Reserving Judgement

So I don't profess to be perfect (although my husband would say I don't verbally profess to be perfect) . . . but as a young person and new mother I knew I'd do some things perfectly right. I think we all have a list (no matter how small) of things we are determined won't happen to us - or things that we are adamant about happening in our families. I had a pretty scarce list - and as I've "grown up" in my roll as a mother . . . I've learned that if you ever ever ever even pretend to even hypothetically put anything on such a list . . . you're going to get bit in the butt with it.

Sitting together in church: Oh - I just knew that no matter how big our family got - no matter how many children we were blessed with . . . I would always sit next to my husband. I mean . . . you can't let them divide and conquer, right . . . we would just sit together and the kids would flank either side of us and we'd look on lovingly as they would remain engrossed in their quiet books until the last "amen" was pronounced. 

Not even close!!! Divide and conquer now takes on a new meaning - and it's focused on us trying to keep the little loved ones not the loudest group of children in the room. And forget about us sitting in the middle of them all - that end seat is off limits to any child. I've gotta be there, with running shoes on - so I can jump up and out at any sign of vomit, poop, crocodile tears or any number of embarrassing phrases not to be repeated in Sacrament Meeting. Sitting together - nope, that's going to be our reward in many years to come when the last of the Sunday fighting has ceased. 

Kids' Bed-head in public: Ok - I admit it . . . I used to see those kids in the store and wonder how on earth the mom (or dad) could have missed that big huge bare scalp surrounded by matted, dirty hair. How could they possibly allow their child out in that condition!? Well - after my fair share of distractions, overlooked directions and plain old stubborn children . . . I no longer judge any parent by their child's public appearance. Hey, I feel like giving them a high-five if their kids' shoes are on the right feet or their shirt matches their pants. It's those kids who are all decked out with matching shoes, socks, skirts, tops, sweaters and hair pretties that have me skittish now. Especially when you see a mom out before 10 a.m. with 3 or 4 of those perfectly polished kids . . . how does she do it?

Yellow teeth: Kay - so now I'm on to a very sensitive subject for me . . . it goes beyond dirty t-shirts and messed up hair . . . I used to flinch anytime I saw a poor little child with yellow and/or decayed teeth. I, for one, didn't get the A-#1 lesson on how to care for my teeth as a child - it would have done me great since I feared my old rickety dentist . . . and I really don't remember learning about prevention . . . just fixing stuff once it was broken . . . hence my horrific root canal at age 12 or 13. So - I always wanted to help my children learn early about dental health - and fortunately we go to the most amazing pediatric dentist - who the children adore and can't wait to visit! But my Harrison - no matter what - has really yellow teeth. I mean really yellow! That great dentist I told you about just threw in sealant on his back teeth when he got his first cavities filled because "It would be easier for him in the long run." Oh man . . . poor little guy has no hope . . . my teeth aren't the greatest, and neither are Dan's. Harrison has an enamel problem and will not only have yellow teeth no matter what, but more than likely he'll also get more than his fair share of cavities. Any amount of prevention is not going to help him steer clear of the tooth trauma that I went through - he may suffer more. And whitening isn't an option until he's older with all his permanent teeth and orthodontics complete. So now . . . anytime I see a poor little person with yellow teeth - I cannot even begin to judge what they (or their parents) are or aren't doing to prevent it.

Pull-Ups: I never ever ever thought there was room in our economy for anything like Pull-Ups. I thought - you just train them. You just make them learn to use the potty - go from diaper to undies and if you stick to it - it'll work like a charm. No need for those crazy "lean on me" in between things that give the child an opportunity to not fully grasp the potty process. Well - like I said - anything you even slightly judge will come back to haunt you . . . and these did as well. Emery wasn't the quickest potty trainer. She had every intention to do it right . . . but her poor itty bitty bladder (probably inherited from her mother) had other ideas. For a good 2 or 3 years after we trained her - she had regular accidents. These things saved us in the beginning - especially at night. And with Jack, I did use them and will probably do so again when we go back to training him - at least for night-time and outings. I now admire the person who invented the not quite a diaper, not quite underpants . . . it's just another step in the process . . . not all children need the step, but it's so comforting to know it's there . . . 

And last but not least - nursing - if you're uncomfortable with this subject, skip it . . . cuz it will get personal!

Nursing: I always knew I'd nurse my kids. It was not even a question in my mind . . . hey, I had them all without meds of any kind - and statistics say that in so doing - you're giving them and yourself an optimal environment for perfect, natural feeding. Hmmmm . . . I used to judge anyone who didn't nurse. I thought it was a somewhat selfish decision if they didn't. Until my first child was born. I was told that it would take at least a month for the nursing to work. What I didn't understand was that it wouldn't take an entire month for the baby to figure out how to latch on - that the baby needed to latch on in the beginning and the ease and comfort of it would take a month. I left the hospital very naive and didn't think there was any reason for me to worry. I mean - if you wanted to nurse, you would, right? Well . . . within very few days Harrison's weight plummeted. I did seek a bit of help here and there . . . but always assumed it would get better. We were told a few weeks into it that he was not getting enough. He was "content to starve" or in other words, he'd get just enough and then sleep more - until he was starving again. He never latched on properly which never stimulated that natural cycle of supply and demand. By the time we did figure out things were not going well, we had to try and teach him to keep his tongue in the right position and finger feed him with a syringe. I was absolutely heart-broken. I felt like a failure and judged myself more harshly than anyone else I judged for not nursing. I gave in when he was a month old and opted for formula & bottle feeding. For a long time I felt guilty about the way things ended up. I thought if I had just worked at it harder. If I had just gotten help sooner . . . 

Then there was Emery - the first time she went for a feeding - she latched on perfectly and never looked back. I couldn't believe the difference in their feeding styles. She did so well that I had to use a shield for a few weeks to let my poor ladies heal from her rigorous eating. She nursed perfectly for over 10 months. 

Jackson - hmmmmmm - my experience with him was both bitter and sweet. He, too had latching issues like Harrison. He bit the midwife on the way out and she noted that his tongue was in a weird position. We think now that they both had an anatomical & physiological similarity that was just not compatible with my anatomy & physiology. But I was more determined than before. I knew what a successful nursing experience was and I knew what it was like to not have one - and I wanted to do whatever I could possibly do to make it work. I saw someone right away. I tried everything I could possibly try - things I didn't think I would ever try. And never once did Jack latch on properly. It was another heart-ache . . . but in the long run it made me let go of my guilt for Harrison's failed attempt at nursing. I always thought "If only I had tried this or that, or held out a little longer" and when I was told by a Lactation Consultant that she had never seen anyone put as much effort into it as I had - I realized I had done all I could and I came to the peaceful conclusion that back in the day if there were a situation like ours, the babies would have either died or been fed by a wet-nurse - and I was grateful for the modern conveniences that made it possible for me to be my own wet-nurse with a bottle and formula. 

So with Aidan - I prayed and prayed that it wasn't something to do with me having boys. But he nursed well . . . so well in fact that again . . . my ladies had painful issues. The only problem is that they continued to get worse and worse. I had seen 3 midwives, 2 lactation consultants, a dermatologist and a surgeon in 3 1/2 months before my horrific cracks healed. I was told by each of them and their staffs of nurses who saw me that none of them had seen anything so bad. None of them encouraged me to continue to nurse . . . although they all told me that somehow eventually I would heal. No one could come to a solid conclusion on the cause - maybe thrush, maybe a viral infection, maybe an allergy . . . but they were ALL amazed in my determination to continue to feed that little man who was doing his part so well. I did heal and nursed Aidan for 10 months total. 

I will never judge a mother in her decision to nurse or not nurse. It is NOT an easy, instantaneously natural experience for every mother. And for those that it is . . . I hope my experiences will help them not judge others for making a hard decision whether it's due to preference or mechanics.

So - because I have learned the hard way to reserve judgement . . . I remind myself often that I just don't know the circumstances surrounding any one issue or any one person. It's not for me to decide what's best for them or which decision is right . . . and maybe because of these experiences of my own, I'm learning to be more loving and accepting - and not so critical.