The Shit Will
Hit the Fan
THE COOL THING ABOUT being organized is that it minimizes the chaos in your life. Order also has an extremely calming effect on our spirit, which is why I’m going to harp on it throughout this book. I want you to be able to relax into your new life with your baby, instead of worrying about where your breast pads are.
Now that the baby’s home, you’re taking the time to get to know them. You’ve recognized that you’re not supermom, and so you’re letting people help, asking Mom or someone else close to stay a while if at all possible, or at least to visit regularly. You’re mentally prepared for the fact that the unexpected will happen. And you’re keeping a close eye on yourself and your partner for any signs of being overwhelmed or in despair, and getting help immediately if anything crops up.
Now let’s move on to the good stuff.
And that’s okay.
The shit will hit the fan at different stages for everybody. As I’ve mentioned, our first daughter was a challenge the minute we brought her home. What I haven’t shared with you — and is in fact the best part of this story — is that shortly after delivery, as in hours, Brianna latched nicely onto my breast. My doctor came in to check on us. Keep in mind, this was 1989, and I had chosen a doctor who had a lovely bedside manner and delivered babies at the newest, most state-of-the-art hospital that Toronto had at the time. He was bringing babies into a world where labour and delivery happened in what looked like a swanky hotel room, and because I was scared shitless, that alone was good enough for me. Delivering there was the best decision I had made in my young life, right after picking Yannick as a life partner. It was seriously a joy; the nurses were divine, happy, and excited to be working in such a tranquil place, bringing new tiny humans into our big, beautiful world. In fact, if I had wanted to, had I known more about childbirth, I could have had a midwife or a doula with me, and had a water birth! It was the epitome of chill. And delivery was, I’m sorry to brag, pretty easy, too. At least, once they put me on the necessary Pitocin drip to induce me, because my water had broken, but Brianna was so comfy in there she didn’t want to come out. Once your water breaks, the clock is ticking. Brianna needed to get out of there as my amniotic fluid was gone! Thanks to the above-mentioned “drip,” which encourages your body to help the baby vacate the building quickly, I delivered her within six hours.
You see, my body really likes to get pregnant fast and furious, but it doesn’t feel quite the same way about delivering the babies to the world. So until I was induced, my labour was super slow. I would dilate little by little, until bam! All of a sudden, within a couple of hours, I would go from “hey, can you bring me a burger?” to squeezing Yannick’s arms with a death grip while doing my best “hoo hoo hahh” breathing. Even if I’d wanted an epidural, by the time it fully kicked in, I would have already delivered the baby. So, ladies who are adamant about getting the epidural, just be mindful that you can miss your window of opportunity. Now, had I had to labour longer than six hours, I’m not quite sure I would be sitting here telling the story so happily. Don’t hate me, but I also needed no stitches — as in zero, zilch, nada. Yannick likes to take all the credit for that because he happily performed the vaginal “stretching exercises” our Lamaze teacher encouraged us to do. And my kids thankfully had lovely, tiny skulls. (Such considerate daughters from the get-go!) It was a good time. So good that I let them send me home when Brianna was thirty-six hours old, because hello, I had this! In fact, even my doctor who came in the next morning to check on me thought we were amazing, that we were naturals at the breastfeeding game, the sleeping game, all of it. He even went so far as to lean over Brianna, stroke her teeny-tiny head, and declare, “This is the happiest, most contented baby I’ve ever delivered. You will have such an easy time with her. Congratulations.”
And that, my friends, is how my GP cursed me and my beautiful newborn daughter.
I believe wholeheartedly that it was right then and there that he reversed our fortune. As much as we had had it in the hospital hours before we were discharged, it became an entirely different scene the moment we got home.
When we got home, our shit hit the fan immediately, and it became really clear, really fast that I, we, did not have it. At all.
I had no milk, I had no patience, and I had no fucking clue.
I was way out of my league. She was a difficult baby, because as we now know, she suffered with many allergies. Back in a day when there weren’t a lot of non-wheat, non-dairy, non-soy options — not that we knew that was what she needed, anyway — this was challenging, to say the least. She suffered for months because we just didn’t know what was wrong with her; even our GP was stumped. Bless his heart, but he wasn’t the sort of guy who was going to send us to somebody who would know. It just wasn’t his way. We were too young, too battle weary to even think to ask, and it wasn’t like we could go online to research alternative care for her, because in 1989 there was no internet.
How is that for a WTF moment for you?
I know that some of you don’t know life without the internet. But that resource is very, very recent in the evolution of human events and babies. When we brought our beautiful first-born daughter home, we were completely alone, young, and lost. My heart still aches as I write about Brianna’s first six months of life. It didn’t get easier until her teeth started to come in and she needed less and less baby formula, being able to eat more “adult food” on her own. Life got easier for all of us when that happened. But eating adult food still didn’t help much with her sleep. In fact, at thirty-one, she still doesn’t sleep well. Poor girl.
The temperament of your new little person will have a lot to do with your shit hitting the fan. For Yannick and me, man oh man, did we have some knock-down, drag-out fights in those first few months. Remember when I told you about the fists in the walls and doors? Well, not all of them were thanks to Brianna screaming at the top of her lungs, or not sleeping or eating. Some had to do with the fact that we were incredibly tired, stressed-out, young, and overwhelmed. Maybe you’re totally prepared because you have been planning on having your baby for five, ten, fifteen, or twenty years. Congratulations, that’s awesome. But it doesn’t always work out that way. The whole mothering thing was sprung on me; it hadn’t really occurred to me that I would have children. Yet here I am, three young women later, and I honestly have never done anything quite as rewarding, or challenging. So, no matter what your plans or intentions are, there is a high probability that at some point, the shit is going to hit the fan, meaning things are going to get so overwhelming and intense that you or your partner, or both, are going to lose it. You might as well be prepared.
How do you prepare for something you don’t know is coming? It won’t be the same for everybody. For some of you, it might not be that intense — not everyone is going to need to ram their fist into a wall — and you might even doubt that it’s coming at all. But let me assure you, whether you have a mild case of shit-fan-hitting, or yours is more of a “we can’t even see the fan because of all the shit that is hitting it,” I can assure you that on some level it is coming for you.
You may still doubt that I know what I’m talking about, because hey, I don’t know you, I don’t know your partner. Maybe neither of you are wall-punching, door-busting sort of folk. Well, okay, you may very well not have those tendencies at all, BBA. BBA, you might even argue respectfully, never raising your voices, letting the other person finish their thought, ensuring their statement is complete before you respond. You may be the best conflict-resolving couple on the entire planet, BBA. But I am here to tell you that we weren’t the door-busting, wall-punching sort of fighters, either. We didn’t get like that until we had gone weeks without a full night’s sleep, combined with feeling so out of our depth that we questioned whether we were good at anything at all.
Having a baby changes a person.
Don’t expect to have anything go the way it used to in your relationship. Unlike your best girlfriends who have already gone down this road but didn’t share any truths with you, I’m here to tell you that parenting is like nothing you’ve ever done. It is all new. You are all new, so be ready for some serious change. Just like in Game of Thrones, “Winter is coming.” Trust me, from my experience, shit is going to fly.
You might be reading this, saying, “Shit, Sunshine Shantelle, at it again with a whole lot of uplifting, encouraging advice. I kinda hate this.” To that, I say good. I’m glad it’s upsetting you. You know why? The truth is sometimes difficult to swallow, but wouldn’t you rather go into this new lifetime venture having all the facts? True facts, even if they’re ugly. I know I would.
Remember what I said in the Introduction, about how it’s going to be war? You don’t go into a war wearing rose-coloured glasses, carrying only a flask of water and a white flag. No. You go in prepared, because you want to come out of it alive. Parenting is the same. You want to raise your new human to be an amazing one — one that you even want to spend all your time with. I’m on your side. I want you to end up with strong, fantastic relationships, not only with your children, but with your partner as well. Perhaps most importantly with your partner because, hey, when the kids are gone, that’s who you’ll be left with.
The truth is I want you to have it all, because you can. It’s going to take a huge commitment from you, and a great deal of work, but I believe you can do this.
Something else I want to bring up here, while we’re on the difficult subject of truth. The truth is I want you to succeed. The truth is I wish I had known then what I know now. Isn’t that always the way of life? Twenty-twenty hindsight? Parenting is the toughest job you will ever have in your life, but it is also the most fulfilling, most rewarding one. If you do it right. If parented right, your children will grow up to be your favourite people in the world. You will drop any and all plans should one of your kids contact you and invite you out instead. This will be your reward for putting in the hard work right from the beginning. Yay, you!
Now that we know there will inevitably be challenges, how should you cope when the parenting or relationship train is going off the rails? For me, back then and even now, I find the best thing to do when I’m feeling overwhelmed is leave the room. To go catch my breath, be quiet and alone until I feel the upset slip away. Instinctively, I know this best, and I run hot, so I don’t always react calmly. It’s not my tendency to bite my tongue, which is why it’s so important (incase you’re like me) to have a place to retreat to.
This is important to plan BBA. You and your partner must determine where your “quiet” zone will be when the shit hits the fan. For example, if Yannick and I were having kids today, he would pick his garage. That would be his go-to spot, for sure. I would most likely pick my back garden, where I have a manmade waterfall that runs over rocks, making the most calming sound, and nature close at hand. Definite nerve-soothers for me. Get in touch with what calms you, what allows you to stop, regroup, and hit reset. When it all gets to be too much, it’s essential to be able to gather yourself, centre yourself, take some deep breaths and calm down. It may happen to both parents at the same time because your baby is in agony from teething. It may come about because you each thought the other was handling dinner, only to discover nobody planned dinner at all. And so on. Whatever the cause of the upset, the bottom line is you need to have an escape route, somewhere to go to when it all gets to be too much.
If your baby is fussing and you both just need a break, put them in a comfortable place in the crib and step back. I don’t know of any baby dying from crying alone for ten or fifteen minutes. Go and get yourself right. Take the time to settle down — your baby will thank you. Babies only know energy, so make sure yours is all good when you’re dealing with a cranky newborn.
When the baby first comes home, this might prove a difficult task. Trying to calm a newborn can be like attempting to put a jigsaw puzzle together without the photo. To make matters worse, this puzzle has lungs, and it screams at you when you put the wrong piece in the wrong spot. But once you figure it out, it can work like magic.
We discovered pretty early on that when Brianna got overtired, or if her stomach was bothering her, the only thing that brought her any sort of comfort was to be loaded into the car and taken for a drive. Sometimes, if we hadn’t fought during her hours of upset, we would both take her. If we hadn’t managed to keep our own tempers in check, one would stay home, regrouping, while the other enjoyed some quiet time to themselves in the car. Driving won’t necessarily be the thing that brings your baby back from the brink of a tiny-human meltdown, but whatever it is, try to figure it out early on. It will save you from many meltdowns of your own.
Maybe a nice, warm, candlelit bath with you can do double duty, calming both you and your baby down.
Maybe you can give your baby an ice-cold washcloth that’s been in the freezer for days to gnaw on, soothing sore gums.
And here’s a thing that can be surprising: your baby might just need to be left alone. They could be overstimulated and just want to be in their own space so they can fall asleep. Sometimes a baby will cry and cry, and then you put them down just to figure out what’s going on, and presto! The baby calms down. Just like you, sometimes even a baby just wants to be left alone.
Try everything until you hit the jackpot. By now you’ll be pretty attuned to your little person, so you’ll know which cry or scream represents which ailment and you’ll be able to act accordingly.
You might be saying, “How can I think about what’s going to calm my baby down during a meltdown if they aren’t even here yet?” This fear may make you anxious or panicked, making you doubt yourself before you’re even in that place. But guess what? It’s your baby. You will know what to do; you will figure it out. Because the alternative is to just stand there while your baby freaks out and screams for hours and you cry back at them. And you know what? That might happen, too. It happened to me a few times. Actually, who am I kidding — it was more than a “few times.” It was lots and lots and lots of times, if I’m being totally transparent with you, as all good friends should be. Right? Yeah, I’m putting all those “friends” who didn’t tell you about your sandpaper vag and your bowling-ball breasts on blast.
One night, when Yannick was filming a series in L.A., Mikaela, our youngest, was screaming her baby head off in our bed. I couldn’t get her to nurse, and there was nothing I could do to soothe her. She was my third baby. None of the tricks I had collected over the years of being a mom were working. I paced back and forth with her for what seemed like half the night. Finally, I couldn’t do it anymore. I held her at arm’s length and cried right along with her. I looked her in her little blue eyes and cried. Then I laid her on the floor in our big walk-in closet (and when I say “closet,” it was actually a bedroom that had been converted into a closet, so calm down, everybody, it’s not like I put her in a 2 x 6 closet with mirrored sliding doors) while I went and grabbed her bassinette. I wheeled the cradle into the closet, kissed her little face, our tears running into one another’s, and tucked her in, turned off the light, closed the door and left her there. I lay in my bed and cried until she stopped crying, and then finally I went to sleep.
As a parent of a newborn, you will have successes and defeats, but neither will define you. Just get back up and keep going. Eventually, you’ll become one of those cool moms who can say to a friend, “He does this all the time, believe me. He’ll be asleep within five minutes.” You will become a soothing and knowing-your-baby guru in no time.
And I know I’m like a broken record on this topic, but that’s because it is incredibly important — in fact, it might even be the most important piece of the new-parent puzzle: as I said in Chapter Three, if you’re not getting to the bottom of what ails your baby, get help. Don’t hesitate, don’t feel guilty, don’t feel embarrassed. Remember that it takes a village, so embrace all the help you can get. There’s zero shame in it. Believe me when I tell you that moments like mine with the closet should not be the norm for you. If they are, get help.
Please don’t allow any of this to put panic into your heart. Pretty early on, you will find out how to soothe your child. Trust me on this. Have I lied to you yet?
You know what the outcome was of that night in 1996 that I put Mikaela in the closet? I lived, and she lived. We made it through that night, and you, too, will make it through all of yours.
Now that we’re clear and confident about all that, let’s talk about the art of fighting with your partner — or rather, of making up after a fight. This was hard for me to learn, but when I really grasped the concept, it not only improved my marriage but also trickled into every other aspect of my life.
I actually really like this helpful little tidbit about what to do when the shit hits the fan, because it manages to completely defuse the situation every single time. It will also come in real handy as your newborn becomes a moving object and you overreact at them for spilling grape juice on your brand-new couch. (Which will totally happen, so get ready for it. If you want to avoid it because you own a ton of really expensive shit, don’t give them grape juice. Or just give them the clear grape juice, which freaks me out, because it’s not purple like grapes. That seems odd. Unless, of course, it is made from green grapes, which is entirely possible … Sorry, I digress. Let’s get back on point.)
Thirty-two years with my husband have taught me a great many things about myself, and one of them is to take ownership when I’m wrong. Whatever your relationship balance is, whether you’re the natural pain in the ass in your relationship or your partner is, it never hurts to apologize first for your part in things.
This was super difficult for me to learn. Like, nearly fucking impossible. I was like a vampire in the sunlight when I initially began to work on this. True humility is saying you’re sorry for your part of the shit hitting the fan, even when you didn’t start it. Taking ownership for your part even when your partner is still sulking over in the corner and giving you the cold pouty shoulder, and not in the cute sexy-lingerie-model way.
Listen, we’re all assholes, and we’re all wrong, a lot of the time. The sooner you come to terms with that and learn to say you’re sorry, the smoother your parenting will be, and the healthier your relationship with your significant other. And, although I love this philosophy and totally subscribe to it as an amazing way to live, I still find it incredibly difficult to execute. Why? Because I’m a giant pain in the ass. Which means I’m often at the centre of the shitstorm in my house.
But after all these years, I’m pretty good at apologizing. Try it, you might like it, because it also makes it super easy to then …
Have sex!