Tag Archives: Writing

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As Luck Would Have It, You’re Not Mine

One time in my days of youthful indiscretion, I remember being at Target or some store like it when this woman let her child run around the store without paying attention to her. Normally that’s annoying anyways, but this case was more annoying than usual. This little bratty kid kept running into me, and in those days I lacked any patience which is entirely different from my days of extreme patience now. (Cue eye roll.) Finally I ended up annoyed enough where I admit I may have accidentally caused her to take a minor tumble, stopping her from her running and made her mother finally pay attention to her… well when she realized her kid was screaming 5 minutes later. First of all, I love the fact I am old enough to call this a “youthful indiscretion”. Second of all, my moment of losing it and dropping my purse was less damaging than the fact that this mother probably ignored her on a daily basis too so I use that to make me feel better about what I did.

This leads me to how my thoughts on moments like this have changed. While back then, I’d complain about how annoying kids are and decide children maybe weren’t my thing. Now, I look at a person like that and say to myself “that kid is lucky she isn’t mine”. I’m definitely pro a little tap on the butt when a kid is being beyond misbehaved, I think as long as you don’t hit your kid to hurt them you’re not doing any damage. My generation was spanked, we turned out just fine. I’ve evolved to a point where I look at annoying children and say “if that parent would only punish their kid, a time out or something, maybe just maybe they’d be less of a little brat”.

Today we’re afraid to punish our kids. Instead of removing a child from a store for a temper tantrum, they get the exact toy they were whining about. That child then learns “if I yell loud enough, I get what I want”. Then, they grow up and get into trouble at school. Instead of saying “you’re grounded”, they get a “watch out” or even nothing except going to do exactly what they wanted to do anyways. Our children are learning nothing but that you can do whatever you want and there are no consequences to it. I believe in consequences.

Once, my first-born son called me a “bitch” and slapped me. He was two. He immediately got a swat on the butt and was sent to time out until he stopped his tantrum. A few years later, he threw a tantrum over shower time and I repeated the process. Now at almost 10, what did my son learn? He misbehaves, he gets punished. He hasn’t misbehaved since he was 4 and I attribute this to standing my ground and teaching him that everything has a consequence. The idea of being grounded from his video games for a week is a huge motivation for him because he knows it’ll be enforced.

I think we need to stand up and try going back to something that works. I’m not saying it’s ok to abuse children, but parents are so afraid to even ground their kids out of fear someone will pull the abuse card on them. As a result, we have generations getting more out of control and feeling like they are owed whatever they want without having to put in some good old fashion work and discipline. Eventually parents are going to have to regain their ability to discipline their children and take a stand against this out of control bratty behavior that’s getting worse among us.

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I’m Back… and Tired Than Ever?

I decided to take some time off to adjust to not sleeping. I’m happy to inform everyone that I have successful adjusted to not sleeping, and am back to incoherently write my blog. Since I’ve mastered the skill of being able to function with only one barely open eye, I can get back into the swing of things and entertain the masses. And by masses, I mean the 20 or so people who currently read and follow me.

I thought it was best to kick off with one of my favorite segments on this blog, “Things I’ve Learned”. Today, “Things I’ve Learned: Newborn Edition”. Let’s get to this before I fall asleep at my computer.

They Know How to Time Their Cries: You know that peaceful moment you think “oh, the baby’s sleeping. I can now shower/eat/clean/read in peace. You love this rare moment of peace. You love your kid, but at some point you love this moment a bit more. You turn on the shower, it gets to the right temperature or you grab that plate of warm food that you’ve been starving for all day… you get ready to enjoy this “me time” moment and as if on cue to ruin your one minute of quiet there comes a loud shrill cry. You realize that every time you’re about to do something, that one second before the foot hits the water or the food touches your lips, the baby senses your enjoyment and decides now is a great time for a dirty diaper or anything else that makes them scream bloody murder for just long enough for you to put your food down. (And if you live in my house, that’s all the seconds Dog Dog Tank decides he’s going to eat your food you set down carelessly to attend to the crying newborn.) Every parent knows this lesson well, the newborn is actually the boss.

Showering- Necessity or Luxury?: I’m not saying go a year without showering here. But let’s be honest, to get a shower that lasts longer than 5 minutes daily is a luxury. You’re able to stay in just long enough to not look greasy or stink like baby poop before that bundle of joy of yours decides that he wants his food right this second. It’s a soap on/soap off love affair. I try to remember how long it took with my first one before I was able to hide myself in the hot shower for 20 minutes, if for no other reason but to have a 20 minute rest. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep in the shower during that time as well.

Sleep- Overrated or best friend?: It could go either way here. Though it could go back to an earlier point here where it doesn’t matter because the minute your head hits that pillow, you hear that endearing cry you love so much. It’s like being a college student again, where you realize that there isn’t enough time in the world to get more than an hour here or there, so sleep comes last. Then you become so used to not sleeping, you don’t know how to fall asleep when you get the chance. Sleep isn’t really overrated; you just tell yourself that to make yourself feel better about not sleeping just like saying “sleep is for the weak”. It’s not for the weak, it’s just more suited for people with the ability to do it.

Poop is funny: You’re sitting in the doctor’s office and the doctor is speaking to you and asking questions. It’s then, your newborn smiles (hint: anytime a newborn smiles is a sign something bad is about to happen.) and you hear an adult sound come from this little 9lb bottom. You feel the rumble of the poop in your lap and the doctor stares at you trying to talk over what’s going on in your child’s diaper but no one in the room can deny what’s going on. You can’t help but to laugh, neither can the doctor. You’d think this would be the only way poop is funny but you’d be wrong. That minute (this goes back to the impeccable timing of a newborn) the diaper comes off, the newborn smiles. I see the look while my husband is swapping the diapers, and I run. It’s at the moment of my taking cover that my sweet angel has shot poop across the room, hitting my husband in the crossfire. This is when poop is at its funniest. You’re welcome for that image.

Say “Moo”: Just to note this: sitting around attached to a breast pump makes you feel like a cow at the dairy farm. You get over this quickly though when you realize that you’re saving close to $300 a month. Well, you get over it when you make that realization when you’re cheap like me. Watching the numbers on the scale go down is an added bonus.

The important thing to learn is that babies are precious and they are certainly a gift, though sometimes you can’t help but to wonder if it’s a gift from heaven or hell depending on which end of the tired spectrum you’re at. Babies aren’t for the weak or for people who lack a sense of humor. You’ll need that sense of humor when you’re covered in all sorts of projectile objects that come from every hole on that precious child’s body. Then they look at you, knowing you’re important and you love them and that poop in your hair just doesn’t seem to matter anymore. That’s the most important lesson.

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And Like That, He Appeared.

Last week, I was in the hospital doing the baby thing. As a result, my normal blog week didn’t exist. Then again, neither did sleep or the privacy of my anatomy. Welcome to childbirth.

As I discussed in my last post, I was scheduled to go into the hospital to be induced. I was started with my medicine an hour later. Much to everyone’s surprise, I didn’t need a second dose of the Cervadil, nor did I need to get the Pitocin. The best part was not needing the C-Section the midwife told me to get to accepting I’d need this done. My water broke on its own and twenty minutes after that, there was a poor bruised faced little newborn. Ok, he was almost 8 pounds so he wasn’t that little as far as newborns go. Aside from cosmetic issues, he is in perfect health. That’s all any parent wants to hear. (Though one bit of cosmetic malformation actually requires a surgery to fix, which is sending me to a pediatric surgeon in the close future.)

Giving birth wasn’t the problem; for being induced, I had it pretty easy especially since I only spent roughly around 20 minutes pushing. The problems came after, when it was time to start feeding my newly born son. The hospital was an avidly breastfeeding only environment. I had more people than I’d care to remember poking at my bare chest trying to get something to work that obviously wasn’t. Finally, one night while my poor chest was cracked, swollen, and sore and both my son and I were beyond tired and frustrated, I begged for formula. The nurse charged in, making me sign “The Paper of Shame” for pleading for something to make him not hungry and crying. I don’t like to give up, so the next 2 days I tried everything they suggested while being in so much pain, I cried. Finally, the lactation consultant on my discharge day made a realization that no one bothered to make: it wasn’t my fault and sometimes babies just can’t. I felt relieved. It’s bad enough on your esteem as a parent when you can’t do something that everyone tells you that you should, it’s even worse when people make you feel ashamed that you couldn’t.

I didn’t give up on the idea that my son should get the best nutrition. After renting a double pump there, I realized that this was the best compromise. I don’t care that he gets the breast milk from the bottle, just that he gets it. Even that is a side concern, as long as he eats and thrives I’ll be perfectly happy. My first son turned out perfectly and he was formula fed. Breastfeeding doesn’t make you a better mother no more than natural childbirth does. It’s a personal choice people make, and we need realize that as long as the child is growing up healthy that it doesn’t matter how it happens. There are too many comparisons that do nothing more than make one person feel less like a mother than they should.

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The Direct Correlation

In life, there are events that correlate in an often horrible but hilarious way. For instance, take a man who opposes helmet laws for motorcyclists. In order to promote his cause, said man goes out on his bike without a helmet. Said man gets in an accident where his helmet-less head gets smashed and dies. The lack of helmet when his dumb head hit the ground correlates directly with his death. In turn, we laugh at the stupidity of said man. Well, maybe most people won’t laugh but I definitely did. This argument can also be proven by an intelligent person rowing his boat into the ocean during a hurricane, resulting in his boat sinking and no one being able to help him. That said man died as well.

Then there are situations when people make up these correlations in their often bigoted or presumptuous minds. Like Obama tanked our economy to ruin us from the inside in a Muslim plot to take down America. This says that Obama because of his name and race that he is a Muslim, and all Muslims naturally want to take down America. Sure this is an extreme situation but it helps prove my point and fill 189 words before I get to the main story.

At the beginning of the week, I had to get an ultrasound done as part of my testing to decide when to induce the labor. I get to the waiting room, and I pull out my phone to put it on silent and read the news. This lovely elderly gentleman decided to inform me that the sign clearly states “no cell phone use” and that I should be respectful and turn off my phone. I looked up and decided I wasn’t in the mood to say a word back so I turned off my phone to appease the man and put it back in my purse. Then, the presumptuous correlations occurred. “What do I expect? If people are sinful enough to have children out-of-wedlock and flaunt it, of course they wouldn’t know how to read a sign and turn off their cell phone. These kids are growing up to be disrespectful sinners and it’s a result of the godless and liberal society we’ve allowed to occur here. These kids need to learn to read classics and not cell phones or vampire series.”

He didn’t say it to me, though I’m not dumb enough to think that this wasn’t directly aimed at me. Of course his assumptions are wrong on 2 levels: I am married, not that there’s anything wrong with children out-of-wedlock as long as they are loved and cared for; and I graduated college with a B.A. in English, with a focus on literature. All that aside, this man felt that without knowing me that he could tell me all about my life and take two of his pet peeves he might have and take it out on me. Correlations are fine, when you start reaching negative correlations based on discriminatory beliefs. Next time, that old man will get my full wrath, but I did learn that I should probably be more aware of wearing my wedding band “necklace”.

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That House Guest That Stayed Too Long

I hope everyone enjoyed their Labor Day, or as I call it “the last day of noise”. My son the following day an hour before his bus even came, was dressed and ready to start the fourth grade. He’s completely different yet to be born little brother, who seemed to not have gotten the memo that he was due almost 2 weeks ago now. I opted to skip writing the blog on Labor Day so I could focus on one last day with the little man before he went off to school and I was left without his running commentary on life. You never really appreciate the constant chatter until you don’t have it. Also, there is a blog for Friday already written up and will be about an incident with a man lecturing me about my pregnancy.

My due date came and went, and still nothing. Still dilated the same amount, no change. Nothing. Finally after two days of tests and no relief in sight for my misery, the little stubborn house guest is still very healthy. It’s a comfort to hear that your child is healthy, but you couldn’t help but to hope that there was a minor problem or concern that would convince the doctor’s to rush me to the hospital and induce me on the spot. Not this little guy, he’s too perfect and healthy. The midwife, in her perky little demeanor raved on how amazing he is. She failed to mention stubborn in her comments on the baby.

Disheartened, I asked when I should schedule my next check up. At some point you cross the point of happiness of being pregnant to exhausted with it. I hit exhaustion with it weeks ago, I’m onto the “miserable and frustrated” stage now. Then I got at least my first bit of good news of the month: “I think we should talk about induction”. I’m not sure how many people get comforted by that sentence, but I wanted to hug this woman in front of me and tell her I loved her. She proceeded to say “when’s a good time for you? Any preference.” I responded with “a good time was 2 weeks ago, but I’ll stick with as soon as you possibly can.” And there it was, instructions in my hand for next Monday on my admission to the hospital and induction.

I’m pretty sure no one goes into a pregnancy saying “I can’t wait until I’m induced”. Induction doesn’t scare me, the idea of a c-section does. In fact, the actual c-section doesn’t scare me, it’s the being awake for it. At some point, I just hit a moment of not caring. Whatever gets the baby out of my body and into my arms is my focus now. I can’t say I’ll complain if he decides to come before then, that would be a fantastic thing. I’m mentally prepared for whatever is going to happen though, I think the mistake is to deny it. Acceptance is key in most things, especially when it means you have to give up control and anything you had planned. Our health, the baby’s and mine, is far more important than how and when he gets here. He’ll be worth the wait.

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#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?

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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.

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Just When You Realize How Time Flies…

… and realize how you’ve grown since then.

I’m not sentimental or romantic in the normal sense. I don’t have a ton of pictures, I have enough to remind me of certain events without being overwhelmed in a dozen boxes of pictures. I didn’t save my bouquet and if my wedding dress and veil weren’t in my closet, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you where it was. I could tell you how much it cost, but I don’t remember any detail about it. I couldn’t tell you what I wore on my first date or when it was. Even when I talk about my husband, I don’t think I express more than adoration for him hoping that my emotions are at least written in between the lines. I don’t feel like my best writing comes out with pure love, maybe love in a nonsensical idea but not in a romantic way.

I’d like to share something I wrote 9 years ago and I ended up marrying that person in the end, with no help of my own. I admit I spent most of the time foolishly defying whatever fate had been laid out for me. I screwed up a lot, mostly as a result of lacking a romantic bone in my body and fearing any sort of commitment. Most of all, I feared I was too damaged and felt I didn’t deserve the person that stood before me and promised to love me. I ran, and I’m ashamed to admit it. After a series of events, I did grow up and got smart about life. Maybe I was wrong the entire time I said that “love was nothing more than lust, and we’d lie if we denied it”. I could be right, because without several forms of lust we wouldn’t fall for a person. But love, love is what keeps those 2 people together because lust can fade. If you have to compromise the person you are and the beliefs you have 100%, you shouldn’t be in that relationship. True love is where you’re allowed to be exactly who you are without feeling like you’re a fool. True love lets you be free to do what you want knowing that you both come back to each other at the end of the day. If there’s any doubt in that, maybe you need to reconsider your situation. It’s all give and take, and you shouldn’t give more in a relationship than you get. That’s not love; that’s being walked on.

To close, I did promise to share something before I went into a long-winded rant. So here it is. I’m glad I got my head together and came back, our family is perfect and I’m pretty sure not having it would be my biggest regret. I’m glad we got our “reboot”, we’re stronger than ever and I’m sure that’s what makes our marriage as strong and happy as it is.

“My Adonis”

If I could, I’d give you the stars. And if you would, I’d like a few minutes of your time, to sit and tell you a story. A story of a beautiful man, worthy of his own galaxy; whose mind equals in beauty. I’d share with you my dreams of him, and moments I wish for.

I’d tell you how he laughs and his radiant smile. I’d tell you how he makes me feel, and how I wish he felt.

I’d tell you how I fancy to dance with him under the stars, and share a most perfect kiss. I’d tell you how I saw him, in the stars’ light.

I’d tell you how I wish he held me. I share with my hopes of ‘us’. I’d share that I wish that he saw me as I saw him.

If I could, I’d hold him close, and hear his heart beat. I would listen to each breath, and wish that he breathed me.

.. Most importantly, I’d tell you that you’re the beautiful man my whole story was about.

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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.

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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.