I've been super sensitive to social media causing me many waves of anxieties and have been sticking mostly with Instagram as of late. However, things have been slow lately and Facebook has been my "down time." This is never a good idea.
Yesterday, among the weird quotes and pictures, the people posting inappropriate jokes and political statements, I read a sad, sad update. To preface this, this news came from the wife of an old friend and she tagged him in it, which is the only way it came in our newsfeed. Before I leave the bad news in the blog, a little back story if you will.
I went to school with the same twenty kids from 3rd grade to sophomore year of high school. I wasn't in the popular clique, I wasn't in the "losers" group, I was just a weird middle. If you ask my best friend she'd say, I "got along with everyone." My mom was that mom who wanted me to hang out with certain people based on their parents. Like, "Oh they own that restaurant chain ya know? Her dad is that litigator. His dad runs his own business." Seldom did I get along with those kids based on stuff like that.
There was this one popular goofball boy and I always thought he was kind and hilarious, with a slight mean streak from time to time, but he seemed not to be bothered by me. In fact about 9 years ago he said, "Oh come on Ali, you'd be pretty hard not to remember." Mostly because I was loud. I have a lot of pictures of us in groups together.
My first introduction with him outside of being in my grade was kind of awkward. My mom had just spearheaded a grief group at Hospice of Lancaster County for children who had lost their parents to terminal illness. She desperately wanted this boy and his sister to attend. She pushed me to make it sound cool, as I was usually drug along to these things to make more friends. He came to one to play once and we did okay. He never really talked about his dad's death and to this day I'm still unsure of exactly how old he was or what happened, just that when I found him in 3rd grade, his dad had passed away prior.
We were never best friends, nor did we confide in each other or hang out often. He came to my birthday parties, Halloween parties, he did the act that followed me in the Talent Show, a skit from one of my favorite lame movies at the time, which I have somewhere on VHS. When we left St. Anne for Catholic High, 8th grade to High School that is, we were friends and he always said "hi" to me in the high school halls, cafeteria and at football games and dances.
When I left and moved, until Facebook came around we fell out of touch but when I sent that friend request, he accepted and it felt kind of cool ya know? Like we could keep tabs. We'd never been able to connect the few times we messaged each other when I was home to visit but I saw his family pictures and successes running a charity or non-profit type thing. I believe he named his son after his dad, and got married on his late father's birthday or something of that nature. I always admired him for growing into a good guy through that loss.
It was yesterday I saw an update that his wife posted with the completely heartbreaking news that their 3 month old daughter had passed away and everything just kind of went hazy for me. It was the saddest thing I've ever read. I was completely shaken.
This might seem weird, because we're not even that great of friends right? We haven't seen each other in like 18 years, and we don't even talk, so why am I so affected? Because I'm a mother, and because I'm a human.
There was a Parkland shooting survivor that killed herself this past week. We have friends that live in New Zealand and the shooting there has rocked the world. Then I read about this poor baby girl passing, which is just horrific. Is there really anything else to say about it?
Weeks ago at church they asked me to volunteer in the nursery and I declined, unsure of if my schedule would allow. Hours after I read that terrible Facebook announcement I got a reminder that I needed to watch the babies in the nursery tomorrow and I just about started to cry. I had successfully distracted myself but then it just all hit me at once.
Losing a parent when you're so young is just completely shattering, but you are forced to continue no matter how the growing pains. I don't know this from anything but proximity to such loss, rather than personal experience, so if I'm wrong, feel free to tell me. Now this poor guy and his wife have lost a child, and their son has lost his little sister. I honestly couldn't think of anything worse.
I'm not sure how she passed and I'm not sure I need to know. I'm not going to reach out and try to befriend him but I'm saying all my prayers for their family, without a doubt. This isn't an entry about sending them love and healing vibes or rallying emotional support. For me, this is about the profound occurrence of feeling something for someone somewhat removed from your life, because as a parent and human, you don't want to ignore the suffering.
I think of his wife just feeling so completely broken and blaming herself. I think of him losing 2 immediate family members in 34 short years on this planet. I think of his son missing his baby sister. They just posted family pictures a month ago. And I think about all of this happening around social media. Because if we didn't have that would I even know?
My best course of action is prayer and hoping that if they have some kind of donation in the baby's name I can participate. I won't send a condolences card or flowers. We don't really know each other anymore, but as a mother and and old friend I just feel like carrying some of this with me right now.
I know that sounds depressing and what a huge bummer of a post, right? But as a person who is healing and feeling a lot lately, I just wanted to be present in this reality for a bit. I know we can easily be removed from news of shootings, suicides and death in general right? Until it hits home? This hit a weird version of "home" for me.
So to my old friend, the one that made me laugh and stayed kind to me, just know you're in my prayers. You'll probably never read this, but if you ever happen upon it, my best wish is that someday when we meet again, the sadness and devastation will have lifted enough for me to make you laugh. I'll be over here hugging my daughter a little extra, and tomorrow's post will be lighter!!
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Saturday, March 23, 2019
Friday, March 22, 2019
If I'm Never Asked When I'm Having Another Baby, It Won't Be Soon Enough
I may have referenced this subject in ancient posts, but definitely not recently. And I think it bears repeating. I find it completely crappy and inappropriate when people ask women when they are going to have "another baby," or even "a baby," at all. And here is why:
Much like randomly touching a pregnant woman's belly or telling someone how to birth or raise their child, it's super not okay to put these weird expectations on women. Some women have no desire to have babies, some women cannot have children for various reasons, and some of us just want to live our lives as we have designed them.
"Oh, just the one?" "Really, just one?" "You don't want any more?" When I get these questions my heart begins to cry in my chest, why? You all just have no idea what being a a parent is like...FOR ME. And I stress FOR ME, because everyone has a different experience.
I've come to this place again because recently I found out that two women in my life are having babies, and both of them I thought, had no interest in having babies. And when I found out the blessed news, I felt really badly that I hadn't had a real conversation with them about motherhood and just made my own assumptions. I felt badly that I made assumptions, because similar assumptions have been made about parenthood for me.
This isn't a blog entry to "set the record straight." This is just saying we need to be more compassionate IN GENERAL, but especially in regards to parenting, parenthood, and making babies. Upon further discussion with one of these gorgeous, child-bearing women it became clear that she had kept her journey extremely private, and had an extremely difficult time becoming pregnant. This is not uncommon; I've known many women who have shared this with me, but, it's also very, very delicate.
For me, motherhood has been super tough. A lot of it had to do with working and doing the mothering thing, and a lot had to do with how we've had to arrange schedules and sacrifice to make everything work for our awesome daughter. So when you approach me about when baby number two is coming? Guess what, it's not that simple, and it's not a fair question.
I have two half sisters from my dad's first marriage but was raised in every way, as an only child. It never occurred to me in my youth to ask for a sibling, or that I would ever have one. I just lived my little life.
My daughter has started asking about a brother or sister. I always opt to buy her another dog. We treat the dog as her brother anyway. What's funny is the second child discussion isn't even a closed subject. I mean, anything COULD happen. But again, not an easy question or answer, nor a fair one.
Every single woman, family, and child is completely different and I really wish we could just quit the judgmental assumptions, and this goes for me too. Even small ones are just ridiculous. I remember a close family friend becoming pregnant with her fourth and idolizing her as this super mom that just "must love kids." She then revealed to me she really disliked infancy and infants in general, but loved having kids as a whole. It was sobering to me because I think we are often led to believe that we fall in love with these burping, pooping, milk-draining babies, and just become Martha Stewart in home life, but instead we are mombies, accepting each stage and falling in and out of love with certain aspects of mom life daily.
The snarky, cynical and mean side of me has not-so-nice responses to that ugly question of "when is the next one," from time to time. But it wasn't until recently that I discovered how much that question negatively affects me. And mostly, my answer just all goes back to that Taylor Swift chorus in her infinite wisdom of, "You don't know, what you don't know."
I feel like in the continuous trend of empowering women, and as I'm raising a fierce little woman, we really need to change our attitude and view of what "should be" part of life in general, and what women "should do." Excuse me but we are laboring under some bullshit expectations, pun intended.
There was an old episode of Sex and The City that suggested we need to stop "should-ing" all over ourselves. This is still relevant. Sex and The City was actually a series that also handled some of the facets of women and their drive to have kids, or lack there-of, and the complications of all aspects of child-bearing. We need to support each other as people, but especially as women to just do what is right for YOU.
As Amy Poehler said, "Good for them, but not for me." Make it your mantra! And I think it is every woman's right to design her life as shes fit, share what she wants to, and to not have to answer insensitive questions like, "When are you having a baby, your second baby or your 15th?" Let's take it easy on each other, starting now! On your mark, get set, go!
Much like randomly touching a pregnant woman's belly or telling someone how to birth or raise their child, it's super not okay to put these weird expectations on women. Some women have no desire to have babies, some women cannot have children for various reasons, and some of us just want to live our lives as we have designed them.
"Oh, just the one?" "Really, just one?" "You don't want any more?" When I get these questions my heart begins to cry in my chest, why? You all just have no idea what being a a parent is like...FOR ME. And I stress FOR ME, because everyone has a different experience.
I've come to this place again because recently I found out that two women in my life are having babies, and both of them I thought, had no interest in having babies. And when I found out the blessed news, I felt really badly that I hadn't had a real conversation with them about motherhood and just made my own assumptions. I felt badly that I made assumptions, because similar assumptions have been made about parenthood for me.
This isn't a blog entry to "set the record straight." This is just saying we need to be more compassionate IN GENERAL, but especially in regards to parenting, parenthood, and making babies. Upon further discussion with one of these gorgeous, child-bearing women it became clear that she had kept her journey extremely private, and had an extremely difficult time becoming pregnant. This is not uncommon; I've known many women who have shared this with me, but, it's also very, very delicate.
For me, motherhood has been super tough. A lot of it had to do with working and doing the mothering thing, and a lot had to do with how we've had to arrange schedules and sacrifice to make everything work for our awesome daughter. So when you approach me about when baby number two is coming? Guess what, it's not that simple, and it's not a fair question.
I have two half sisters from my dad's first marriage but was raised in every way, as an only child. It never occurred to me in my youth to ask for a sibling, or that I would ever have one. I just lived my little life.
My daughter has started asking about a brother or sister. I always opt to buy her another dog. We treat the dog as her brother anyway. What's funny is the second child discussion isn't even a closed subject. I mean, anything COULD happen. But again, not an easy question or answer, nor a fair one.
Every single woman, family, and child is completely different and I really wish we could just quit the judgmental assumptions, and this goes for me too. Even small ones are just ridiculous. I remember a close family friend becoming pregnant with her fourth and idolizing her as this super mom that just "must love kids." She then revealed to me she really disliked infancy and infants in general, but loved having kids as a whole. It was sobering to me because I think we are often led to believe that we fall in love with these burping, pooping, milk-draining babies, and just become Martha Stewart in home life, but instead we are mombies, accepting each stage and falling in and out of love with certain aspects of mom life daily.
The snarky, cynical and mean side of me has not-so-nice responses to that ugly question of "when is the next one," from time to time. But it wasn't until recently that I discovered how much that question negatively affects me. And mostly, my answer just all goes back to that Taylor Swift chorus in her infinite wisdom of, "You don't know, what you don't know."
I feel like in the continuous trend of empowering women, and as I'm raising a fierce little woman, we really need to change our attitude and view of what "should be" part of life in general, and what women "should do." Excuse me but we are laboring under some bullshit expectations, pun intended.
There was an old episode of Sex and The City that suggested we need to stop "should-ing" all over ourselves. This is still relevant. Sex and The City was actually a series that also handled some of the facets of women and their drive to have kids, or lack there-of, and the complications of all aspects of child-bearing. We need to support each other as people, but especially as women to just do what is right for YOU.
As Amy Poehler said, "Good for them, but not for me." Make it your mantra! And I think it is every woman's right to design her life as shes fit, share what she wants to, and to not have to answer insensitive questions like, "When are you having a baby, your second baby or your 15th?" Let's take it easy on each other, starting now! On your mark, get set, go!
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Your Thirties Are For Saying No To Everything You Got Away With In Your Twenties
With a birthday looming, I'm starting to reflect much more. Does that just come with age? This is also our 10 year mark for moving to Florida as of July. So here I am, getting all philosophical and introspective.
The amount of adulting and growing up I've had to do the past few years is actually kinda unfair, but I maintain I'm better for it. Your twenties are for partying, credit card debt, adventures and working hard specifically so you can play hard. I remember working 6 days a week between two jobs, drinking every night and Sunday sleeping until noon, mimosas with breakfast, beer with lunch, bed at 10 and back at it again for another week, and that was tame compared to most others I knew.
By the time I hit about 26 I was feeling less and less into that kind of party and was way more interested in hosting people for dinners, drinks, and hang out sessions. I liked lunches out and buying new home items. Parties were reserved for concerts and some weekends depending on paychecks.
For me, I feel like the worst of adulting came with parenthood. I really thought I had it planned out and things would be okay, but that's the thing about life, it takes it's own route, doesn't tell you it's changing, and sometimes you can barely scrape together to find a path, let alone decipher the "way you should" go.
In my twenties, concerts were always a yes, no matter how far the drive and if I didn't have the money, just swipe my credit card, the money could happen later, the concert was happening regardless. Between my husband and I, our credit cards were very much well known and accepted anywhere. While I felt the burden of that intensely, it took a lot of work to undo that frivolity, but I wasn't unwilling to do it.
I worked diligently on fixing finances to the point of being unfair and obnoxious. I still feel humiliated having to say "no, we can't afford it," to a lot. The difference from my twenties to now is, I prefer to stay in my real, live, grown up house, whereas I never wanted to be stuck at my apartment when I could be out spending money and living life. My thirties are for being frugal so I can take a vacation that involved leaving Florida.
As if I'm not feeling old enough, this is the last year of the Vans Warped Tour with a huge 25th Anniversary festival in both California and New Jersey. I must say that when I saw that line-up, I wanted to cancel both trips we were planning this year and just take myself to both for one more foray into being a Punk Rock Princess before my retirement from my festival concert days.
Warped tour was my first festival-type show when I was 18 and came with all the stories, swag and was the beginning of my love affair with live music. It was always fun to bounce between stages, get bumper stickers, shirts and leave for home broke, dehydrated and sunburned with bags of memorabilia, ringing ears, and dirty Vans or Converse. Plus there was always a Taco Bell run at the end of it.
Despite my years as an avid Warped Tour addict, some of the big bands I've still never seen. Between both coasts, they are all on there. Now, I know some of you have bucket lists that include seeing different countries and cities, and mine does somewhat, but I have Bucket List Bands. Most of them are now un-affordable, unattainable or unfortunately dead. But when I saw that line up I wanted to take out a loan and just go!
Alas, now that I'm in my thirties I say "no" instead of "let's go." Often this makes me feel lame but lately I've had a better appreciation of what comes with this stage, and for me that's peace and security. Peace and security have been just a dream like those items in stores in New York City where you have to ring the bell and look put together enough to be allowed entrance. The employees could see me, and I was drooling at the peace and security, all shiny on display within the window, but I couldn't get near it. There was no access point for me then.
Being allowed in the shiny security and pretty peace store is even just a recent feat, so I tread lightly. I am definitely incredibly and cautiously optimistic about how far we've come but also appreciative of the journey.
My twenties were fun, filled with celebration and simple problems. My late twenties, my entrance into parenthood, and quick steps into my thirties have been existential. It's been really rough, but also rewarding, leaving me with still a ton of work to do, which I'm not unwilling to participate in.
I do feel like family life makes me say "No," more often than not and the exceptions are few and far between. We bend the rules occasionally but have been far more vigilant about staying the course. To those of you who walk on the wild side and just firmly believe that everything will find it's way and work out, feel free to share that wisdom with me because I suck at it.
I think I've always had no choice but to grow up early. I was violently shoved from my American Girl Doll days of dressing them up and listening to Hanson to having to figure out all walks of life on my own. Navigating social aspects was tough at times, I was super naive and simple, but I definitely had my teenage rebellion under way when the time was right.
I did however, strive for my independence. I wanted to work and go to school so I could have what I wanted and cover what I needed. Defining want and need was what changed quickly between my twenties and thirties, but I think that change was for the better. Now I know the times we need to "splurge" and "live a little," and the ones where we need to be more frugal. Okay maybe lately I just always think we need to be frugal but still! It's a work in progress, I'm a work in progress.
As I'm inching very slowly towards the next stage, and the next age I just feel aware of so much that my twenties were built on that just does not fly now. Some of it is frustrating and unfair. Some of it is affirming and kind of rejuvenating, because I know that I'm in a place where I can say no. Growth game strong!
For the first time, in a very long time I will say this, I'm pretty okay with where I am. I have my bills paid, no exorbitant debt at this time, we have plans for end of year vacations looming, and I can still get a coffee from time to time. I know there is savings and retirement kind of things happening and I have high hopes for some new appliances. There will always be unexpected things, and saying no is way more common now than it was a decade ago, but sometimes saying no is okay, or so I've explored previously.
So, I toast to being close to another year of being okay with saying no to all the stuff I easily got away with in my twenties, and to being even more firm in my thirties, I'm enjoying each new stage, no matter how difficult. Although, if anyone wants to send me to Warped Tour, that I would say yes to!
The amount of adulting and growing up I've had to do the past few years is actually kinda unfair, but I maintain I'm better for it. Your twenties are for partying, credit card debt, adventures and working hard specifically so you can play hard. I remember working 6 days a week between two jobs, drinking every night and Sunday sleeping until noon, mimosas with breakfast, beer with lunch, bed at 10 and back at it again for another week, and that was tame compared to most others I knew.
By the time I hit about 26 I was feeling less and less into that kind of party and was way more interested in hosting people for dinners, drinks, and hang out sessions. I liked lunches out and buying new home items. Parties were reserved for concerts and some weekends depending on paychecks.
For me, I feel like the worst of adulting came with parenthood. I really thought I had it planned out and things would be okay, but that's the thing about life, it takes it's own route, doesn't tell you it's changing, and sometimes you can barely scrape together to find a path, let alone decipher the "way you should" go.
In my twenties, concerts were always a yes, no matter how far the drive and if I didn't have the money, just swipe my credit card, the money could happen later, the concert was happening regardless. Between my husband and I, our credit cards were very much well known and accepted anywhere. While I felt the burden of that intensely, it took a lot of work to undo that frivolity, but I wasn't unwilling to do it.
I worked diligently on fixing finances to the point of being unfair and obnoxious. I still feel humiliated having to say "no, we can't afford it," to a lot. The difference from my twenties to now is, I prefer to stay in my real, live, grown up house, whereas I never wanted to be stuck at my apartment when I could be out spending money and living life. My thirties are for being frugal so I can take a vacation that involved leaving Florida.
As if I'm not feeling old enough, this is the last year of the Vans Warped Tour with a huge 25th Anniversary festival in both California and New Jersey. I must say that when I saw that line-up, I wanted to cancel both trips we were planning this year and just take myself to both for one more foray into being a Punk Rock Princess before my retirement from my festival concert days.
Warped tour was my first festival-type show when I was 18 and came with all the stories, swag and was the beginning of my love affair with live music. It was always fun to bounce between stages, get bumper stickers, shirts and leave for home broke, dehydrated and sunburned with bags of memorabilia, ringing ears, and dirty Vans or Converse. Plus there was always a Taco Bell run at the end of it.
Despite my years as an avid Warped Tour addict, some of the big bands I've still never seen. Between both coasts, they are all on there. Now, I know some of you have bucket lists that include seeing different countries and cities, and mine does somewhat, but I have Bucket List Bands. Most of them are now un-affordable, unattainable or unfortunately dead. But when I saw that line up I wanted to take out a loan and just go!
Alas, now that I'm in my thirties I say "no" instead of "let's go." Often this makes me feel lame but lately I've had a better appreciation of what comes with this stage, and for me that's peace and security. Peace and security have been just a dream like those items in stores in New York City where you have to ring the bell and look put together enough to be allowed entrance. The employees could see me, and I was drooling at the peace and security, all shiny on display within the window, but I couldn't get near it. There was no access point for me then.
Being allowed in the shiny security and pretty peace store is even just a recent feat, so I tread lightly. I am definitely incredibly and cautiously optimistic about how far we've come but also appreciative of the journey.
My twenties were fun, filled with celebration and simple problems. My late twenties, my entrance into parenthood, and quick steps into my thirties have been existential. It's been really rough, but also rewarding, leaving me with still a ton of work to do, which I'm not unwilling to participate in.
I do feel like family life makes me say "No," more often than not and the exceptions are few and far between. We bend the rules occasionally but have been far more vigilant about staying the course. To those of you who walk on the wild side and just firmly believe that everything will find it's way and work out, feel free to share that wisdom with me because I suck at it.
I think I've always had no choice but to grow up early. I was violently shoved from my American Girl Doll days of dressing them up and listening to Hanson to having to figure out all walks of life on my own. Navigating social aspects was tough at times, I was super naive and simple, but I definitely had my teenage rebellion under way when the time was right.
I did however, strive for my independence. I wanted to work and go to school so I could have what I wanted and cover what I needed. Defining want and need was what changed quickly between my twenties and thirties, but I think that change was for the better. Now I know the times we need to "splurge" and "live a little," and the ones where we need to be more frugal. Okay maybe lately I just always think we need to be frugal but still! It's a work in progress, I'm a work in progress.
As I'm inching very slowly towards the next stage, and the next age I just feel aware of so much that my twenties were built on that just does not fly now. Some of it is frustrating and unfair. Some of it is affirming and kind of rejuvenating, because I know that I'm in a place where I can say no. Growth game strong!
For the first time, in a very long time I will say this, I'm pretty okay with where I am. I have my bills paid, no exorbitant debt at this time, we have plans for end of year vacations looming, and I can still get a coffee from time to time. I know there is savings and retirement kind of things happening and I have high hopes for some new appliances. There will always be unexpected things, and saying no is way more common now than it was a decade ago, but sometimes saying no is okay, or so I've explored previously.
So, I toast to being close to another year of being okay with saying no to all the stuff I easily got away with in my twenties, and to being even more firm in my thirties, I'm enjoying each new stage, no matter how difficult. Although, if anyone wants to send me to Warped Tour, that I would say yes to!
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Trigger Day -- Six Years Ago Sucked
Six years ago at this time I had a 3 week old. I've written about this a lot. My daughter was diagnosed with "Failure to Thrive." I think one of my first posts of this year's challenge was long winded in reference to this so, I'll get into why I'm revisiting it.
Every year on Facebook, the pictures and the posts come up and internally I just start to shrivel. It was really hard. That may even be an understatement. I had extra to deal with, bigger things than just baby, and in retrospect, if I could go back and tell myself to wake up a little more and pay better attention, that diagnosis may not haunt me and still bring me to tears as I type.
She recovered right? Healthiest kid on the planet, I have now! She just had her first sick day of the school year and didn't even have a fever. She was just covered in boogers!
So why does it bother me? I've attributed most of my problems to having a rough run coming into parenthood only to find out that's just the first layer of the onion on so much stuff. But when I think about that time, and extra stuff thrust upon me, other than just being a mom trying to breastfeed, oh man, talk about trauma.
I'm lucky that I was strong enough and had the support I did from moms, friends and my sister coming to make sure I could recover. I was lucky that I didn't just disintegrate into some kind of mental coma because a lot of those doctors were not nice. But, my daughter received excellent care and was just as strong then as she is now.
So this day, much like car accident day, just triggers me. Going to the doctor 6 years ago for a check up and being told she had to be hospitalized and then having to live at the hospital for 10 days and, 8 of those Luna and I were completely alone with only my best friend bringing me good coffee and occasional Chik-Fil-A, that was rough.
Recently I started revealing the whole truth about the experience to a friend and could barely hold back the tears. It actually shocked me how much it still affected me. I have a healthy, smart, awesome kid, but not being able to fully breastfeed her was devastating to me. A lot of the resentment and frustration with immediate family "helping" but not helping, is still there. I had to scrape myself off the metaphorical payment during that time and I realized it was just me and Luna. We were all we had, with the occasional awesome visitor.
When I got home I was so scared and it became even more-so about Luna. I live this every day for her. Even in the car accident, it was all about Luna; didn't matter my head was bleeding, if that guy would have harmed her beyond repair from his negligence, I may be writing my memoirs from a jail cell.
I think it's important but still surprises me that I'm still recovering from something six years ago! That "Failure" in the title is hard to shake. I'd been so terrified to be a mom and everyone just promises you can do it, something like that three weeks in messes you up!
Now when I watch Luna I think I can't wait to tell her what a little badass she is. How she is just the strongest, fiercest redhead and I love watching her conquer everything on her plate. It's then I remind myself that I have a pretty big part in that, so I think that is all steps of my mental recovery on this taxing day.
So today is one of two pretty severe and annual trigger days. I may have a good cry. I'll definitely hug the little one a little harder, and I'll try and be more gentle on myself. I'm just a work in progress and I'm okay with that. Everything truly is one day at a time. That's all we can do, even on a Wednesday!
Every year on Facebook, the pictures and the posts come up and internally I just start to shrivel. It was really hard. That may even be an understatement. I had extra to deal with, bigger things than just baby, and in retrospect, if I could go back and tell myself to wake up a little more and pay better attention, that diagnosis may not haunt me and still bring me to tears as I type.
She recovered right? Healthiest kid on the planet, I have now! She just had her first sick day of the school year and didn't even have a fever. She was just covered in boogers!
So why does it bother me? I've attributed most of my problems to having a rough run coming into parenthood only to find out that's just the first layer of the onion on so much stuff. But when I think about that time, and extra stuff thrust upon me, other than just being a mom trying to breastfeed, oh man, talk about trauma.
I'm lucky that I was strong enough and had the support I did from moms, friends and my sister coming to make sure I could recover. I was lucky that I didn't just disintegrate into some kind of mental coma because a lot of those doctors were not nice. But, my daughter received excellent care and was just as strong then as she is now.
So this day, much like car accident day, just triggers me. Going to the doctor 6 years ago for a check up and being told she had to be hospitalized and then having to live at the hospital for 10 days and, 8 of those Luna and I were completely alone with only my best friend bringing me good coffee and occasional Chik-Fil-A, that was rough.
Recently I started revealing the whole truth about the experience to a friend and could barely hold back the tears. It actually shocked me how much it still affected me. I have a healthy, smart, awesome kid, but not being able to fully breastfeed her was devastating to me. A lot of the resentment and frustration with immediate family "helping" but not helping, is still there. I had to scrape myself off the metaphorical payment during that time and I realized it was just me and Luna. We were all we had, with the occasional awesome visitor.
When I got home I was so scared and it became even more-so about Luna. I live this every day for her. Even in the car accident, it was all about Luna; didn't matter my head was bleeding, if that guy would have harmed her beyond repair from his negligence, I may be writing my memoirs from a jail cell.
I think it's important but still surprises me that I'm still recovering from something six years ago! That "Failure" in the title is hard to shake. I'd been so terrified to be a mom and everyone just promises you can do it, something like that three weeks in messes you up!
Now when I watch Luna I think I can't wait to tell her what a little badass she is. How she is just the strongest, fiercest redhead and I love watching her conquer everything on her plate. It's then I remind myself that I have a pretty big part in that, so I think that is all steps of my mental recovery on this taxing day.
So today is one of two pretty severe and annual trigger days. I may have a good cry. I'll definitely hug the little one a little harder, and I'll try and be more gentle on myself. I'm just a work in progress and I'm okay with that. Everything truly is one day at a time. That's all we can do, even on a Wednesday!
Thursday, January 31, 2019
Big Birthday Stuff - Mom's Day Off
It's Luna's 6th Birthday! And here is what that all means for my day.
I took today off. My dad just arrived last night and this morning I dropped off Luna at school, a rarity, and went off to adult. You know you're an adult when you take a personal day from work and you're like, "Oh I can go get the work done on my car!" Nothing like dropping hundreds of dollars on your car on your daughter's 6th birthday but life is life. It just happens.
I also have to take a treat into her class at 2PM, and then pick her up from aftercare around 5 for presents from Grandma. Then tonight is dinner at Red Robin, per her request and dessert at my husband's restaurant, Chocolate Mousse. This is a busy 6 year old day.
I made the mistake of buying a singing balloon...but it is also kind of hilarious. I wanted to be ridiculous and buy her this huge, her-sized my little pony balloon but of course I would have had to drive to the next county to get it. So in comes the singing balloon one. My husband picked up the balloon first in a series of errands and got to hear the balloon sing almost non-stop for the drive. This morning Luna decided she had to punch said balloon to cause the singing. Eventful morning indeed.
When it comes to birthdays, I don't get too crazy. My husband has few memories of anything remotely awesome birthday related. My childhood before 10 was filled with epic parties and themed wrapping paper and cakes and everything. I totally had a Toy Story cake when the first movie came out. But because my husband's birthday experiences were lacking, he always feels like he has to make up for them.
I just like making her feel special. Her grandma bought her a new dress and off she went with her "Birthday Girl" headband to class. She was all about it and I loved just being there to see her shine and walk into school announcing it was her day.
When I thanked my bosses for the day off yesterday they said, "Of course, you deserve it." I've never had a boss tell me it was okay to take a day off and that I was deserving. I'd always been made to feel guilty or forced to make up for it later. It's making today all the more enjoyable.
So this is my daily blog post and it's not that exciting. Why? Because. Today is about family and celebrating my tiny one. Today is about someone else. Tomorrow I can go back to longer-winded diatribes and all the things. But today, when 6 years ago I had just pushed out a baby, I will relax and enjoy things because dammit, I do deserve it. And so does Luna!
I took today off. My dad just arrived last night and this morning I dropped off Luna at school, a rarity, and went off to adult. You know you're an adult when you take a personal day from work and you're like, "Oh I can go get the work done on my car!" Nothing like dropping hundreds of dollars on your car on your daughter's 6th birthday but life is life. It just happens.
I also have to take a treat into her class at 2PM, and then pick her up from aftercare around 5 for presents from Grandma. Then tonight is dinner at Red Robin, per her request and dessert at my husband's restaurant, Chocolate Mousse. This is a busy 6 year old day.
I made the mistake of buying a singing balloon...but it is also kind of hilarious. I wanted to be ridiculous and buy her this huge, her-sized my little pony balloon but of course I would have had to drive to the next county to get it. So in comes the singing balloon one. My husband picked up the balloon first in a series of errands and got to hear the balloon sing almost non-stop for the drive. This morning Luna decided she had to punch said balloon to cause the singing. Eventful morning indeed.
When it comes to birthdays, I don't get too crazy. My husband has few memories of anything remotely awesome birthday related. My childhood before 10 was filled with epic parties and themed wrapping paper and cakes and everything. I totally had a Toy Story cake when the first movie came out. But because my husband's birthday experiences were lacking, he always feels like he has to make up for them.
I just like making her feel special. Her grandma bought her a new dress and off she went with her "Birthday Girl" headband to class. She was all about it and I loved just being there to see her shine and walk into school announcing it was her day.
When I thanked my bosses for the day off yesterday they said, "Of course, you deserve it." I've never had a boss tell me it was okay to take a day off and that I was deserving. I'd always been made to feel guilty or forced to make up for it later. It's making today all the more enjoyable.
So this is my daily blog post and it's not that exciting. Why? Because. Today is about family and celebrating my tiny one. Today is about someone else. Tomorrow I can go back to longer-winded diatribes and all the things. But today, when 6 years ago I had just pushed out a baby, I will relax and enjoy things because dammit, I do deserve it. And so does Luna!
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Last Day Of Five - All The Feels
Tomorrow is my daughter's 6th Birthday, thus making today the last day of her being 5. This whole age five thing has been an interesting ride, I will say.
She is fierce and strong-willed, which is a love-hate thing. Some days I am just in awe of her. Others, I get so mad that she's exactly like me.
The other day we had a face-off that was one for the books. I said, "Now go brush your teeth and go pee before we leave please." Her response, "Um, yeah I'm not going to do that unless I can watch Doc McStuffins on your phone in the car for the drive." I saw red. WHAT!?
This kid could be a negotiator one day. She seems to have a plan of attack and well thought out reasoning for everything. I think my favorite part of 5 was watching her become such a little person though. During some very dark and trying times she would actually reach out to comfort me and when she got frustrated with me, she'd call me out, which was both amazing and infuriating all at once.
She grew into her own and has more independence. It's amazing. Dressing herself (it never matches but I could care less, it's just adorable), bathing herself, feeding the dog, walking him a bit more, putting things away on her own. She thrives.
She's learned to read and compare words and have real discussions with me, more than "She was mean to me today and I'm never talking to her again," or "He called me this or that name!"
She was the most fun for Christmas ever. Totally into it and so engaged for the entire thing. It made the holiday so exciting and fun.
She has manners and knows how to hold her own in social situations. I've loved seeing her independence evolve. I still have those moments where the memories of her as a baby come up on Facebook and my heart hurts but I love this stage more I feel.
I wasn't the biggest fan of infancy honestly and once we got to 4 and 5 I knew how to do things with her instead of feeling like we had to be more carefully involved in certain things. We can go have adventures now!
I'm not that mom that gets teary-eyed often about her growing but I try and let her know I see and appreciate her doing new things and being more "Luna" than before. She's such a trip and of all the things I've done, she's by far my best achievement and reason for life, without a doubt.
So we're entering the next age tomorrow and I'm so ready, or as ready as I can be. I'm thinking this year we do an epic road trip and she starts being my date to some weddings. I think we'll try some better beach days, new parks, maybe some pottery painting and craft classes. We are going to enjoy all of 6.
I'm still not ready for crazy sports schedules, sleepovers and too much time away but I'm ready for this next walk of life with her holding my hand because it's not going to fit in mine the same next year. Let's do this!
She is fierce and strong-willed, which is a love-hate thing. Some days I am just in awe of her. Others, I get so mad that she's exactly like me.
The other day we had a face-off that was one for the books. I said, "Now go brush your teeth and go pee before we leave please." Her response, "Um, yeah I'm not going to do that unless I can watch Doc McStuffins on your phone in the car for the drive." I saw red. WHAT!?
This kid could be a negotiator one day. She seems to have a plan of attack and well thought out reasoning for everything. I think my favorite part of 5 was watching her become such a little person though. During some very dark and trying times she would actually reach out to comfort me and when she got frustrated with me, she'd call me out, which was both amazing and infuriating all at once.
She grew into her own and has more independence. It's amazing. Dressing herself (it never matches but I could care less, it's just adorable), bathing herself, feeding the dog, walking him a bit more, putting things away on her own. She thrives.
She's learned to read and compare words and have real discussions with me, more than "She was mean to me today and I'm never talking to her again," or "He called me this or that name!"
She was the most fun for Christmas ever. Totally into it and so engaged for the entire thing. It made the holiday so exciting and fun.
She has manners and knows how to hold her own in social situations. I've loved seeing her independence evolve. I still have those moments where the memories of her as a baby come up on Facebook and my heart hurts but I love this stage more I feel.
I wasn't the biggest fan of infancy honestly and once we got to 4 and 5 I knew how to do things with her instead of feeling like we had to be more carefully involved in certain things. We can go have adventures now!
I'm not that mom that gets teary-eyed often about her growing but I try and let her know I see and appreciate her doing new things and being more "Luna" than before. She's such a trip and of all the things I've done, she's by far my best achievement and reason for life, without a doubt.
So we're entering the next age tomorrow and I'm so ready, or as ready as I can be. I'm thinking this year we do an epic road trip and she starts being my date to some weddings. I think we'll try some better beach days, new parks, maybe some pottery painting and craft classes. We are going to enjoy all of 6.
I'm still not ready for crazy sports schedules, sleepovers and too much time away but I'm ready for this next walk of life with her holding my hand because it's not going to fit in mine the same next year. Let's do this!
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
Moment to Moment Motherhood, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
In my house, mornings are rough. Not for me personally, but it seems my dog, my daughter and especially my husband wake up in such grouchy ways more often than not. With my dog, I just feed him and he goes back to bed. Depending on when my daughter attempts to be awake for the day, I send her back to snuggle with the dog and the husband or she wakes up slowly with every light on and whines at me as I scramble for coffee.
My husband is the worst to wake up. I used to think it was a "Not a morning person," thing but now I just know it's some kind of weird dysfunction. We're working through it. I'm up at the same time every day doing some kind of work-out and then getting myself ready for work with lunch packed and attempting to look reasonably put together to leave by 7:20AM. This usually occurs before anyone else is physically out of bed. Sometimes I throw together breakfast for my daughter if she catches me on the move.
This morning we had mostly good moments. My daughter heard me in the shower and came in brightly and said, "Hi mom!" As soon as I started getting ready she wanted to get dressed with me and sat on the toilet by vanity area and mirror to catch mommy time before work. I have a strict "Don't be in the way," rule, not because I'm a strict mom but because I have serious "Mommy brain" and when I try to do everything for her in the midst of getting myself ready, I leave the house without things like mascara or worse, with it only on one eye.
She was listening well though. I was straightening my hair and she was somehow impressed. My hair isn't even curly compared to hers and I reminded her my little flat iron was an iron so it was hot. "Mom can you just do that to a small piece of my ponytail? PLEASE?" I did. "Whoa, it's so warm," she said. Then she wanted to know my step by step make up routine, even though she'd seen it a million times. "What's that? What's it for!? Why?" All of it.
I don't remember my mom wearing anything but blush ever. She wasn't a make up person, as to my knowledge, and still isn't. I missed out on make-up, hair stuff and any girl maintenance with my mother. She was never "maternal" in that way, okay she just wasn't really maternal. She dressed me in overpriced name brands to match and look cool though. Any funny shirt or things plastered with expensive brands on them were mine to keep up appearances.
Because of this, the popular girls used to love to "Make me up." It was all very "Mean Girls" Regina George-Cady Heron drama. I had one friend my junior year in high school who actually showed me how to buy and wear, and I've tweaked everything since then to try and look presentable. Every time my daughter says she wants make-up I say, "You have perfect little skin, you have a beautiful face and nothing to hide. You don't need make-up." One of her favorite parts of Halloween was I let her wear eye shadow. She did not enjoy removing the make-up later.
Back to this morning, she was very interested in it all and I humored her. A little powder here and a little powder there but she wanted the coveted eye shadow. I would never do that on a school day. Maybe a weekend. She has fancy chap stick of her own that my sister got her, but fake make-up and soapy kinds of things give her a rash with that sensitive skin so we use caution. Luckily I don't buy fancy enough make-up to worry about sharing with her so, from time to time we get girly.
The moments this morning were cute, so I slowed down and indulged. Most of my life feels like a rush of "Get here, get this done and fast." So, letting Luna hang with me this morning felt okay, until the tantrum. There is always a tantrum.
She gets easily frustrated with...everything. I totally understand this because so do I. But I have years of learning how to internalize everything under my belt. So she was getting dressed and first was the fit about the pants being so difficult to get on and she needed help. She is almost 6. She doesn't need help. She just wanted my attention. And then it was the end all be all, she could only get on one sock. The other was just impossible!
I laughed a little. Not 5 minutes before it was all cutesy Hallmark moments. It could have been something on a commercial for any bathroom product or even a PSA. And then it was world's end. It can switch so quickly. It's the good moments that keep our head above water though, and that can be easily forgotten.
Motherhood, and parenthood in general, can be ugly, and we often wish to just cover all the blemishes in different forms of make-up. Family life is messy. Okay, LIFE is messy. There's poop, boogers, hair pulling, screaming, crying and tantrums and that's just the parents! Funny right? It's all of us, but especially little kiddos, and as a mom, I'm often the one crying. Sometimes it's a happy cry but still! These are the moments, the good, the gross, the bad, the ugly.
I realize more and more how important those little cuddles are. Those little moments between the angry sock tantrums, being mad I said no, crying about a toy or telling me a story about someone being mean at school and it ruined the whole day just make parenting less heavy feeling. Think about how much we spend and stress on Christmas, but Christmas morning it all disappears when she sees the loot and is so excited that wishes came true! It's the good moments that make up for the bad and ugly ones. Keep them close, and your little ones too!
It's often best, well this is for me at least, to live moment to moment. Big scheme things and the future can get murky, but knowing that you'll carve out 20 minutes to let your daughter read to you? That can get you through all the spreadsheets, sales reports or customer service you might need to for the day. A funny thing she said can make your week. But most of all, these moments are just affirmations you're raising a great human. So keep up the good fight, even in the bad and ugly moments. And maybe keep some make up on hand in case.
My husband is the worst to wake up. I used to think it was a "Not a morning person," thing but now I just know it's some kind of weird dysfunction. We're working through it. I'm up at the same time every day doing some kind of work-out and then getting myself ready for work with lunch packed and attempting to look reasonably put together to leave by 7:20AM. This usually occurs before anyone else is physically out of bed. Sometimes I throw together breakfast for my daughter if she catches me on the move.
This morning we had mostly good moments. My daughter heard me in the shower and came in brightly and said, "Hi mom!" As soon as I started getting ready she wanted to get dressed with me and sat on the toilet by vanity area and mirror to catch mommy time before work. I have a strict "Don't be in the way," rule, not because I'm a strict mom but because I have serious "Mommy brain" and when I try to do everything for her in the midst of getting myself ready, I leave the house without things like mascara or worse, with it only on one eye.
She was listening well though. I was straightening my hair and she was somehow impressed. My hair isn't even curly compared to hers and I reminded her my little flat iron was an iron so it was hot. "Mom can you just do that to a small piece of my ponytail? PLEASE?" I did. "Whoa, it's so warm," she said. Then she wanted to know my step by step make up routine, even though she'd seen it a million times. "What's that? What's it for!? Why?" All of it.
I don't remember my mom wearing anything but blush ever. She wasn't a make up person, as to my knowledge, and still isn't. I missed out on make-up, hair stuff and any girl maintenance with my mother. She was never "maternal" in that way, okay she just wasn't really maternal. She dressed me in overpriced name brands to match and look cool though. Any funny shirt or things plastered with expensive brands on them were mine to keep up appearances.
Because of this, the popular girls used to love to "Make me up." It was all very "Mean Girls" Regina George-Cady Heron drama. I had one friend my junior year in high school who actually showed me how to buy and wear, and I've tweaked everything since then to try and look presentable. Every time my daughter says she wants make-up I say, "You have perfect little skin, you have a beautiful face and nothing to hide. You don't need make-up." One of her favorite parts of Halloween was I let her wear eye shadow. She did not enjoy removing the make-up later.
Back to this morning, she was very interested in it all and I humored her. A little powder here and a little powder there but she wanted the coveted eye shadow. I would never do that on a school day. Maybe a weekend. She has fancy chap stick of her own that my sister got her, but fake make-up and soapy kinds of things give her a rash with that sensitive skin so we use caution. Luckily I don't buy fancy enough make-up to worry about sharing with her so, from time to time we get girly.
The moments this morning were cute, so I slowed down and indulged. Most of my life feels like a rush of "Get here, get this done and fast." So, letting Luna hang with me this morning felt okay, until the tantrum. There is always a tantrum.
She gets easily frustrated with...everything. I totally understand this because so do I. But I have years of learning how to internalize everything under my belt. So she was getting dressed and first was the fit about the pants being so difficult to get on and she needed help. She is almost 6. She doesn't need help. She just wanted my attention. And then it was the end all be all, she could only get on one sock. The other was just impossible!
I laughed a little. Not 5 minutes before it was all cutesy Hallmark moments. It could have been something on a commercial for any bathroom product or even a PSA. And then it was world's end. It can switch so quickly. It's the good moments that keep our head above water though, and that can be easily forgotten.
Motherhood, and parenthood in general, can be ugly, and we often wish to just cover all the blemishes in different forms of make-up. Family life is messy. Okay, LIFE is messy. There's poop, boogers, hair pulling, screaming, crying and tantrums and that's just the parents! Funny right? It's all of us, but especially little kiddos, and as a mom, I'm often the one crying. Sometimes it's a happy cry but still! These are the moments, the good, the gross, the bad, the ugly.
I realize more and more how important those little cuddles are. Those little moments between the angry sock tantrums, being mad I said no, crying about a toy or telling me a story about someone being mean at school and it ruined the whole day just make parenting less heavy feeling. Think about how much we spend and stress on Christmas, but Christmas morning it all disappears when she sees the loot and is so excited that wishes came true! It's the good moments that make up for the bad and ugly ones. Keep them close, and your little ones too!
It's often best, well this is for me at least, to live moment to moment. Big scheme things and the future can get murky, but knowing that you'll carve out 20 minutes to let your daughter read to you? That can get you through all the spreadsheets, sales reports or customer service you might need to for the day. A funny thing she said can make your week. But most of all, these moments are just affirmations you're raising a great human. So keep up the good fight, even in the bad and ugly moments. And maybe keep some make up on hand in case.
Sunday, January 6, 2019
The Dollhouse Diatribe: "Sleep Training" Gone Wrong
Disclaimer: it may be best if this information never reaches my eldest sister but it's the internet. Anything is possible.
So when I was 5 years old my mom bought me a Playmobil Victorian Dollhouse. It was apparently the coolest of the Playmobil collection and could come with up to 3 floors plus attic. Of course, I had the 4 story Victorian Dollhouse with all of the accessories. Both of my half sisters came home from college and were conned into helping put this thing together.
Playmobil was a kind of more girly version of Legos, in my opinion. As an 80's kid I remember Legos being very much marketed towards boys. My little boy cousins had everything Lego and I lived in a world of Playmobil. I recall having the dollhouse, the circus (which may or may not be in possession of my youngest cousin still) and the zoo.
So the Victorian Dollhouse (seriously, google it) had so many pieces and was all assembly required. We are talking curtains, wallpaper, window inserts that open and shut, fencing, porch additions, and the ones my sisters still mention, flowers in window boxes, on every window on three full floors. All of this they did on Christmas Eve decades ago.
When my parents split when I was 16, my dad packed up the dollhouse, intact. When it got shipped to me, it wasn't in the very best shape with some broken pieces but all easily glue-able and still fully functional. I took it apart and packed it properly in all kinds of bubble wrap.
The Dollhouse followed me from Pennsylvania to Delray Beach, Florida, to 7 different addresses in Eugene, Oregon to 4 different addresses in the Tampa Bay area. While at address number 3 of four in Tampa Bay, 1 of 2 in Safety Harbor, my sister flew down 3 Christmases ago when Luna was about to be 3 to help me put together the Dollhouse for her all over again. Because my sister was here, my husband was able to just hang with my brother-in-law with no dollhouse responsibility.
As we had some wine and I annoyingly sang "Do you wanna build a dollhouse?" in the tune of the Frozen hit, "Do you wanna build a snowman?," we got it done on Christmas Eve. Luna liked the dollhouse but was still pretty young. This was one of those cases when I just couldn't wait for her to have it.
Fast forward to a new house and the dollhouse came intact just before she turned 4. My mom moved into our new grown up house with us and it was the first time my daughter had had her own big kid room. She had co-slept with us (see car accident posts) much later than I had ever imagined but I just thought she needed a room that was her haven.
She seemed to be okay with some snuggles and didn't have any potty issues at night, but then started having crazy nightmares that made her scared of her dream. She ended up in our bed and driving us all crazy for so long, me most. It was ugly. I was not getting sleep, so much that I literally asked friends if I could come to their homes to nap. They all thought I was being silly, sarcastic Alison. No seriously, I just wanted uninterrupted sleep. We were way past infancy. This was not okay.
You know how you make all these decisions based on "I'd never do that with MY kid?" Well, hear comes one to rear it's ugly head. Much like I said a dog would never sleep in bed with us and our pug is like an extra pillow, I maintained that Luna would sleep in her crib and her own bed, even if it was in or very close to our room.
By nine exhausting months, 4 of me working 12AM to 6AM from home for HSN, we were fully co-sleeping. I was so exhausted of the "Isn't she sleeping through the night by now?," commentary that made the mom shame almost as heavy as my eyelids. The kid took her place in the bed and didn't leave for years. In fact, I was making her a big kid room at our old place when we got in the car accident and with her recovery, left her another 3 months of HAVING to sleep next to me as she was in casts.
Back to age almost 4 and I'm discussing my sleeplessness with everyone and none of my tricks or bribery or anything are working. I'm starting to suffer in more ways than one when finally a close friend and mother of two, and by far the sweetest, most calm and patient mother told me that they had gone through the same thing with their daughter, also calm, quiet and polite, and they had to sleep train her by reversing the lock on the door and locking her in there for about a week. "The first nights are the worst. I had to wear headphones because of the crying," she admitted.
I was in shock and awe and I thought, "I could never do that...could I?" Finally, with my mom going out of town for the night and my husband working with no possible return until at least 3AM, I planned for the lock in. I had to. I couldn't take it anymore.
So, alone, on a weeknight I planned it. It did not go well. Luna was screaming so loud and crying and screaming I was actually afraid that, being so new to the neighborhood, I might get the cops called on me for child abuse because she was loud, much like her mother. It was HORRIFIC.
She screamed for a good 30 minutes and then the destruction began. I heard things being hurled at the door. First small things like stuffed animals and books. But then I heard what sounded like heaps of plastic. I wanted to rush in there but I couldn't cave! I had to stay strong.
The kicking and screaming subsided a bit and I knew she was still in there awake so I went to check. It looked like a hurricane hit and she had taken the dollhouse apart in pieces and chucked it at her locked door. The mama bear, hurt child who saw a precious toy that I saved and shared in pieces all over the floor of the house I worked so hard to get turned me into a MOMster.
Somehow I didn't unleash any unfavorable words I just kept yelling in some kind of loud but even tone: "This is not okay, unacceptable behavior. This was a very very bad choice and this is not okay. You broke the dollhouse! You broke this from mommy and it was mommy's and you broke my heart! You heart mommy's feelings!"
I picked up the dollhouse pieces only and put them in bags and boxes, like shattered wreckage from the destruction, and locked her back in. If I recall I had a couple glasses of wine. Alone and tired and filled with tears we both gave up in our own rooms. That was the only night we ever had to lock her in and it was BRUTAL, especially alone.
The dollhouse stayed dormant and resting for 2 Christmases until it's resurrection this past holiday. After everything my sister did for me and that dollhouse TWICE, I never had the heart to tell her Luna destroyed it. When I told my best friend she told me that she gave her youngest her American Girl doll too young and her little one covered her doll's entire face in "T's" to mark her territory and she learned to be very careful in sharing too quick because if they aren't quite old enough, they can't truly appreciate the gravity of the gift.
Side note, I have 2 American Girl Dolls awaiting Luna. She may not get them until she's 20. But, she did get the dollhouse again this past year. It was my 2nd time assembling and my husband's first. He learned quickly this was no small feat.
This time it is different. She loves it and appreciates that it was mine and how special it is. That poor dollhouse definitely won't survive her, or it may very carefully but it has seen a lot. As far as sleep training? I hate that phrase and sometimes hate that I ever did that, but I think she's better for it. She still visits us nightly but it is worlds better now. We also still have the locks switched to keep her in and that's always a fun threat...I would take the dollhouse out first though if it came to it again. Plus then I could play without her rules!
So when I was 5 years old my mom bought me a Playmobil Victorian Dollhouse. It was apparently the coolest of the Playmobil collection and could come with up to 3 floors plus attic. Of course, I had the 4 story Victorian Dollhouse with all of the accessories. Both of my half sisters came home from college and were conned into helping put this thing together.
Playmobil was a kind of more girly version of Legos, in my opinion. As an 80's kid I remember Legos being very much marketed towards boys. My little boy cousins had everything Lego and I lived in a world of Playmobil. I recall having the dollhouse, the circus (which may or may not be in possession of my youngest cousin still) and the zoo.
So the Victorian Dollhouse (seriously, google it) had so many pieces and was all assembly required. We are talking curtains, wallpaper, window inserts that open and shut, fencing, porch additions, and the ones my sisters still mention, flowers in window boxes, on every window on three full floors. All of this they did on Christmas Eve decades ago.
When my parents split when I was 16, my dad packed up the dollhouse, intact. When it got shipped to me, it wasn't in the very best shape with some broken pieces but all easily glue-able and still fully functional. I took it apart and packed it properly in all kinds of bubble wrap.
The Dollhouse followed me from Pennsylvania to Delray Beach, Florida, to 7 different addresses in Eugene, Oregon to 4 different addresses in the Tampa Bay area. While at address number 3 of four in Tampa Bay, 1 of 2 in Safety Harbor, my sister flew down 3 Christmases ago when Luna was about to be 3 to help me put together the Dollhouse for her all over again. Because my sister was here, my husband was able to just hang with my brother-in-law with no dollhouse responsibility.
As we had some wine and I annoyingly sang "Do you wanna build a dollhouse?" in the tune of the Frozen hit, "Do you wanna build a snowman?," we got it done on Christmas Eve. Luna liked the dollhouse but was still pretty young. This was one of those cases when I just couldn't wait for her to have it.
Fast forward to a new house and the dollhouse came intact just before she turned 4. My mom moved into our new grown up house with us and it was the first time my daughter had had her own big kid room. She had co-slept with us (see car accident posts) much later than I had ever imagined but I just thought she needed a room that was her haven.
She seemed to be okay with some snuggles and didn't have any potty issues at night, but then started having crazy nightmares that made her scared of her dream. She ended up in our bed and driving us all crazy for so long, me most. It was ugly. I was not getting sleep, so much that I literally asked friends if I could come to their homes to nap. They all thought I was being silly, sarcastic Alison. No seriously, I just wanted uninterrupted sleep. We were way past infancy. This was not okay.
You know how you make all these decisions based on "I'd never do that with MY kid?" Well, hear comes one to rear it's ugly head. Much like I said a dog would never sleep in bed with us and our pug is like an extra pillow, I maintained that Luna would sleep in her crib and her own bed, even if it was in or very close to our room.
By nine exhausting months, 4 of me working 12AM to 6AM from home for HSN, we were fully co-sleeping. I was so exhausted of the "Isn't she sleeping through the night by now?," commentary that made the mom shame almost as heavy as my eyelids. The kid took her place in the bed and didn't leave for years. In fact, I was making her a big kid room at our old place when we got in the car accident and with her recovery, left her another 3 months of HAVING to sleep next to me as she was in casts.
Back to age almost 4 and I'm discussing my sleeplessness with everyone and none of my tricks or bribery or anything are working. I'm starting to suffer in more ways than one when finally a close friend and mother of two, and by far the sweetest, most calm and patient mother told me that they had gone through the same thing with their daughter, also calm, quiet and polite, and they had to sleep train her by reversing the lock on the door and locking her in there for about a week. "The first nights are the worst. I had to wear headphones because of the crying," she admitted.
I was in shock and awe and I thought, "I could never do that...could I?" Finally, with my mom going out of town for the night and my husband working with no possible return until at least 3AM, I planned for the lock in. I had to. I couldn't take it anymore.
So, alone, on a weeknight I planned it. It did not go well. Luna was screaming so loud and crying and screaming I was actually afraid that, being so new to the neighborhood, I might get the cops called on me for child abuse because she was loud, much like her mother. It was HORRIFIC.
She screamed for a good 30 minutes and then the destruction began. I heard things being hurled at the door. First small things like stuffed animals and books. But then I heard what sounded like heaps of plastic. I wanted to rush in there but I couldn't cave! I had to stay strong.
The kicking and screaming subsided a bit and I knew she was still in there awake so I went to check. It looked like a hurricane hit and she had taken the dollhouse apart in pieces and chucked it at her locked door. The mama bear, hurt child who saw a precious toy that I saved and shared in pieces all over the floor of the house I worked so hard to get turned me into a MOMster.
Somehow I didn't unleash any unfavorable words I just kept yelling in some kind of loud but even tone: "This is not okay, unacceptable behavior. This was a very very bad choice and this is not okay. You broke the dollhouse! You broke this from mommy and it was mommy's and you broke my heart! You heart mommy's feelings!"
I picked up the dollhouse pieces only and put them in bags and boxes, like shattered wreckage from the destruction, and locked her back in. If I recall I had a couple glasses of wine. Alone and tired and filled with tears we both gave up in our own rooms. That was the only night we ever had to lock her in and it was BRUTAL, especially alone.
The dollhouse stayed dormant and resting for 2 Christmases until it's resurrection this past holiday. After everything my sister did for me and that dollhouse TWICE, I never had the heart to tell her Luna destroyed it. When I told my best friend she told me that she gave her youngest her American Girl doll too young and her little one covered her doll's entire face in "T's" to mark her territory and she learned to be very careful in sharing too quick because if they aren't quite old enough, they can't truly appreciate the gravity of the gift.
Side note, I have 2 American Girl Dolls awaiting Luna. She may not get them until she's 20. But, she did get the dollhouse again this past year. It was my 2nd time assembling and my husband's first. He learned quickly this was no small feat.
This time it is different. She loves it and appreciates that it was mine and how special it is. That poor dollhouse definitely won't survive her, or it may very carefully but it has seen a lot. As far as sleep training? I hate that phrase and sometimes hate that I ever did that, but I think she's better for it. She still visits us nightly but it is worlds better now. We also still have the locks switched to keep her in and that's always a fun threat...I would take the dollhouse out first though if it came to it again. Plus then I could play without her rules!
Saturday, January 5, 2019
Pooping Cats, Plastic Horses and Baby Alive Types of Toys
As I'm just about to start writing this my daughter asks "Whatcha doing mom?" I said, "Typing and writing." Her response? "Again? Seriously?" So yes I'm back at it. Again, thanks for sticking with me.
So yesterday a friend of mine posted this Instagram story about a toy her step-daughter got that was feeding a baby doll something and then it poops. I laughed as she seemed horrified. Why did I laugh? Last year one of my daughter's best friends had this cat toy that you walked around and it pooped out plastic cat turds and farted and meowed and these girls thought this was the best thing ever.
Of course my daughter asked for her own and aptly named it "Pooping cat." On her video of her Christmas 2017 recap one of her prized possessions was in fact, "a pooping cat." She still plays with it to this day.
I remember wanting weird toys when I was young and vying for the "must haves" every year. And now I'm living in that world and sometimes it is surreal. I still don't understand the point of a Shopkin, what they are, what they do or why they are fun but I don't judge because I came from the Polly Pocket, Little's Pet Shop and Pogs era. Yeah, POGS!
I hope I'm not the only mom who just doesn't completely understand why some toys are cool versus the lame ones, but even if I am, somethings are meant just for the fun of little imaginations and that's fine with me.
So this past year for Christmas, Christmas 2018 that is, we got a Disney Catalog in the mail. Of course throughout the pages are toys that range in price from $10 to $200. They were kind enough to provide some 20 stickers for children to mark their wants and needs for Christmas. I thought I was being so sly letting Luna only pick 4 items...and the first thing she picked was a "My size" plastic horse from Tangled with the price of $99.99.
The cheap mother inside me screamed, "Hell no you're not getting a $100 piece of plastic!" But then the nice mom who wants her child to have some of the things she wants, no matter how silly they may seem, started to consider it.
This thing became quite the discussion point for awhile and she was all about getting her Maximus horse. She told Santa about that one right out of the gate. So, since she had never asked for anything that expensive before, I thought...we can probably make this work.
They didn't have it at the store and even in November online they weren't giving a very good delivery estimate for this horse. So when my mom and I caught a pre-Thanksgiving sale at the Disney store I asked about old Maximus. A Disney associate said, "Oh yeah my daughter saw it at Target, it's cheaper there. She wants one too. We'll probably have it black Friday but you'll want to get here before 10AM to make sure you can get it."
Ugggh, black Friday. Once I tried to get a TV on Black Friday for my husband, I just ended up driving right past Best Buy like "Nope," when I saw that line. I would pay full price to not have to deal with the hysteria.
I found out that the discount would be worth it though so I started psyching myself up for what would be my first Black Friday endeavor...ever. So Black Friday morning I wake up super early, get a workout in and then head to the Mall. After hitting JCPenney first I found my way to the Disney Store and was first in line! I was going to get that horse! And for cheaper!
I get in there...nowhere. Nowhere to be found. I ask 3 employees and somehow they never had the "My Size Maximus Horse" in the store. Then I heard an employee say, "You should try Target." I almost lost it.
A friend of mine who was familiar with my quest found that a Target about 25 minutes away had it in stock for just $70 and I could order it online and pick it up, no stress. Moms to the rescue! Other moms are such wonderful friends! They make the world a better place.
So, $70 in plastic isn't as impressive but it definitely would not be easy to wrap. Amazon large Santa bag to the rescue. The things we do for love.
Some of you may read this and think "I can't believe you bought that," but she was so excited. Maximus, whom she has decided is a girl, not a boy, despite our review of the film where they call him a "him" and "boy" repeatedly, now stays right by her bed and comes out to watch TV with her often. She brushes and fixes his hair and feeds him apples and makes him neigh repeatedly.
And while Pooping cats are hilariously gross and ridiculous, while pooping baby toys are strange and seemingly unnecessary and $70 is a lot to spend on a fake toddler-sized horse, some of these things are just a part of kids being kids and I feel blessed I can give her the silly things, even just for now, because that Christmas happiness, is definitely priceless, as is their reactions to pooping cats and babies. Back to your weekends readers! Until tomorrow...
So yesterday a friend of mine posted this Instagram story about a toy her step-daughter got that was feeding a baby doll something and then it poops. I laughed as she seemed horrified. Why did I laugh? Last year one of my daughter's best friends had this cat toy that you walked around and it pooped out plastic cat turds and farted and meowed and these girls thought this was the best thing ever.
Of course my daughter asked for her own and aptly named it "Pooping cat." On her video of her Christmas 2017 recap one of her prized possessions was in fact, "a pooping cat." She still plays with it to this day.
I remember wanting weird toys when I was young and vying for the "must haves" every year. And now I'm living in that world and sometimes it is surreal. I still don't understand the point of a Shopkin, what they are, what they do or why they are fun but I don't judge because I came from the Polly Pocket, Little's Pet Shop and Pogs era. Yeah, POGS!
I hope I'm not the only mom who just doesn't completely understand why some toys are cool versus the lame ones, but even if I am, somethings are meant just for the fun of little imaginations and that's fine with me.
So this past year for Christmas, Christmas 2018 that is, we got a Disney Catalog in the mail. Of course throughout the pages are toys that range in price from $10 to $200. They were kind enough to provide some 20 stickers for children to mark their wants and needs for Christmas. I thought I was being so sly letting Luna only pick 4 items...and the first thing she picked was a "My size" plastic horse from Tangled with the price of $99.99.
The cheap mother inside me screamed, "Hell no you're not getting a $100 piece of plastic!" But then the nice mom who wants her child to have some of the things she wants, no matter how silly they may seem, started to consider it.
This thing became quite the discussion point for awhile and she was all about getting her Maximus horse. She told Santa about that one right out of the gate. So, since she had never asked for anything that expensive before, I thought...we can probably make this work.
They didn't have it at the store and even in November online they weren't giving a very good delivery estimate for this horse. So when my mom and I caught a pre-Thanksgiving sale at the Disney store I asked about old Maximus. A Disney associate said, "Oh yeah my daughter saw it at Target, it's cheaper there. She wants one too. We'll probably have it black Friday but you'll want to get here before 10AM to make sure you can get it."
Ugggh, black Friday. Once I tried to get a TV on Black Friday for my husband, I just ended up driving right past Best Buy like "Nope," when I saw that line. I would pay full price to not have to deal with the hysteria.
I found out that the discount would be worth it though so I started psyching myself up for what would be my first Black Friday endeavor...ever. So Black Friday morning I wake up super early, get a workout in and then head to the Mall. After hitting JCPenney first I found my way to the Disney Store and was first in line! I was going to get that horse! And for cheaper!
I get in there...nowhere. Nowhere to be found. I ask 3 employees and somehow they never had the "My Size Maximus Horse" in the store. Then I heard an employee say, "You should try Target." I almost lost it.
A friend of mine who was familiar with my quest found that a Target about 25 minutes away had it in stock for just $70 and I could order it online and pick it up, no stress. Moms to the rescue! Other moms are such wonderful friends! They make the world a better place.
So, $70 in plastic isn't as impressive but it definitely would not be easy to wrap. Amazon large Santa bag to the rescue. The things we do for love.
Some of you may read this and think "I can't believe you bought that," but she was so excited. Maximus, whom she has decided is a girl, not a boy, despite our review of the film where they call him a "him" and "boy" repeatedly, now stays right by her bed and comes out to watch TV with her often. She brushes and fixes his hair and feeds him apples and makes him neigh repeatedly.
And while Pooping cats are hilariously gross and ridiculous, while pooping baby toys are strange and seemingly unnecessary and $70 is a lot to spend on a fake toddler-sized horse, some of these things are just a part of kids being kids and I feel blessed I can give her the silly things, even just for now, because that Christmas happiness, is definitely priceless, as is their reactions to pooping cats and babies. Back to your weekends readers! Until tomorrow...
Friday, January 4, 2019
Motherhood Can Feel Lonely...And It Really Shouldn't
Last year I had a casual conversation with a fellow mom at church who had just had her second baby. We were talking about normal things in terms of infancy and how she had forgotten some things between her first who was then 4, and her second one. Wherever we ended up in the conversation I said to her, "And it can feel so lonely," and without hesitation her retort was, "Yes, I know! It CAN feel lonely!"
I felt a connection with her since then but later upon reflection my heart sank. There are literally millions upon millions of women who are mothers on this planet. There are even some fathers who end up being motherly! We shouldn't feel lonely, and the fact that we have those moments, breaks my heart.
We're in a sensitive society right now I feel. I respect all opinions, but when playground talk turns into politics, personal beliefs, whether religious or otherwise, and parenting methods, things can get ugly, and fast.
One of my longest and physically closest mom friends and I began our friendship based on the fact that I didn't judge her as a parent and she returned the favor. I witnessed some pretty harsh mom on mom stuff at a birthday party last year that has forever been branded into me and what I want to say is this: You never know where someone else is in their life, their journey or their state of mind and judgmental words and commentary can hurt. I wish we could all just be patient and be kind. It's not your responsibility to parent the world.
Now, granted, if another child physically harms mine, the mama bear can come out but as a whole I try and teach Luna to just think "Well maybe he had a bad day or things are tough at home, we don't know. You use your words and express your feelings and let him feel his." Or hers.
I don't care who you are, and if you've never seen Bad Moms, watch it immediately because it posits some serious truths that support that motherhood and parenting is hard. We shouldn't be AGAINST each other. Often my mom friend and I that live judgment free hit the park with our kiddos and when we see other little ones being scolded for the same things we scold for or acting the same way ours do at their moms we joke, "Oh good, it's not just us!" See? We're NOT alone.
I know we use so much of our patience on our tiny humans that sharing that with the rest of the world is often difficult but I've worked so hard on becoming less judgmental in general but especially when it comes to other moms. Now the birthday party scene that scarred me, was an instant of watching other unfair judgment and my not knowing how to handle it but by being especially kind to the mom victim and her little one. She handled it much better than I could have, in my humble opinion.
It's funny because years ago when I was deep into some of the darkest places of my life with work, family, marriage and what felt like everything, I was called out for my judgment and being a "hater." What it really was, now that I look back, was a "Comparison Hangover," which Kristen Bell has explained on her husband's podcast, ArmChair Expert, to be when you get stuck in the social media and life haze of watching everyone else and judging them and yourself based on what their lives and experience look like, or that's what I got from it.
And, as a mom, hangovers of any kind are so much worse than they were before baby. Side note, Kristen Bell is a gorgeous mental health advocate, wonderful mother, great actress and I want to meet her someday and have lunch. I digress, and once I stopped thinking in terms of comparison, of "She's a better mom, she's a smarter mom, or a kinder mom," and started thinking "She makes great lunches and dresses them so cute! She has a great job and must balance a lot! She doesn't even raise her voice and her kids respond so well!'
It's been a process. It IS a process but my aim is to be welcoming so that no mother that crosses my path, feels alone. I hated those feelings. Especially early on. Between postpartum and all the new mom stuff, feeling so alone is just so hurtful and I wish I had been kinder to myself and been more comfortable admitting, "Hey I'm lonely and I really would love some help here."
Moreover, I think each mom can teach me something and we all have so much to learn! I remember when a mom at my boot camp heard me complaining about Luna's cold and said "Vapor rub on the feet with socks on and run a hot shower when she's at her worst and sit with her in then." My mind was blown and we became friends after that!
With all of this said, I will also advocate the importance of taking a step back if you feel judge or feel like you're just in a "judgey" place. We all have those moments. We're mothers, we're supposed to be imperfect. Why do you think Mary Poppins is a fictional character and just a nanny? No one can be "Practically Perfect in every way!"
Finding your boundaries and setting them can feel just as daunting as being open to all these suggestions but they are just suggestions. This is coming from 5 rough, ROUGH personal years of motherhood and womanhood, so I just want to impart what I have learned because if there is just ONE reader who can get something from this? Mission accomplished!
I felt a connection with her since then but later upon reflection my heart sank. There are literally millions upon millions of women who are mothers on this planet. There are even some fathers who end up being motherly! We shouldn't feel lonely, and the fact that we have those moments, breaks my heart.
We're in a sensitive society right now I feel. I respect all opinions, but when playground talk turns into politics, personal beliefs, whether religious or otherwise, and parenting methods, things can get ugly, and fast.
One of my longest and physically closest mom friends and I began our friendship based on the fact that I didn't judge her as a parent and she returned the favor. I witnessed some pretty harsh mom on mom stuff at a birthday party last year that has forever been branded into me and what I want to say is this: You never know where someone else is in their life, their journey or their state of mind and judgmental words and commentary can hurt. I wish we could all just be patient and be kind. It's not your responsibility to parent the world.
Now, granted, if another child physically harms mine, the mama bear can come out but as a whole I try and teach Luna to just think "Well maybe he had a bad day or things are tough at home, we don't know. You use your words and express your feelings and let him feel his." Or hers.
I don't care who you are, and if you've never seen Bad Moms, watch it immediately because it posits some serious truths that support that motherhood and parenting is hard. We shouldn't be AGAINST each other. Often my mom friend and I that live judgment free hit the park with our kiddos and when we see other little ones being scolded for the same things we scold for or acting the same way ours do at their moms we joke, "Oh good, it's not just us!" See? We're NOT alone.
I know we use so much of our patience on our tiny humans that sharing that with the rest of the world is often difficult but I've worked so hard on becoming less judgmental in general but especially when it comes to other moms. Now the birthday party scene that scarred me, was an instant of watching other unfair judgment and my not knowing how to handle it but by being especially kind to the mom victim and her little one. She handled it much better than I could have, in my humble opinion.
It's funny because years ago when I was deep into some of the darkest places of my life with work, family, marriage and what felt like everything, I was called out for my judgment and being a "hater." What it really was, now that I look back, was a "Comparison Hangover," which Kristen Bell has explained on her husband's podcast, ArmChair Expert, to be when you get stuck in the social media and life haze of watching everyone else and judging them and yourself based on what their lives and experience look like, or that's what I got from it.
And, as a mom, hangovers of any kind are so much worse than they were before baby. Side note, Kristen Bell is a gorgeous mental health advocate, wonderful mother, great actress and I want to meet her someday and have lunch. I digress, and once I stopped thinking in terms of comparison, of "She's a better mom, she's a smarter mom, or a kinder mom," and started thinking "She makes great lunches and dresses them so cute! She has a great job and must balance a lot! She doesn't even raise her voice and her kids respond so well!'
It's been a process. It IS a process but my aim is to be welcoming so that no mother that crosses my path, feels alone. I hated those feelings. Especially early on. Between postpartum and all the new mom stuff, feeling so alone is just so hurtful and I wish I had been kinder to myself and been more comfortable admitting, "Hey I'm lonely and I really would love some help here."
Moreover, I think each mom can teach me something and we all have so much to learn! I remember when a mom at my boot camp heard me complaining about Luna's cold and said "Vapor rub on the feet with socks on and run a hot shower when she's at her worst and sit with her in then." My mind was blown and we became friends after that!
With all of this said, I will also advocate the importance of taking a step back if you feel judge or feel like you're just in a "judgey" place. We all have those moments. We're mothers, we're supposed to be imperfect. Why do you think Mary Poppins is a fictional character and just a nanny? No one can be "Practically Perfect in every way!"
Finding your boundaries and setting them can feel just as daunting as being open to all these suggestions but they are just suggestions. This is coming from 5 rough, ROUGH personal years of motherhood and womanhood, so I just want to impart what I have learned because if there is just ONE reader who can get something from this? Mission accomplished!
Thursday, January 3, 2019
Me As a Mom Part Two
Yesterday we journeyed into Luna's entrance into the world and before we go into my feelings of immediately failing motherhood, I just want to say...I was just on Amazon looking for "Tooth Fairy Kits" because my child is so tense about her loose tooth coming out and it's driving me insane. I can see the other one coming in behind it. Do all parents go through this?
And that's where we can start. Do all parents go through this? We ask ourselves that DAILY, don't we? No, let's be honest now...it may even be HOURLY. Because we have these epic parallels don't we? "Every child is different and unique." "What works for one won't work for everyone." It can all be overwhelming.
I got everything all at once it felt, which is probably a common feeling. One of my oldest and closest family friends became a dad of twins long before I got pregnant and I quote him often when he said to me, "Man, I thought I was tired before." Babies are tough. Period. And disclaimer, I loved sleep BEFORE I was pregnant. Huge difference between 6 hours of sleep Alison and 9 hours of sleep Alison. And now, sleep is my favorite hobby.
During my therapy in college for my anxiety and depression, one thing that was made very clear to me was the importance of sleep as self care and that getting the right amount has everything to do with my depressive feelings and anxiety levels. Now I knew infants would require my all but let me explain something...I was very much a mess and I thought I had the support I needed. Turns out I had no idea what kind of support I needed.
Everything after the birth was a blur. Then and now. Visitors and everything. And the way it is portrayed in television and movies? Bullshit by the way. I remember the sweet moments of some of my favorite people holding her and meeting her. One of my favorite co-workers at the time, who has since grown into this incredible woman with a step daughter of her own, held Luna and just looked at her and said, "Oh, wow...she's so REAL!" She wanted to hear every moment of the birth story immediately.
One thing I remember vividly is that I was obsessed with this idea of skin to skin but also am always the coldest person on the planet. I had the robe and stuff and the socks but was still freezing. I also wanted to immediately stick her on my boob which is where she would stay for 2 years. I was going to breastfeed. There was no other plan.
I thought I did okay her first day, but before I knew it I had so many people in my face and in my ear talking about how to hold her, "Put her here, she has to do this" and I was just so exhausted. Hello? I just had a baby. Again, in a haze and I thought things were okay.
I'd asked for a Lactation consultant because again, breastfeeding was my only plan. All of the sudden a surly nurse was telling me to "Sit up, move this way, put her here." I remember being so uncomfortable and just wanting to find a way that worked for me to not hurt. Then the nurse started barking at me about inverted nipples, which I read a lot about, and I was just tired enough to be offended and cranky. It's COLD in here I thought, and come on! She shoved a nipple shield on me with little direction and then was gone, while again, I sat in this twisted position just trying to get Luna and I to get breastfeeding going.
It's six years later I still look back on everything with tears. Even as I type, I cry because...I had no close friends that were mothers. My dad had me at an older age and clearly didn't breast feed. My mom breast fed but wasn't one to talk about how it actually was and the few mothers I could talk to ended up with formula. If I'm being brutally honest, now with serious reflection, there were definitely home and life circumstances that didn't help my chances to succeed either, but that may very well turn into a book later. Stay tuned!
Back to baby. We got home. My dad did laundry constantly. My husband cooked way too much food. I thought I was breastfeeding okay. I remember now a few times saying, "If she wasn't getting enough, she'd be miserable right? Like, if I was that horrible of a mom she'd tell me, right?"
Breastfeeding hurt. Badly. Not because I had thrush or clogged ducts or any of the things that scare you in the books. Turns out Luna was a lazy nurser and I had not the best hold. Breastfeeding started to hurt me so much I would lock Luna and I in my room and cry and drink water and suck on hard candies and repeat until she was done. I didn't leave the house for fear of breastfeeding in public and would only let visitors come after she'd been fed. I was just about to call La Leche League for support because the only thing that helped was a nipple shield my husband got at Wal-Mart, and I didn't think she was getting enough but was also completely exhausted with a house guest arrival looming. We went in for her two week appointment, where I thought I could talk to someone, and they didn't have us on the books, didn't care and pushed it another week. This was when everything changed. That last week before the appointment was horrible and the pushed back appointment made everything worse.
At 3 weeks old Luna was diagnosed with "Failure to Thrive," which means she was losing weight, not gaining. Again, I still cry when I think about this and while some people have never heard of failure to thrive, for me, it was just a diagnosis of "Failure to Mom." We went from the pediatric office to the hospital because we needed to supplement with formula and get her weight up ASAP. They also wanted to test her for other reasons beside bad mothering that she might not be gaining. It was horrible waiting to get into a room and calling family members and repeating that "Failure" word over and over.
When we got in the room, for whatever reason Luna and I were completely alone with doctors and nurses and I just remember sitting, being freezing and crying while I heard "Oh it's not your fault, what formula should we try and we have to put in a feeding tube, you can start pumping and we'll do this and as soon as this and the doctor and..." It was a whirlwind of emotions drowned in tears.
Enter the nurse I met at Massage Envy just over a month ago; she recognized me and looked sad. She said sweetly, "I meant it when I said I hoped I'd never see you. But congrats. She's beautiful and a little fighter, I can tell." She and one other nurse became my quick favorites and lifelines during our stay.
It broke my heart that I couldn't breastfeed her and she still had to have formula. It STILL breaks my heart and brings me to tears. Now, plenty of people have had healthy babies with formula and I'm not judging ANYONE who chose that, but as a mother and parent you probably understand that when it's not part of your plan, it certainly throws a wrench in things. The postpartum hit me the hardest here, while stuck in the hospital.
Luna and I were alone for 8 out of the 10 days with the exception of my best friend at the time who came daily to bring me a Starbucks, Chik-Fil-A, or just to hold the baby so I could shower. We were in a room that was shared with 4 other families of varying baby ages and illness and injury. There was a communal shower on the floor and exhausted parents would shuffle around in and out of common areas and the nurses station. It took me 5 days to realize I could leave Luna with the nurses for 10 minutes to get Starbucks downstairs instead of the shitty cafeteria coffee.
My oldest half sister had offered to come help. After 10 days in a hospital fighting with a mean doctor who didn't know how badly I needed to be out of this environment to get my daughter and I well, I was afraid maybe the doctors were right...if I went home alone with Luna maybe I'd just fail again.
It was 10 days of pumping and supplementing with tests and blood draws and hospital food. When they put the feeding tube in her first day, I cried and curled into a ball. Luna ripped it out herself on the end of the second day and breast fed and bottle fed afterwards as if to say, I got this. I just couldn't give up on breastfeeding. I refused.
I remember being so distraught and I had one low moment, and one moment of resolution looking back. In all of this my husband, with good intentions I hope, said, "Some women can't breast feed, and that's okay. Maybe you just can't!" It was then I quoted Rachel from Friends and said with hatred, "No uterus, no opinion." It was my dad who calmly said, "Sweetheart you have been with that baby 24/7 and all you do is look at her and love her. you couldn't possibly notice her losing weight like that and this is not your fault." This is why my dad still is my calming force.
My sister ended up flying in the day before we were discharged and came to the room. She looked at me in terror and said, "When was the last time you were outside? You're pale enough as it is but now your skin matches the walls!" She commanded my husband to hold the baby and took me outside for the first natural air and sunlight I'd seen in over a week. She got home with me, held the baby lots, and had infinite patience in making sure I felt motherly again.
Luna bounced back after what will live in infamy as my own personal "hell week." Reflecting on this will always completely break me in every way, but I like to share because I think we don't get enough support easily available for new mothers, no matter WHAT YOUR PLAN. Maybe I didn't know where or how to look, but I regret being afraid, feeling completely ashamed and not asking for MORE help. And any mother reading this who has gone through or is going through something similar, I'd love to hear from you. Reach out if you need a shoulder.
Needless to say we've never had any food issues since the,n and she continues to be one of the healthiest kids I know, but for such a rocky start, and as a mom who knows she still has bad days and crappy ways of parenting, I return to this story often as a reflection for just how far we've come in every way.
And that's where we can start. Do all parents go through this? We ask ourselves that DAILY, don't we? No, let's be honest now...it may even be HOURLY. Because we have these epic parallels don't we? "Every child is different and unique." "What works for one won't work for everyone." It can all be overwhelming.
I got everything all at once it felt, which is probably a common feeling. One of my oldest and closest family friends became a dad of twins long before I got pregnant and I quote him often when he said to me, "Man, I thought I was tired before." Babies are tough. Period. And disclaimer, I loved sleep BEFORE I was pregnant. Huge difference between 6 hours of sleep Alison and 9 hours of sleep Alison. And now, sleep is my favorite hobby.
During my therapy in college for my anxiety and depression, one thing that was made very clear to me was the importance of sleep as self care and that getting the right amount has everything to do with my depressive feelings and anxiety levels. Now I knew infants would require my all but let me explain something...I was very much a mess and I thought I had the support I needed. Turns out I had no idea what kind of support I needed.
Everything after the birth was a blur. Then and now. Visitors and everything. And the way it is portrayed in television and movies? Bullshit by the way. I remember the sweet moments of some of my favorite people holding her and meeting her. One of my favorite co-workers at the time, who has since grown into this incredible woman with a step daughter of her own, held Luna and just looked at her and said, "Oh, wow...she's so REAL!" She wanted to hear every moment of the birth story immediately.
One thing I remember vividly is that I was obsessed with this idea of skin to skin but also am always the coldest person on the planet. I had the robe and stuff and the socks but was still freezing. I also wanted to immediately stick her on my boob which is where she would stay for 2 years. I was going to breastfeed. There was no other plan.
I thought I did okay her first day, but before I knew it I had so many people in my face and in my ear talking about how to hold her, "Put her here, she has to do this" and I was just so exhausted. Hello? I just had a baby. Again, in a haze and I thought things were okay.
I'd asked for a Lactation consultant because again, breastfeeding was my only plan. All of the sudden a surly nurse was telling me to "Sit up, move this way, put her here." I remember being so uncomfortable and just wanting to find a way that worked for me to not hurt. Then the nurse started barking at me about inverted nipples, which I read a lot about, and I was just tired enough to be offended and cranky. It's COLD in here I thought, and come on! She shoved a nipple shield on me with little direction and then was gone, while again, I sat in this twisted position just trying to get Luna and I to get breastfeeding going.
It's six years later I still look back on everything with tears. Even as I type, I cry because...I had no close friends that were mothers. My dad had me at an older age and clearly didn't breast feed. My mom breast fed but wasn't one to talk about how it actually was and the few mothers I could talk to ended up with formula. If I'm being brutally honest, now with serious reflection, there were definitely home and life circumstances that didn't help my chances to succeed either, but that may very well turn into a book later. Stay tuned!
Back to baby. We got home. My dad did laundry constantly. My husband cooked way too much food. I thought I was breastfeeding okay. I remember now a few times saying, "If she wasn't getting enough, she'd be miserable right? Like, if I was that horrible of a mom she'd tell me, right?"
Breastfeeding hurt. Badly. Not because I had thrush or clogged ducts or any of the things that scare you in the books. Turns out Luna was a lazy nurser and I had not the best hold. Breastfeeding started to hurt me so much I would lock Luna and I in my room and cry and drink water and suck on hard candies and repeat until she was done. I didn't leave the house for fear of breastfeeding in public and would only let visitors come after she'd been fed. I was just about to call La Leche League for support because the only thing that helped was a nipple shield my husband got at Wal-Mart, and I didn't think she was getting enough but was also completely exhausted with a house guest arrival looming. We went in for her two week appointment, where I thought I could talk to someone, and they didn't have us on the books, didn't care and pushed it another week. This was when everything changed. That last week before the appointment was horrible and the pushed back appointment made everything worse.
At 3 weeks old Luna was diagnosed with "Failure to Thrive," which means she was losing weight, not gaining. Again, I still cry when I think about this and while some people have never heard of failure to thrive, for me, it was just a diagnosis of "Failure to Mom." We went from the pediatric office to the hospital because we needed to supplement with formula and get her weight up ASAP. They also wanted to test her for other reasons beside bad mothering that she might not be gaining. It was horrible waiting to get into a room and calling family members and repeating that "Failure" word over and over.
When we got in the room, for whatever reason Luna and I were completely alone with doctors and nurses and I just remember sitting, being freezing and crying while I heard "Oh it's not your fault, what formula should we try and we have to put in a feeding tube, you can start pumping and we'll do this and as soon as this and the doctor and..." It was a whirlwind of emotions drowned in tears.
Enter the nurse I met at Massage Envy just over a month ago; she recognized me and looked sad. She said sweetly, "I meant it when I said I hoped I'd never see you. But congrats. She's beautiful and a little fighter, I can tell." She and one other nurse became my quick favorites and lifelines during our stay.
It broke my heart that I couldn't breastfeed her and she still had to have formula. It STILL breaks my heart and brings me to tears. Now, plenty of people have had healthy babies with formula and I'm not judging ANYONE who chose that, but as a mother and parent you probably understand that when it's not part of your plan, it certainly throws a wrench in things. The postpartum hit me the hardest here, while stuck in the hospital.
Luna and I were alone for 8 out of the 10 days with the exception of my best friend at the time who came daily to bring me a Starbucks, Chik-Fil-A, or just to hold the baby so I could shower. We were in a room that was shared with 4 other families of varying baby ages and illness and injury. There was a communal shower on the floor and exhausted parents would shuffle around in and out of common areas and the nurses station. It took me 5 days to realize I could leave Luna with the nurses for 10 minutes to get Starbucks downstairs instead of the shitty cafeteria coffee.
My oldest half sister had offered to come help. After 10 days in a hospital fighting with a mean doctor who didn't know how badly I needed to be out of this environment to get my daughter and I well, I was afraid maybe the doctors were right...if I went home alone with Luna maybe I'd just fail again.
It was 10 days of pumping and supplementing with tests and blood draws and hospital food. When they put the feeding tube in her first day, I cried and curled into a ball. Luna ripped it out herself on the end of the second day and breast fed and bottle fed afterwards as if to say, I got this. I just couldn't give up on breastfeeding. I refused.
I remember being so distraught and I had one low moment, and one moment of resolution looking back. In all of this my husband, with good intentions I hope, said, "Some women can't breast feed, and that's okay. Maybe you just can't!" It was then I quoted Rachel from Friends and said with hatred, "No uterus, no opinion." It was my dad who calmly said, "Sweetheart you have been with that baby 24/7 and all you do is look at her and love her. you couldn't possibly notice her losing weight like that and this is not your fault." This is why my dad still is my calming force.
My sister ended up flying in the day before we were discharged and came to the room. She looked at me in terror and said, "When was the last time you were outside? You're pale enough as it is but now your skin matches the walls!" She commanded my husband to hold the baby and took me outside for the first natural air and sunlight I'd seen in over a week. She got home with me, held the baby lots, and had infinite patience in making sure I felt motherly again.
Luna bounced back after what will live in infamy as my own personal "hell week." Reflecting on this will always completely break me in every way, but I like to share because I think we don't get enough support easily available for new mothers, no matter WHAT YOUR PLAN. Maybe I didn't know where or how to look, but I regret being afraid, feeling completely ashamed and not asking for MORE help. And any mother reading this who has gone through or is going through something similar, I'd love to hear from you. Reach out if you need a shoulder.
Needless to say we've never had any food issues since the,n and she continues to be one of the healthiest kids I know, but for such a rocky start, and as a mom who knows she still has bad days and crappy ways of parenting, I return to this story often as a reflection for just how far we've come in every way.
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
What You Should Know About Me As a Mom
First, I want to thank ALL of you that read my blog yesterday. I so appreciate each and every one of you!
Second, I wanted to give you all a view as to my whole entrance into motherhood so to speak.
Now this is just MY journey and what worked for me versus didn't work for me isn't for everyone. So I mean none of the following as a trigger for any woman, especially those trying to conceive and feeling frustrated. This is just my path and I want to support you continuing yours, whatever that looks like for you. So here we go.
In 29 days, exactly 6 years ago I gave birth to my beautiful, redheaded ball of sass, Luna Raylee. Luna came out one day after her due date and was born on 1-31-13 at 11:31AM. Not joking. I pointed this out in my exhausted stupor right after I pushed her out of me.
It took my husband and I about 6 months to conceive in 2012 after about 4 years of my being off of birth control and neither of us actively getting in nature's way. After 4 months of nothing happening, not even a late period, I did change my diet a bit and stopped drinking any wine or other alcohol and that was the exact month we conceived.
My first indicator of pregnancy, which I blissfully ignored, was going to Spin class at the Y and it being unnaturally difficult and making me so tired as if I hadn't been religiously going the past 2 years. But then I missed my period and we waited 5 days to make sure no sign of it and there it was, a positive on the pee stick! One trip to the clinic later and we were a go.
True to form for an elder millennial, (Major points to Iliza Shlesinger for coining this phrase by the way) we had no insurance so we went to the local Health Department and quickly made friends with the Nurses who told us "It's not often we get this as happy news, so congratulations! Let's set up your other appointments!"
I had a great pregnancy after 3 months of not wanting to eat, puking and having weird food aversions like marinara, ketchup, hot dogs and anything "too smelly." My husband loved to feed me after in my first trimester it once took him 2 hours to get me to decide on something to eat, he made my requested Chicken Quesadilla and I took one bite and almost lost it because it was, "Too chickeny."
I gained too much weight but wasn't too uncomfortable, although I did have had magical cankles. I also had heartburn consistently which I had never had in my life before. So she came out after about 14 hours of slow labor that I had no idea was happening. I ate spicy food because I was so terrified of being induced (My hippie college years made me decide to go natural birth, even in a hospital setting) so I was doing all the things to encourage her naturally and when I was up once an hour on January 30th into the wee hours of the 31st, I thought nothing of it. It was the curry not the baby.
I continued to think nothing of it until I woke up with the worst back pain ever. My dad was staying with us and I remember once he arrived I caved and started drinking a little caffeine again. So my dad made me a delicious cup of coffee and I took one glorious sip before I just did not feel good. My back was getting worse so I decided to take a nice, hot shower.
I was letting my husband sleep in after a late shift and after I got out of the shower, which is where my water must have broken, unbeknownst to me by the way, I was so uncomfortable I made him get up. When I got him up, somehow I demanded pancakes and then started yelling about being not okay and very much in pain. So this was my active labor.
The mean contractions started by about 7:30AM January 31st, 2013. I had made plans with all of my friends from work, as I had been scheduled to work that day as my last day, to have Taco Thursday at my husband's restaurant. I started texting everyone that I wasn't feeling good and the bets on baby time started immediately. "No, I'm not in labor," I kept saying. After a contraction fit where I threw my phone the next text they received around lunch was..."Luna is here."
We sent my dad on an errand and my best description for what happened next was my writhing around like some kind of farm animal trying to get comfortable in hay. My poor pug was just all over feverishly trying to get his mom to stay calm. Finally my husband got a heating pad on my back and did one of those weird things they teach you in birthing class that you think is stupid with pressure points, but then actually works. At one point my 20lb pug crawled on my back on top of the heating pad and laid down and was then crowned the best dog to have ever lived. He somehow gave the perfect pressure to calm the pain. I had 10 minutes of calm bliss before I tried to move to the bedroom for more comfort and things were getting worse.
When my dad returned at about 9:45AM with some things I wanted for my "Go bag," he heard two of my contractions from the bedroom and grabbed my husband and said "Uh, those were kind of close together, we need to get in the car."
With help down the stairs and into the back seat of our gold Pontiac Grand AM we named, "Goldmember," which I hated and my husband loved, I fell trying to get into the back seat and got my belly wedged between the front seat and the back seat. Of course my husband laughed while helping. The weather was a cool 60 for winter in Florida, and we took off with windows down, just my dad, my husband and I. We waited to call my mother because her and I had a weird relationship and she told me I could never have a baby naturally so not exactly a calming, supportive force. She remembers getting the call with my screaming in the background.
We sped through all of Tampa to get me to the women's center. We left by about 10AM, somehow got to the hospital by 10:40AM and could see the ER driveway when we were stopped at the hospital crosswalk by an old man with a walker literally taking his small, sweet steps to get across. My husband muttered, "You've got to be kidding me!"
When we got there I needed a wheelchair because I felt some serious pelvic pressure in the car. I was in so much pain and no one was even paying me any attention in the lobby. I screamed so loudly and a nurse said "Okay, hun, is this your first baby?" I muttered yes with an annoyed look. "Okay honey, calm down, we'll get to ya." When they got me in the room and in the gown my husband had my pants and top ready to put in the plastic hospital bag and looked at them saying..."Uh, is that normal?" Apparently everything that happens right before delivery happened on the car ride and in my pants. I was too busy having a baby to notice. I heard a nurse say, "Okay, we're going straight into delivery!"
So they get me into delivery and I'm screaming and in pain and finally my midwife says "You're pushing out when you scream, push down." This was the most constructive thing said to me in this crazy time. Three huge pushes later, no drugs and she was out, with red hair to boot. And the delivery wasn't bad at all. I remember crying to my half sister that it wasn't that bad and what happened if we ever had another one. She said "Honey usually it doesn't tend to get worse." It was everything after that was much more difficult for me.
Just before I left my job at Massage Envy I had met a nurse who worked in the NICU and pediatric ward at Tampa General. I told her I was delivering there and she said, "Well I wish you luck and I hope I don't see you there as I'm in the section with the sick little ones and I want you to have a happy, healthy baby!" This comes into play later in the story so stay tuned.
I had considered a home birth, but being an apartment renter just decided my place could never be clean enough for that. And I read the books and did the birthing classes, but in my opinion, nothing can actually prepare you for parenthood.
Breastfeeding was SO HARD for me. You see all these women everywhere just looking like a goddess with a baby on their breast and I just felt like some cow barely hanging on. Now, I've introduced you to Luna's world entrance and tomorrow we'll talk more breastfeeding. I'd love to hear your birth and conception stories also and encourage you to email me to share anything. Again, this was just my journey with Luna but I hope that you laughed and for tomorrow, we'll have more tales of parenting. And for those of you reading this on a day where you're feeling like a "less-than-awesome" mom, you're doing so much better than you think!
Second, I wanted to give you all a view as to my whole entrance into motherhood so to speak.
Now this is just MY journey and what worked for me versus didn't work for me isn't for everyone. So I mean none of the following as a trigger for any woman, especially those trying to conceive and feeling frustrated. This is just my path and I want to support you continuing yours, whatever that looks like for you. So here we go.
In 29 days, exactly 6 years ago I gave birth to my beautiful, redheaded ball of sass, Luna Raylee. Luna came out one day after her due date and was born on 1-31-13 at 11:31AM. Not joking. I pointed this out in my exhausted stupor right after I pushed her out of me.
It took my husband and I about 6 months to conceive in 2012 after about 4 years of my being off of birth control and neither of us actively getting in nature's way. After 4 months of nothing happening, not even a late period, I did change my diet a bit and stopped drinking any wine or other alcohol and that was the exact month we conceived.
My first indicator of pregnancy, which I blissfully ignored, was going to Spin class at the Y and it being unnaturally difficult and making me so tired as if I hadn't been religiously going the past 2 years. But then I missed my period and we waited 5 days to make sure no sign of it and there it was, a positive on the pee stick! One trip to the clinic later and we were a go.
True to form for an elder millennial, (Major points to Iliza Shlesinger for coining this phrase by the way) we had no insurance so we went to the local Health Department and quickly made friends with the Nurses who told us "It's not often we get this as happy news, so congratulations! Let's set up your other appointments!"
I had a great pregnancy after 3 months of not wanting to eat, puking and having weird food aversions like marinara, ketchup, hot dogs and anything "too smelly." My husband loved to feed me after in my first trimester it once took him 2 hours to get me to decide on something to eat, he made my requested Chicken Quesadilla and I took one bite and almost lost it because it was, "Too chickeny."
I gained too much weight but wasn't too uncomfortable, although I did have had magical cankles. I also had heartburn consistently which I had never had in my life before. So she came out after about 14 hours of slow labor that I had no idea was happening. I ate spicy food because I was so terrified of being induced (My hippie college years made me decide to go natural birth, even in a hospital setting) so I was doing all the things to encourage her naturally and when I was up once an hour on January 30th into the wee hours of the 31st, I thought nothing of it. It was the curry not the baby.
I continued to think nothing of it until I woke up with the worst back pain ever. My dad was staying with us and I remember once he arrived I caved and started drinking a little caffeine again. So my dad made me a delicious cup of coffee and I took one glorious sip before I just did not feel good. My back was getting worse so I decided to take a nice, hot shower.
I was letting my husband sleep in after a late shift and after I got out of the shower, which is where my water must have broken, unbeknownst to me by the way, I was so uncomfortable I made him get up. When I got him up, somehow I demanded pancakes and then started yelling about being not okay and very much in pain. So this was my active labor.
The mean contractions started by about 7:30AM January 31st, 2013. I had made plans with all of my friends from work, as I had been scheduled to work that day as my last day, to have Taco Thursday at my husband's restaurant. I started texting everyone that I wasn't feeling good and the bets on baby time started immediately. "No, I'm not in labor," I kept saying. After a contraction fit where I threw my phone the next text they received around lunch was..."Luna is here."
We sent my dad on an errand and my best description for what happened next was my writhing around like some kind of farm animal trying to get comfortable in hay. My poor pug was just all over feverishly trying to get his mom to stay calm. Finally my husband got a heating pad on my back and did one of those weird things they teach you in birthing class that you think is stupid with pressure points, but then actually works. At one point my 20lb pug crawled on my back on top of the heating pad and laid down and was then crowned the best dog to have ever lived. He somehow gave the perfect pressure to calm the pain. I had 10 minutes of calm bliss before I tried to move to the bedroom for more comfort and things were getting worse.
When my dad returned at about 9:45AM with some things I wanted for my "Go bag," he heard two of my contractions from the bedroom and grabbed my husband and said "Uh, those were kind of close together, we need to get in the car."
With help down the stairs and into the back seat of our gold Pontiac Grand AM we named, "Goldmember," which I hated and my husband loved, I fell trying to get into the back seat and got my belly wedged between the front seat and the back seat. Of course my husband laughed while helping. The weather was a cool 60 for winter in Florida, and we took off with windows down, just my dad, my husband and I. We waited to call my mother because her and I had a weird relationship and she told me I could never have a baby naturally so not exactly a calming, supportive force. She remembers getting the call with my screaming in the background.
We sped through all of Tampa to get me to the women's center. We left by about 10AM, somehow got to the hospital by 10:40AM and could see the ER driveway when we were stopped at the hospital crosswalk by an old man with a walker literally taking his small, sweet steps to get across. My husband muttered, "You've got to be kidding me!"
When we got there I needed a wheelchair because I felt some serious pelvic pressure in the car. I was in so much pain and no one was even paying me any attention in the lobby. I screamed so loudly and a nurse said "Okay, hun, is this your first baby?" I muttered yes with an annoyed look. "Okay honey, calm down, we'll get to ya." When they got me in the room and in the gown my husband had my pants and top ready to put in the plastic hospital bag and looked at them saying..."Uh, is that normal?" Apparently everything that happens right before delivery happened on the car ride and in my pants. I was too busy having a baby to notice. I heard a nurse say, "Okay, we're going straight into delivery!"
So they get me into delivery and I'm screaming and in pain and finally my midwife says "You're pushing out when you scream, push down." This was the most constructive thing said to me in this crazy time. Three huge pushes later, no drugs and she was out, with red hair to boot. And the delivery wasn't bad at all. I remember crying to my half sister that it wasn't that bad and what happened if we ever had another one. She said "Honey usually it doesn't tend to get worse." It was everything after that was much more difficult for me.
Just before I left my job at Massage Envy I had met a nurse who worked in the NICU and pediatric ward at Tampa General. I told her I was delivering there and she said, "Well I wish you luck and I hope I don't see you there as I'm in the section with the sick little ones and I want you to have a happy, healthy baby!" This comes into play later in the story so stay tuned.
I had considered a home birth, but being an apartment renter just decided my place could never be clean enough for that. And I read the books and did the birthing classes, but in my opinion, nothing can actually prepare you for parenthood.
Breastfeeding was SO HARD for me. You see all these women everywhere just looking like a goddess with a baby on their breast and I just felt like some cow barely hanging on. Now, I've introduced you to Luna's world entrance and tomorrow we'll talk more breastfeeding. I'd love to hear your birth and conception stories also and encourage you to email me to share anything. Again, this was just my journey with Luna but I hope that you laughed and for tomorrow, we'll have more tales of parenting. And for those of you reading this on a day where you're feeling like a "less-than-awesome" mom, you're doing so much better than you think!
Friday, August 24, 2018
Blog Challenge 11: My Most Proud Moment
I feel like if I were to type "When I had my daughter," the moms would all be like "Yas queen," and all the single ladies would be like"Oh, seriously?" So I think we need to dissect this a bit.
Being proud eh? My most proud moment when I was younger was winning the 4th Grade Talent Show for singing "Castle on a Cloud" from Les Miserables. My mom found me a dingy old nightgown at GoodWill and unearthed a ratty stuffed animal. I've always loved to sing but stage fright is no joke. I took voice lessons from 2nd grade through Sophomore year and then high school politics killed my dream of ever being able to have any real performer-type things happen.
Anyway, my Voice Instructor played the piano for me and chose the song. I always wanted Disney. She always wanted Broadway. I remember being nervous and having this bear in my hands as part of the act, and as I sang and the more nervous I got, the more I just focused on the bear. It was just me and the stuffed animal. The song is about a sad, poor little child in London dreaming of not sweeping floors and one day having toys. It may have been my finest performance of all time and it won me first place against the boys in my class doing comedy routines and other people being talented as well. We may have a rogue VHS of this somewhere.
My one regret is I told my dad it wasn't worth him coming and that he also made me more nervous, so he missed it. My voice teacher said she almost messed up on the piano because she was so entranced by me and this bear performing such a heart-wrenching song to perfection. That was my peak I think, my American Idol moment.
Other proud moments in my life? At 18, I once told off an old man at Burger King who insinuated I was stupid for not being fast at math, which has always been a struggle for me. I was working the register and it broke and to make sure I gave correct change I started writing it out and he went off on me. I approached him later and told him I hope he never spoke to anyone else who was waiting on him like that again and he should be ashamed of himself for being so rude to someone trying to do well at their job.
I had proud moments with the kids I was a nanny for when they excelled at things, which they did often and still do. I've had proud moments of watching some of my favorite people grow into the fabulous mothers and women they are. But I will completely admit that my proud moment of ushering my baby from womb to world was because I did it completely without drugs, after my own mother said I wouldn't be able to handle it. Take that mom!
To make it even better, when I was super dilated and we had to ask for a wheelchair to get me into the building from the car where Luna was almost born Ricky Bobby style, I was yelling a lot. It hurt! The nurses looked up from their charting and conversations all annoyed and said, "Is this your first baby, honey?" "Yeah," I muttered in pain. "Okay sweetie, just calm down and keep it down, you'll be fine." I could feel the she-dragon and if another contraction hadn't hit me so fast, I was moments away from yelling "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Less than 10 minutes later I was in a delivery room pushing, so I think I had a right to be a little loud.
My midwife said to me when I was screaming, "You need to push down and when you scream you push outward. Push down!" Getting my perfect daughter out in 3, bad ass, hardcore pushes, and then apparently making an intern faint, was a proud moment.
In motherhood, however, my proud moments have come from watching her with other people. It's not about walking and talking but her attitude that makes me proud. That kid perseveres just like her stubborn mother and when that happens, I get proud.
Last year she had a little boy in her after school program who kept hitting her in her crotch region and also put his hands on her throat once. I harnessed my mama bear and I said, "Baby, no one is allowed to touch you without your permission. And no one but mommy, daddy, grandma and a teacher helping you in the potty, goes near your private parts and still, you communicate with us when that happens. Now, we don't hit or hurt anyone, but if that boy is hurting you, and you need to get away, you get away from him and get help. Tell a teacher. You push him off of you and get to someone who can help. You don't let him hurt you!" She said "Okay mommy, I understand."
I was thankful it never came to that, but proud of her for telling adults what was happening and that she didn't like it. Most 4-year-old's might not. She now quotes the Aristocats often saying "Ladies do not start fights but we know how to finish them!" I do not disagree with her.
Overall though, I work on being proud of myself and I do this daily. We are our own worst critics aren't we? I get proud of myself when I get through a horrible day with no wine or no crying! I am proud of myself for working out consistently and finding ways to manage my anxiety. I'm proud of myself for knowing when to let people in and knowing when to just shut up. I'm proud of myself for not giving up when life has beaten me to a pulp but also not giving up on myself. And I'm excited for more and more most-proud moments, especially when you least expect them. We'll see if any are blog-worthy!
Being proud eh? My most proud moment when I was younger was winning the 4th Grade Talent Show for singing "Castle on a Cloud" from Les Miserables. My mom found me a dingy old nightgown at GoodWill and unearthed a ratty stuffed animal. I've always loved to sing but stage fright is no joke. I took voice lessons from 2nd grade through Sophomore year and then high school politics killed my dream of ever being able to have any real performer-type things happen.
Anyway, my Voice Instructor played the piano for me and chose the song. I always wanted Disney. She always wanted Broadway. I remember being nervous and having this bear in my hands as part of the act, and as I sang and the more nervous I got, the more I just focused on the bear. It was just me and the stuffed animal. The song is about a sad, poor little child in London dreaming of not sweeping floors and one day having toys. It may have been my finest performance of all time and it won me first place against the boys in my class doing comedy routines and other people being talented as well. We may have a rogue VHS of this somewhere.
My one regret is I told my dad it wasn't worth him coming and that he also made me more nervous, so he missed it. My voice teacher said she almost messed up on the piano because she was so entranced by me and this bear performing such a heart-wrenching song to perfection. That was my peak I think, my American Idol moment.
Other proud moments in my life? At 18, I once told off an old man at Burger King who insinuated I was stupid for not being fast at math, which has always been a struggle for me. I was working the register and it broke and to make sure I gave correct change I started writing it out and he went off on me. I approached him later and told him I hope he never spoke to anyone else who was waiting on him like that again and he should be ashamed of himself for being so rude to someone trying to do well at their job.
I had proud moments with the kids I was a nanny for when they excelled at things, which they did often and still do. I've had proud moments of watching some of my favorite people grow into the fabulous mothers and women they are. But I will completely admit that my proud moment of ushering my baby from womb to world was because I did it completely without drugs, after my own mother said I wouldn't be able to handle it. Take that mom!
To make it even better, when I was super dilated and we had to ask for a wheelchair to get me into the building from the car where Luna was almost born Ricky Bobby style, I was yelling a lot. It hurt! The nurses looked up from their charting and conversations all annoyed and said, "Is this your first baby, honey?" "Yeah," I muttered in pain. "Okay sweetie, just calm down and keep it down, you'll be fine." I could feel the she-dragon and if another contraction hadn't hit me so fast, I was moments away from yelling "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Less than 10 minutes later I was in a delivery room pushing, so I think I had a right to be a little loud.
My midwife said to me when I was screaming, "You need to push down and when you scream you push outward. Push down!" Getting my perfect daughter out in 3, bad ass, hardcore pushes, and then apparently making an intern faint, was a proud moment.
In motherhood, however, my proud moments have come from watching her with other people. It's not about walking and talking but her attitude that makes me proud. That kid perseveres just like her stubborn mother and when that happens, I get proud.
Last year she had a little boy in her after school program who kept hitting her in her crotch region and also put his hands on her throat once. I harnessed my mama bear and I said, "Baby, no one is allowed to touch you without your permission. And no one but mommy, daddy, grandma and a teacher helping you in the potty, goes near your private parts and still, you communicate with us when that happens. Now, we don't hit or hurt anyone, but if that boy is hurting you, and you need to get away, you get away from him and get help. Tell a teacher. You push him off of you and get to someone who can help. You don't let him hurt you!" She said "Okay mommy, I understand."
I was thankful it never came to that, but proud of her for telling adults what was happening and that she didn't like it. Most 4-year-old's might not. She now quotes the Aristocats often saying "Ladies do not start fights but we know how to finish them!" I do not disagree with her.
Overall though, I work on being proud of myself and I do this daily. We are our own worst critics aren't we? I get proud of myself when I get through a horrible day with no wine or no crying! I am proud of myself for working out consistently and finding ways to manage my anxiety. I'm proud of myself for knowing when to let people in and knowing when to just shut up. I'm proud of myself for not giving up when life has beaten me to a pulp but also not giving up on myself. And I'm excited for more and more most-proud moments, especially when you least expect them. We'll see if any are blog-worthy!
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