The Car Accident - June 15, 2016

I've had a  lot of people ask me if I've shared my story about that morning a year ago. For those of you who are closest to my family, you know it well. Or maybe you heard about the actual accident but not what made it such a profound, life-changing thing. For anyone reading this who has only known me a short time, I write like a pissed off teenager, so don't be offended when I swear. For those of you who knew me before I became a Chriss, or for some, before I even met Eben, you're in for quite a story. Sit tight. I tend to ramble. 

If you're up for a read, please continue. Because this isn't just about a car accident. This is about how one day and one moment can completely alter your perspective on your situation, both in that moment and how you see the world in it's entirety. Before we dive into the worst morning of my 32 years on this planet, I will give you a brief History of Chriss; not a history of us as a family, but where we were in our lives when this event rocked our existence.

Eben and I had just celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary. All I could think of was the, "Seven Year Itch" thing. The year of 2015 was a huge one of change for us. Eben took a big career leap and I stepped up as breadwinner. With that came a seriously tight and controlled budget. I also took charge of getting our debt taken care of because in 2014 I was completely mortified and humiliated to realize we were undesirables as potential homeowners. We were living paycheck to paycheck, direct deposit to direct deposit. 

I don't know many people who had a stellar 2016, but when June rolled around Eben and I weren't in the best place in our lives, our marriage, or even our friendship. Most people won't admit that, let alone write it down, but I will say that marriage is pretty much no longer cupcakes and rainbows after the honeymoon. It turns out you have to work hard in life, and work hard on your loving commitment and partner's needs to function well. It's often tough to feel much more than that you're going through the married motions. We were functioning but that was about it. 

Eben may offer a different view, but in my mind, he was miserable working a less-than-thrilling job, although he loved the people he worked for and the work itself had it's limitations. It fit our needs. I was uncomfortable for the last year or so at my job because my best work buddy moved on and I didn't really fit in. There were parts of my job I loved, but I kept having to talk myself into why it wasn't really making me miserable, reassuring myself it was just my shortcomings that made things difficult. Mostly what I loved was the opportunity to make more money, although you have to bust your ass to get commission in this world. To put it simply, Eben and I were burned at both ends and scraping by to raise our perfect little 3-year-old redhead, Luna.

In the wake of feeling the weight of the world on us, me especially, and just trying to make ends meet and find some peace, Eben was about to leave for a week to check on his dad's health in Oregon and I thought we needed the break from each other. We had been having that never-ending fight of, "This is why you're an asshole and you need to change," with responses like, "I wouldn't have to be such an asshole if you'd quit being such a bitch and lay off of me!" We never got anywhere. We were on the long journey to the middle. We were just conforming to the day to day routine to coexist. In our softer moments we would sneak a movie line jab of, "I love you, but I don't have to like you right now," at each other, but that was the extent of it. 

We were in a shitty place but we had decided not to let our anniversary go un-celebrated. Our favorite, and insanely expensive French restaurant, had a frequent diner program and we were one card away from a free meal. All we would pay for was booze. We are Irish, so we can drink our money quite well but if you've met us, we can also eat most people under the table. It is impressive we aren't morbidly obese. I bribed a friend to give us one of their cards so we could live large on the anniversary. I got a free sitter the weekend before the big anniversary date and we went out in style. 

That was a good night for us. We had good wine and admitted to each other that we were horrible to one another and needed to make better choices. With the ambiance it was easy to buy the sentiment, just as easy as it was to buy the dessert. But two days later it was our actual anniversary and Eben insisted we get really good Chinese food. I, however, needed new makeup. We couldn't afford both. In an effort to save I tried a new makeup line at Walmart even though I detest having to shop at Walmart. Doing that and dinner with the toddler was stressful and I was in a horrible mood on that Tuesday. The food was at least good and I think then Eben conned me into champagne to drown my worries. 

The next day Eben was supposed to take Luna to a water play event at our local church, so they would be dropping me off at work and then going to play, getting things done around the house, which was filthy, and coming to pick me up before Eben went to work. I went to Boot Camp that morning and came home to get ready. This next part is one of those moments they would deadpan back to in a dramatic movie. I remember Luna was running everywhere, Eben was still asleep and I was using the last of my makeup. Luna was climbing on the toilet to watch me, bugging me as I ran around half-dressed yelling for Eben to wake from his stupor. I distinctly remember staring into the mirror as I put my eyeliner on and thinking to myself, "How will we ever get our own house? How will I ever get what I want out of life? This feels impossible." And in that moment I gave myself a stare and told myself, "Fine, I'll fucking do it all myself if I have to." I rushed to get all three of us out of the house on time, and was not successful. 

I had had this weird thing about not letting Luna leave the house in pajamas. We might not have our lives together but we should always be able to put our child in real clothing to leave home. June 15th, 2016 Luna left the house in her pajamas and we left in a frenzy. On the way to work -- the same way we take every day -- we were at the signal to turn left onto the street we always take, and in the intersection we saw an accident happen. Not a big one, no major injuries, but it blocked the traffic and I was already bitching about being late. Eben saw an opening to take the long way, so as not to sit and watch the circus, and took it. I want to add, we had never, ever, ever taken that way to get me to work. Ever. Mostly because the highway my work was situated on was scary and dangerous,  but that route was also completely out of the way on a normal morning.

I remember making the left onto US-19 and looking at the one-mile plus long line of traffic parked on the highway and complaining. I was bitching at Eben as Luna blissfully watched Chicken Little on Eben's phone in her car seat. I remember saying, "Look at this parking lot as a highway! It's going to take me forever! I'm going to be late. AWESOME!" We fought about the lateness and then Eben refocused my energy on the weird Volvo hatchback in front of us. Then I put my phone in my purse and put my purse on the floorboard. That was when it happened. And I'll never forget the sound, although I'm pretty sure I got knocked unconscious for the actual impact.

We were completely stopped for over 3 minutes when a red Ford F-150 slammed into the back of Marietta the Matrix, the first car we had ever purchased on our own, going a whopping 45+ miles an hour. June 15th, 2016 right around 8:25am our world was rocked. There were no brakes. I didn't hear the breaks. I remember the sound of the crunching metal and the broken glass. Just writing about it makes me shiver and cry. We were smashed into the weird Volvo hatchback, which his another car and a Suburban stopped the impact. We ended up completely turned around on 19. 

I woke quickly out of panic and adrenaline into a fog from the impact. I came to screaming and punched the shit out of the airbag to free me to get to Luna. Nothing else entered my mind but that baby. Not Eben, not me. LUNA. I got myself turned around to see her coming out of the shock from the hit with fluttering eyelids. There was a burst of dirt, and debris; a haze. Among the deafening noises from the impact I heard Eben moaning and just started yelling at him about the baby, my baby, about my Luna. My seat had crushed her legs from the airbag throwing me back. I WANTED OUT OF THAT FUCKING CAR.

I started yelling at Luna trying to get her to wake. A bag of gardening dirt had popped open from the trunk and covered us in a fresh brown confetti. Luna looked dirty and fragile, with a small scrape under her eye. She was slowly coming to as I tried to Hulk-smash and grab my seat back to free her. After several failed attempts and not thinking clearly enough to use the lever designed to adjust it, I just unbuckled her from her car seat with trembling hands so someone could free her. That's when I tried to open my car door. It wouldn't open and wave two of panic and hulk mom came in. I realized we couldn't get out I used my Croc wedges, half off of my foot, to try and kick the door out screaming, "My baby! Someone please get my baby out of the car."

The getting out of the car part was and still is blurry. I can tell you that an angel named Penny got me out and helped me sit on the median. An off-duty security guard was holding Luna as she whined and cried but somehow wasn't in hysterics. I could see her ankles turning purple but I couldn't quite grasp everything at that moment. An off duty EMT got Eben out. As horrible as this sounds, I didn't even care about Eben. I left him in that car. But I didn't care about myself either. I just cared about Luna. I remember being afraid she was severely hurt and crying, "She's so smart, please don't let anything bad happen, she's so smart!" 

The security guard just comforted Luna. He held her, standing straight up and keeping her close. He was just sweating and calming my toddler until the ambulance arrived. Eben was holding his ribs and looked completely confused. They got us both sitting on the median of the highway and Eben started petting my leg and slowly saying, "It's okay. We're okay." 

I remember looking at Luna and then someone asked me, "Are you okay, Ma'am?" I remember saying, "Well yeah, I think so, my head hurts, but..." That's when I reached behind my head to touch and I remember pulling my hand back and it was completely covered in blood. "Oh my god!," I screamed and my hand shook. It was at that exact moment that I looked at my daughter, bruised, dirty and scared, and then looked at my delirious husband and somehow thought this was a punishment. Punishment for what? For anything! For not being a good person, for taking my family for granted, for not being enough of something! Yes, punishment crossed my weary mind.

It seemed like the ambulance took forever. Penny later confirmed it kind of did. They were asking us all kinds of questions. I remember the driver of the truck, who of course was unscathed, coming to me frantically to apologize saying he had kids of his own and he was horrified. He looked oddly familiar to me but I couldn't place him in the mania. We found out a week later he went to our church. Eben was extremely confused. When the EMTs arrived they asked us everything and Eben had no idea what year it was. He thought Bush was still president. They got him loaded up for the head trauma unit and on his way to Bayfront in St. Pete. They kept Luna and I together. There was another woman at the scene who let me use her phone, because I needed to call work. It was the only time I had ever called out. 

I could barely hear the receptionist and she could barely hear me. It didn't work. Then Penny brought me my purse and I called. No one that I trusted with the information was immediately available and it ended up falling on the owner's son. I'm sure I scared him to death. When Penny asked me, "Do you have anyone who you would want to call?," I felt so lost. We lived nowhere near family. And the closest family members we had weren't necessarily good in a crisis. There were two options, and the first had a 4 month old baby so...not very conducive to an all day hospital affair. The other option was less than 2 miles away, Luna knew her well, and I knew she was the best mother ever who could handle what we had been through. 

I called my in-town Boot Camp mom, Colleen, and she somehow beat us to the hospital. By the time they loaded us in the ambulance they put me on the flat board with the neck brace-thing, and Luna in a new car seat safely, she was coming to more and more and asking for water. The EMT who rode with us said as a medical professional he needed to suggest a neck brace on Luna but as a dad, it could agitate her and she seemed good, so we should let her be, but he did have to suggest it medically. I went with his fatherly opinion. When she started talking with the guy about Chicken Little I cried in relief. They kept calling me Mrs. Chriss and it sounded so weird to me. We didn't even have insurance, should I just be "Unfortunate Mom of adorable toddler?" That's all I was, just Luna's mom, bruised and worried. That was it. Penny had a daughter less than a year younger than Luna and loaded us up with snacks, coloring books and juice and then went on her way. 

When they got us in, they kept Luna and I in the same room. Colleen was right there and I remember saying to her, "Oh, thank God, please stay with Luna." They were asking me everything. I hurt everywhere but my head was throbbing. I was also getting more and more fatigued. They separated us for X-Rays, Colleen followed Luna for all her tests, and then they went to check all my internal damage. They had to cut off my work shirt, which was covered in blood down the back but I said they couldn't hurt my bra. It was new and expensive; we could barely afford it as it was so I certainly couldn't afford to have it ruined. 

I shivered and was uncomfortable through all the tests. The worst was the CT scan, I almost vomited and passed out. Colleen stayed with Luna for everything and updated me, my head feeling worse and worse. When we met back in the room they told me the news for both of us. I was very very bruised, with the worst of my injuries being a laceration on the back of my head that would require staples. Luna had two broken legs. One full femur and the other clean at the ankle. I remember her yelling at the nurses with her sass, "Just leave me alone guys! Get off of me! No don't touch!" When they told her they needed to cut off her pajamas, she thought that was the most awesome thing ever and calmed down a bit. 

They told me that Luna needed surgery to get her put back together, that I'd be discharged and we would be taken by ambulance to St. Joseph's Children's hospital in Tampa. Eben was at Bayfront but we had no news. Colleen had called his job and told them he wouldn't be in. They gave Luna something for the pain and Colleen said she would get me some clothes from Target and help us get settled, meeting us over in Tampa. 

I remember when they put the staples in my head only two legitimately hurt. One of the sweet nurses helped clean up my blood soaked back. I thought I could at least sneak a nap but being uninsured, they let me go quite quickly. I had to wear XL green scrub pants, hospital socks and one of Colleen's son's fishing shirts in the ambulance ride. This time I had to sit up front. When they loaded us up, it was tough to get in. I'd been hurting more and more. With till no update on Eben, I faced my next mission: making sure someone took care of the dog.

I quickly sent a text to Eben's best friend, Matty, who had our spare house key and stayed with us from time to time. I told him not to freak out, but let him know what happened, and why we needed care for Brodie the pug. He couldn't get away from school and work. It was then that good intentions went awry and social media hell broke loose. Matty posted something sweet asking for prayers for us and tagged us on Facebook. My phone went INSANE. Everyone was checking on us, everyone was worried and freaking out. 

We got Brodie care in place and arrived at the Children's hospital. I could tell how good I looked by the reactions of the nurses watching me hobble slowly behind Luna in the hospital bed with splints. We were in the waiting area and they started talking about surgery and doing MRIs and all the things. When they got her comfortable and rested, that's when I had to address the Facebook onslaught and hysteria. I called the important family heads and started a phone chain. I posted letting everyone know what was going on, as much as we had known at that moment. Colleen brought me warm clothes, shoes, and magazines and got me some soup because I hadn't eaten. Luna could have nothing, not even water because she was officially"pre-op."

The chaplains between hospitals acted as communication letting me know that Eben was fine and stable with only minor, short term head wounds. When we got in our official room later, we could call him. After the Facebooking, and during the whole just sitting and waiting thing I checked in with some of the people closest to our hearts. I managed to keep it together and not break down, until I spoke to my lifelong friend, Angela, and I finally broke down crying while looking at Luna asleep on the bed and admitted, "This really fucking sucks."

I'd left my mom a message but was relieved she lived 4 hours away and had yet to return the call. When my Pastor and friend, Kevin, messaged me saying, "Hey I want to be there for you, is there anything you need?," my quick response was, "A phone charger," and reply his was, "I can do that!" At this point I will confess that my lifelong argument with my faith, my love-hate relationship with religion, God and all things preachy and such, was not what I wanted to deal with. I didn't want prayers, I didn't want someone to hold my hand and assure me God would take care of us. I needed someone to just sit with me and let me feel like everything was fucking horrible that day. I just needed time to process it. 

When Kevin arrived and saw Luna, he looked mortified. And that was some of the best comfort I had received all day. Yeah, shitty things really happen sometimes. Colleen stayed with me through when we met the surgeon. She even dealt with my crazy mother. The accident happened at 8:35am and Luna was due for surgery around 8pm. It felt like the longest day ever. 

The surgeon came to show me everything and explain it to Colleen and Kevin and I. Luna gave the surgeon the stink eye and was super sassy and rude. The surgeon said he liked that kind of attitude and it would serve her well in her recovery. One thing not every person knows about me is my struggle with depression and anxiety. It was diagnosed and I got treatment in my early twenties. It's not something easy for me to talk about. I overthink, I stress very easily and I always worst-case scenario everything. So, I was ready to hear that Luna would have Forrest Gump-like metal braces, she would be in a wheelchair for years, or that she would have a long recovery. It was then that the surgeon said the magic time frame of within 6 weeks! In just 6 weeks the casts would be off and recovery would begin!

The following Sunday, Kevin mentioned us in his sermon. Specifically about how he could see the faith coming over me as this happened. Without even hearing myself he noted that I said, "I can do that. She can do this. We can do that, to every note about the wheelchair, the sponge baths, the time for being lazy versus active, the diapers, all of it. When Kevin and Colleen had to leave it  a few hours before surgery time. This was what frightened me the most...waiting. Just sitting and waiting. I told the Doctor to overshoot it. Tell me 3 hours, not 2.5 because at that exact time if she was not out, I would lose my mind!

So next I called in my dependables: two couples that are closest to us and know us best. One of them, it had been much too long since we'd seen them. They offered me Burger King and even though that is admittedly my least favorite fast food, that whopper tasted so damn good. They came and commiserated with me. They shared some struggles they had been having with me, and they helped distract me and they got me to laugh.

The other couple just came to help with the distraction and keep me sane. They lived closer to the hospital and stayed a little later. Luna came out of the surgery fine but just looked small and fragile. Both of my female friends broke down when they saw her. I took it in stride that she did great. Poor baby just wanted water and all she could have was ice. She refused. Now it was time to get her comfortable. Now it was time to wind down and boy was it late. 

When they finally got us to our own room, I found we had a private shower. There was a little bed/couch for me to sleep on too. The nurses kept saying, "Do you need anything mom? Are you doing okay?," but I barely asked for a thing. It was all about Luna. That night , late like 10 or 11pm, our friends Grayson and Amanda stayed with me. I couldn't take a full shower or wash my hair because of my head staples. But my entire head of hair was caked and covered in blood. I desperately wanted to clean up but we couldn't get the hot water in the shower to work. 

Grayson sat and watched a movie with Luna. Amanda came into the bathroom with me to help me clean up. I probably scarred her for life. We couldn't use too warm of water on my head either. I remember being just in my bra and underpants and freshly bruised. I was purple, black, and blue and getting more and more sore and stiff by the minute. Amanda was alternating a hot wash cloth on my chest and back, while luke-warm hand washing the stale blood from my hair. I remember just shaking from exhaustion and from being cold in the hospital. She got me cleaned up and they went home and promised to check on us the following day, as we were told a good 48 hours before we could think about going home.

I was able to call Eben to let him know Luna did fine on her surgery. But I remember when they finally got her comfortable and we could sleep, I tried to get comfy on the couch bed and just started bawling and shaking. I was wide awake. I had a friend living in a time zone that was 6 hours ahead of me who was waking for the next day and he ended up consoling me via Facebook Messenger as I just completely broke down. I was so angry that my little girl was broken and hurt; angry that Eben was a city away from us and I had to parent alone in an emergency. I was angry that this uprooted our entire existence and my baby would spend her summer in a wheelchair. I was angry that I felt so useless all at the same moment as feeling like it was all on me! 

Then I was overcome with the feelings of being grateful and felt blessed to be alive; so happy that we all survived something so horrible and wouldn't sustain permanent damage. It was such a whirlwind. The first step of all of our recovery, was accepting help. I am the absolute worst at that. I admitted to my friends Melissa and Kelly (two mothers I admired for their organization and sanity amidst having 2 boys each) that my house was filthy and I think it would hurt too much for me to sweep and deep clean for awhile. Being the wonderful mothers that they are, they cleaned my horrible house, stocked the fridge and pantry with necessities, even BEER (thanks again Kelly) and then had the boys get us flowers and make little gifts for Luna!

We'd had hospital visitors bring Luna toys and just offer comfort and entertainment and most importantly, non-hospital food. My boss at the time, it was his wife that was the living angel who introduced Luna to Panera Mac and Cheese and got her to eat for the first time in 48 hours. Eben had had many visitors too, which was comforting for me to know he was taken care of since I was not leaving Luna's side.

Colleen was still my number one. She got the new car seat, got us home from the hospital and got us one of the most amazing gifts we could ask for that was ready for our arrival home. Sidenote: We had been sleeping on a king mattress on the floor of our room. Luna had fallen onto the hardwood out of our queen with the crib sidecar-ed to it, and we never could afford a bed frame. But I couldn't lift Luna in and out of that bed with her casts and neither could 8 broken-ribbed Eben. Then again, Eben could barely lie down with broken ribs, let alone be that low to the ground. So when we arrived home to the clean house two long days after the accident, Colleen, her sons, and Kelly had gotten us a new-to-us King bed frame, box spring and mattress that was all set up and made so we could all sleep comfortably. When I saw that I cried on Colleen our of relief and joy. Blessings  are everywhere, in all forms.

We had so much help. SO MUCH HELP. The list is not just the people mentioned in here. Eben's work set up a benefit for us, my friend and Boot Camp Trainer took donations for us and had people send food. Another Boot Camp friend mowed our lawn every other week for 2 months and would bring me coffee when he arrived! We had people spoil the crap out of Luna with activities, attention, toys and so much love! We had friends and family physically take us where we needed and help for months. We had family members fly or drive down from Oregon to help take care of Luna and the house. 

It took a long time for me to get past the shock though. It felt more like a curse and less like a blessing for the first few months. The support, the love and the people were instant blessings, but the incident itself, it has taken me forever to embrace the good that has come from it. I still have severe PTSD from the crash; the sounds, the impact and the adrenaline of coming to. Randomly I will get pretty bad nightmares about the whole thing. Luna talks about it a lot, which we encourage, and she is physically fully healed. Eben has also made a real recovery after surgery and physical therapy. 

So here we are a year later. Our marriage is still a huge work in progress and didn't get any better with the accident. We became stronger as parents because of the accident, but are still working on our strength as a couple. With all of the gains have come some pretty serious growing pains, but the accident has afforded us that which we did not have beforehand. We learned how important it is to have a village and I have tried to very seriously and continuously appreciate those people who did so much for us in ways we couldn't have before. 

Now I won't say that I am a born again Christian or that my faith is rock solid or that I'm a believer in all things Biblical, but I will say that through such a horrible and traumatic event I did get closer to God and understanding my faith. I allowed myself to better explore my relationship with God again and with the church. I realized that God gave each one of us what we could handle, and what we could grow from. I've been bruised and a complete mental mess most of my life, but I can weather a good storm and kick some serious parental ass when I need to. Luna is young enough to heal fast and bounce completely back. She will wear it with pride and be even stronger because of it. And Eben has had so many broken bones and surgeries; he knows exactly what to expect and he can deal with it all. 

God's timing is very much perfect, whether you like it or not, and sometimes really shitty things just happen. And it's not about if you're a good enough person or even if you're the worst person ever, it's just a part of life. And I'll never say that everything is cupcakes and rainbows, but we are finally in a position where we can work on continuing to grow. We found our place, our tribe. And in some ways, it sucks that something like that had to happen to bring us to such a point where we could connect with people and reconnect with each other, but after some serious reflection, I definitely appreciate the evolvement and the event that spurred it.

So when I tell people about this car accident, it profoundly affected me because it made me more aware. It was a wake up call for my faith, my trust and my strength. I'm no longer so obsessed with the haves and the have-nots. I don't see life as some race. We all have our burdens and we all carry things that some will not understand. But it wasn't some absence of God that day, in fact that presence was made clear. It was more an unfortunate event.

Some of the good that came from the accident still presents new trials and tribulations. Some of the bad things that came from it, still resound loudly. I'm not the same person that was in that car on her way to work last year. And I don't want to be. Not because I'm better than I was by any means, but I'm owning more and more the work in progress that I am. I'm owning the mess and the beauty in the breakdown. I've had some wonderful people remind me how far we've come in a year, and it's leaps and bounds. New jobs, new home ownership, new opportunities for Luna, new challenges for our family that we embrace, and a new appreciation for life. Because all it takes is a moment to change everything; a change in your direction, a wrong turn, a right turn. And I've had to face that fact that we have no real control. And writing that down is one of the biggest blessings I could ever bestow, because I am a queen bee control freak! 

We will forever be changed by that day. And after some serious reflection, a lot of tears and a mountain of support and understanding, I wouldn't ask to remove that morning from our story for anything. And I will continue to share and reflect for years to come!

Life is Short and So Am I

So within the last month, I've lost a family member, had a coworker (okay my favorite and best friend of a coworker) leave for greener pastures, and found out another coworker is terminally ill. So this could get heavy.

My family member and I, I can't pretend we were super close. In fact, we'd become estranged. He was an amazingly free spirit and the world is far darker without him. And now we just have some shirts, some movies, a coffee table, a toy and some kitchenware to remember him by. Life is completely unappreciated, and it's not something you just "get over and move on" from. 

The coworker, definitely a great stride in leaving. The decision was best and all that's left is happiness. But things have been quiet and rough without the company. You don't realize how much you depend on someone until they aren't there. And I'm one of those people who gets completely terrified at the feeling of needing someone.  We still keep in touch but I feel completely left behind. And in some ways, that's what I need. I need to move on. But sometimes it's just nice to feel important to someone, which I cherish knowing that I matter to someone not legally bound to me by paper or chromosome.

This other coworker: I won't pretend we had more than the, "Hi, how are you, beautiful weather," conversation but I truly respected this guy and thought it was so nice for him to go out of his way to be polite. When you work in a man's world, you're often overlooked as a female and this gentleman was indeed that by definition. And he disappeared. Now I don't nose around asking if he got fired. Another friend told me he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and had six months to live without treatment at just 57 years old.

So of course I'm having that life affirming, mid life crisis: What the fuck am I doing?

I wasted countless hours combing pinterest for inspirational everything. Friends who knew I was in a funk offered kind words. Here is my summation, and if you know me at all, it won't be a short as I am.

I've made some shitty choices. I've hurt as many people as I've been hurt by. I enjoy a good cry mourning over all of these things. I still miss the one that broke my heart and always will. If I didn't have my husband, my life would be vacant in every way. There are so many different kinds of friends, you really have to hold on to the ones who don't break you on a daily basis.

You can apologize as much as you want for your mistakes, and it's almost impossible to just forget, but if people can't let go of the past, or at least learn from it, then you can't fix anything. No one is perfect, least of all the ones who look the best on Facebook. There is no secret to life. You live and you die. Try to live the best you can.

I have anxiety and serious bouts of depression. My mother thinks I make these things up. My husband thinks I'm overdramatic, and I only have one friend who completely understands me. I feel lonely a lot. Everything is fleeting. Capture as many moments as you can as quickly as you can. 

And I think the biggest thing I need to say in this moment: My biggest regrets in my 30 years are all of the things I've never said. Not the things you should never say out loud, but the things that I've need to say FOR ME. Selfish? Absolutely. But I intend to speak up. I'm small, I'm short, but I'm seriously loud. And because we really have such numbered days on this planet, I won't stop running my mouth until my time has run out! 

You've been warned!

The One Who Never Was

You know those guys we idolized in late middle school and high school? The ones who grow from cute to handsome and sweet to heartbreakers in the span of a summer? We've all had one. They are the ultimate crush. Maybe you never had the courage to even speak to them. Maybe you were the brace-faced girl in the friend zone. Maybe he went for football and you went into drama and your worlds could not collide.

Every girl has had one of these. Mine was my friend since about 4th grade and he always got back at the boys who did me wrong but never tried to do so much as even hold my hand. He was...and still is adorable and crush-worthy. We stayed friends in high school but he was the guy who was "too cool" for sports, dances and social events. Such a rebel, eh? We exchanged glances and simplistic conversations but we never really flirted much. 

When my parents split up and I moved out of state to be with my mom, I never got a real goodbye with him. I always regretted that. My BFF told me he'd ask about me from time to time but this was just before the dawn of Myspace and Facebook so if you didn't have an AIM chat, you had nothing. When Facebook did become a must I instantly found him. He'd stayed in the same town, and became devastatingly handsome. When he accepted my friend request I had just gotten married and moved to a new state.

We didn't talk much. More of a "Hi, hello, how are ya?" I still visited my hometown often so there was always that "Let's grab a drink," vague invitation from time to time. I never thought much of anything. I was very happily married. Occasionally my mind wandered down the "what if," "maybe," and "should have" area but other than that, nothing.

A few years ago when I'd also found the power of Instagram he saw pictures of a trip home and mentioned my parents. He'd remembered my mom and dad throwing various events, birthday parties, Halloween parties, chaparoning  dances. I was still working off the baby weight and not remotely confident. He was engaged to be married the following year. We'd missed an opportunity and said a "Maybe, next summer, " and that was it.

About 8 months later, he messaged me on Facebook and asked when we'd be in town. He asked how I was and we had a full on conversation. We talked about my job, the kiddo, his work, his fiance, the upcoming wedding and the normal stuff. Then he told me he'd had a crush on me in high school. Butterflies. This is 16 years later and this guy says, "I was into you," and it's like being fourteen and getting a Valentine from him.

It was nice to know. He asked if we could meet up and I didn't think anything of it. I jumped at the chance. I could apologize for not saying a better goodbye and get some closure. I could see him in person and we could catch up. My first suggestion was meeting up at the park so he could meet my daughter and husband, and I could meet his fiance. He told me she traveled for work a lot and he wasn't kid friendly. He asked if just I could get away for dinner or a drink.

Now the circumstances under which my parents divorced were very vague for anyone not in our family. And I felt like I should explain to him, given our elementary school friendship. I told him I'd let my husband know and we could plan. I hate Facebook messenger so I gave him my number so he could text.

After a few days, the text messages became rather flirtacious. And at first, it's flattering and you feel like it's a compliment but then I realized that I was being a little naive. It dawned on me that I was his mid-life-almost-thirty-about-to-get-married crisis. He came to me to escape his immediate reality. 

I kind of swept it all under the rug and just kept things under wraps because I wanted to see him. My parents divorced really messed up my teen years beyond normal stresses (that'll be a book one day, trust me!). I needed this...vindication, or a chance to just talk to someone about what happened. We kept planning to meet and talking and then a month before I was scheduled to arrive in my home town and a few weeks after he and his new wife tied the knot, he disappeared.

He blocked me and my BFF on Facebook and Instagram and stopped texting me. And then I got mad. This dreamboat, this heartthrob and the crush of my childhood turned into a slimy, skeezy guy! I knew I wouldn't see him when we visited and after a few days of feeling completely rejected I realized this was for the best. Maybe I would have seen him and gotten into an uncomfortable situation. What if I was keeping it casual and he grazed my leg or something. That is how affairs start in the movies. I could've ended up a Lifetime special. 

Then I started whirling around all of this scenarios and I said, "But I'd never cheat on my husband! We have a kid! He's my person! My one love!" And then I realized that it wasn't about my marriage. It was about his. He was projecting all of his insecurities and issues making me think I'd asked for this, I condoned being treated like someone you can just have at your disposal. In a passive way, I did just watch it all happen.

I wanted to believe in the romance of the crush. I wanted the fantasy. You build these people up in your minds and they become untouchable. It's horrible when they turn into normal, typical, scum. 

It wasn't until a week before my vacation I heard from him. He pretended to be concerned that he missed his chance. I called him out on blocking me saying that sent a pretty clear message that we weren't going to have any kind of friendship. He blew it off saying he was taking a Facebook hiatus because he used it for work. Well, he lied again. He told me he wanted to meet me. We'd planned to grab a drink.

The day before we were scheduled to meet he text me all day claiming he almost couldn't wait, asking if I could meet him that evening instead but we had plans. The day had finally come and I was a little nervous. I sent him a text and he didn't respond. I didn't stress. It wasn't until right around the time he told me he'd message me to pick a bar that I knew he was blowing me off. I just didn't hear from him. 

It was a big hit to my ego, I won't lie. I'd kind of felt betrayed by my younger self for letting me believe he was someone special all these years. And I was annoyed at myself for being surprised by it all. After I few weeks, I brushed the dust off and rebuilt my self esteem a little. I didn't want to let him weigh on me so much.

It was two months later, after I'd deleted his number and forgotten, assuming that he'd never text me again, that he text me on a random Friday morning. My BFF told me to keep my guard up and not let him in. I kind of just thought it was funny. I called him out on standing me up, and he blew it off. This would be the norm. And then I thought, well I can play the game and see how long the charade lasts, read the fake promises that we'll see each other and let him think I'll just be around always. Or, I can tell him it's not okay.

When you get those text messages, those ones that just make you smile and cringe at the same time, you have great plans on what you'd like to say. Women could write books on the conversations they've strategically planned in their minds that never come to fruition. So when his intro back into my life was "I had a dream about you, and I missed you," I wanted to text back:

"Well, you can keep dreaming. I've always missed you and I just wanted to talk to you about something important to me, not fantasize about what we never had and what will never happen. I really wanted to see you and you blew me off. So hold on to those dreams of me. You're going to miss me for a long time."

But instead, I just kind of responded to everything politely and laughed. We see all these lives via Facebook: The vacations, the engagements, the new pets, the births, these happy moments. Not in any of those pictures would I guess he was a scumbag looking for an escape from his new wife. And I just felt bad. I felt bad for his new wife, because if he was coming on to me via text, even in non-"sexting" ways, who knows what else he was up to. I felt bad for him, feeling like he couldn't just be grateful for what he had. And I felt great. Because as much as I complained, as bad as things have been in the past...I didn't have room for this kind of bullshit in my life. And he did. 

Grateful Expectations

Expectations can be the root of all evil. The moment you start expecting anyone to act a certain way or respond in a specific fashion, you're ultimately doomed. In a way, expectations are just routine reactions. You expect a thank you when you give someone something, especially a gift. You expect a compliment if you've noticeably changed anything about your appearance or "dressed up." You expect pizza to be delivered within the time frame quoted. You expect to get bills.
 
When you're expecting a child you pretty much know that baby is coming out of you and then you have to care for him or her. And then there are the unexpected things in life: The rude comments, the lack of appreciation, the car accident or break down, the job loss or change, the winning of the lottery. It's a mixed bag; a Forrest Gump box of chocolates if you will.
 
Some expectations are great, and others I've found can be down right detrimental. I always get uneasy when someone is nice to me because if I get used to it, that's when tension arises. When a friend offers to buy you lunch, it's a great unexpected thing. When you expect to get said lunch regularly, you'll probably just end up hangry. It's a shot for disappointment.
 
If you make a grand gesture you often expect a grand "Thank you." Now, I come from a line of ladies who are all plans, no action. We're over-educated, under-achievers. We have great plans and ideas and nothing every comes from it but daydreaming. We are so damn good at daydreaming. I could daydream anyone under the table! But when I get all fantastical in that female mind of mine, things get out of hand. So, when I go out of my way to do something great and I just get a, "I really appreciate that," you feel a little let down.
 
Now I've already come to terms with the fact that life is not a "Glee" episode, so there will be no breaking out into song to sing my praises, but we often just expect more. And that's a kind of false advertising. Maybe it's a female thing because we envision every situation and idealize it in ways that no one could ever live up to that expectation. It's like a kid at Christmas; you picture them loving these gifts you (not Santa!) hand picked for them and then they fixate on the one thing they didn't receive. And it's not because they are horrible children or bratty, they just dreamt about Christmas morning and those things they wanted or expected so much that not finding it feels, crippling.
 
It's all such a ridiculous song and dance but it's what we do. Simple solution: No expectations. Easier said than done. Especially in overthinking, overreacting, female world. As someone riddled with anxiety and serious bouts of depression, these expectations are especially painful. Perfect examples are usually found in marriage. I asked my husband to unpack the rest of the house after we moved. I was doing an obstacle race and I found a free sitter and he'd have nothing to stop him. When I got home, all muddy and exhausted, I was extremely disappointed to see boxes and almost more of a mess than I'd left. My expectations were so high! I envisioned a perfectly put together and unpacked home. It was not that at all. He made progress, definitely but I just hid in the shower for an hour trying not to overreact to my ridiculous Martha Stewart Home living magazine ideal and realized we had some work to do.
 
It's important to dial down the expectations. Because they can hurt ourselves and each other. Great expectations are great, but it's important to keep it realistic and stay GRATEFUL. It's so easy to get caught up in what we don't have, we forget to appreciate what we do. And that needs to be in EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. Don't chastise a friend for not getting you what you expected, be excited that they celebrated the being that is you, in a different way. That ridiculous song, "Don't Worry, Be Happy," it has some merit. I expect the expectations to be attainable. Say that 5 times fast and you're on the right track.

Moms Can Be Whores Too

Motherhood can do different things to every woman. My personal experience, I felt a little...less than fresh and gorgeous. You bloat and you wear stretchy pants so long carrying a human, you don't exactly feel like you're glowing. And often that "glow" is sweat anyway. I'd never felt such closeness to wild animals as after I had a natural birth. It's beautiful and gross all at once. And then you're left with a baby and you never have a moment to yourself. The end. Actually, it's just the beginning.

It took me a year to allow myself to take better care of me and not just the kid. Getting back into a workout was anything but easy. When I'd settled into the idea that instead of ever being a "MILF" to anyone but my husband who is legally bound to think that, I started wearing "mom appropriate" clothing.

No more band shirts that said "fuck you," or had weird, jarring images. No more, slightly tight clothing that may catch someone's eye. And now that I had epic cleavage, after breastfeeding, I totally didn't want to draw attention to the stretch marks on those things. I was the biggest I'd ever been when I started and it took me a year to take it off comfortably.

When you start feeling comfortable in your own skin, you start wanting to show it. With the new workout routine, came a new job where I was allowed to leave the house. Getting out of the house without kid prints was another story. I first shopped at Goodwill, determined that I would not waste money on clothes that would strictly get me through the in between times. But the more I lost, the more I wanted to look nice. And I could do that at work.

Here's the catch: I work in a male dominated environment. Mostly older, married guys who made nasty jokes. None of them acted inappropriately towards me, but when I got shapely enough to put on the skirts and dresses (all appropriate length I might add!), they noticed. And not in a bad way. These guys would comment "New clothes?," "Oh that's nice," "That's a good color on you!" Only a few made the sarcastic, rude comments that were essentially just playful. And I don't get easily offended, I have a thick skin and most importantly, I LOVE MY JOB!

With new clothes and lesser weight comes more confidence. And this is when things can get out of hand. Prepared to be shocked:
I made friends with a male coworker! OH MY! Emphasis on friends and co-worker please, readers. We had some stuff in common, we traded who bought lunch, he treated my daughter like a princess when she came to visit and my husband seemed to think it was good I had an ally at work. (Of course he knows my husband!)

However, when you work in an environment where the general age of employee is 39+ it's pretty easy for the older women to start to hate you, whether you instigate it or not. Now, I try to be friendly to everyone but I never go out of my way to be horrible. Apparently I'm just whore-able. See what I did there?

Rumors started about my male cohort and myself. I'd brushed them off until one of the older women started watching my every move one morning and I snapped. All of the sudden I realized I was the homewrecker and the whore of the business. In one way it was flattering to feel that anyone would pay enough attention to me to think I was acting unfavorably. On the other hand, I was insulted that anyone would take the time to believe it. I mean, really?

It was months after I'd gotten over the first "incident" and a few pounds more lost that I actually was cornered and confronted about the alleged affair. Now, I'm a completely sarcastic person, but I was so dumbfounded by the audacity of the accuser, that I couldn't even rattle off all the after-attack comebacks I had found:

"Well, my husband and I are swingers, so that's not cheating."

"Ever hear of spousal swap?"

"Some of us have needs."

The jokes lasted for days. In retrospect, it's not funny at all. I definitely cried over it. To me, it wasn't the whore rumors, it was the fact that both parties in questions had families and they were insulting us both by saying we were up to no good. It breaks my heart that a man and woman cannot be friends. I guess Billy Crystal was right in my fave rom-com, "When Harry Met Sally." On top of it, the industry is small and the last thing I needed was any angry wife stomping into my office calling me a whore. Let's keep that to my coworkers only, please.

As a mother, I never thought I'd be seen as a whore ever again. I thought that was meant for your young and single days and I certainly dressed it in the past. I know there are mothers out there who may in fact be "whores" in some way or another, but I think it's ridiculous that grown ass women resort to such teenage name-calling and rumors. "High School Never Ends," which became my anthem, as sung by Bowling for Soup, throughout all of this is still a part of my current playlist.

I never assumed motherhood would keep me exempt from bigotry and hatred but I thought that was between mothers who judged me for co-sleeping, cloth diapers, and clothing choice type things. I guess I should clarify, and please read this in the tone of Robin Williams impersonating Nixon, "I am not a WHORE" (instead of crook). 

I'm really not involved in anything inappropriate with anyone, for the record.

I went against all initial impulses to be Emma Stone in Easy A and start wearing sweaters with the scarlet letter sewn on them. Instead of acting out in an attempt to make such rumors look ridiculous, I had a good cry and went back to doing my job and kicking ass at it. I commiserated with a lot of friends about this. I truly thought I had some kind of personality or character flaw that made me so...obtuse about life. In some ways I'm still recovering.


But in retrospect Taylor Swift had it right all along: "Haters gonna hate and fakers gonna fake." Moms can be whores, definitely, but I'm not one of those that mixes the two. I'm a family woman, working full time to support her daughter, dog and awesome husband. Just let me be, well, me. I'm a great mess without the rumors anyway!

Cell Phone Detox

Years ago one of my friends used the phrase "Blurse," blessing and a curse, which I use frequently. Cell phone are definitely a Blurse. I heard something on the radio saying we check our phones at least once a minute. I'm totally guilty. Our big splurge after we had our first baby, was a foray into the world of smart phones. 
 
Those things are rad! They have come a long way. You almost don't need computers anymore. But, I'm kind of a cell phone addict, I'll totally admit it. It's definitely information overload. You can get sucked into checking Facebook and Instagram and email and waiting for text messages and sending memes and Pinterest!
 
I'm a text junkie. When you have a toddler who won't let you have phone conversations with out dancing on the dining room table, painting a wall or destroying something, texting is your best friend. "Bring home wine." "Bring home dinner." "What are we doing this weekend?" "Your daughter just ate a pen." These are all part of current parenthood.
 
The APPS! SO MANY APPS! SO LITTLE TIME! Check your bank, check wait times at Disney, make fun of people, find a take out place, get coupons, find a dress, find a friend, take a picture, take a video, it's all a finger flick away! But sometimes you get downright attached and obsessive! "Did it vibrate? I think I felt it vibrate. Did I hear it go off? What notification tone was that? Was that even my phone?" And the worst of the worst: "WHY WON'T YOU TEXT ME BACK!?"
 
All this...stuff just brings out such evil. Maybe it's radiation. Maybe it's just the new age. It's kind of unnerving. And then you meet people who are like, "I never check my phone," and you think, "What do you mean? I don't understand." 
 
We have to detox ourselves from our phones now, the way we do with carbs and junk food. That's kind of pathetic if you think about it. And then the whole thing of instant communication: "Well what if someone needs to get in touch with me?!" Are we all so individually important that we must be reached at any given second? Remember when you had to call the school to give a kid a message about a ride or an emergency? Or call a company phone to get ahold of a significant other? Now you just expect them at your beck and call. It's crazy!
 
Sometimes I just hide it from myself so I can take a break. It's often too much. But this is the universe we live in now. My toddler can navigate things far more easily than I can. She's like a little sponge! I'm not much for tablets and having all kinds of distractions for kiddos outside of movie time but I can see why it's appetizing. Then again, I see those families out to dinner with parents on cell phones and kids playing with tablets and it makes me sad. Now my family may be around the television constantly for lazy times at home but we can hold a conversation at least. Now it's all, "Did you see that Facebook post?" "Did you see that selfie?" "What about that Groupon?"
 
I've had to dial it down, pun intended. As much as I love my Spotify, Facebook, Pinterest and texting, sometimes you need to breathe! It's not always easy because you get used to the luxury but I'm finding it's worth it to not have a cell phone as an extra appendage!

Failure to Thrive: A First Time Mom's Account of What No One Could Have Prepared Her For

My daughter just turned one last week. And I haven't really had much time to write because she is a full time job. This is my personal account of my mistakes, my ignorance, and my trials as a mother. Judge me if you like, but the following story is one of heart ache and guilt of a first time mother. I share this because I felt so alone and I would never wish that on anyone.

I was one of those freak women who loved being pregnant. I'd never felt more important in my life. I was responsible for another's existence. Pretty epic feeling. I also wasn't genuinely uncomfortable until my 40th week of pregnancy. It was the only time in my life I was grateful for being a real sized girl with curves. I was made to have babies.

We'd moved far away from immediate family four years prior and had been positive we could go it alone. I had one mom friend. One. And a bunch of women around me who talked about wanting babies but were no where near ready. My mother wasn't a positive part of my life. In fact she told me that I probably couldn't have a natural birth and still comes down on me for being bigger, post pregnancy.

Now I'm not going to say I'm "smart." There are some things in this life I'm completely stupid about but I'm reasonably intelligent. As far as kids go, I was a nanny for 10 years of my life, taking care of babies from 9months on. And a big part of me did believe most of it is instinctual. Still, I read the books and took the classes and heard other stories but no one could have prepared me for what happened, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

My daughter's birth was amazing. I was only in hard, active labor for about 5 hours and when we got to the hospital, 5 pushes, a bit of a tear and out she popped, puffy and perfect. She was everything. Now I was in a pro-breastfeeding hospital, and one that promoted skin to skin. But everything happened so fast. We arrived and went straight into delivery, even though the admitting nurses thought my screams of pain were overdramatized.

When she popped out, I remembered this video I saw of this perfect baby doing a boob crawl where she literally just wanted boob and I thought breastfeeding was the coolest thing ever so I was ready. But I needed stitches, so after about 30min of them poking around and prepping me, they took my daughter to be cleaned and wrapped and gave her to daddy.

My entire body was shaking, the adrenaline and body exhaustion was intense and I just wanted to be left alone, but they needed to make sure I would heal ok. After about and hour they moved us to our on room. I remember being kind of wishy washy about visitors but there were a few people I didn't mind coming to see her fresh. But before I knew it, we had quite the following. I didn't mind at the time but in retrospect that probably wasn't the best.

Everything in the books, the classes and our birth plan said breast feeding in the first 2 hours is key. And I was ready! Here's my disclaimer: I always hated my boobs. To me they only existed one day to be suckled and sag. I didn't dress them up in cutesy bras, they weren't an erogenous zone for me and I never tried to have cleavage. They were just boobs.

The only good advice I got about breastfeeding is: "Breastfeeding is HARD, definitely see a lactation consultant." That was already part of the plan. Breastfeeding was really weird. I didn't feel much. I was having a really hard time keying into my body and felt really disconnected about the whole thing. It wasn't as beautiful and heartwarming as I thought. The nurses, one of which was mean and ugly to boot," kept saying I needed to feed her, but she wasn't cueing hunger and was asleep. I'd always heard, never wake a sleeping baby.

We saw the Lactation Consultant, she was super nice and helpful but then we had problems later and she was no where to be found. In comes nurse number two and starts talking to me about expressing and stimulating the nipple, which seemed so weird to me. I couldn't grasp it. It felt awkward. My hubby expressed my milk better than me and the nurse said, "You have flat nipples." In the midst of my exhaustion I just kind of got offended. I'd never thought of my nipples as any different than anyone else's. Apparently this was an issue. She gave me a nipple shield. I remember her just sticking it on me. No explanation. I was just thinking, I don't need some nipple prosthetic. I think we'll figure it out. None of the holds except classic cradle worked and my breasts just felt numb to anything she was doing the first 48 hours. All I felt were the uterine cramps to acknowledge her getting the colostrum.

When we left the hospital, my dad had stayed with us to help us keep up the house and hubby had two weeks off. I'd naturally had the sore and cracked nipples but after the first week and a half everything became painful. I was exhausted and mostly disoriented. We were also overwhelmed.
I finally started texting the few moms I knew asking if breastfeeding was uncomfortable and everyone said the first month was so tough. So I just rationalized, ok I had the perfect pregnancy and delivery, so this is your challenge.

My husband was as great of a support as any man could be. He read and Googled and spoke to all the moms he knew seeking help and advice. He bought witch hazel and nipple butter and cream and jelly and anything. Finally it just got to be too much. My nipples weren't getting better. Breastfeeding was getting worse. I tried hot showers, being bra-less and nothing worked. That's when the hubby brought up the nipple shield again.

On another related happening, my daughter had lost a bit of weight on her 3 day old appointment, which was normal at the time. Her two week appointment was about 12 days away. So my husband and I decided that if it didn't get better, we'd get a lactation consultant then. The nipple shield helped but unbeknownst to me, I was using it improperly. I read the directions but something didn't translate amidst the new mom stress and exhaustion and I wasn't using it properly. We constantly saw milk in the reservoir and I leaked often so we thought everything was ok. She was a quiet, happy baby for the most part.

I remember saying to my husband, "You'd think she'd be generally miserable if she wasn't getting enough, right?" Breastfeeding didn't get better. The pain was so terrible that I'd taken to breastfeeding alone with water and hard candies to push through the pain. I cried and cried and cried. I didn't understand. We had our appointment and I knew I'd seek help. Before our appointment my dad insisted I speak with my step mother who scared the shit out of me by saying nipple shields were bad news and caused problems. She used to be a pediatric nurse, so I decided we'd ditch it and try on our own. I finally reached out to my only mom friend, my breastfeeding idol, and she told me I should contact La Leche League for free help because it shouldn't be that kind of painful.

Her husband came over shortly after to do her newborn photos and all day we'd been doing well without the shield. It was also our first few days alone and I felt like a really good mom. She'd had newborn acne but her shots came out wonderful and the breastfeeding shots he got I'm truly happy and in awe. It was the first time I'd felt comfortable nursing in weeks.

The next day I was all ready to contact an LLL leader when it occurred to me that my mother in law would be bouncing into town and I was afraid she'd judge me. I was afraid she wouldn't support my getting help and she'd be more of a stress. I thought, ok, we have our doctor's appointment and he 6 day visit. Let me just talk to the pediatrician and then get through the visit and we'll go from there.

The day of our doctor's appointment we arrived with our daughter and were informed she didn't have an appointment. My husband was livid. We were then told that we wouldn't be able to be seen for another 5 days. During this time, my mother in law arrived and I used to nipple shield to make sure I didn't have any more issues to make the visit more stressful.

On the last day of her visit, my husband had the day off and we went to visit the pediatrician. We asked about lactation consultants and we talked about breastfeeding and she said everything looked fine, she disappeared to get us some paperwork and then came back and gave us the worst news ever:
Our daughter had lost, not gained weight. The amount was dangerous and we needed to take her to the hospital to make sure that everything in her little body was working and make sure we could get her weight up.

I just burst into tears. I felt like the worst mother in the universe. I really did. How could I not tell? How was I not feeding my baby? What did I do wrong?

We went to the hospital, to admitting and I was just constantly crying. I was a complete mess. My husband was just trying to work things out. We'd self paid our delivery with a midwives group and had no insurance. This was stressful on top of the fact that our daughter was in danger.

Sitting in admitting, someone saw her sleeping and commented on how beautiful she was and then said, "She's so little, she must have been a premie!" My heart just shriveled. My healthy baby girl had withered down to someone tiny and I didn't see it. My heart still hurts just thinking about it as I type teary eyed.

Once we got to pediatrics all the testing began. My husband left to go home and get us both clothing and pajamas. All we'd heard was, "a few days." The nurses came in and so did the doctor and told us she just wasn't getting enough and they'd measured and tested and my body just wasn't making enough to feed her. She'd need to have some formula to catch up. The first band of nurses and her doctor were amazing. I sat there crying and cold and they just reminded me, it wasn't my fault. Sometimes we all need a little extra help.

I'd never looked at formula. It was never an option to me. I wanted things to happen naturally so one of the nurses gave me recommendation, and I took it. The first 2 nights were the worst. They had us on a rigorous feeding schedule, I had to pump in between and they had to constantly check her. The put a feeding tube through her nose and were testing her for every scary thing you could imagine: liver, kidney, stomach and intestine issues. We had to rule every thing out.

After 4 days we got antsy and my husband couldn't take any more time off. They kept saying, maybe tomorrow or the next day in reference to our questions about when we could go home. She was gaining steadily but not enough to release her. My husband left the 5th night and we didn't know when he could come back.

Thank GOODNESS for my friend Emily bringing me DVDs and for my best friend Jillian coming every afternoon to check on us because I was very lonely and upset. It was a shared room and I refused to leave my daughter's side. By the end of the visit we were there for 10 days. TEN DAYS. I didn't step outside. I barely left the bed. They wouldn't let her sleep with me. I had to eat shitty hospital food that made me sick. 5 days straight we couldn't see my husband.

It was on day 7 that I lost it. They'd switched doctors and the new one was not very warm. I cried and told her she couldn't keep telling us maybe tomorrow. I'd pleaded that I would bring her in every day. WE needed to go home. I missed my husband and my dog and my bed and my mental health was dwindling. And then the mean bitch doctor uttered something I will never forget: "She is doing better but you need to realize, your baby almost DIED, so we can't just let her go home until she's in a more stable healthy state."

I just cried. And I just retracted back into my little corner of a room. She offered us a private room and I told her we had no insurance, we couldn't afford such a luxury. She said that shouldn't be a concern and yet she didn't offer to pay my bills. The nurses in the pediatric ward were mostly amazing. My daughter was the youngest on the floor so they just loved her. Our neighbor in the room was a sweet Latin mother and grandmother who's toddler got a bad grease burn and needed skin grafts. They were very supportive.

I was a zombie in that room. I was completely disconnected from everything. By the end of the visit my daughter had been diagnosed "Failure to Thrive." Unfortunately this is a very blanket term. It covers a wide range of weight, size and internal issues for babies and children. My supply never caught up to where I needed it and she had to have formula supplementation.

No one ever told me how intense breastfeeding is. It's not romantic and easy. And no one told us we needed a web of support. It does take a village. My mom kept saying I just got it down so easy, and my friends told me it would get better or they gave up and did formula. As soon as this happened I had so many mothers reach out and tell me about their trials with breastfeeding. But it wasn't until this crisis that I even knew.

I know I may sound like an ignorant, negligent mother. I have serious guilt about this. It's exactly a year later and I still have anxiety about it. I still cry. My daughter is healthy but people comment on her being small and I get so upset. I've also become resentful, I see these young new moms just take to breastfeeding like a dog to water and I'm jealous. I go over and over and over in my head on what I did wrong and why I didn't see it. I also see these mothers who view breastfeeding as an inconvenience and who tell me they just "gave up" and I think they're cheating themselves and their children.

Now I will say that two of my closest friends have perfect formula-fed children and both shared their stress and distress with breastfeeding with me. Pretty much only those two women do I back for their choices because I love them so much -ha!- Unfair, but true! With that said, I am grateful for formula. Having been on both sides, I give MAJOR props to both moms really. Mixing formula, the cost, the supplies and the cleaning of bottles is a PAIN IN THE ASS. Power to you! Breastfeeding is intense, it runs your life. Your little one rules and drools! Those breastfeeding mamas who go the distance need literal medals. Seriously.

This was not my plan. Never could I have imagined this. There is so much I'd change. I know how fortunate I am that I even have a healthy child. I know there are so many mothers with worse situations than mine. This isn't just some cautionary tale. But I'm sharing the truth because I never even knew problems like these existed. Maybe that makes me stupid. But maybe there's ONE MOM out there, ONE mom going through something similar, and I just gave her the nudge she needed to get help. It wasn't ignorance or arrogance in me that kept me from getting help. It was just that first time mom haze. I just thought it was an adjustment period.

At times I think, "now I know for next time." But at other times I feel scarred for life and afraid to have another baby. Time heals all and only time will tell. For now I just concentrate on my daughter. She is my everything. And we have everything because we have her.