A lesson learned: read the fine print

As with most parents I suppose, there has been an endless list of "fine print" that I neglected to read before giving birth to my first child. One of the very telling lessons, that at the time unbeknownst to me, would be the beginning of a decades-long trend, happened shortly after bringing child number one home from the hospital.

My husband and I had recently moved back to the northwest, and were living a couple of hours away from all of our extended family. I had invited my dad and stepmom to come and spend Father's Day with us, and join us for dinner. However, with the surprise early arrival of bundle of joy numero uno, I wasn't exactly up to the task of hosting and food preparation. At that point, I was a bit of a mess; I looked like a freak, having burst a multitude of blood vessels in my head and chest in my attempts to bring forth that little miracle into the world, and as a result covered in little purple spots from mid-torso up. Add to that the delightful pain of healing taking place between my legs, the result of episiotomy stitches and hemorrhoids from pushing so damn hard to get the kid out. And then of course there was the phenomenon known as engorgement; my breasts, overflowing with milk, had swelled to five times their original size (which notedly isn't that impressive, but to me, it was truly amazing), and they were hard as rocks and hot as lava, and not just a little tender to the touch.

Wanting to spend time with their firstborn grandchild, my dad and stepmom came to see us anyways, and graciously brought all the food with them. I was so happy! They brought steak and baked potatoes, and they prepared everything. I was salivating with anticipation; I was going to get a delectable steak dinner, without having to lift a finger. The aroma of that blessed piece of meat still lingers in the annals of my mind today.

When dinner was finally served, the four of us adults sat down at the table to begin partaking of the feast. It was at that exact moment when my newborn decided to awaken, feeling the pangs of hunger herself. I felt what can only be described as panic. What was happening? She can't cry right now; it's dinnertime and I'm hungry. The food is hot and ready to eat, and so am I, damnit! This moment in time has remained vivid in my mind: it was the dawn of realization of the level of sacrifice having children was going to impose upon me. I can honestly say, I had no idea before then that anything would ever come between me and my dinner, and I was shocked and appalled. How come no one told me that I'd be giving up eating on my own terms when I had a baby? We're all hungry; we all need sustenance. In fact, nursing mothers are supposed to have additional calories while breastfeeding; I was certain I had read that somewhere. I remember looking at my husband, feeling disturbed and conveying silently and telepathically to him, "Make it stop crying right now! I need to eat!" Alas, I was having one of those experiences where you gain insight through trauma. I was the only lactating individual at the table, and hence the only one who could really take care of the mewling infant's needs.

I grudgingly got up from the table and sat on the couch in the family room, with my back to the happy steak eaters behind me, and began the exquisitely painful task of nursing. Anyone who has ever experienced engorgement and cracked and bleeding nipples does not need an explanation for what this feels like; for those who have not had the opportunity to feel this sensation, I'll just let you use your imagination. I sat on that couch, with my baby pressed to my bosom, tears sliding down my cheeks from the pain of it all, and listened to my husband and parents talk and enjoy the consumption of their HOT meal behind me, with such anger at the unfairness of it all. It was what can be described as an educational experience for me; the start of sacrificing grudgingly the things which I had taken for granted only days before; the beginning of my realization that my needs weren't quite as important as someone else's needs any more. It totally sucked! Apparently, I got over it, though; four kids and thirteen years later, and I still don't get to enjoy a hot meal any time I want it. Just one of the many little treasures I've learned; the fine print of parenthood that I neglected to read in advance.

Future parents, beware.