So there isn't really anything here that constitutes a Lamaze class, but there are pre-natal classes put on by PEI public health. We went to the first one, Husband and I, but skipped out on the second one since it was the day after we'd had the diagnosis of sb for the baby. No need to explain why I didn't really want to attend that class right?
Anyway, last night was the breastfeeding class. Since I intend to do whatever I can humanly do to exercise this natural ability for all the benefits it totes, as well as my guilt trip for the pregnancy not ending in me pushing him out in what would no doubt be the Most Painful Experience Of My Life, I planned on attending and learning what I could. Husband offered to try and find out if his B-in-L would be able to help his dad milk, but really, it was going to be a hassle, so I decided that I could take this one on my own.
I shouldn't have. I should have known better.
The instructor was nice. She seemed very sweet, with the best of intentions, and genuinely pleased to be sharing the teaching material with us. She talked about all the benefits to breastfeeding, how rewarding it would be, and the importance of skin to skin contact and immediately offering the breast to the baby. How that was super important, shouldn't be missed, and all the reasons why. Why you shouldn't even consider pumping for the first 4-6 weeks, because it would be detrimental to your efforts and cause nipple confusion. I chose not to speak up and ask questions about c-sections or special births, I didn't want to open that part of my impending delivery up to a room full of strangers. There was a brief mention of c-sections, and that you could still breastfeed if you have one. I did ask other questions when she talked about how to prevent discomfort or issues that are somewhat common with breast feeding. I'm a worst case scenario person by nature, and really, with this pregnancy, I'm planning for the worst and hoping for the best. But still, I'd like to know how to deal with the worst, cause it's likely to happen, and I like being prepared or at least informed. I don't think she liked my questions, which I'll admit were on the pessimistic side, but she did her best to answer them, following up with a "but that doesn't normally happen, and if you have any trouble at all, call us. We'll come out and give you a hand." Lady, try telling that to my herd of dairy cows. They'll tell you all about how often those problems come up.
I'm not sure what the worst part of the class was that set me off so badly. Possibly the re-awakening of the realization that there were a lot of firsts and experiences that we won't get to have, or at least not in the normal sense. It could have been the patronizing overtones, especially the ones used in the video out of the 80's we got to watch. If someone comes into my home and talks to me in a placating and judgmental tone about taking care of my child like I'm a 5 year old who needs to be reminded to take care of her dolly, there might be violence. Like my foot meeting someones butt on their way out my front door violence. I don't know much about child rearing, this is a new experience for me. That means I want to experience it, and learn some of it on my own. I don't need everyone under the sun's advice on how to do this and that, my situation isn't the same as theirs, guaranteed. I understand that public health is supposed to be there to offer assistance, protection, and advice, but I've never responded terribly well to criticism, or people who feel they know far more than I ever will about everything, and that I'm an idiot before I get the chance to prove it to them or not. It just gets my hackles up. Possibly stems from my current feeling on certain members of our health care system, or the fact that I know wonderful mothers who have been told that their child isn't "thriving" according to their standards, and made to feel guilty and like awful mothers. They're not; they're inspirations.
Anyway. I managed to keep it together for the rest of the class until I got in the car and out of the parking lot, then leaked tears the whole way home before having a mini-meltdown in my kitchen while doing dishes. Poor Husband felt terrible when he came in after milking, and entirely guilty that he hadn't come, no matter how much I told him it was my fault, I had told him he didn't need to attend. He worries about me because I'm "fragile" which I feel anything but. I may not feel like a pillar of concrete, but even if I do get some cracks, I don't think I'll shatter.
