When You Realize You've Become 'That Mom'...and What Comes Next

8- I Could Be Saved

Time passed and Chris was turning 4 months. My breasts were bruised from the constant engorgement. "You can try a lower setting but as long as you are pumping this is going to happen," one of the nurses told me during my appointment. "You might want to consider weaning him if this becomes a problem," she said with a look of understanding in her eyes. It had been so rare to see compassion that I'd almost forgotten what that looked like. 

"The machine can be quite demanding especially when you are producing as much milk as you are. It isn't surprising that you've become engorged almost daily. This isn't good. Perhaps it is time to take the machine down to a lower setting and consider weaning him off of your milk," the doctor said later that day during that visit.

I looked up at her with my dead eyes "But doctor...I want him to use my milk," I said practically pleading. 

"I understand that, but didn't you mention to me that you have a deep freeze and a freezer filled with your milk already?" She asked me in the form of a question yet there was a challenge laced between her words. 

"Yes, but..." I didn't finish my sentence. I didn't have a but. I just didn't want to wean him off my milk. It was my fault he wouldn't nurse anyway. This should be my punishment for my failure as a mother. 

"Don't you think it would be better for you and for him if you weren't in pain all of the time?" Her words pierced into me like a knife. She had wounded me and didn't realize it. 'Would be better for you and for him if you weren't in pain all of the time,' that was what ran through my mind. Was I setting myself up to fail by stubbornly holding onto this idea that he needed my milk? Was I setting us up for a life filled with regrets and bitterness? Worry began to build inside of me.

"Yes, but..." I feel the pull of doubt and insecurity tugging at the surface of my facade. I was going to braek. 

"Listen, I know that what I'm asking of you is difficult. That's why we are going to give you some formula to help you make the transition. You can mix it into your milk or you can rotate through. Eventually, you will produce less and less milk and you will be in less pain. I see the pain on your face. This isn't good for you or the baby. What do you say? You'll take the samples?" A promise was hidden in her words. A promise of a better tomorrow. A promise that I had to believe would free me from the daily suffering I was silently enduring. 

The doctor eyed me with a challenging glare. The nurse arrived shortly with a full bag of samples. 'Had they planned to offer this suggestion from the very beginning?' I wondered. There was literally an entire bag filled with formula. I had never seen anything like that in my entire life. 'Why were they giving me an entire bag full of formula? Was I that bad off?' My mind raced. I wanted to scream or yell or maybe just tell her off like I used to.

Yet, there was nothing there. There wasn't anything in me. "OK," I said in a whisper "I'll take the samples,"

Just like that, I was on my way back home with a bag full of samples of formula knowing that soon I would be returning the pumping machine and my time as a mother would be over. Yes, I know that I was being ridiculous to think that just because I wasn't nursing that meant I wasn't a mother anymore.

It is what I thought. I knew I wasn't nursed and I also knew that there was a bond that was formed from nursing that just doesn't exist with formula. In my mind, I rationalized that as long as I was giving him my milk I was nursing, and soon, I wouldn't even be able to do that.

My thoughts consumed with sorrow brought me back to my own childhood. 

I sat at the kitchen table playing with my mother's nail polishes. They were my dolls and I loved them as my children. "What are you doing?" my mother spat as she entered the room.

"I'm playing," I said innocently.

"Well, I don't remember giving you permission to play with my things. Besides, you think those two are going to live happily ever after?" She asked as she pointed to the two polishes that I had standing next to one another in an embrace. They were lovers. 

"He loves her mommy," I said with conviction.

"Oh please, grow up. He just wants to have sex with her and leave. She's nothing but a whore. Girls who spread their legs are whores. Do you want to be a whore?" Her eyebrow raised and she began to pat her foot onto the ground with her arms wrapped across her body. 

"No," I had no idea what she was talking about but I knew it wasn't good.

She just shook her head and placed her hands to her temples "Lord grant me the strength to deal with you. Well...if you don't want to be a whore when you grow up stop playing games where you are making out with some guy who just wants to get into your pants," she snapped. 

"But they love each other!" I cried.

"Love, you have no idea what love is. Don't be naive. He doesn't love her. She's you, isn't she?" Her finger left her forehead and pointed towards my head. She walked closer and pressed her index finger into my template. "Isn't she?"

"She's..." I didn't know what to say. I hadn't thought about it. It was just a game I was playing. 

"She is you, and no one could love you. Think about that and remember my words. No man will ever love you. Learn that now. No one could ever love you. The sooner you understand the better off you will be. I'm saying this for your benefit. Not everyone will be as kind to you as me. Stop playing these ridiculous games and put my nail polish back before I tell your father how you were mouthing off to me," her words were stern and clear. She removes her finger from my forehead and turned her back to me. 

"Ok," was all I could say in response. She was right. It was a stupid game. I shouldn't have been playing with her polishes. I should have known better.

My mind is brought back to the present. 

Is it possible to sink even further to the bottom of the ocean? I hadn't thought it was before, yet that is exactly what happened. I went home in quiet silence. Charlie would be home soon. 

Sometime later, he arrived. "Hey babe, I'm home," Charlie called from the bottom of the stairs by the front door. He always did that. He always announced when he was home. It was sweet. I wanted to smile and call out to let him know that I was glad he was home, but I couldn't bring myself to say a word. I was laying on the bed, on my stomach. The ache in my breasts so overwhelming that I thought I would stop breathing. Chris was in his crib right next to me, he was sound asleep. I wasn't crying, I was just laying there.  My hair was matted and dirty and I am sure that I smelled like rotten milk.

If I could only find a way to break free from this pit of despair that had consumed me. Maybe, I could find the old Catherine. The mean girl, the cruel girl, the one who was filled with confidence. As the thought crossed my mind it quickly extinguished. I would rather be this than become her again.

For Charlie and Chris's sake, I needed to find a new version of myself. Even if that meant that I had to sink to the bottom of the ocean to find her. I could be saved. I would be saved. Just not today. Today, I would embrace my sorrow and lie in my own filth.