Tag Archives: motherhood

by

#awkwardthingssaidatthedoctors

Sure, that hashtag is longer than most tweets. It’s the most fitting title I could come up with. You’ll be forewarned that I will at least mention sex in this post, and maybe something else graphic. We’ll see where I end up, as I write these blogs from the top of my head with only a main point. Where that point takes me? I guess we’ll all find out after.

Today I found myself again in the doctor’s office. I went in with hopes of change, with hopes that maybe just maybe I would get sent to the hospital to finally end this pregnancy. Of course, that didn’t happen. No change. I sat there in the room with the midwife, a new midwife to my doctor’s office, and a student looking at me with looks of consolation. I don’t want consolation, I want to end the madness. My due date isn’t until tomorrow, and I half wonder if I’m just that lucky to have children on their exact due date. I wouldn’t say lucky though, because tomorrow is a whole day of cramping and being too sore to function.

As I was leaving, I was called into her office like a student passing by in the halls who just happened to do something wrong in front of the office. She told me to schedule a fetal stress test for next week before my next scheduled appointment. Then if I’m unfortunate enough to still be pregnant by then, I get to sit for an hour twiddling my thumbs while I’m monitored to make sure everything’s ok and discuss being induced. I might turn to religion if it’ll get this child out of me before it gets cut out of me forcibly. It’s one thing to go into the hospital and “oops, guess you need a c-section” so you don’t have time to psych yourself out. It’s a completely different story when you have to schedule it and over think your insides being cut up and pushed aside while you’re awake and watching the shadows while they do the surgery. I’ll buy this kid whatever he wants if he comes out now.

Before I finally left for good, in a completely crappy mood. No, crappy doesn’t cover it. I would actually use “shitty” to describe my mood at the moment, I had a bright moment when the midwife loudly said “until then, have lots of sex”. I looked up with a raised eyebrow and completely embarrassed. I can’t say that the first thing on my mind at that moment was what got me into this situation to begin with. Much to my horror she continued on, and it may have been my imagination but she said it louder this time. “Seriously, it would really help your situation. Enjoy yourself! Well, you don’t have to enjoy yourself, just as long as he does.” Yeah, that really happened.

In the end, I think I’ve officially hit a wall of frustration and being emotional. I can’t even begin to describe everything on my mind at this moment, and I definitely have no words for how I’m feeling. I definitely think I’m just going to spend the day wallowing in my bed maybe to catch up on all the sleep I’ve been missing due to my lack of comfort. I probably won’t though; wallowing isn’t my style. Commence jumping jacks, spicy food, and castor oil?

by

Now We Just Wait For The Plane To Land

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting across from my midwife. She said “this is the time of the pregnancy where it’s like an airplane circling around, waiting for the right moment to land. Now we wait”. Two weeks ago I was ok with the wait, all things happen when they’re meant to. I’m a patient person, I was a patient person. Then you realize how hard it is to be patient when you can barely move without wincing in pain. I’m not patient when I’m feeling miserably uncomfortable.

Last week, I had an appointment and I was dilated. That was exciting, and she proceeded to “start some contractions”. She succeeded, if her goal was to make me feel more physically miserable than I had previously. Now with my due date slowly crawling nearer, the discomfort is worsening to where if I could squeeze him out myself, I definitely would. I’m not sure if my impatience is worsening due to my being miserable feeling or that everyone else seems to be more impatient than I am. I don’t want him out now, I need him out now.

What they really don’t mention often enough in pregnancy books is you are incredibly drained at the end of the term. By 37 weeks, you’ve got a 6 pound or so baby with all its weight making everything impossible. You want to do all these things, but you can’t because you have this large stomach in your way. Soon you feel not just miserable because of how uncomfortable you are, but you feel miserable because of how you look at yourself with every weigh in or glimpse in the mirror. Finally, the toll it takes on your emotional state. That’s when the worst of it hits, because you’re torn between excitement of meeting this person you’ve been sharing your body with and the guilt of wanting the pregnancy to be done so you can get yourself back.

The misery is worth it though when you watch them grow up into incredible children. Then you forget about this emotional roller coaster they refer to as “the joys of pregnancy” when you decide to go for another one. The sadness and discomfort are as forgotten as the labor pains. I’m thankful I have it better than most, with a doting and fantastic partner that supports me and makes me feel a little less repulsive. I just hope that tonight I can go to sleep, and wake up in the hospital with my 3 boys.

by

The Summer is Over… Almost

Last week I received a letter from my son’s school to tell me who’s class he’s in with other notes about the start of the school year. That means only one thing: summer is nearing its end. It’s funny how as parents, the summer ends the minute “Back to School” shopping begins. Of course there’s also that moment of “is he really in the fourth grade?” reminding us that not only do our children get older, we’re getting a lot older. Soon, we’ll find ourselves waiting at the bus stop and rekindling the school year friendship we have with neighbors that share the bus and sending our ever-growing kids off to school.

People think that this time of year is a vacation time for stay at home parents of school aged kids. I actually thought that way myself until I became one. It’s more work than summer vacation, it really is. On vacation time, you can all sleep in and just relax. The school year hits, and at 6-7 am you need to go into “get everyone ready mode”. Breakfast needs to be on the table, the kids need to be dressed and groomed and then sent off hopefully in time for the bus in the morning. If you’re really lucky, you’re spending that time also making sure you pack the lunches and that all the paperwork needed to be sent into school that day is in the backpacks. Then you can continue on a day where you make sure you’re available in case the school calls, and make sure you’re there to pick them up in time. And you get to do that over and over for 120 some odd days, give or take. Don’t forget all those after school activities, and keeping track of them. Then you crash at 9pm when your child does and realize how old you’ve really gotten. I can’t wait.

As tiresome as it is, you can’t help to feel excited. So what your life revolves around conferences and open houses? It all seems worth it no matter how exhausting it is. We’re doing what kids need to be successful in their life every time we help them with their homework or show up to school events. This time of year we need to remember the teachers and staff that takes care of our precious cargo during the day to make sure they are educated not just by books, but the interactions with classmates and adults to shape them into people we want them to be. Besides, we need to hold onto this now because soon our skinny jeaned fashion plate children will be standing in front of us with their diplomas and we realize how time flies.

by

Reading Books About Nursing: Part 2

On Monday, I discussed a book from the La Leche International about breastfeeding. The book emphasized things I hate about even watching the news: not enough information but a ton of biased propaganda. I don’t mind people having a point of view different from mine; I mind them judging that I don’t agree. This book scared me about the other book I bought at the same time, entitled The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding by Marianne Neifert, MD. I looked at it, flipped through the pages, hoping to work up the mental strength to read it. Finally I decided to dive in.

And I was pleasantly surprised. My favorite part about this book is that it has a ton of information with no filler stories or commentary. The book gives you all the information you could need, and encourages you that if you try and aren’t successful no matter how hard you try, that you’re not a failure as a mother. After the first few chapters, I was encouraged to try this out without any guilt of failure. It doesn’t just give a ton of information on feeding, but it also gives a ton of information on newborns and infants in general. This book was everything I wanted when I went to the store that day.

Most importantly to me, this book seemed to speak to certain things that I’m practiced in from my first time around that the other book seemed to find “more harmful than good for your child”. If swaddling with a pacifier works to help your child be content, shouldn’t we do it and not feel guilty about it? While the La Leche League book mentioned how every time the baby cries, offer a boob and don’t swaddle. Just sit around topless with a baby on your chest with a blanket over him and that’s all he needs. Neifert tells says that comfort comes in many forms and to try what works for both the parent and child. In general, my ideals closely match the ones she presents in her book.

Another plus from this book is it’s easy to navigate through because of the set-up. Because this book lacks the story telling from La Leche League’s book, you get to the information quicker and can go back to it easier to help you along. The way the book is arranged, both the chapters and the information within the chapters, you can easily skip over a section that doesn’t really apply to you. I wanted a book that not only was informative at the first read, but easy to go back to and reread the information I need at a specific time.  Added bonus? A ton of web resources in the back of the book. I like the idea if I can’t find help in her book, I have 7 pages of resources that might be able to help me.

I recommend Marianne Neifert’s The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding to mothers that are attempting to nurse for the first time. The information in there seems to be beyond useful. It’s not enough that she gives us “how to” information, but she gives a detailed “why”. Every bit of information she gives has a purpose, no filling to make the book longer. Her pictures give a nice subtle detail on positionings for feedings and why each position works. Another great part of the book was how she didn’t just write about breastfeeding, she gave great information about other newborn issues like sleeping routines, colic, solid foods, and how to get yourself emotionally and physically back to your normal. I’m very happy with this book, and I would recommend it highly to anyone who asked. Luckily, you guys didn’t need to ask.

by

Reading Books About Nursing: Part 1

Maybe my nesting instinct has gone into overdrive, but I realized that after all my deciding on breastfeeding I hadn’t bought any books to teach me the basics of nursing. I saw a video on my pregnancy app, and I admit I was completely repulsed and ready to stock up on formula saying “no effing way I’m doing that”. After weeks of nightmares of watching this woman “hand express” her milk, I shook it off like any other nightmare and reasserted myself back into the idea of breastfeeding. I bought some bras and pads, a pump, and I was ready for this. Then I realized I needed to buy books to read up about it, hoping to feel more knowledgeable and ready for this.

Normally, I’d just go on my Kindle and download whatever I wanted. But I was at the mall anyways, and I decided why not just stop in at Barnes and Noble. There, I stood with a few options on which book to pick. My phone’s internet wasn’t working and I was lost staring at titles. Instinctively, the first one I grabbed was the La Leche League International’s book, The Womanly Art of Breast Feeding. This is the book today’s post will be about. The other book I eventually picked, because I like second opinions, was entitled The Essential Guide to Breastfeeding. Obviously the title gives away the fact this is part of a 2 part series about books on breastfeeding. I might be inspired to get another book or 2 and if I do, I’ll share my thoughts on them as well. I might not though, because after only reading one, I might not want to read about female anatomy anymore.

I picked the La Leche League book to read first, because in every app or online site they mention this organization with breastfeeding. I figured if there was ever an informative book, those lovely women would’ve written it. However, I realized shortly after starting the book that this book wasn’t what I was hoping for. For every bit of useful information I read, I read a bunch of propaganda and patronization. For the good majority of the first part of the book, I read about how breastfeeding is the way to go and if you fail at it it’s because you didn’t try hard enough. I felt guilty after reading parts of it as if I was doing something completely wrong for questioning if I really wanted to do this or not. After the guilt, which I’ll admit passed quickly, I couldn’t help but to read the rest of the book as judgmentally as it read me.

As if that wasn’t enough, I ended up raising my eyebrows at this book. It seemed to romanticize the ideal of nursing your child. When I’m thinking about my kids, I’m not thinking of a romantic situation. The way some of the parts were written made me question if I was reading an informative how-to or pedo porn. They made it seem like the only reason someone should nurse, (and nurse for what seems like until you put your child on a bus to grade school) was to create a bond only you and your child can have. It seemed more like a sick power trip than being actually useful to your child. I’m choosing to do it because it’s the financially smartest approach and the healthiest one, not because I want a biting toddler chewing at my boobs forever. I even read parts of the story they tell in the book about a woman breastfeeding her son aloud to my husband, as if I were reciting lines from a cheesy romance novel. He thought I had exaggerated what the book said until he read it himself. Another problem I had involved the fact I was considering exclusively pumping, as the idea of a baby actually suckling from my chest and the idea my husband couldn’t bond with our child. This book gave useful information about pumping exclusively and storage, but I felt like they attacked that idea. They constantly enforced that breastfeeding is about mother/child bonding and pumping ruins this attachment and you’re an awful person for denying your child that magical love boob juice.

For every bit of good this book did informing me about different positions to feed or pumping, I felt awful after reading the book. It was like visiting an ever critical relative that made you feel like dirt afterwards because you aren’t good enough. I doubt I’m the only one who’s opting for this method of feeding for logical and financial reasons, and I doubt I’m the only one who would love to share the responsibility of feeding and would be annoyed for being made to feel like an awful mother for that. I hope the next book is less judgmental or preachy, or I may end up stock piling formula now.

by

And How Was I To Know?

First item of business is about Fridays. The past few Fridays I haven’t written my normal posts, and this week will probably be no exception. I haven’t been feeling in great shape and decided that I would take Fridays off. Next Friday, as long as I’m not in the hospital I will be up with another post about single parenting and teen pregnancy. Now today’s post.

I’m 37 weeks pregnant now (well tomorrow), and I’m already coaxing the little boy to come out. I told him not too soon though, he needed to wait until his grandparents and big brother returned from the beach. I told him Saturday morning would be perfect, so let’s see if I can convince him to get out. As excited as I am to meet him, I’m more excited to just not have him in me anymore. I’ve been over this pregnancy a few months ago, I don’t think any woman really enjoys the last trimester.

Today at my appointment, the normal dip test came back positive for something I didn’t understand. The important part is the doctor comes in and he asks me, “are you having cramping and peeing more?” My response? “I’m 9 months pregnant, of course I’m having cramping and peeing more. Isn’t that what happens?” He chuckled at me, acknowledging that I was right but that he thought I may have an infection. So I end up at the lab to again pee in a cup, which bothers me on so many levels especially since I’m absolutely terrible at this. (I don’t care if I hit a TMI moment, just saying.) Now I still wait to see the results, jumping every time my email alert pops up on my phone.

This moment brings me back to when I had my 3 hour glucose test done. I looked up the symptoms of gestational diabetes, and wondered “how am I supposed to know I need to worry about this, the symptoms are the same ones of just being pregnant.” In fact, most problems that are mostly minor have the same symptoms. Are you feeling tired, sore, increased appetite? Maybe you’re pregnant… but maybe you have ____. No wonder there are a lot of hypochondriac people out there, they read something about their symptoms and think they have cancer when they have the flu.

That makes me wonder though, if that’s what makes people who under react more susceptible to not treating infections soon enough or why they make you pee in a cup every prenatal appointment. I wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong with me, I just assumed I was an uncomfortable pregnant woman with a bowling ball sitting on my bladder. This is why we keep up with our scheduled appointments and get checked out regularly. We’re not supposed to know, that’s what we overpay doctors for.

by

Just Say No

Before kids, I hated going out and dealing with other people’s kids. I’ve considered even tripping the out of control brats running around while their parents either didn’t care enough to pay attention or even know where their kids were. Instead, I had enough self-control to just mutter “parents of the year” and accept that I would never have kids because based on these outings, I thought kids were more annoyance than they were worth. Then I had a kid and he wasn’t annoying. It wasn’t the child I had a problem with, it was the lack of parenting.

After all that I learned that those parents lacked one ability as a parent, and probably the most important: they didn’t know how to say “no”. “You want to run around the store and knocking things off the shelf and tripping other people in the store? Sure!” It’s easier to let your kids act like annoying brats and make yourself look like an ass than it is to use a simple word from the start. In raising my son, the word I put the most emphasis on was “no”. If he didn’t listen, I still remember the time out corner he sat in with his little Spider-Man chair. Taking him out was great, because I knew my son wasn’t going to act like a spoiled brat because I raised him to behave.

I don’t understand why at 18 I was able to do that successfully and how people twice my age couldn’t. I don’t understand now why I can walk through the store with my son and say “no” and have it be no big deal while another kid has an extreme full on melt down. It seems so simple just to teach them from the start how to behave properly, and going out into public makes me wonder if I have this all wrong. I think it would be easier to start from the minute the child understands what no means to say “no”, before they grow up to be tantrum monsters. I think there should be a public service announcement telling people to “not let other parents let their children be brats”.

I don’t feel guilty for rolling my eyes at people that make me sit back and wonder how that child is going to turn out. I don’t feel guilty judging them. They could have been trying to raise a kid with a person they might not agree their parenting. I know what that’s like, and you know what? My kid knows what no is and what it means. Being the good guy is training your children how to be good children. If I can do it at 18, I’m sure that others can do it at a later age. Parents need to just say no, it’ll be better for your child in the future and for your wallets now.

 

 

by

You Can Hit Rock Bottom…

Tomorrow marks 36 weeks of the pregnancy. The time flies no matter how much we like to think it moves so slowly. It only physically feels like it moves so slowly. Everything starts getting more complicated now. A few months ago the ability of sitting at a computer to play games became very difficult, recently putting shoes became difficult. Now even sitting here typing out a blog is becoming difficult, but we can move on anyways.

Sitting down isn’t easy anymore. You can’t get into a comfortable position, and if you can it’s impossible to stand up on your own from that position. Laying down to sleep or nap is awful because you can’t sleep and it’s difficult to get up or even something as simple as tossing and turning to get comfortable. I should be thankful I can still see over my growing stomach. Then you try to stand up and walk around because sitting is so miserable feeling, but you waddle for a minute before your legs and feet swell up beyond recognition. Then it becomes to uncomfortable to stay standing. There’s really no winning.

The biggest downside is now the obsessively hungry. More hungry than I have ever been in my life. I think if I really sat down to it, instead of the one jar of pickles, I could probably devour 2 or 3 jars. As if last night wasn’t bad enough that I devoured half a watermelon that my husband cut up for me, I notice the other uncut half is on my lap and I’ve resorted to eating it like a bowl of cereal. It’s an attractively hilarious sight. Just a pregnant woman with her half of a watermelon and a spoon. I think this is my rock bottom moment of pregnancy. It could be worse.

At this point in the pregnancy, I’m sure I’m not alone in any of these thoughts. Though I’m definitely hoping that I’m the only one who has resorted to eating a whole watermelon half uncut with a spoon, so glad I’m home alone so no one could see it. Somehow the visualization of it seems worse than making readers have the image of it. We have a bowling ball sized stomach that barely fits in anything and makes you look like someone who isn’t you. When we’re at this point, I think that we realize that we don’t care anymore. Nothing is going to make us feel less huge or more comfortable or more appealing to look at. So we should make the best of it and make ourselves happy by eating all the watermelon and pickles we want.

by

When You Count Down The Days

Soon enough we’ll meet the ever active little boy that’s been cozily growing for about 9 months now. Well, maybe not soon enough because soon enough seemed like a little while ago when the major discomforts of carrying a child started. The idea that he’ll come when he wants to occurs to me more on days where I feel the most miserable. He’ll be here when he wants, which I hope is soon. Physically I’m beyond ready for him. Now we have everything we could need for him, so we’re definitely ready for when he wants. Which I’ll repeat, I hope is soon.

It didn’t occur to me sooner, that I wasn’t the only one who was anxious. My parents since leaving for vacation calls daily, sometimes twice daily. Each call is started with a “how are you feeling? Trip to the hospital yet?” Part of me wonders if they are anxious for him to be born or anxious that he would be born before their vacation ended. My son, who’s also with them since we didn’t think it was fair he missed our usual trip because I couldn’t go, also is excited and anxious to meet him. So anxious that he admits that he doesn’t want to be gone when it happens. He assures me that his brother will wait though, because he’s too awesome of a big brother.

Then there is my sweet and overly excited husband. This is the same person that the day after the baby shower had to go out and buy everything else we needed because “you never know when he’ll come”. Then proceeded to spend the rest of the night assembling everything even though he had to wake up early in the morning to drive across state for a class for his job. It seems every hour I get a call or texts of “just wondering how you’re feeling”. I don’t translate that as a concern for how I’m actually feeling; it’s a way to ask “are you in labor yet?”.

As the time comes closer, you realize that everyone is just as anxious as you. All your family and friends want to meet your newborn almost as much as you and your partner do. He’ll arrive when he’s ready however he’s ready. For me, I’m convinced after my first one that all my children are going to make an exciting entrance into this world. I hope I’m wrong, and the only exciting entrance he makes is the excitement of meeting him and not that I give birth on the side of the street while out for a walk.

by

Deep Breathing Isn’t Just For Labor

Eventually growing up you hear “the first reaction is generally the best one”. I’ve basically applied that principle every time I face something and wonder “did I overreact?” Though I think I usually under-react, at least I walk away feeling like I handled it appropriately. At least in my adult life, I wouldn’t think half my teenage years I handled anything as appropriately as I could have but really what teenager does? The excuse of out of control teenage hormones are generally used at the excuse for that.

Hormones are the answer then. Or the excuse. Or the excuse to not take someone seriously. I suppose when it comes down to it, hormones are offered up as a blame, the scapegoat. You thought it was bad as a teenager, it apparently gets worse as an adult female. Then it gets worse when you’re pregnant. How many times do we have to listen to “must be that time of the month” when we get mad? Can’t we just be pissed because someone was an idiot without having to be accused of it just being biology. I admit though, I’ve definitely told a female or two… dozen… to “take a Midol and go away”. Mostly because when they were annoying me, I knew exactly what to say to get them angry enough to not argue with me and leave. The worst part is when you’re pregnant. You can’t cry at anything without someone comforting you and saying “don’t worry, it’s just the hormones”. Maybe I’ve just been upset and needed to vent, not working off whatever hormonal trick you think the hormones are playing on you this time.

The main point of this isn’t to say “stop accusing us of acting out because we can’t control ourselves”, I can control myself just fine pregnant and normally. My problem isn’t I think hormones are taking over my life, my problem is worrying that every emotion I may or may not feel could be passed off as nothing important just because I’m pregnant. It’s annoying when you don’t have to second guess whether you’re being rational, you have to second guess if people will act like you are irrational because they just assume being pregnant means you’re not actually feeling that way. You just think you are. I think the way people patronize you for being upset is far worse than actually being upset because you realize they aren’t being supportive, they are placating you until they think your next mood will come. I don’t like that I should feel bad because something bothered me, but luckily I’m good at keeping things quiet in my head so I can just shrug it off until it passes. Unhealthy? Yes, but I suppose I’ll take unhealthy over ending up punching someone square in the face. Which I’ll assure you has nothing to do with hormones, I’d end up punching them in the face over it either way.

Think of that next time you pretend there are eggshells on the ground when you walk around your pregnant relative or friend. If you keep pretending it’s a passing moment, beware for the glass you might have to walk on afterwards. Sure, hormones can make people a little crazy, but the idea that you treat every emotion someone has as merely a hormonal imagination makes us a little crazier. It’s more healthy to let us say what we want without judgement than make us feel like we have to keep our mouths shut so we don’t feel like a china doll about to break when we’re really stronger than that. Take a deep breath and don’t stress, it really does help. You’ll have enough to stress about soon.