9 mistakes I made when I had my first kid that I would never do again

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I wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. In fact, my husband and I started trying to have a baby less than a year after getting married. It was the one thing in my life in which I was certain that I would excel. And, I did. Together with my husband, I raised two intelligent, confident, caring, and generous human beings.

But I must’ve had luck on my side over the years, because I made my share of mistakes, especially when I had my first child.

I told people his name before he was born.

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I made the mistake of telling our friends and family what we'd decided to name our son very early into our pregnancy. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time, but little did I know that every person I'd encounter would have an opinion on our unborn child's name.

To make matters worse, I had a former co-worker who started referring to my belly by a nickname that happened to be the name of a family friend. Even though my husband and I knew we'd never use this nickname for our son, it began to taint the name we loved so much.

I knew that the next time around, I would keep the name to myself. In fact, my husband and I didn't decide on our daughter's name until minutes before she was born.

I allowed too many people into the labor and delivery room.

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I adore my family, but at 24 years old, I was not emotionally ready for anyone to peek between my legs every time the nurse came in to check my progression. Additionally, I believe that my fear of pooping on the table in front of a crowd of relatives subconsciously kept me from giving my all when trying to push a nearly 10-pound baby out of me.

This eventually led to a forceps delivery, an episiotomy, and a very painful recovery period. With my next child, I didn't allow anyone but my husband in the delivery room when it was time to push.

I felt shame for not being able to breastfeed.

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The hours immediately after giving birth were difficult and painful. I was given IV meds to "take the edge off" which caused my blood pressure to drop suddenly, and I was in and out of consciousness. By the time I could hold my son again, he was wailing uncontrollably and wouldn't latch. I couldn't sit up in the ways the hospital lactation consultant recommended, and the trauma of the entire day finally got to me. My husband, who was visibly shaken by the whole ordeal suggested that maybe we should ask the nurse for a bottle of formula, and I gratefully agreed.

By his next feeding, I was feeling a little better and tried nursing, but my son wasn't having anything to do with my breasts. I decided that I would keep trying, and pump in between feedings. For weeks, I pumped round-the-clock, but never got more than eight total of breast milk ounces per 24 hours. I was sad, frustrated, and felt so much shame that my body wasn't able to provide the one thing my son needed to thrive. Finally, after yet another fruitless pumping session, I decided that I would use the time I'd been spending crying while attached to a breast pump to bond with my son and get to feeling like myself again.

My baby needed a happy and mentally present mom, and if that meant that infant formula would nourish him in the ways my body couldn't, I would be OK with that.

See the rest of the story at Business Insider

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