I was reading a post on Diapers and Wine - I don't even remember which one, I was just having fun reading and remembering what it was like to be a young mother.
ANYway. Reading about having a newborn brought back so many memories. Not all of them good.
*WARNING! 30+ YEAR OLD RANT ABOUT TO BEGIN*
I had the fortunate/unfortunate experience of bearing the first grandchild for my parents and my husband's parents. Double-whammy. I thought it would be cool, bring the family closer together, yadda yadda. Riiiight. Apparently, I had never met my passive-aggressive mother and mother-in-law. The evil twins reared their ugliest heads early on, but in my pregnant bliss I managed to ignore it for the duration of the pregnancy.
Now, I don't know how it is in other familes, but in mine, new mother always "needs a little help that first couple of weeks". Whether she does or not. Whether she wants it or not. Being a mom for the first time at 19, not really sure what all was expected of me, I was willing to bow to elder wisdom and accept the assistance and advice.
From my mother.
Mom arranged to take immediate leave from her job for a week when my child was born to come over during the day (she only lived about 5 miles away) and help out. Hubby would be home in the evenings, so she would leave when he got there so we could have private family time.
At last the big birth day came. Right away there was conflict. In the labor room (remember this was 30+ years ago, labor and delivery was pretty sterile), only two visitors were allowed at a time. I wanted Hubby and Mom. I did NOT want to see a parade of my in-laws and all of their immediate and not-so-immediate relatives - got it anyway, albeit only two at a time (the nurses were pretty strict about that). Not to be outdone, my Mom sent in every relative my side of the family had available - again: DID. NOT. WANT. THEM. At all. I was miserable. Just a child (in hindsight) and didn't know how to stop it. Fortunately, the actual birth allowed only my husband, and then only via a small window where he could watch but not participate, as he had not been through the birth father training classes which would have allowed him into the delivery room.
My little Dancer was born and I experienced peace for a brief period as we took a few moments to get to know each other (she was the only one I had a few moments with - the other three - well, let's just say they each have an interesting story and leave it at that). It was months before I had true peace again. Little did I know.
Second conflict - breast feeding. MIL was TOTALLY against it. It was the 70's, I was a college student, had friends in nursing school, it had been discussed to death, and I had determined that breast feeding was best for me and my child. NOTHING would sway me. Hubby, however.... MIL set upon him and told him every breast feeding horror story she knew and probably made up a few more. By the time she finished, he was terrified I was going to be at death's door in a week's time. I stood fast in the face of everyone's objections.
By the way, he and I solved that argument the first time a 2am feeding came around:
Me: Baby's crying, time to eat. Wanna get up and feed her?
Hubby: Breast feeding is probably a good idea.
End of Argument.
The real drama began on the day we prepared to go home. I noticed that MIL hadn't been around for nearly 24 hours - unusual, she and my mom had practically camped out at the hospital, competing for who got to hold Dancer first, who changed the first diaper, etc (feeding was ALL MINE *BWAHAHAHA*). She called to let me know that the house had been all cleaned up and was ready for our arrival. And that she had stocked the kitchen due to the fact that she was planning on cooking all the meals for the next week. Wasn't that WONDERFUL? *dripping with sarcasm*
Hubby and I got home with the Dancer to be greeted by his parents and brother and sister-in-law, huge dinner waiting - and EVERYTHING in my house rearranged. Including a big ol' recliner that my tiny trailer living room did not have the space for. For FIL. Because, even though they lived a bare three miles away, they had all but MOVED IN. Behind my back. MIL proudly announced that she had the NEXT TWO WEEKS off, to help me out (note the competition again? My mom had only taken off a WEEK). OH. MY. GOD.
I escaped to the bedroom with the baby, with the excuse that she needed to be fed (not really, but no one wanted to watch - and I didn't want them to). Only to find that her handiwork had not stopped in the living room and kitchen. She had put the most HIDEOUS sheets someone had given me on the bed - my bed. Huge vomit-yellow, man-eating flowers of some sort. Ergh.
