Why Don’t They Come with Instructions?

He is looking down at the form of an infant who is making movements that, if made by an adult, would be called a grand mal seizure; arms and legs flailing in the air.  The face has the unmistakable resemblance to the age-old Mr. McGoo – all creases. The mouth is wide open and the noise is as deafening as it is nerve shattering.  He has tried everything he knows of to restore calm, here.  The child has a clean diaper, a full tummy, what more can he do?  He takes the pacifier and tries once more to get baby to latch onto it, but for some unknown reason, this enrages the child all the more.  The noise stops momentarily as the baby begins to turn a deep shade of purple in a suspended scream.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, why don’t they come with instructions?” he cries in exasperation as he picks up the child and seeks out Mom.  “Here.  He’s turning colors on me.  I think he needs you!”

On the one hand, you feel very sorry for this dad because you, too, have known that helpless feeling of being able unable to comfort the baby.  On the other hand, you are smiling a bit smugly on the inside, because you have figured out how to handle it now.  “There, there, Baby…” you croon as you tuck the baby’s head under your chin and begin what I have fondly termed, “The Mama Bounce”.

It goes like this: Cradle baby against your chest, either horizontally or vertically, and spread your feet about two feet apart.  Now you begin to bounce gently up and down on the balls of your feet.  The slowly begin to transfer your weight back and forth and back and forth between this foot and that.  After you have really gotten the hang of this, you can sing or mumble sweet nothings in the baby’s ear, producing an even  more soothing effect.  Once you’ve mastered that, you can move onto The Advanced Mama Bounce, which involves moving around the house while bouncing, rocking and singing. 

Like magic, in seconds, the baby has gone from shrieking, to whimpering, to snoring peacefully.

“You know,” remarks your chagrined and somewhat dejected husband, “The VCR comes with a handbook that tells you how to program it.  Where are you supposed to learn how to program THAT?” he asks as he gestures toward you and junior. 

 Not being sure if he’s talking about you, the baby, or both of you, it sets you to thinking, “Yes, where DID I learn to do this?”  After all, the children ARE infinitely more complicated that the VCR, which you still can’t program.  Hmm.

Indeed, I recall the panic and the despair mere weeks before I had that first child when my well-meaning sister plunked her newborn into my amateur arms, announcing to all who could hear how natural I looked!  I begged to differ.  Trying to hold a floppy newborn was something akin to balancing several priceless, fragile champagne glasses.  Never mind the fact that I was probably voted least likely to be domestic by everyone who ever knew me!
And yet, somehow, when the nurse handed me my own very small (five and a half pound) bundle of hard earned joy, why, the klutz of weeks past was noticeably absent.  I realized one fine moment that, Gee whiz, the kid is not as fragile as I thought!  How fragile could it be, having just been forcibly pushed head first through a four and a half inch tunnel?

I realize I will be accused of sloppy mothering, but, well, I started out like everyone else, and you’ve just got to go with what works!

My first-born arrived in the heat of an early summer.  The mornings began to dawn hot and humid.  I would don the least amount of clothing that would conceal all the baby fat still left and would then set about to dress the baby. Let’s see… look though all of the adorable baby gifts…aha!  A T-shirt with a snap crotch over a diaper, socks, a one-piece sleeper that says “Champ” on the breast, a receiving blanket, a thermal blanket, a hat...what else?  (What else, indeed!)  By the time we have done the marketing, visited a friend, gone to the bank and the post office and made the trip back home, the child is the picture of hysteria.  But my turn comes when I undress the child to change the diaper and find him covered with spots!

“Mom!” I panic into the phone, “That Baby’s got spots!”

“What’s he wearing, dear?”

I describe the outfit that reads like the entire layette – only to be told that it is probably heat rash! Thus I learned lesson number one: If you’re hot…he’s hot.
But the deeper lesson is that we, as mothers, despite what the experts say, DO have instincts. It’s just that we are too insecure within ourselves to go with them.  And if you look at it closely, it’s no small wonder!

We are given explicit instructions during pregnancy about things lie “Don’t lie flat on your back!” (like this is comfortable?) and “Don’t skydive during pregnancy”. (Aw, shucks!) In the birth classes we are re-taught how to breathe! (Believe me, it’s a tough thing to forget!) When the baby arrives, they give you tomes of literature to take home, explaining everything from how to bathe the baby to how to be intimate with the man whose intimacy made the baby possible!  Honestly, I think these things would come naturally if we weren’t coaxed by those “in- the-know” telling us things such as baby’s bathing is more than just getting the dirt off, (what dirt? How did my baby get dirty?) – and that your marriage is now officially on the rocks, unless you accommodate your husband’s need for attention – (when did he cease to need it in the first place?)

As unsure as I was, I could not keep up with the expert’s recommendations without feeling like a bona-fide failure. So after the fourth child, I decided to scrap the system altogether.

Baby #5 arrived in the comfort of my own bed, in my own bedroom.  After the last birth, dashing to the hospital at 85 mph on snow-covered roads panting jingle-bells, well, I just figured there had to be an easier way! But, alas, I hadn’t a crib set up or anything.  It just seemed the most natural thing in the world to just curl up with him and go to sleep!  And being the procrastinator that I am, I never did get around to setting up the crib.  I confess, he was warm and cuddly after Dad got up and left for work each day, too.  And as far as sleeping through the night went, well, he peeps, I pull him close and everything he needs is right there – and we drift off together.  Simple.

I was not aware that this was an issue until one day someone asked me, “Oh...do you believe in the family bed?”

“Excuse me?” This sounded positively scandalous!

She went on to explain that there were actually entire books dedicated to the subject.  I remember thinking, “Good grief, how many pages could it possibly be?”  In my humble opinion, the “experts” had invaded this common sense realm, too, and have officially made an issue out of something this natural. There were chapters dedicated to the topic of how to decide when it’s time to move Junior to his own bed.  What’s wrong with, “You move around too much…you’re outta here.” I was admonished for taking a lax stand on an important psychological issue.  Oh, my.

I consoled myself by telling myself that I was involved in an experiment, and me and the kids are exhibit A.  Here are some of the findings after just seven kids.

 - The Baby will be born no matter how you breathe.

 
 - When a newborn cries, it’s for one of only a few reasons, and one of them is not to piss you off.

 - Although it seems baby is attached to you at the hip for the first few months, they will fly by so fast, one does well to take advantage of it.

 - Breastfeeding is best, and easily adjusted to if you scrap the books and find another mother instead.  Also infinitely easier.  After 9 kids I’ve yet to employ the proper sterilization of a bottle.

 - If the baby is happy, healthy and growing, forget about solid food.  When he grabs it off you plate and eats it, he’s ready for it.

 - When he grabs the spoon from your hand and uses it to feed himself, (no matter how clumsily), you can assume he is ready to feed himself with a spoon.

 - When he wants to take a sip out of a cup instead of the bottle, he’s ready to lose the bottle. 

- When he takes off his diaper and goes potty in the toilet, he’s potty trained!

 - If the child is normal, you won’t be able to keep him merely crawling. Something bigger than you bids them to rise up and walk!

 Does it all sound too obvious and simple? This could be because it IS! Why do we care what the experts say about the “normal” or “average” baby?  So what if my kids are fully three years old before they drop the bottle and use the toilet?  What is the shame in letting them BE a baby?  What’s the hurry?  The only thing early training ever brought to my home was stress!  We start out with “Natural” Childbirth, and then adopt unnatural child-rearing techniques by the book.  What book?  Whose book? What for?

The only requirement to success here is that you have to BE there, love unconditionally and generously, and watch, and appreciate, and ruminate, and grow with them.

So, as I bounced the Mama Bounce yet again, I realized that these little blessings that enter our lives do, in fact, come with instruction.  They are written out on the tablet of your heart – a new set for each individual child – because they each have their own areas of strengths and weaknesses to be dealt with.  I call them instincts.  Trust them!!  You’ll do just fine!