ANDRA’S STORY
ANDRA’S STORY
Children are not for the faint of heart. They take dedication and a willingness to adapt because the one thing I have learned…they are not all created equal, so what works for one doesn’t necessarily work for another. Every parent learns that there are many dimensions of loving children.
For as long as I could remember I have always wanted children. When I was younger the amount exceeded any sane person’s thinking, but as an adult I became fascinated with idea of just having a child. One was good because then he or she could have my undivided attention. Besides, I knew that I could talk my soon to be husband into one, considering he didn’t want any at the time.
It became my personal mission to begin my journey into parenthood. I had almost given up my goal when we found out we were finally having our first. It was an exciting time and one that we were both anxious and excited about. The moment we saw our precious child, we knew that the road to that moment was worth it. To my surprise, my husband wanted more, eight more to be exact. He forgot that I needed to be on board with that decision.
Parenthood was perfect. Our first child was everything we expected of her. At four months old, we found we were expecting another baby. To be honest, at the time, I was not overjoyed. In fact, upset wasn’t quite the word for what I felt. I was enjoying motherhood for the first time and then everything changed.
As my pregnancy progressed so did my fears of dealing with two very young children. It wasn’t something that I was proud of, but I felt resentment and anger that life was not working as I had imagined. I didn’t have time to think or plan for baby number two. I was consumed by the complications of the pregnancy. I had begun to think that maybe my attitude towards the pregnancy was the contributing factor to all of the problems.
As my blood pressure climbed I knew that the inevitable was likely to come sooner rather than later. I didn’t want to have all the feelings of angst and despair, but I did and I wallowed in it. I visited the doctor’s office towards then end of the pregnancy and was told it was time. Inside I melted it was our first child’s birthday and we were going to miss it, but I knew it wasn’t the reaction that was expected of me so I put on my happy face and accepted the inevitable.
Delivery was a blur, everything happened so quickly, and when the nurse came back in shortly after, she asked for a name. “A name?”…I never thought that far ahead. All I had focused on was that I didn’t want that day to arrive. Looking back, I know how selfish that was, but I had been caught off guard. My hormones had still been raging after the first child, when a new amount surged through me again. It was all I could do to make it through the day.
My immediate response was to answer honestly, “I don’t know”. I didn’t think that I would, but after being pressed the next day several times, I finally answered…Alexandra and we would call her Andra. It was the second choice name we had for our first child, but it would have to do because we did not have another name picked out. With that settled I slipped back into my fears.
We took our second child home and it was all I could do not to compare the differences from one child to the next. From the moment we brought her home the differences were markedly different. She never settled. She always fussed and hardly ever slept unless she was swinging in the baby swing or rocking in her pumpkin seat. When she was awake she cried, and she slept in small increments. She was nothing like what we had experienced the first time around.
My body was tired and my mind preoccupied. Was this the punishment justification since I hadn’t wanted to get pregnant in the first place? I had begun to think I deserved everything and more for my initial reaction and selfish attitude toward the pregnancy. In my heart I really wanted to try and welcome her with the same enthusiasm I had showered my first child.
But nothing seemed to go as I envisioned it. Andra was difficult, and that was stating it mildly. She didn’t take a bottle, not even in emergency situations when she was hungry and I wasn’t nearby. The crying never ceased, even when she was held she cried. I was at my breaking point. We would drive with her in the car and she slept as long as the car was moving. If we stopped at a light or a stop sign, she would begin to wail at the top of her lungs.
There was little sleep. I read every book, asked for advice, and put into practice some of the suggestions, but there were little results to my efforts. The only way that worked was if I stayed with her and let her rock in the baby swing. We only had a hand cranked on at the time, and every time it slowed or stopped she would cry. I was at my breaking point.