Becoming a mother is nothing like becoming a doctor. To be a doctor you must endure four years of medical school and three years of residency, but to be a mother there is no protracted period of preparation, no mothers’ school, or mother-residency program. You have a baby and boom—you’re a mother. If you’re lucky, you may have time to read about or research pregnancy, childbirth, and early childhood development.
No one was around to teach me anything about breastfeeding, and my mother offered little helpful advice. The generation before mine had not breastfed, as a rule, so they were unable to inform us of the correct ways to go about it and could not support us through our breastfeeding challenges. When anything went wrong, the inevitable answer was “Why don’t you just use formula?”
My first born, David, was such an easy baby. One of my best friends at the time, another neonatologist, was miserable caring for her colicky first-born son, and I felt so miserable for her. Her little boy cried for several hours every afternoon while she was at her wits end. By contrast, my son took long naps and never cried much, mostly because I never put him down.
Postpartum emotions can be particularly complex for all new mothers, and can involve elation, fatigue, overwhelm, and sometimes unexpected familial trials. I genuinely enjoyed my maternity leave at home with my son for about eight weeks, and then my mother visited.
My mother had a theory that David would sleep through the night at six weeks of age if she fed him a large bottle of formula. One evening, she was babysitting while we were out. When we returned, she happily announced, “He took a full bottle.” However, David woke up three hours later, around 2 a.m., as usual. He busted her theory; moreover, he didn’t sleep through the night for five more weeks. My mother did not know that sleeping through the night is a brain thing and not a hunger thing.
Like most new mothers, I needed my husband to constantly reassure me and tell me that everything about our son seemed normal. Here I was—a board-certified pediatrician and neonatologist—and I needed encouragement from my husband. Most new moms need this sort of reassurance since most of us lack confidence in our abilities to be a good mother.
After I returned to work (around eight weeks), my breastmilk supply began to dwindle. I had many busy days back in the NICU, and even though I attempted to pump, I produced less and less breastmilk. I felt like a failure with my faltering milk supply. I was letting my baby down,
and this was my earliest inclination that my two roles—physician and mother—were in conflict.
For the first six months after my son’s birth, I continued to adjust to my working mother routine. I had a wonderful nanny who was a sweet older lady who seemed to put up with my hectic schedule. Once, however, she scolded me when I returned home after six p.m. two nights in a row. She said, “He needs you more than this!” and my feelings were hurt. I have never forgotten her exact words. In retrospect her caution was certainly a testimony to the paradox faced by every working mother. The hours you are at work may be more than the hours that you are at home.
David was still an infant as I began to understand just how much of a trade-off working full time was, and I learned early on that working mothers carry guilt. My friends all had it too. Like most new mothers, I wanted to be a perfect mother, however I discovered there was so much I did not know and so much time I was away from him. Throughout my first two years as a mother, I continued to learn that there is no such thing as a “super-mom.” I soon came to realize that I was working too much, frequently fifty to sixty hours a week, and I often felt torn between being a good mother and being a good doctor. The identity crisis was very real for me.
For most of us, matrescence prompts a significant shift in our identity. The transition to motherhood can be profound as we adapt to our new roles, responsibilities, and priorities. This shift can influence our sense of self, our relationships, our career aspirations, and our lifestyle choices.
For me, matrescence involved a process of self-discovery and growth as I navigated my evolving identities. I was lucky that I endured no depression, since some twelve percent of new mothers experience postpartum depression. I was also fortunate to have plenty of help from my husband and my nanny. (We sent my mother home.)
Understanding these main concepts of matrescence – physical, emotional, familial, and identity - provide insight into the complex nature of our transition to motherhood. Matresence is no cakewalk for anyone. It is too bad that we live in a society that undervalues mothers and makes life more difficult for them - without paid maternity leave, without childcare subsidies, and without uniform health insurance.
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Susan- Thanks for sharing this. So true in every respect. Your writing is a great reminder of the importance of this season of life (and of the need to support other mothers). Hope you're well this week. Cheers, -Thalia