Cincinnati Midwife, Tina Pearson, answers your questions about midwifery care.

My daughter recently turned 2-years-old, and I’m a functioning person with a decent amount of balance in my life. I have a job, I have friends, I go on dates with my husband, I exercise, and, most importantly, I love my daughter to pieces. We did bond, even without breastfeeding and without me being my best in the beginning.

At first it was all about the excitement, and I had lots of people checking on me and calling me. I had visitors, calls, messages, and mail from people showing their love. It was all about gazing at her little face and being in total awe that she was here, out in the real world, and I wasn’t feeling her wiggle around inside anymore. I was just recovering physically and trying to get the hang of life with a newborn.

I remember my first birth. I had read all the books, had my bag of tricks and accompanying savior complex. I knew what birth should look like and I was determined to help my clients have it. It didn’t take long for me to realize just how misguided I was. Below are the five things I wish I’d known when starting out.

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What I perceive as Braxton-Hicks contractions are more frequent, lasting longer, and the strongest they’ve ever been. I think I knew, subconsciously, that it was right around the corner.

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She said we would continue talk therapy. It would help. I would slowly back off of my pumps and in June, when I weaned, I would start medication. I kept telling her I would get better if we just bought a house. If I could get organized. If Maggie would come back to the breast. If. If. If. I didn’t need medication. I would be fine. If only I could fast-forward this part of my life.

She had milestones. I didn’t record any. Each month passed by and I didn’t snap a styled photo like I had for her older sister. I didn’t write in her baby book, except to apologize for ruining us. I hoped she would forgive me. I didn’t take any videos or pictures. I never wanted to remember this time. Never. But, daily, I was reminded. Reminded that we weren’t normal. Reminded we were broken.

I had a new plan for the weekend. I would stay with my parents. I would power pump. I would cluster pump. I would get my supply up. We would attempt to latch then. I tried to busy myself with sewing while my mother fed my baby. I made her watch a paced bottle feeding video. I watched across the room in agony as she held the bottle in her mouth. I knew it was over then. I knew I would never get to be her mother.