For the past couple weeks I have been bottle feeding a kitten. I came home one night, saw that the corner of the porch where the mama had made her nest was empty. I figured mama cat had moved the nest, as mama cats will do. Well… nope. I walked into the house, and there was this one little gray scrap of feline yelling her fuzzy head off about knowing her rights and this is an outrage and bring me a flagon of ale, wench!
The particular mama cat making free with the porch was feral. Had never been in the house to my knowledge. How the kitten got into the house will forever remain a mystery. Her eyes weren’t open yet, so that’s a nope.
Anyhoo, she’s driving me nuts. Getting her to take a bottle was easy, but wee little kittens should be offered six to eight feedings a day, preferably on a strict schedule. There goes my REM sleep. The little darlings are prone to diarrhea and dehydration even when being fed the fancy milk replacer that I happen to keep on hand. My kitten forgot to read the part about the strict schedule. Some days she’s a bottomless hog, other days she is morally opposed to eating.
On those days, I fret and worry and offer the bottle every hour, often to no avail. I hate the dragging anxiety, the dragging spirits, the sense of being unequal to the challenge of getting this kitten safely past infancy.
In other words, I feel with this kitten a ghost of what befell me when I was the single working mom of a new baby. Beloved Offspring did not sleep through the night for THREE YEARS (yes, I tried everything that was legal), but who could blame her when the person who brought her into the world was gone eleven or twelve hours a day? If she wanted to spend time with me, 3 am was always wide open.
In her first four years of life, I bought my first and only house, and was promptly laid off. Found a job, got laid off again. Money was a constant issue (no child support). Her health was a constant source of anxiety. I was not a big sister to any babies for whom I had any responsibility, I never babysat infants. The internet hadn’t been invented yet, and ye gods… That feeling when you know something is wrong with your child, but they can’t tell you what, or if it’s serious or just gas again…
When I look back on that season of my life, it was hell. I was alone, exhausted, bewildered, and scared, with no end in sight. People would say to me, “Enjoy these years when she’s little. They go by so quickly!”
They did not go by quickly at all, which probably explains why, now that I have two grandchildren, I am pretty happy to admire them for the most part from afar. I am snakebit when it comes to infants. I forget just how I came to be that way, but the kitten is providing an vivid reminder. She is emphatically renewing my compassion for the parents of infants, and also my compassion for a younger me.
I tried so hard, I was so overwhelmed, and I felt so inadequate.
When you look back, are there, “I don’t know how I did that” times in your life? Is there a period about which hindsight has become kind sight?
Such a beautiful picture of you, Dear Grace and your lovely little one. Even with all the support I had-parents and in-laws living close by, motherhood was still something of a jolt when I started. I got the hang of it but wanted so desperately to stay home with my children. Sometimes I did, and sometimes I was working. It was very tough when working. I wonder how any of us survived those early years. Working in the 80’s and even the 90’s was not very “family friendly”. And yes! Let’s remember we all did the best we could and be kind to ourselves.
Thanks, Mary. I am very lucky that my own daughter has given me the, “You did the best you could,” speech too, and I think she means it.
I remember feeling exhausted when my daughter wasborn
. She was 6 weeks early and had colic.
I felt like I was treading water caring for an infant and working. I had support…she settled for my Dad and a friend and me. I slept on the couch near her bassinet, nursed her and prayed for her to sleep vs cry.
I am not sure how I got through colic, ear infections and nasty colds…I took one doctors appointment at a time and did the best I could.
I look back now and wish I had split the childcare and sickness with my husband. My daughter preferred me. And I couldn’t sleep if she screamed.
I think we need to give each other some grace… raising children…especially those who didn’t sleep…was not an easy task. I think we all did the best we could at the time.
My daughter colicked from about three to seven weeks, and that was when my body clock just gave up. Some kids colic intermittently for MONTHS, and that must be akin to torture for all concerned.
oh, what a great question, Grace! When I was in training, only getting 4 hours of sleep every other night for over a year before the hours got slight (just SLIGHTLY, mind you) less draconian. That was brutal. I can’t believe I got through it. I can’t believe anyone thought that was good for us, or for our patients! Yikes.
I would never do that again. It was brutal on mind and body.
A doctor told me that the dangerously brutal med school schedule was the brain child of some early professors at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. One or both of them were cocaine addicts (legal at the time) and thus sleep was pretty optional. As a patient, the idea that my doc is sleep-deprived strikes me as about the worst symptom of for-greed medicine you can point to, which is saying something. Another point the same doc made: What it takes to survive that schedule is not what it takes to lean to do good medicine. I could go on…
Never a mother so never had any similar experiences. While I have been super busy at various times in my life (busiest was full-time job, part-time college instructor, part-time grad student, oh, and full-time partner for a few years), none of those times were even close to the demands of an infant. I deeply admire all mothers.
Maybe you weren’t a parent, but you’ve certainly known some compression phases!
My situation was not near as stressful as yours, but I have complete sympathy with your being a brand new mother. I was 4 days short of 40 when I had my one and only child. My husband was an only child. Neither of us had much experience with babies. We were in shock for several weeks as we tried to figure out what to do with this new addition to the family. We were so terrified of doing the wrong thing.
Child rearing was definitely the experience I was certain I would never live through! I also had never babysat, had no younger siblings or cousins, and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Honestly I couldn’t believe the hospital let me leave with my son! I was fortunate to be in the midst of the mess with my husband, however, he was even more clueless than I was (if that’s even possible). And just for funnsies, my mother, instead of being encouraging and supportive, kept insisting the I was doing everything wrong, that if only I was a better mother, my colicky son wouldn’t be colicky. I can’t believe I actually willingly had a second child, but I was blessed to have a daughter who was an easy baby. However, rather than avoid baby duty once my own kids had grown and flown, I did Nana day care for 9 hours a day, 4 days a week for 4 years! It was easier the second time around! Stay safe. Stay well everyone!
I did a lot of babysitting & got a baby brother when I was almost 9. The part where you found yourself alone with offspring and no support. The exhaustion was unbelievable. Every time I sat down I fell asleep according to my kids (I had 2).
I now have 4 grands. I have to admit that the visits are too short and too few in my opinion. The kids are quite entertaining as is observing my grownup daughters and their spouses parenting.
While I was never able to have children, caring for my parents in their last years while on disability myself was my time served in Purgatory. Mom would be in the Navy hospital, with Dad in the cardiac ward of the major trauma & teaching hospital city center. Driving back & forth, picking up food & meds while needing procedures myself (only child) was hard enough. But then Dad, sharp as a tack & knowing to the penny what must be done when survived a triple bypass only to die of a stroke.
I was then landed with a mother suffering from non-standard dementia who would fight me every step of the way on everything. Until I got guardianship of her, pried her loose from the base hospital who had no clue what drugs geriatrics should NEVER be prescribed, & found a facility to take care of her as my own health crashed, I endured hell. She tried to stab me with a fork, jump out of a moving car, called the police on me regularly…my favorite was being detained in a pharmacy for 2 hours as she accused me of “spending all her money on drugs.”!!!! Until one officer finally convinced her to take said drugs out of her bra to show him. Whereupon he discovered the drugs were her blood pressure meds. Sigh…
No help from the professionals who’re supposed to help. They released her from the hospital without me, her guardian, being notified & left her sitting outside the ER until the security guard called me. Rather than assist me with placement when my doctors wanted to admit ME for pneumonia, they turned me loose with a sack of prescriptions & inhalers to resume care of her. This went on for several years, including the assisted living facility supposedly specializing in dementia calling so many times as I was being prepped for a breast biopsy, that my surgeon took my phone & snarled, “This women is about to go into surgery under general anesthesia. She will NOT be coming to drive her mother to a routine doctor visit, & I suggest you do your job so I can do mine.” Bless the man!
When Mom finally died in hospice, I was so ill with pneumonia-again – that I had to wear a mask decades before they were commonplace. My primary care doc, when informed Mom was dead, exclaimed, “Oh thank God! I was afraid she’d take you with her!” At which point I finally got the treatment I needed including a major procedure at Mayo Clinic since I’d gotten so bad while waiting because I had to care for Mom that the regional specialist pulled strings & got me in, bless her. Took nearly a year to recover, I was in such rough shape.
My parents were a generation older than everyone else’s when they had me, so none of my friends had a clue what to do or recommend to help. And most of my support system deployed or had to move for work while I dealt with it all, mostly alone.
I still look back & marvel that I survived. But Mom got the best care I could find & Dad knew he could trust me to do everything necessary. He had all the paperwork in order thanks to base legal assistance with my name on every account as I learned when the time came. So I know he went easy.
Oh sister, I don’t know you, but you’re still a sister, and I must tell you my heart clenched reading this. I hope and pray that you were not so broken down by all those years of care taking that you were unable to recover and find joy and happiness again. I know you’ve at least found some measure of fun in reading Grace’s books since you’re out here, but I further hope you’re living best life now.
I had a sick infant and a body barely held together after a complicated c-section. I couldn’t even do the walking/rocking thing because I couldn’t hold the weight for months. Finally we got a diagnosis at around 20 months, but after being up with a screaming baby all night, every night and only catching some sleep in the morning, I was a zombie. I don’t know how I did it. Thankfully my oldest started kindergarten when my youngest was 4 months old, so at least I only had the one home during the day. It felt neverending, and I still feel stressed just thinking about it.
I sometimes wonder if their upbringing made both of our children leery of wishing to reproduce. I would love to spoil grandkids, and perhaps they worry about that, too. My husband’s grandparents kept us from going totally around the bend at the time. So did work that paid a living wage and enough to pay various teenage kids to mow lawns, chop vegetables, read to the kids, keep them from killing each other while I took a bath.
My mother has non-standard dementia but can fool many people into thinking she’s completely with it if they don’t talk to her too long. And thank heavens she isn’t violent. My great-aunt beat her black and blue with a chair at one point.
Yes, absolutely. My first chance as principal of a girls high school was so exciting at first.
Then the politics entered the stage. Why must a children be the last to be considered when cuts come, power hungry controllers make decisions that harm a child or a group because they never met “such people”. I could go on but for now I reflect on what power I should have taken hold of better but hind sight is great! Peace to all who do not understand that as a human being we all have choices and high school girls MUST be listened to and be respected.
Peace to all who suffer, and as one church hymn sings “Peace, shanti, shalom,” schlom.
I have nothing to add on my own account, but my heartfelt prayers, for peace and serenity and healing, go out to all of you. My mother’s death was dreadful but we were a good team of sisters and father, and my divorce was painful but we ended up good friends. So I feel very very fortunate. Love to all of you who have struggled onward, one foot in front of the other, through seemingly endless tribulations, and I hope all of you have emerged into sunshine and calm and gentleness.
I am so glad you are feeling compassion for the younger you, when at the time you could not possibly see how remarkable you really were. You must have been an amazingly resourceful person to emerge from being a young mother – inexperienced and unsupported, with a challenging child – to providing a home, building your career, and developing talents that have given much to others (legal advocacy, writing, therapeutic riding). My own challenges pale in comparison.