Somewhere nestled inside every mother, is the voice of their child(ren).
The voice that tells us when they're not feeling well and the voice that nags us when things just don't feel "right."
There is no other way I can explain this instinct, but each mom hears the whispers of their own child louder and more clear than anybody else far before their child can say the words out loud.
Sometimes the soft voices are meant only for us. Sometimes (most of the time), we have to channel that voice and use it. We have to speak up for our kids.
I have grown as both a woman and a mother in the last four years. I am engrossed in the world of motherhood and I read the links and hear the second handed research topics at play dates.
I know when there are new car seat regulations, and when the AAP changes their minds based off of a new study.
I know what my doctor recommends and what the strangers in the grocery store did to naturally induce labor or potty train their two year olds.
I hear the whispers (and sometimes not so subtle statements) from the childless friends who are somehow already perfect parents...like I was, before I was actually a mom.
I can hear them...but I know that they can't hear it. That voice, the one that tells me what is right for my son. It drowns them out and I choose to trust it first.
A big part of this, is simply saying "no." It is something that I have been doing a lot of lately.
It means signing that waiver, the one that waives responsibility of the medical professionals, and places both the decision and the blame solely on you.
It's a hefty responsibility, saying no.
It means that if things go wrong later, there is only one person to blame. I hear the reasons that parents consent to things that they aren't comfortable with, and most of the time it's "I would never forgive myself if I didn't __________."
It is the realization that some day, you will have to answer for the decisions you make.
I declined the vaccines that were recommended to me this pregnancy. For both myself and Eldon.
I decline cervical checks weekly.
When my OB just tried to bribe me with free parking if I would attend non-stress tests twice this week, I politely declined.
Somewhere in the advancement of technology, our own whispers are being hushed.
I can feel the reassuring kicks of a thriving baby and to me that speaks louder than the machine that prints out waves of heart rates and fetal movement. They look at the paper for a pattern that pleases them. That let them know he is ok. I could have told them that. I felt it.
They sneak in a quick word about cesarean sections and put limits on how long a pregnancy can last before they just intervene, with no exceptions for how well the baby is actually doing.
They convince women that their bodies don't know what to do or that they don't know what's best for their own children.
We do.
I wish that this confidence would have been present when I was pregnant with Eldon. I wish I would have listened to the whispers more. As I settled into motherhood, they became louder and louder until I was able to check the box next to "decline" and know that Eldon was safest in my bed.
This baby is already speaking to me, and while everybody else sits on their edge of their seats wondering what's taking him so long, I know that we know what we're doing.
We were made for this.
