Maternal Instinct

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Maternal instinct: a mother's innate instinct to protect and care for her offspring. Why is there no term "Paternal Instinct"? Does the concept exist? Is it learned and not innate?

I have a friend who is in his early fifties. He desperately wants a child. He is looking into all the different ways to have (get?) one. I think it is cool. I wonder why I don’t think it is especially "cool" when a woman friend does it. It seems normal to me whereas a guy, well, that is something extra. It sort of bothers me that I have a different standard. While ruminating, I think of what a woman friend said to me just this past week…that wanting to have a child, the yearning for a baby, is completely different from actually having a child. At the time I laughed and thought "how true". But now, on second thought, isn’t that how most experiences are? Don’t we have an idealized picture of a life partner? marriage? "happily ever after"? Is the fantasy of motherhood really any different than the fantasy mate or the fantasy life that we create for ourselves? I don’t think so.  I have concluded that like everything, it is all about our expectations.

The difference, I imagine, is that with marriage and relationships there is a trial period; you can live together and get an idea of what your life together will be like.  With a baby there is none of that. You go from the dream state of pregnancy (assuming it is an easy pregnancy), fantasizing, decorating the baby's room, and choosing names to BAM! crying, exhaustion, and constantly trying to figure out what he wants and why he isn’t happy since you’ve just fed/changed/burped him.  You dreamed about this perfect child who eats and sleeps on schedule, goes six hours without waking and because of your maternal instinct you just know what he wants. You answer his need -of -the -moment and back to sleep he goes. Ahh…..not so much. If you’ve been reading my posts, or any other real moms' posts, you know, at least intellectually, that it doesn’t usually work that way. Of course there are moms with dream babies…I just don’t know them. I hear about them usually in baby books but I have yet to meet a real mom with a dream baby.  Is it possible that the dream baby is a figment of baby book gurus designed to make the rest of us feel incompetent, guilty and even more overwhelmed and out of control? Or is it simply an unreal expectation? 

When my girls were teeny, they cried almost daily from 4-6 in the afternoon. Most of us experience those hours as difficult at best. It still remains the hardest time of day. They're tired and crabby and demanding and now that they're older they can "gang up" on me. What makes it somewhat easier is that I know it is not just in my house. I hear whining children up and down the street (one of the true "pleasures" of living in a warm climate is open windows and the sounds from all the other houses on the street). I am able to stress out a little bit less. Somehow, knowing I am not alone makes it easier to cope.  My natural instinct is to cry, scream, yell out of frustration and run and hide under the covers. I would like to think that it is my maternal instinct that allows me to plod on, but more likely, the knowledge that I don't have a choice is what spurs me on….or the knowledge that in another hour they will finally be in bed sleeping and then I can go back to thinking how beautiful, gorgeous, brilliant and amazing they are.

I would love to have another baby; the warm smell, the nursing the cuddling and bonding…. That is maternal. Then reality sets in…the crying, bouncing, pacing, rocking; endless hours of no sleep and maternal instinct runs to the hills. I adore my girls; seriously I am madly in love. I treasure every second, as hard as it is, even the most trying of moments but now that I know what to expect I'm not sure I want to do it again.

I wish someone would write a real life story without rose colored glasses. That finding a mate, if at all, is not easy; that there are disappointments, frustrations and heartbreaks along the way. That even when (if?!) you find him it isn’t easy, that it still requires lots of work and attention. That having children is challenging and the most difficult thing most of us ever do, and juggling spouse, kids, home and job is a full time job in itself. But, even with all the challenges and obstacles we can live happily ever after.

The Thermos

For those of you unfamiliar with IVF in Israel, here is a brief description of the process. The procedure is done in private hospitals. The frozen sperm is kept in public hospitals. So the obvious question is how does it get from one hospital to the other? Well, this is Israel; and while I hear lots of olim (new immigrants) complain about the bureaucracy, having lived in the United States as well, it is not any more bureaucratic. BUT, here everything is always funnier, more charming and makes for wonderful anecdotes, but I digress. So, how do you transport frozen sperm? Well, in a thermos of course.

Let me digress again. I live in Central Tel Aviv, the equivalent to Manhattan. I don’t have a car because most everything I need is steps away and also, like in Manhattan, but even more complex, if that is possible, is the parking situation.  One needs a special PH.D to decipher the parking signs and a direct line to Gd in order to find a parking spot. 

Back to the issue at hand; one can go pick up their sperm by bus, bike, car, or taxi.  Since my sperm was at a hospital 30 minutes away by car, and since I was saving all my shekels for supporting my future children, I opted to go by bus.

So, picture this: I go to the private hospital to check out my thermos. I leave an enormous check as a deposit, because they're afraid I might not return it… Yes, I am planning to put my coffee in this thermos after the sperm is delivered (?????!!!!). I get on a local bus to the intra-city bus to the public hospital where my sperm is ladled (yes, ladled) into my thermos.  They don’t close the thermos tightly because of something to do with air pressure and the temperature of the sperm (never very clear to me). Now I go back to the bus stop to get the intra-city bus to the city bus to the hospital.  The entire way back I'm thinking if the bus stops short and my not so tightly sealed thermos opens and out flies the sperm, not only will I have lost the money on my sperm, but will the hospital give me back the enormous deposit if the top goes rolling, and someone trips and falls, and is sperm slippery, and is the bus company liable, will my insurance pay for said slippage and is slippage anything like shrinkage and boy that’s pretty Freudian especially since I'm transporting sperm…

ANYWAY, I finally make it to the private hospital with no leakage, slippage, spillage or shrinkage; leave the sperm, get my check back and carry on.

This happened four times.  On the fifth try, my friend Gila, who had just gotten a new job and a new car befitting her new position, offered to drive me.  She had cute little quips the whole way there and back which were pretty gross and inappropriate but had me giggling nonetheless and wondering if I was really meant to be a mom. Needless to say, there was no spillage or shrinkage and in fact, two little miracles came from it.

I have been studying to become a life coach. One of the principals is win-win. If a relationship isn’t win-win, both sides are not getting a relatively equal degree of benefit from it. This is a win-lose or even a lose-lose relationship and is doomed.  Gila is one of a few friends that I feel I have a win- win type of relationship with.

When I got pregnant with the girls, I realized I would have very little time to myself.  I decided that all the people in my life who I didn’t have a win win friendship with needed to be uprooted, that I finally had a good enough reason to do it.  (Let's not delve for now into the obvious; if it wasn’t working for me then it was a good enough reason to end it).

Through it all my friend Gila has been a constant source of biting humor and staunch support. I read blogs all the time about the non-mom friends who don’t get it. I have a few of those myself.  She is a non-mom friend who gets it and I feel lucky to have her in my life.

Signs

Last night I was invited to a birthday party of a girl I know. The invite read "another year of being in denial". Considering that she is around 40 the use of the word girl on my part is my own form of denial. While there, I ran into another friend and we chatted and she said that she had been thinking that this year she was turning 40 and maybe it was time to really consider single motherhood. Just then, she got an email from me announcing my new business and website and she saw it as a sign that she was going in the right direction.

I feel that my entire life has been a practice in sign reading. From a young age, we learned bible stories, the snake and Eve, Moses and the burning bush. We were indoctrinated on signs.  I was always so sure that the "sign" precipitated an event or a major decision, and maybe it did.  In retrospect, I feel like the signs were a way for me to give up control of my power to choose and be responsible for the decisions I make… it allowed me to stay a girl, even at 40 +++.

Today, I feel like an adult.  There are things about it I hate. I look in the mirror and I see wrinkles. I have to color my hair every 4 weeks. I remember as a "girl" in my thirties meeting up with a friend of mine in her forties and seeing her hands and thinking "she has old looking hands". Now my hands look like that. I don’t see the girl I was. I see a grown woman.

 I won't wear a mini skirt anymore and I even wonder if I'm at an age where a bikini is a little too much. When I get dressed to go out, the clothes are different than before. Don’t get me wrong, I hardly look like some dowdy middle aged woman and I haven’t given up on my womanliness or sexuality; I don’t look my age and I am young at heart; just not as young as before.  However, I am aware that somewhere between the last relationship, the first fertility treatment, and the twins being born I became an adult.  It is scary to be grown up. It is terrifying to realize you are responsible for other people. It is also exciting and satisfying. At some point in the last three years I became aware that I am in control of my life and my destiny and that signs are for the undecided.

The Book

My girlfriend Eti has been telling me for years that I need to write a book. In my mind it would read like "Sex and the City". I have never asked her to compare it to a TV show, but I'm pretty sure it's along the same lines…with a little "Friends" thrown in.

My life today is more like "The Flying Nun". I fly about all day every day working, caring for my kids, caring for my house… The nun part I'm sure you can figure out on your own.

Life has certainly changed since the arrival of the girls. Whereas before I would spend the majority of my time thinking, obsessing and talking about men or a specific man now I think, obsess and talk about my children.

The book has changed to a blog. The topic has changed from my shenanigans and escapades as a single woman to that of a single mother. Today's book would have the following chapters.

1. My journey from singlehood to deciding to embark on motherhood

2. Needles and blood tests and ultrasounds, OH MY!

3. IM HAVING TWINS?!?!?!?!!!!

4. You're kidding, I'm having TWINS???!??!!

5. The NICU and neo natal unit

6. Exhaustion and Joy, who knew they could co-exist?

7. I am the luckiest person in the world to have the two most perfect, beautiful amazing children ever

8. Guilt – because of what I did, what I didn’t do, what I should’ve done, could’ve done, etc.

9. The mother vs. the woman…is she still in there? Hellloooo???!!!

10. Counting my blessings

It says in Pirkei Avot, (Ethics of our Fathers) "… acquire for yourself a friend ". … וקנה לך חבר". From everything I've heard, read and listened to, the biggest problem mothers have, especially single mothers, even more than the sleeplessness, the financial hardship, and the loneliness is asking for help.

It sounds so easy, doesn’t it? Well in theory it is. But, after close to twenty years, of going it alone, we all become quite independent and adept at taking care of ourselves and we are out of practice when it comes to asking for help.  After becoming a mother, things can and do easily spiral out of our control. Of course, it always seems to happen whenever you need to do something else critically important; a long scheduled doctor's appointment, an important meeting, a project due at work. Living in Israel does allow more flexibility than some other countries; employers tend to be more understanding and forgiving of family emergencies than in some other countries, but still… there is a limit to the number of times you can leave early, arrive late or not come in at all because your little one is sick.

If you're in a relationship then you and your partner can switch off. But what happens if it is just you? What if your parents and family live far away or out of the country or for other reasons such as sickness or frailty can't help? Then what?

Well, another nice thing about living in Israel is that the neighbors, for good and for bad, become a part of your extended families.  This is one of the things I have always loved about living here and one of the main reasons I found living in Manhattan so difficult.  But still, can you really knock on a neighbor's door at 2am? Actually, luckily, I can. I have three neighbors who I really do believe I could wake up in the middle of the night for help… But would I??!!!

When I was pregnant I did a lot of things alone, that in retrospect, I shouldn’t have…carried groceries up stairs, prepared holiday meals for fifteen guests, gave up on sleep to talk to a friend in need, because that's who I am and that's what I do. I believe that although I slowed down, as ordered by my doctor, I didn’t slow down enough.   I didn’t really get it. I was still operating as I always had just with the slight addition of a baby bump.

Now that I have the girls, I still do things on my own for the most part.  Thank Gd, the road thus far has been relatively calm, safe and healthy and I haven’t had to reach out.

But there is another piece.  The emotional piece.  The drain.  The mental exhaustion.  You need a friend.  Sometimes you just need to get out of the house and have someone listen to you complain and to sympathize. Maybe you're lucky enough to find someone who can actually empathize. I think it is incredibly important to realize that while you may have run a successful business with tens of employees and managed fantastically under pressure, one baby can leave you bewildered and wondering what became of that successful person you once were. I read posts all the time in my mommy groups about new moms who talk about how they are going to figure out how to make their week/month old infant sleep all night so that they can too.  This process is humbling and this little 3-4 kilo baby is completely in charge of your entire life.  It is mind boggling.  Many of us don’t shower, use the facilities, or eat at the beginning for fear of waking the little princess or that the little one will cry for 32 seconds or that the sweet thing will be upset if you aren’t holding him.  You need a friend. You need someone to lean on, help you and relieve you, if only for an hour or two.

It gets easier, really.  But especially for older moms, in my view, moms who have been single independent women for a long time, it might be hard to reach out.  I am suggesting you do it anyway, for your piece of mind and to retain a remnant of the old you. The baby will still be there in an hour….

singlehood to motherhood: The Do(ulas) and Don'ts of my Labour of Love

singlehood to motherhood: The Do(ulas) and Don'ts of my Labour of Love: We all know that pregnancy is supposed to last nine months. Before pregnancy, when I asked someone what month she was in the answer was ...

The Do(ulas) and Don'ts of my Labour of Love

We all know that pregnancy is supposed to last nine months. Before pregnancy, when I asked someone what month she was in the answer was simple, second, fourth, eighth…. When you're pregnant it somehow changes to weeks.  I'm not sure if this is some new method of counting which is more accurate, but we no longer count months, but instead, weeks.

Since I was pregnant with twins, I knew that it was quite possible I would give birth well before 40 weeks and that it was also entirely plausible that I would need a c-section.  I decided without much thought or consideration that I wanted to go to Tel Hashomer, which is arguably the largest and best hospital in the center, if not in the whole country, because it was where my doctor was affiliated. Although he told me he only did scheduled c-sections and only during "regular" hours (the price of success allows you to pawn off nights and weekends), I still wanted to go there. I didn’t think about the distance from my house, or to be honest, anything. 

While it is only a fifteen minute drive with no traffic, anyone who lives here will tell you that between the hours of 7-9.30 am and 3-7 pm you really want to avoid crossing the Geha or Aluf Sade Intersections because it could take upwards of an hour.  I also managed to ignore the fact that I don’t have a car so traversing said roads would be by bus or by cab, the former taking at least 45 minutes without traffic and the latter costing no less than 60 shekels and in traffic or off hours close to 100 shekels each way. As mentioned in previous posts, I didn’t think much about details, more about the big picture.  I guess ignorance has its virtues.

At the time, another friend of mine was pregnant.  Talk about complete opposites. By 25 weeks she had already been to La Leche, the international organization which promotes breast feeding, which of course, after hours of research, she knew was "better for the baby, for bonding experience, and for the mother". She also had been on a tour of the local hospitals and the birthing rooms; she had a birthing plan, and a doula. I was completely unnerved and felt like the worst soon to be mother ever, a feeling that has carried through to motherhood itself.

  I knew I was pregnant and in approximately 10 weeks I was going to give birth.  That was about it.  I didn’t read much.  I bought "What to Expect when you're Expecting" and the Hebrew equivalent.  Once a month (oops! Once every four WEEKS), I would read about the physical changes I would go through and my baby's development in the following few weeks. My brain was still trying to absorb motherhood and twins and finances, I had no room for breast feeding and doulas. 

However, a few days later, I thought about my friend and her plan.  Actually, I thought about my LACK of plan. Who was going to accompany me during the delivery? Instead of contemplating options, I spent a few days feeling completely sorry for myself because I didn’t have a husband or a boyfriend. Then I focused. Who did I want in that room with me? My mother was out of the question. I adore my mother. She is my best friend and the most supportive person I know. But she tends to stress out easily and is not the person I want with me in a stressful situation. My best friend offered, but she is a wife and mother of school age children, so I felt it would be an imposition if my time came at 3am or if the labor went on endlessly.  She volunteered her husband and provided a glowing recommendation but I politely declined. So, who? A doula seemed kind of new agey and out there... not my style at all. One thing I knew for sure was no natural child birth. No bouncing on balls, soaking in tubs and "enjoying" the primal experience. I don’t like pain, don’t want pain in my life and screaming at the top of my lungs with my legs spread is not something I envisioned.  I wanted drugs, lots of them, preferably before the labor pains started.  So I guess without realizing, I actually had a birthing plan.

Once I realized the doula was essentially my partner and wasn’t going to try and convince me to give birth at home or some other alternative method, I decided I wanted one.  So I called a few and bonded with one in particular.  At that time I was 29 weeks pregnant and on house (ar)rest.  We met and talked and I explained what I wanted and she explained what she did and she gave me a list of what to pack in my suitcase.

Being a diligent student I immediately went to the local drugstore and bought disposable underwear, almond oil and nursing pads. Took out a suitcase and stuck it by the door. Of course, if you go full term these are items you need, as well as baby clothes to bring your little one home in. I packed all the above. Things like underwear, slippers, sweats didn’t make the list…I had time, a lot of time, right?

My next meeting with Carrie the doula was supposed to be at 31 weeks so we could start working on breathing and pushing techniques. The girls, however, had different plans. Early on a Saturday morning at 30 weeks and 5 days they announced their imminent arrival with an enormous gush of water on the floor of my bedroom. I took my almost empty suitcase and threw in essentials, grabbed a coffee to go, a cell phone and went out to find a cab to the hospital.

My two biggest fears of motherhood had always been the lack of sleep and the pain of delivery.  While most people think I'm a strong person I see myself as something of a scaredy cat.  I am terrified of pain and I also hate to show my fears and insecurities… maybe this is why I am perceived as strong.

Carrie was amazing.  She held my hand, rubbed my back, explained that my babies were coming very soon, since I was in a state of shock and did not fully fathom that by nightfall I would really be a mother. She advised me to switch to a hospital closer to my house since I would have to commute for a minimum of six weeks; at 30 weeks they would be preemies and not allowed home.  At some point my best friend came as well although when it came time to the actual delivery, the hospital staff required her to leave the room.

While my dreams of sharing this moment with a life partner who was the father of my children crossed my mind and made me momentarily sad, what I had was a sorority of women and mothers.  It was truly one of the most beautiful, intimate, special experiences of my life.  Not just because I became a mother to my children but because I entered a special club. I really felt a connection to Mother Nature.  I was experiencing something unique to women, something that would change me forever.  As silly as it sounds, I felt like Chava (Eve) and all mothers since the beginning of time were there with me.

And then out came my girls and another link in the chain was added.

My labor lasted from 6.30 in the morning until 10 at night.  Carrie was there with me the whole time. She was supportive and helpful, especially since I had never learned how to breathe or push correctly (and no, it does NOT come naturally). She was the last person I saw that night and the first person to call in the morning. She came to the hospital and helped with my breast feeding and again to the house to meet the girls and address any concerns or difficulties I was having.

Whatever birthing plan you choose, be it completely natural or drug assisted, have someone by your side that will keep you calm and has your interests and wants at heart and knows how help you relax, as much as possible, during a very momentous and nerve racking time.