How much does placement affect and/or change how I parent now as compared to how I would have parented then? Was I always this type of parent in theory? Or did the loss of my first born change how I practiced parenting?

These questions often haunt me as I make decisions for my family.

If you knew me prior to BigBrother’s birth, you may recall that I loved being a woman working in broadcasting. I loved my job. I was going to return and be a full-time Mommy and full-time career woman. I had all of these lofty goals. Then BigBrother came out of my womb and those goals, though still lofty, changed. Drastically. I was done working and back in the home by the time he was nine months old. Would that have happened even if I had parented the Munchkin? Or was I feeling a need to be so close to my son because I had lost my daughter?

I’m not sure I can ever figure this out entirely. I think things may be too intertwined, intermixed. Obviously, things in my past have made me who I am today. But are parenting decisions solely based on past experiences or are some of them just who we are, regardless of experience?

It’s curious. I do know that I’m overly cautious with my parented son(s). BigBrother can’t be out of my sight in public or I have a panic attack. It took me over a year to find the courage to leave him in our well-manned church nursery. I have nightmares that he is kidnapped or that I leave him places. Is this all connected? Or is some of it simply my anxiety? Motherly worries? What is it?

I want to visit this in more depth after I ponder it some more. Hmm.

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I love my Son. I can’t say that loud enough. He is a joy. But we had some problems at first. And it sucks to admit that. But, I’m all about being totally honest at this juncture in my life so, yes, we had some bonding issues at first. Most of this was my fault. And I can blame my Husband just a little bit.

In the hospital, I gave birth “after hours” on a Thursday. That means no lactation consultant was available to me until the next morning after nine o’clock, and I wouldn’t have been her first stop. (I gave birth at 6:33 in the evening.) I had stated prior to the delivery that I wasn’t certain about breastfeeding but that I was open to it.

Before everyone has a cow, hush up and listen before you point judgemental horrible Mommy fingers.

I had done the research on breastfeeding. So much so that I began to hate myself for not breastfeeding Munchkin. My agency told me not to because of the bond that would occur with her. (God forbid I decide to parent?!) I believed their lines. I didn’t breastfeed. And while you can say, “I’m a birthmom and I didn’t either,” the fact remains that there are birthmothers who have breastfed and I am insanely angry that I was not afforded that opportunity.

And so guilty. Granted, I didn’t have reliable internet during my pregnancy with the Munchkin, but I should have known (miraculously?) that breastfeeding was the way to go. I feel like I cheated her. And myself. And so, when it came time to research breastfeeding while pregnant with BigBrother, it was a tough pill to swallow. Still, I kept my head up thinking, “I can do this. I can get past my own emotions of anger and guilt and give this little guy the best start possible.”

As soon as I was asked after he was born, I said no. I just said no. No questions were asked and that was that. Skip to the first night as J heads into the (hugest) bathroom (ever) for his shower. I was sitting in the rocker by the window with the awful flowered curtains, singing him Christmas Carols. (Most specifically Silent Night.) And it popped into my head, “I can do this.” I untucked my breast from my gown, cuddled him closely to me and…

proceeded to have one of the largest panic attacks I have ever had in my lifetime. I put him down in the bassinet and returned to the window, breast tucked away, to stare out at the night below me. I didn’t tell J. I felt embarassed. Sadly, the next day, no lactation consultant came to visit and I gave up any hope of having a breastfeeding relationship with my Son. Do I think that with some encouragement I could have gotten past my anxiety, anger and guilt and been successful in breatfeeding? I don’t know for certain. I will never know. I hate doubt.

And thus began the rough first couple of weeks with my Son. I felt disconnected. There were times that I couldn’t get him to stop crying. And, to top all of this off, J was sick with the flu for our first entire week home. (Yes, a week.) So, I was basically single-mom-ing it. For someone who had been so strongly resolved NOT to be a single Mom only two years earlier, it was a scary proposition!

And then I realized, ah, I can parent by myself. And everything inside of me hurt. Yes, J was occasionally able to take him so I could shower during non-puking episodes. (J ended up in the ER because he was so sick. Poor Man!) But, for the most part, that first week was me, winging it, alone. And it hurt me, to no end, to realize that I could do it. Yes, I had grown and changed in that two years time, but I was still, at the core, the same person. Had someone, anyone, encouraged me while I was pregnant, perhaps I would have seen that I could have been a good parent. But, again, we’ll never know. All I know is that I was told that I wasn’t ready and I was too young and yaddayaddayadda.

I had to get over my hurt before I could truly be able to begin to bond with BigBrother. It helped once J was un-sick and able to help me care for our new baby. But it still took a good three weeks before I felt like BigBrother’s Mom. Sometimes I felt like I was just watching J’s Baby. Or sometimes I felt like someone was going to run in the door and take him away from me. (Hence the reason I barely let him out of my sight in the hospital.)

But slowly, with much work on my end, I started to feel like BigBrother’s Mom. He looked up at me one day with those big brown eyes and I saw his recognition light go off. And then, it was just us. In that moment, I knew that I would be the one applying band-aids and kisses to boo-boos. I knew that I would be the one to fight for him to receive the best possible schooling. I knew that I would be the one to cry on his graduation day. And the day he goes to college (or wherever). Or the day he gets married. Moves out. And while that is scary, it was the best feeling in the world.

It is true that I will know of and possibly, if she wants me to be, be involved in some of Munchkin’s bigger life accomplishments. I’d like to think I’d at least be invited to her wedding. But there is no guarantee. And that just hurts. Especially when I know now that I always had it in me to be one helluva Mom. I do an awesome patty-cake. Ask BigBrother. It’s his current favorite, right behind Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.

Knees and toes.