baby would cry again, waking me up. We swaddled him, we changed his diapers, we fed him, but he still didn't sleep more than a little while. By the middle of the night, I started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, we might benefit from a little help.
I was exhausted, and my body hurt. As the dark hours passed, I began to realize that my true weakness was believing I knew everything about babies when clearly I didn't.
At dawn, I decided to make a phone call. "Mom, I've changed my mind. Can you come and help?"
"I'll be there soon!" she replied.
I looked at my husband and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Mom arrived on our doorstep carrying an overnight bag and a homemade cake with a special chocolate candy icing she'd baked the night before. Grandma to the rescue! She glided through the door, set the cake on the table, picked up the baby and rocked him to sleep with the confidence of an experienced mother. All the while, she assured us that what we'd just gone through was perfectly normal on a first night home from the hospital. But not to worry, she was now here to help us with the baby day and night until things got easier.
And before my husband and I took a well-earned nap, the three of us ate the most unusual breakfast -- pieces of cake.
Three decades have passed since that morning, and now I'm expecting my first grandchild. My daughter-in-law is a nurse, so she probably won't need any help. But I have all the ingredients for a cake with chocolate candy icing ready -- just in case.
~Emily Dickinson
"I won't need any help," I told my mother as she visited me in the hospital after I had delivered my first child, a healthy baby boy.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "I can take some time off work."
"I'm sure," I said.
And I really was certain that I could handle a newborn. After all, I'd graduated from college, owned a house, taught elementary school. Plus, I was married, so my husband would be there, too. How could I possibly need any more help?
"Let me know if you change your mind," she said.
I smiled. Not likely, I thought. I knew what it was like to be around babies. I'd had a lot of babysitting experience, most recently with my nephew who was almost three years old. Just because my sister had needed help right after he'd been born didn't mean that I would. And, although I tried not to show it, I felt that needing help was a sign of weakness.
The afternoon we brought our newborn home, everything started out smoothly. Sure, my body ached in places -- and in ways -- I'd never experienced before. But I was coping. I just needed some rest. I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep in the hospital because of the unfamiliar noises and the baby's feeding schedule. But now that I was back in my own home, I expected to sleep better, and things were going to go just fine. My husband and I could handle this baby on our own.
I fed the baby, changed his diaper, and gently placed him in his bassinet. Then I sat in a nearby rocking chair, waiting to relax. But the baby didn't fall asleep. Instead, he started crying. He seemed to have his own agenda.
Thus, my husband and I began playing "take the baby and try to figure out what's bothering him" tag team. Unfortunately, despite all of our prior babysitting experience, this activity continued throughout the night. It seemed as if the moment I got a few precious seconds of sleep, the baby would cry again, waking me up. We swaddled him, we changed his diapers, we fed him, but he still didn't sleep more than a little while. By the middle of the night, I started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, we might benefit from a little help.
I was exhausted, and my body hurt. As the dark hours passed, I began to realize that my true weakness was believing I knew everything about babies when clearly I didn't.
At dawn, I decided to make a phone call. "Mom, I've changed my mind. Can you come and help?"
"I'll be there soon!" she replied.
I looked at my husband and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Mom arrived on our doorstep carrying an overnight bag and a homemade cake with a special chocolate candy icing she'd baked the night before. Grandma to the rescue! She glided through the door, set the cake on the table, picked up the baby and rocked him to sleep with the confidence of an experienced mother. All the while, she assured us that what we'd just gone through was perfectly normal on a first night home from the hospital. But not to worry, she was now here to help us with the baby day and night until things got easier.
And before my husband and I took a well-earned nap, the three of us ate the most unusual breakfast -- pieces of cake.
Three decades have passed since that morning, and now I'm expecting my first grandchild. My daughter-in-law is a nurse, so she probably won't need any help. But I have all the ingredients for a cake with chocolate candy icing ready -- just in case.
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/04/Making-the-Right-Call.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru
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