After my first child was born and I had to head back to work, I set about the daunting task of finding childcare. I knew what I wanted-a mom who watched kids in her home, where there were other kids to play with, a peaceful place to take a nap, plenty of outside play, and most of all, a woman I trusted to stand in my place. Simple, right? I’m sure you know that finding someone to watch your precious baby is anything but simple. Yet, I had it narrowed down to two.
I researched, asked a zillion questions, called references, checked out their homes, and finally decided. I picked the one with the license. I picked the one with fewer kids to watch. I picked the one who had the biggest selection of new Baby Einstein toys. I picked the one who had a written report she would give me at the end of each day. I picked the one who had more meticulously baby-proofed her house. I picked the one who was slightly more expensive (because you get what you pay for, right?).
About two weeks before I headed back to work, we had a trial run. I dropped off my baby who would occasionally, when he was super hungry and I was miles away, take a bottle from my husband. I dropped off my baby who had barely had anyone else care for him for six months besides me. I dropped off my sensitive, cranky, impossible to put to sleep baby. I took a deep breath and left him there, crying.
I was a nervous wreck the entire time. I cried. I paced. I tried to get some work done, but I couldn’t focus. Most disconcerting was the fact that I couldn’t pump any milk. I was a champion pumper. From the time he was born, I’d pumped daily and had amassed a stand-up freezer full of liquid gold. And yet that day, nothing. Not one bit would come out.
I returned five hours later to a crying baby. “Oh, he’s been a little agitated, but that’s to be expected. He will settle in.” He had consumed about 2 ounces of milk the whole day, less than a fourth of what I had brought. He hadn’t napped. I knew this was not going to be easy, but I had hoped he would “settle in” a little better than that. The sitter and I made arrangements for one more visit before I started working, and frustrated and worried, I went home. Baby boy and I both cried, but he nursed and napped. We both calmed down.
Later that night, I tried to pump again. Nothing.
The next morning, uncomfortably full even after the baby had his fill, I tried again. Nothing.
And so it went, for two more days. I was in a panic. What would we do if I couldn’t pump any more? He wouldn’t have anything to eat when I went back to work! I couldn’t afford not to work! My baby was going to starve! And good gracious, did my boobs hurt! (Sleep deprived and emotional–who me?)
In desperation, I called the only person I could think of who might be able to help me figure this out–my doula. We talked for quite a while, covering all the usual suspects–dehydration, lack of sleep, illness, blocked duct., etc.. I had tried warm compresses and showers and visualization and everything else I could think of. Finally, she said, “It seems there is nothing wrong so, what IS wrong? What is bothering you?” I burst out crying. I told her how much I didn’t want to go back to work and how worried I was about leaving my baby with someone and how I was clearly a horrible mother and completely broken since I couldn’t even make milk (even though I was making plenty for the baby as long as he took it from the source).
After quite a bit more discussion, we finally got to the bottom of it. I simply could not convince my body to express milk. Something was blocking my let down reflex, and it wasn’t just that I was going back to work, but that I was completely undone about the sitter situation. My boy wasn’t happy there. He wouldn’t relax enough to eat or sleep there. Even though I had looked at all the information and picked the sitter who was right on paper, it wasn’t right for us. Something inside me, something I didn’t even know I had, was telling me that this was not the right decision.
So I called up my second choice and set up a trial run. A couple of hours later, MILK! Out it came, with no trouble. I hadn’t even left my baby there yet, but I could already feel that it was a better choice. Even if my brain didn’t know it, my body did. My mother’s intuition had been speaking to me all along, but I hadn’t been listening. I had tried to reason my way through a decision that required my head AND my heart.
Two days later, we did that trial run. My baby boy was happy as a lamb. He ate. He slept. He soaked up the attention of the bigger kids there. He clearly didn’t spend the whole day crying. And both he and the sitter were lit up with smiles when I returned to pick him up.
I will forever be grateful to the doula who took the time and had the wisdom to help me sort it out. It’s a lesson I have never forgotten. When my mom intuition speaks to me, I try hard to listen. It’s a voice that’s changed as my kids and I have gotten older. Sometimes, that voice sounds like uncontrollable tears. Other times, it sounds like a sleepless night. And sometimes it really is a little voice, saying, “Do it. Do it. Do it.” or “No! No! No!” Sometimes it takes me a couple of false starts before I listen, but when I finally do, it never fails me.
