I realize that most of you are only here because of the Follow Me Group over on MBC, and thank you for doing so! However, as you can see....I've almost all but abandoned this once-home of mine. I really enjoyed reading some of you, but since this blog is set up on a different login than my others, I rarely think to come and see what you're up to. I thought about re-joining the group under my new blog, but it was SO much work to follow every one...I'm not sure I have that kind of time anymore.
So, who enjoys crafting? Specifically, paper crafting. I decided to start a new craft (though mostly Scrapbooking) blog. I hope to make it my most fun, most interactive home on the web. I still have my family blog, which is 90% posts about my son, and the rest being family related. But my new scrapbooking home is a craft-only place where I plan to post layouts, review products, link to good resources, and even host giveaways. So, if you're into crafting at all, please follow me over there - I'd love to hear from you!!!
http://scrapaholicstudio.blogspot.com
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Change of Plans
I wanted to make this blog something special, but I ended up elsewhere. So, if you want to follow me at my new internet homes, please do! Most baby pictures, videos, and updates are at my family blog - here. And everything else, including links to all my other spots (including my family blog mentioned above) can be found at http://mrslicky.tumblr.com - hope to see you around! :)
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
somone's gonna pay.
Let me tell you a little story about how I ended up with 1/2 a new floor.
If you haven't already picked up on it, I'm currently loosing my mind in the efforts to get my house listed. While most of the work is cleaning and decluttering, there are some bigger projects we need to tackle as well - and one of them is putting new flooring in the master bathroom. When we bought the house, this room was a sad version of what it should have been. It had ballerina purple walls with splotches of bright coral around the ceiling and floor boards, showing us not only that the previous color choice was hideous as well, but that whoever painted it did an absolutely horrible job. The builder's grade linoleum was in a sad state. There were water damage stains all around the toilet. The previous owners fixed the problem, and proved it, but we don't actually have that proof in our possession at this time (Aka, it would show up on an inspection, buyers may want it fixed and we have nothing to show them it already was). So, new floors are in order. We started by painting the walls a sunny yellow (called, butterfly bush...hmmm...), and touching up their horrible painting mistakes. Next step, new floor.
The whole family (minus kitty) went to Lowe's to get the floor. I was totally prepared - the floor was already washed & primed to go, and we'd previously brought paper work home to help us chose which flooring to get. The only thing left was to see the colors in person so we knew exactly what it looked like, and bring it home. We make our decision (Armstrong brand peel & stick tiles, Fieldstone is the "color" name), and discover that they only have one box of 30 tiles left. We needed at least 70. We ask a Lowe's employee for help....and I think this is where things first started going wrong. We should have found a different person. He was an older heavy-set man who was literally dripping in sweat, out of breath, and repeating things over and over as if he were trying to remember 10 different things at once that had nothing to do with us. He had us standing around with a cranky baby (whose bed time was coming up fast) while he ran back and forth to different computers, checking inventory, looking for it in "the back", searching for pallets of boxes high up on shelves. He was confused by the computer's unit of measure....apparently it said there were 90 in stock, and he originally took this for 90 boxes. It was actually 90 pieces, and the rest of the pieces were opened and being sold individually as samples for a higher price than a full box would cost us. SO. He checks a computer again, and tells us that another nearby Lowe's has 250 of the exact same thing in stock so we should go there.
It was annoying, but I knew that at least little man could snooze a bit on the ride. I wrote down the brand, color & number code of the tiles for Matt and he ran in to get them. He came out with 2 more boxes. So it seemed that we were all set. We got home, I fed Luke & put him to bed, and then I really wanted to see how the tiles looked in the bathroom. As soon as I did that, I got the itch to start working on it. I thought....why wait for tomorrow when I could possibly get half of it done tonight?! Matt even helped me. We got to work, measuring things out, peeling and sticking tiles, practicing cutting them. It was going so smoothly - we were impressed at how easy this was! We got through a whole box, which was the majority of the surface area, and we thought - what the hell! Let's open another box and keep going while we've got momentum.
So, I grab another box. Keep in mind, we just carried these in from the car and we had no idea which box came from which Lowe's. I pull out the first tile, go to hand it to Matt and I say, WHOA, HOLD UP! (He immediately started singing that song....."heeeeeyyyy", you know the one, right? In the moment I was happy he was making light of the very real SUCK that was about to hit us). I felt the new tile in my hand and realized (after peeling and sticking 30 of them already...) it felt TOTALLY different. The texture of the surface wasn't anything like the ones we'd just used! The colors were the same....the brand, color name & number code were all the same. But I was slowly realizing that not only was the texture different, the pattern of the tile was slightly different also. Both things subtle enough that you wouldn't realize it until you held one, but obvious enough when you install them that you've got two different types of tiles going on.
I checked the labels, and the ONLY thing different was a random number that I am assuming is a time stamp - when the tiles were made. The box we'd already installed had the number 082808, or August 28, 2008. The box I had just opened had the number 051309, or May 13, 2009. This is when my stomach flopped. The box we had just used was the OLDER version of this tile. In other words, we probably can't get more of it.
FML!
So, here's where it stands. Half finished bathroom floor. An hour of wasted time with "old" tiles. Two boxes of unusable tiles. No clue if we can even find the old ones in existence. Someone, probably multiple someones, are going to get verbally reamed via telephone as soon as 9:00am hits and I can start making calls. Nothing can ever go smoothly, can it?
If you haven't already picked up on it, I'm currently loosing my mind in the efforts to get my house listed. While most of the work is cleaning and decluttering, there are some bigger projects we need to tackle as well - and one of them is putting new flooring in the master bathroom. When we bought the house, this room was a sad version of what it should have been. It had ballerina purple walls with splotches of bright coral around the ceiling and floor boards, showing us not only that the previous color choice was hideous as well, but that whoever painted it did an absolutely horrible job. The builder's grade linoleum was in a sad state. There were water damage stains all around the toilet. The previous owners fixed the problem, and proved it, but we don't actually have that proof in our possession at this time (Aka, it would show up on an inspection, buyers may want it fixed and we have nothing to show them it already was). So, new floors are in order. We started by painting the walls a sunny yellow (called, butterfly bush...hmmm...), and touching up their horrible painting mistakes. Next step, new floor.
The whole family (minus kitty) went to Lowe's to get the floor. I was totally prepared - the floor was already washed & primed to go, and we'd previously brought paper work home to help us chose which flooring to get. The only thing left was to see the colors in person so we knew exactly what it looked like, and bring it home. We make our decision (Armstrong brand peel & stick tiles, Fieldstone is the "color" name), and discover that they only have one box of 30 tiles left. We needed at least 70. We ask a Lowe's employee for help....and I think this is where things first started going wrong. We should have found a different person. He was an older heavy-set man who was literally dripping in sweat, out of breath, and repeating things over and over as if he were trying to remember 10 different things at once that had nothing to do with us. He had us standing around with a cranky baby (whose bed time was coming up fast) while he ran back and forth to different computers, checking inventory, looking for it in "the back", searching for pallets of boxes high up on shelves. He was confused by the computer's unit of measure....apparently it said there were 90 in stock, and he originally took this for 90 boxes. It was actually 90 pieces, and the rest of the pieces were opened and being sold individually as samples for a higher price than a full box would cost us. SO. He checks a computer again, and tells us that another nearby Lowe's has 250 of the exact same thing in stock so we should go there.
It was annoying, but I knew that at least little man could snooze a bit on the ride. I wrote down the brand, color & number code of the tiles for Matt and he ran in to get them. He came out with 2 more boxes. So it seemed that we were all set. We got home, I fed Luke & put him to bed, and then I really wanted to see how the tiles looked in the bathroom. As soon as I did that, I got the itch to start working on it. I thought....why wait for tomorrow when I could possibly get half of it done tonight?! Matt even helped me. We got to work, measuring things out, peeling and sticking tiles, practicing cutting them. It was going so smoothly - we were impressed at how easy this was! We got through a whole box, which was the majority of the surface area, and we thought - what the hell! Let's open another box and keep going while we've got momentum.
So, I grab another box. Keep in mind, we just carried these in from the car and we had no idea which box came from which Lowe's. I pull out the first tile, go to hand it to Matt and I say, WHOA, HOLD UP! (He immediately started singing that song....."heeeeeyyyy", you know the one, right? In the moment I was happy he was making light of the very real SUCK that was about to hit us). I felt the new tile in my hand and realized (after peeling and sticking 30 of them already...) it felt TOTALLY different. The texture of the surface wasn't anything like the ones we'd just used! The colors were the same....the brand, color name & number code were all the same. But I was slowly realizing that not only was the texture different, the pattern of the tile was slightly different also. Both things subtle enough that you wouldn't realize it until you held one, but obvious enough when you install them that you've got two different types of tiles going on.
I checked the labels, and the ONLY thing different was a random number that I am assuming is a time stamp - when the tiles were made. The box we'd already installed had the number 082808, or August 28, 2008. The box I had just opened had the number 051309, or May 13, 2009. This is when my stomach flopped. The box we had just used was the OLDER version of this tile. In other words, we probably can't get more of it.
FML!
So, here's where it stands. Half finished bathroom floor. An hour of wasted time with "old" tiles. Two boxes of unusable tiles. No clue if we can even find the old ones in existence. Someone, probably multiple someones, are going to get verbally reamed via telephone as soon as 9:00am hits and I can start making calls. Nothing can ever go smoothly, can it?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
how i got here to get where i'm going.
When I was 19, I was in a rough spot. I'd dated this guy (formerly believed to be the love of my life) for more than 2 years, and when it was officially over, I was lost. I couldn't remember who or what I was before him (because of that I have never again let myself go that much - lesson learned). I was dating all the wrong people for 2 and 3 week stints, and trying to force myself into a party lifestyle that I knew wasn't where I belonged. I even messed up school - I stopped going to classes, stopped doing my homework, completely ignoring the fact that I even had somewhere to be some days. Mostly I was trying to change myself into the person he seemed to want in a last desperate effort to get him back and hang onto him. Ohhh to be a teenage girl - so glad that's over.
During my year of chaos, I met someone....a very special someone who in his own little way made me step back and evaluate everything I was trying to be only to realize that being ME was exactly what he liked. Dare I say, loved. In the midst of my wildness, I made plans to go on my very first Spring Break with friends...so after I met him I regretted this - I just wanted to stick around and spend my time with him - becoming myself again. I went anyway, to avoid wasting money and disappointing my friends. I remember very distinctly, looking around at this different way of life, the urban feel of the bustling nightclubs, the warm weather that lasted all year 'round, and thinking "I need to move". At the time it made perfect sense. My mom and I were absolutely destroying our relationship by me living there - we were two extremely similar adults, clashing. I didn't want to share my chaotic mess of a life with her, or anyone - other than mr. wonderful. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to wipe my slate clean, to get back to who I REALLY was and leave the past year buried back in my hometown.
So I did it. Mr. Wonderful said he wanted to move to Charlotte and I thought, "hell yeah!". I started trashing my hometown and everything about it - something that I now know was due to my own odd way of coping with the fact I was leaving. We planned and saved our money and collected people's left over housewares, and off we went. It was fun for the first few weeks. It was exciting and interesting and exhilarating. We had nothing but our clothes, lawn chairs and boxes for furniture, and a couple grand in the bank. We had to make our own way - hunt down jobs, bring our apartment up to speed, make friends - the whole 9 yards. Three weeks after the move we had to go back home for a wedding (I was a bridesmaid so I didn't have a choice). We'd spent the whole time with family and friends, soaking up our short time together. When we returned from the trip all I felt was this overwhelming sense of regret. Kind of a, what the hell did I do, moment. I loved my boyfriend - more than anything, more than anyone....and having my OWN life was fantastic, but I gave up much much more than I realized I had. We'd been here one measly month, and I already asked him if we could move home.
What you should know about Mr. Wonderful, is that he is extremely ambitious. Career and achievement are his middle names. So going back was unheard of to him - impossible. And before you think that he was insensitive or selfish in those feelings, I should tell you that he gave up the FBI for me. Technically it was for him - in that he came to the decision by himself, but he came to that decision because of my feelings about it. He chose me over the FBI, and even though no one will come out and say that....it's the truth. The FBI was his dream, and he picked me instead. I have felt like I owe him ever since then. So....I did a little re-adjusting, possibly learned a few unhealthy coping mechanisms, and sucked it up. In his FBI decision, he displayed how much he loved me - how much he would give up for me. So I decided to do the same. I have never been happy in Charlotte - I have missed each and every person I left at home every single day, I have hated the different lifestyle, the lack of defined seasons, the hellish heat in august & september, the lack of WNY food, and the sheer number of people crowding everything. But as long as I put all my efforts into my little home - my little family, I can be happy.
If you haven't already figured it out, Mr. Wonderful is now my husband. We've dealt with our clashing lifestyles and dreams because we fit together in every other imaginable way. It has certainly remained interesting - and I think we are better for it. When we found out that our first baby was on his way, Matt (husband, aka mr. wonderful) started to change his tune. He knew that he had officially run out of reasons to stay here - my reasoning trumped all. I never presented it to him this way. I didn't have to. He may be career driven but family means more to him than anything when you get right down to it. So baby boy was born, and I didn't even have to ask. He was on board. SO on board that he even agreed to list the house. And here we are.
So begins Supermomish's Buffalo Chronicles.
For the last week I have been cleaning, de-cluttering, and organizing for hours and hours a time. You can imagine this is not an easy feat with a 6 month old. A 6 month old mama's boy, no less. And Matt is working overtime in the evenings and on the weekends - and he does most of it from home, but still can't be any help while he'd doing it. So I'm kind of carrying this whole load on my shoulders. I suppose that is fitting. I'm getting what I asked for, right? I just wish it wasn't so extremely hard. All I want is to de-clutter my house, get it on the freaking market, and have someone buy it. So much easier said than done.
I want to go home. Where are those magic ruby slippers when you need them?
During my year of chaos, I met someone....a very special someone who in his own little way made me step back and evaluate everything I was trying to be only to realize that being ME was exactly what he liked. Dare I say, loved. In the midst of my wildness, I made plans to go on my very first Spring Break with friends...so after I met him I regretted this - I just wanted to stick around and spend my time with him - becoming myself again. I went anyway, to avoid wasting money and disappointing my friends. I remember very distinctly, looking around at this different way of life, the urban feel of the bustling nightclubs, the warm weather that lasted all year 'round, and thinking "I need to move". At the time it made perfect sense. My mom and I were absolutely destroying our relationship by me living there - we were two extremely similar adults, clashing. I didn't want to share my chaotic mess of a life with her, or anyone - other than mr. wonderful. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to wipe my slate clean, to get back to who I REALLY was and leave the past year buried back in my hometown.
So I did it. Mr. Wonderful said he wanted to move to Charlotte and I thought, "hell yeah!". I started trashing my hometown and everything about it - something that I now know was due to my own odd way of coping with the fact I was leaving. We planned and saved our money and collected people's left over housewares, and off we went. It was fun for the first few weeks. It was exciting and interesting and exhilarating. We had nothing but our clothes, lawn chairs and boxes for furniture, and a couple grand in the bank. We had to make our own way - hunt down jobs, bring our apartment up to speed, make friends - the whole 9 yards. Three weeks after the move we had to go back home for a wedding (I was a bridesmaid so I didn't have a choice). We'd spent the whole time with family and friends, soaking up our short time together. When we returned from the trip all I felt was this overwhelming sense of regret. Kind of a, what the hell did I do, moment. I loved my boyfriend - more than anything, more than anyone....and having my OWN life was fantastic, but I gave up much much more than I realized I had. We'd been here one measly month, and I already asked him if we could move home.
What you should know about Mr. Wonderful, is that he is extremely ambitious. Career and achievement are his middle names. So going back was unheard of to him - impossible. And before you think that he was insensitive or selfish in those feelings, I should tell you that he gave up the FBI for me. Technically it was for him - in that he came to the decision by himself, but he came to that decision because of my feelings about it. He chose me over the FBI, and even though no one will come out and say that....it's the truth. The FBI was his dream, and he picked me instead. I have felt like I owe him ever since then. So....I did a little re-adjusting, possibly learned a few unhealthy coping mechanisms, and sucked it up. In his FBI decision, he displayed how much he loved me - how much he would give up for me. So I decided to do the same. I have never been happy in Charlotte - I have missed each and every person I left at home every single day, I have hated the different lifestyle, the lack of defined seasons, the hellish heat in august & september, the lack of WNY food, and the sheer number of people crowding everything. But as long as I put all my efforts into my little home - my little family, I can be happy.
If you haven't already figured it out, Mr. Wonderful is now my husband. We've dealt with our clashing lifestyles and dreams because we fit together in every other imaginable way. It has certainly remained interesting - and I think we are better for it. When we found out that our first baby was on his way, Matt (husband, aka mr. wonderful) started to change his tune. He knew that he had officially run out of reasons to stay here - my reasoning trumped all. I never presented it to him this way. I didn't have to. He may be career driven but family means more to him than anything when you get right down to it. So baby boy was born, and I didn't even have to ask. He was on board. SO on board that he even agreed to list the house. And here we are.
So begins Supermomish's Buffalo Chronicles.
For the last week I have been cleaning, de-cluttering, and organizing for hours and hours a time. You can imagine this is not an easy feat with a 6 month old. A 6 month old mama's boy, no less. And Matt is working overtime in the evenings and on the weekends - and he does most of it from home, but still can't be any help while he'd doing it. So I'm kind of carrying this whole load on my shoulders. I suppose that is fitting. I'm getting what I asked for, right? I just wish it wasn't so extremely hard. All I want is to de-clutter my house, get it on the freaking market, and have someone buy it. So much easier said than done.
I want to go home. Where are those magic ruby slippers when you need them?
Monday, July 13, 2009
let's give it a go.
So, not only am I supermomish, I'm also superbloggerish. As in, not super at blogs at all. I think I have internet ADD. I get sucked into one thing after another and then can't keep up! Oye.
I want a blog I can be proud of. I am mostly proud of this one. I'm completely honest here. I was thrilled like never before with everything that I could make this blog be. But while I dig being semi-secretive and anonymous, after a while I want to get a little more personal. Say names. Show pictures. Share it with people I know in real life. At which point it all falls apart because I already have a site for that. Open Diary, ever hear of it? I've been there, faithfully, since 2001. I write almost every day (sometimes multiple times a day), and I've made friends there. Friends that I know are reading me - friends that actually KNOW what my interests are and what my daily life is like, what my cat's name is, what my favorite color is. So do I really want ANOTHER outlet like that? Sigh......I don't know. I love this blog, I do....I LOVE IT! I don't want to leave it. But I feel like it's this great thing I'm going to go and ruin by slathering it with my personal life rather than just my daily happenings in well-thought-out form. (At Open Diary, I write as if I'm having a casual conversation with each one of my readers....while here, it feels more like story time). And if I just start coming out with it, I WILL be found. These friends of mine are no idiots - they will discover who I am, and pretty soon I will no longer be able to just shout it out and say whatever without consequence. Or at least, without pissing off people I know personally.
What to do, what to do.
This much I know. Open Diary has a lot of drama floating around right now - mommy cliques and people with their panties so far up their butts they can taste them (ew). People who are trying way too hard to be things they're not. Which, is why THIS blog is so appealing even though it means breaking my 8 year loyalties. But on blogger, I feel like an idiot. I don't have flashy contests and things....I don't really have any connections here. While there's drama at OD, there is also community....that so far has gone unmatched. It feels comfortable there. (Even though, I pay $24 for a year there....and nothing here...hmmm....)
Maybe this. Maybe....I go on a bit of an OD hiatus. Only going there when I absolutely need to spew some nonsense. I put my bloggy efforts into this lovely place, get organized to a point that I can love it as I do OD, and see if I'm happier here. It could very well be worth it. The thing is, though.....in order for me to "let go" of OD...at least enough to make supermomish my priority, I'm going to need to be open about who I am. So, let's do this introduction thing, shall we?
Ahem. My real name is Jenn. I will be 1/4 of a century old next month (eeek!). My husband's name is Matt and we were married on August 11, 2007. My son's name is Lukas (though we usually call him Luke, Lukey, Luker, Lukey-poo, Little Man, or Chubs). He is 6 months old now. We have a cat named Odin who is 5 years old. We live in Charlotte, NC but we are from Buffalo, NY. We own our home and are currently trying to sell it so we can move back to Buffalo - hopefully this year. I am a SAHM, and my husband works for a major bank (one of the majorist). I love reading, scrapbooking, and cooking. I have an addiction to buying/collecting books and spending time on Charlottemommies.com. I have special soft spots for the March of Dimes & the SPCA - both of which I've been contributing to for a while now.
How's that for dry and boring? :)
Well, now you know. I'm going to get to work on organizing this thing and I hope to turn out something I love (and can stick to) and I hope you'll join me for the ride!
I want a blog I can be proud of. I am mostly proud of this one. I'm completely honest here. I was thrilled like never before with everything that I could make this blog be. But while I dig being semi-secretive and anonymous, after a while I want to get a little more personal. Say names. Show pictures. Share it with people I know in real life. At which point it all falls apart because I already have a site for that. Open Diary, ever hear of it? I've been there, faithfully, since 2001. I write almost every day (sometimes multiple times a day), and I've made friends there. Friends that I know are reading me - friends that actually KNOW what my interests are and what my daily life is like, what my cat's name is, what my favorite color is. So do I really want ANOTHER outlet like that? Sigh......I don't know. I love this blog, I do....I LOVE IT! I don't want to leave it. But I feel like it's this great thing I'm going to go and ruin by slathering it with my personal life rather than just my daily happenings in well-thought-out form. (At Open Diary, I write as if I'm having a casual conversation with each one of my readers....while here, it feels more like story time). And if I just start coming out with it, I WILL be found. These friends of mine are no idiots - they will discover who I am, and pretty soon I will no longer be able to just shout it out and say whatever without consequence. Or at least, without pissing off people I know personally.
What to do, what to do.
This much I know. Open Diary has a lot of drama floating around right now - mommy cliques and people with their panties so far up their butts they can taste them (ew). People who are trying way too hard to be things they're not. Which, is why THIS blog is so appealing even though it means breaking my 8 year loyalties. But on blogger, I feel like an idiot. I don't have flashy contests and things....I don't really have any connections here. While there's drama at OD, there is also community....that so far has gone unmatched. It feels comfortable there. (Even though, I pay $24 for a year there....and nothing here...hmmm....)
Maybe this. Maybe....I go on a bit of an OD hiatus. Only going there when I absolutely need to spew some nonsense. I put my bloggy efforts into this lovely place, get organized to a point that I can love it as I do OD, and see if I'm happier here. It could very well be worth it. The thing is, though.....in order for me to "let go" of OD...at least enough to make supermomish my priority, I'm going to need to be open about who I am. So, let's do this introduction thing, shall we?
Ahem. My real name is Jenn. I will be 1/4 of a century old next month (eeek!). My husband's name is Matt and we were married on August 11, 2007. My son's name is Lukas (though we usually call him Luke, Lukey, Luker, Lukey-poo, Little Man, or Chubs). He is 6 months old now. We have a cat named Odin who is 5 years old. We live in Charlotte, NC but we are from Buffalo, NY. We own our home and are currently trying to sell it so we can move back to Buffalo - hopefully this year. I am a SAHM, and my husband works for a major bank (one of the majorist). I love reading, scrapbooking, and cooking. I have an addiction to buying/collecting books and spending time on Charlottemommies.com. I have special soft spots for the March of Dimes & the SPCA - both of which I've been contributing to for a while now.
How's that for dry and boring? :)
Well, now you know. I'm going to get to work on organizing this thing and I hope to turn out something I love (and can stick to) and I hope you'll join me for the ride!
Monday, June 8, 2009
learning to love
i'm not sure if it's becoming a mom, or not having to fill my brain with useless information about steel while simultaneously wading through office politics, or the bazillion books i've been devouring, or maybe....all of them, but i have been so darn philosophical lately. even though i rarely leave the confines of my home (some days not even my recliner), i have been so in awe with life and all that comes with it. some themes i have more fascination with than others. love, guilt, happiness, growth, age, processes of learning, the balance between good and bad. and in the middle of all the ordinary things going on around me, between the pureed sweet potatoes and the pee soaked crib sheets, my mind wanders places it never used to go.
ever since my body became something more than just...me, i've been a little obsessed with it. in some ways good, in most ways bad. i've been unhappy with it, upset with it, downright furious with it. i look at the loose skin and stretch marks and the lack of perk in places i used to have plenty and i think, i never would have believed it if someone told me i'd lose my body as i knew it by the time i was 24.
so i struggle. like, when i stand in front of the mirror for 10 minutes before i shower, picking at my face, inspecting the stretch marks that plague my entire torso, tracing the weird foreign lines of my own rib cage and hips - knowing that none of this was the same even just a year ago. i feel ruined, and used...and i fear stupid things like, my husband realizing if he just didn't have kids with me he could have had a hot wife forever, or that he'll leave me one day and no one will want me because my stomach looks like an 80 year old's testicles. all humor aside, there has to be a silver lining to all this, right? of course there is! a baby! he is the reason for my entire life, which is why complaining about these things is more of a trivial indulgence than anything else and i never take it very seriously. even when i'm whining about it to anyone who will listen my mind is saying "don't be fooled, i don't really care, i have luke!". it may not be the healthiest way to think, but if my husband never wanted to see me naked again (for the record, i already know this isn't true) or if he left me and i ended up an old maid thanks to my re-shaped body, i would still die happy. i've got my baby.
i spent so many years being pessimistic....it's kind of hard to break the habit. it's ridiculous, really. i'm practically an expert at finding the way even good things suck. i've lost 15 pounds in the last...5 or 6 weeks...and even though i feel lighter already (i swear, i'm sure i'm imagining it, but it feels like the loss of those 15 pounds lets me lift my feet a little higher, move a little quicker, ache a little less)....i'm finding all the ways it actually sucks. because without all the "mommy padding", i'm seeing the way my body changed shape. the baby belly that refuses to shrink sticks out a little more without the extra cushion to make it look more gradual. it's like i'm trying to discredit the work it took to shed those pounds - so unfair to myself. but i can recognize it, and as i'm learning in all aspects of life with a baby (not just my body woes), there is always something good hiding among the suck - and there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. i make myself at least search for these things now - at times it's hard to accept them, but i want to at least be aware.
and what have i had the hardest time doing this with? my stretch marks. but i think that may be ending.
i didn't expect for them to upset me as much as they did. when i was 13 or 14 and my hips stretched out and my booty showed up, i got stretch marks. i remember being that young, noticing them in the mirror as if they appeared overnight. because they were so concealed i didn't think much of them, and before i knew it they were faded. those ones don't even bother me anymore. i knew i was prone to them (you either are, or you're not...i got the suck DNA in that case), so i fully expected them. i even escaped them for 30 weeks of my pregnancy! but then a few showed up, and then a few more....and by the end, i was covered. i couldn't believe the way my skin transformed. it was the most disappointing change in myself. suddenly i could never wear a 2 piece bathing suit, or short shorts, ever again. and it's not that i wore either of these often (maybe, once a year?) i was just upset about the idea that i couldn't. losing the choice to do something sucks more than the actual thing, sometimes. and yes - i did feel as though i lost the choice - my confidence isn't even a fraction as strong as it would need to be to throw caution to the wind and show them anyway.
matt kept telling me they were getting better and that they didn't bother him at all. i always took this as either him feeling obligated to say those things, or thinking it was the best thing to say to raise my spirits. i was so busy being upset about them, i didn't notice that they were getting better. they were lightening every day, and their texture was smoothing over - slowly but surely. i will always be scared with them, but they are fading into my skin as if they were always meant to be there.
so as i showered this evening, i looked at them and thought about what my belly looked like when the stretch marks were made. i remembered what it looked like when my belly was the shape of a full size basketball and luke would kick me so hard from inside it hurt. i remembered his foot being wedged in my ribs, the position of it causing a strange numbness that plagued me for weeks. i remember the heaviness of carrying him around with nothing but my core muscles, wondering if he would get strong enough to break out - it sure felt like he would. and while i think about the amazing feat he and i went through, just putting him together, growing him into a full human, i know it's unrealistic to think nothing would give. i know it's one of many sacrifices i had to make to have my baby and for that reason i would do it again and again.
but, is that enough to make me love them? or even just enough to stop hating them? come to terms with what being covered in stretch marks means for me? hmm, no. to me, there's a difference in being willing to do something, and loving doing it. so i kept thinking. i kept searching for the way to find peace with this. and i found it.
my stretch marks aren't just a side effect of pregnancy. they are little pieces of luke left behind from when he shared my body with me. sort of like....a cave man leaving hieroglyphics on the wall of a cave. he made his mark. it is a piece of my pregnancy, evidence of the only time i could be that close to my baby, that i get to keep forever.
when i look at his chubby thighs and wrists, when i smell his sweet baby breath and hear his coos...his first attempts at conversing with me, his toothless smiles......it's hard for me to picture him driving a car, graduating from high school, making someone girl love him so much it hurts and then breaking her heart, or finally finding his dream come true and settling down to have his own babies. but i know that the day is coming, and it's coming faster than i want it to. every single minute, it comes closer. but even when he finds a woman to care for more than he does me....even if he moves across the country to accomplish whatever his goals may be....even if he grows to dislike my company and avoids me with all his effort....i will still have my stretch marks. i will still have the evidence that at one time, right at the cusp of his very existence, we loved each other more than anything in the world. i loved him more than my own life, and he loved me for helping him start his. and nothing - nothing.....can ever take that physical evidence away from me.
so now....i think....when i'm inspecting my body in it's new condition, i will smile when my fingers trace the deep groves of one of my more severe marks. i will know it came at the very end, when he was so large i looked top heavy, when he was luke in all definitions - fully developed, just waiting to be born. my heart will swell remembering how wonderful it was, being worthy enough to make him.
i love my baby. and now, i love my stretch marks.
ever since my body became something more than just...me, i've been a little obsessed with it. in some ways good, in most ways bad. i've been unhappy with it, upset with it, downright furious with it. i look at the loose skin and stretch marks and the lack of perk in places i used to have plenty and i think, i never would have believed it if someone told me i'd lose my body as i knew it by the time i was 24.
so i struggle. like, when i stand in front of the mirror for 10 minutes before i shower, picking at my face, inspecting the stretch marks that plague my entire torso, tracing the weird foreign lines of my own rib cage and hips - knowing that none of this was the same even just a year ago. i feel ruined, and used...and i fear stupid things like, my husband realizing if he just didn't have kids with me he could have had a hot wife forever, or that he'll leave me one day and no one will want me because my stomach looks like an 80 year old's testicles. all humor aside, there has to be a silver lining to all this, right? of course there is! a baby! he is the reason for my entire life, which is why complaining about these things is more of a trivial indulgence than anything else and i never take it very seriously. even when i'm whining about it to anyone who will listen my mind is saying "don't be fooled, i don't really care, i have luke!". it may not be the healthiest way to think, but if my husband never wanted to see me naked again (for the record, i already know this isn't true) or if he left me and i ended up an old maid thanks to my re-shaped body, i would still die happy. i've got my baby.
i spent so many years being pessimistic....it's kind of hard to break the habit. it's ridiculous, really. i'm practically an expert at finding the way even good things suck. i've lost 15 pounds in the last...5 or 6 weeks...and even though i feel lighter already (i swear, i'm sure i'm imagining it, but it feels like the loss of those 15 pounds lets me lift my feet a little higher, move a little quicker, ache a little less)....i'm finding all the ways it actually sucks. because without all the "mommy padding", i'm seeing the way my body changed shape. the baby belly that refuses to shrink sticks out a little more without the extra cushion to make it look more gradual. it's like i'm trying to discredit the work it took to shed those pounds - so unfair to myself. but i can recognize it, and as i'm learning in all aspects of life with a baby (not just my body woes), there is always something good hiding among the suck - and there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. i make myself at least search for these things now - at times it's hard to accept them, but i want to at least be aware.
and what have i had the hardest time doing this with? my stretch marks. but i think that may be ending.
i didn't expect for them to upset me as much as they did. when i was 13 or 14 and my hips stretched out and my booty showed up, i got stretch marks. i remember being that young, noticing them in the mirror as if they appeared overnight. because they were so concealed i didn't think much of them, and before i knew it they were faded. those ones don't even bother me anymore. i knew i was prone to them (you either are, or you're not...i got the suck DNA in that case), so i fully expected them. i even escaped them for 30 weeks of my pregnancy! but then a few showed up, and then a few more....and by the end, i was covered. i couldn't believe the way my skin transformed. it was the most disappointing change in myself. suddenly i could never wear a 2 piece bathing suit, or short shorts, ever again. and it's not that i wore either of these often (maybe, once a year?) i was just upset about the idea that i couldn't. losing the choice to do something sucks more than the actual thing, sometimes. and yes - i did feel as though i lost the choice - my confidence isn't even a fraction as strong as it would need to be to throw caution to the wind and show them anyway.
matt kept telling me they were getting better and that they didn't bother him at all. i always took this as either him feeling obligated to say those things, or thinking it was the best thing to say to raise my spirits. i was so busy being upset about them, i didn't notice that they were getting better. they were lightening every day, and their texture was smoothing over - slowly but surely. i will always be scared with them, but they are fading into my skin as if they were always meant to be there.
so as i showered this evening, i looked at them and thought about what my belly looked like when the stretch marks were made. i remembered what it looked like when my belly was the shape of a full size basketball and luke would kick me so hard from inside it hurt. i remembered his foot being wedged in my ribs, the position of it causing a strange numbness that plagued me for weeks. i remember the heaviness of carrying him around with nothing but my core muscles, wondering if he would get strong enough to break out - it sure felt like he would. and while i think about the amazing feat he and i went through, just putting him together, growing him into a full human, i know it's unrealistic to think nothing would give. i know it's one of many sacrifices i had to make to have my baby and for that reason i would do it again and again.
but, is that enough to make me love them? or even just enough to stop hating them? come to terms with what being covered in stretch marks means for me? hmm, no. to me, there's a difference in being willing to do something, and loving doing it. so i kept thinking. i kept searching for the way to find peace with this. and i found it.
my stretch marks aren't just a side effect of pregnancy. they are little pieces of luke left behind from when he shared my body with me. sort of like....a cave man leaving hieroglyphics on the wall of a cave. he made his mark. it is a piece of my pregnancy, evidence of the only time i could be that close to my baby, that i get to keep forever.
when i look at his chubby thighs and wrists, when i smell his sweet baby breath and hear his coos...his first attempts at conversing with me, his toothless smiles......it's hard for me to picture him driving a car, graduating from high school, making someone girl love him so much it hurts and then breaking her heart, or finally finding his dream come true and settling down to have his own babies. but i know that the day is coming, and it's coming faster than i want it to. every single minute, it comes closer. but even when he finds a woman to care for more than he does me....even if he moves across the country to accomplish whatever his goals may be....even if he grows to dislike my company and avoids me with all his effort....i will still have my stretch marks. i will still have the evidence that at one time, right at the cusp of his very existence, we loved each other more than anything in the world. i loved him more than my own life, and he loved me for helping him start his. and nothing - nothing.....can ever take that physical evidence away from me.
so now....i think....when i'm inspecting my body in it's new condition, i will smile when my fingers trace the deep groves of one of my more severe marks. i will know it came at the very end, when he was so large i looked top heavy, when he was luke in all definitions - fully developed, just waiting to be born. my heart will swell remembering how wonderful it was, being worthy enough to make him.
i love my baby. and now, i love my stretch marks.
Friday, May 29, 2009
adventures in solid land
one thing i love about being somewhat anonymous supermomish, is that when i say what i'm about to say i know i can bask in the joy of it - and not fear the judgement that will surely come along with it. so, confession time first.
supermomish confession #529
my son is 4 months and 2 weeks old....about 2 days shy of 4.5 months. and he eats solids.
i have a fellow mommy friend who got lashings about giving her 5 month old 1 tablespoon of rice cereal at night. even though, she was exhibiting all the signs of being ready. i thought that was ridiculous, because my son has a monster appetite (see breastfeeding FAIL), and his doctor mentioned starting solids right at 4 months if he seemed physically ready for it. she thought he'd thoroughly enjoy it, and it would probably help him with his ravenous hunger. just before he rounded the 4 month corner i did some reading about the subject. he was supposed to have his 4 month check up right on his 4 month birthday, but due to some issues at the office we had to push it back. i was kinda bummed...i was all reved up about starting this new phase of parenting and had fully intended to start cereal that weekend. my husband suggested that we do it anyway - even though it seems like we should wait for the doctor's permission....we're his parents, right? so we did. we tried it in complete slop form and he LOVED it! we started giving him 1 extremely watery tablespoon a night and he was so excited about this moment every day, it was hard to wonder if we were doing the right thing - it seemed so obvious we were.
his appointment was a few days later, and the doctor gave us her usual "how to introduce solids" spiel. my son impressed her SO much with his muscle strength and ability (he falls into the "active" temperament category....if he stood up and walked tomorrow i don't think i would be shocked). she kept saying how strong he was, and that everything about him screamed that he was ready for solids. i told her that by the second night of cereal the tongue trust reflex was completely MIA. it was as if he enjoyed the experience so much, he adjusted to it instantly. she encouraged us to keep going, gradually increasing both the amount and thickness until he was eating 4 tablespoons at night, and it was the consistency of loose oatmeal. this process took him about 2 weeks, which is what she suggested. when he was up to that, she told us to start a second meal, preferably at breakfast, giving him only a small serving of cereal - but a larger serving of orange veggie. (and i'm sure, if you're a mom, you know how the process goes from there so i refuse to bore you with it)
that very day, extremely excited by this new adventure, i researched as much as i could - about the best veggie to start with, which ones should be pushed back further because of nitrates, the best way to prepare them (because i've had every intention of making it myself, so far so good), which ones should be purchased organic, and i even made a spreadsheet to help me keep track of my supplies so i know when to make more - as well as my son's reaction to each food. yes, completely obsessive compulsive and nerdly of me, i know.
i decided to go with sweet potatoes. i made them wednesday, froze them over night, stored them on thursday, and this morning was the big taste test. in short, he LOVED them! when i put the first bite in his mouth, he completely stopped moving (believe me when i say, not many things cause this reaction in him). he had a look on his face as though he was thinking about this new taste and texture - he was completely enthralled. when he finally mashed it around his mouth a bit and swallowed, his eyes lit up in delight. he scarfed the entire thing down (i made the cubes in 2 tablespoon quantities, and had paired it with only 1 tablespoon of cereal), and was demanding more when he finished. success!
so okay, there's multiple supermom vs supermomish debates lurking in this situation. A) when the right time to start solids is, B) homemade vs jar, C) order of presented food & means of preparation. i've touched on them all slightly but let me break it down.
Issue A. I'm not going to beat this one down because I've covered it pretty well already. But, I just want to say that regardless of what other people think, this feels right for my baby. He loves it. He hasn't had any negative reactions to anything so far. We know a couple with a son who was born 10 days before our son, and his doctor won't let his parents (which is a laugh in itself) even attempt solids yet. Their doctor says it's pointless. Every doctor is entitled to their own opinion, I just feel lucky that our ped had a son sooo similar in preferences and temperament to ours, that she "gets it", and lets it known that we can experiment however we want until we find what works for him. And even if you still think he's too young, I promise you....if you knew my son in person, you would think he's older than he is. He's generally on par developmentally, but physically speaking he's quite advanced. And I'm not saying that to brag, at all - believe me, being pregnant with a Michael Phelps wanna be is no picnic! - I'm just letting you know how ready he is.
Issue B. For once, I'm choosing the more difficult method. (That's not to say I've always chosen things based on level of ease alone!!) I see nothing wrong with jar feeding if that's what you chose to do - in fact, I will probably do it on trips home to see the family (we live far from our hometown right now, boo). It's just too difficult to try and get cubes of food home with us, frozen & eaten within the safe window of time, not to mention having to make some when we get there and blah blah blah. While we're home, however....I'm making all of my son's food. It's really pretty simple. I'm doing it for a few reasons - yes, to avoid unnecessary sugars, salt, pesticides - and who knooows what food comes in contact with in factories (mouse poo??). I know this is all kinds of paranoid but I've seen one too many a jar of peanut butter laced with something nasty to trust mass-made food for my baby. I feel like I should add - I am not "crunchy" (that's probably fairly obvious by this point...), nor am I an all organic health nut (though I am going organic for some things), but I just....want to know exactly what's going in my baby's body, at least to the best of my ability. So, as long as I'm a SAHM, why not make his food, ya know?
Issue C. The least controversial, but still worth looking into. I was kind of obsessive about this - charting out the order I want to present the foods to him, and making sure they matched up with his age at the time. I wanted higher-nitrate foods to be presented last - closest to 6 months when they are virtually zero danger. I also looked into steaming vs microwaving vs baking in order to cook the food before pureeing it. If you're interested, I chose steaming. The case was made that microwaving keeps the most liquid in the food, resulting in the least loss of nutrients. But, if you microwave in plastic with plastic wrap (as suggested) you're also keeping all the chemicals and synthetic crap in those things with the food. So I passed. Baking requires no use of water, but I thought...it usually enhances the flavors of things, and that may concentrate flavors too much for a baby's first attempt at veggies. Maybe later in life, but not now. So I went with steaming...using a steamer basket, little water, and adding the water back to the food while pureeing. I feel the most confident about this method.
if you can't tell, i'm pretty excited about embarking on the solid food adventure. it's just so tiring when people try to rain on your parade. when will people realize that every mom knows her own baby better than you do - even if research shows your method is "best"?
supermomish confession #529
my son is 4 months and 2 weeks old....about 2 days shy of 4.5 months. and he eats solids.
i have a fellow mommy friend who got lashings about giving her 5 month old 1 tablespoon of rice cereal at night. even though, she was exhibiting all the signs of being ready. i thought that was ridiculous, because my son has a monster appetite (see breastfeeding FAIL), and his doctor mentioned starting solids right at 4 months if he seemed physically ready for it. she thought he'd thoroughly enjoy it, and it would probably help him with his ravenous hunger. just before he rounded the 4 month corner i did some reading about the subject. he was supposed to have his 4 month check up right on his 4 month birthday, but due to some issues at the office we had to push it back. i was kinda bummed...i was all reved up about starting this new phase of parenting and had fully intended to start cereal that weekend. my husband suggested that we do it anyway - even though it seems like we should wait for the doctor's permission....we're his parents, right? so we did. we tried it in complete slop form and he LOVED it! we started giving him 1 extremely watery tablespoon a night and he was so excited about this moment every day, it was hard to wonder if we were doing the right thing - it seemed so obvious we were.
his appointment was a few days later, and the doctor gave us her usual "how to introduce solids" spiel. my son impressed her SO much with his muscle strength and ability (he falls into the "active" temperament category....if he stood up and walked tomorrow i don't think i would be shocked). she kept saying how strong he was, and that everything about him screamed that he was ready for solids. i told her that by the second night of cereal the tongue trust reflex was completely MIA. it was as if he enjoyed the experience so much, he adjusted to it instantly. she encouraged us to keep going, gradually increasing both the amount and thickness until he was eating 4 tablespoons at night, and it was the consistency of loose oatmeal. this process took him about 2 weeks, which is what she suggested. when he was up to that, she told us to start a second meal, preferably at breakfast, giving him only a small serving of cereal - but a larger serving of orange veggie. (and i'm sure, if you're a mom, you know how the process goes from there so i refuse to bore you with it)
that very day, extremely excited by this new adventure, i researched as much as i could - about the best veggie to start with, which ones should be pushed back further because of nitrates, the best way to prepare them (because i've had every intention of making it myself, so far so good), which ones should be purchased organic, and i even made a spreadsheet to help me keep track of my supplies so i know when to make more - as well as my son's reaction to each food. yes, completely obsessive compulsive and nerdly of me, i know.
i decided to go with sweet potatoes. i made them wednesday, froze them over night, stored them on thursday, and this morning was the big taste test. in short, he LOVED them! when i put the first bite in his mouth, he completely stopped moving (believe me when i say, not many things cause this reaction in him). he had a look on his face as though he was thinking about this new taste and texture - he was completely enthralled. when he finally mashed it around his mouth a bit and swallowed, his eyes lit up in delight. he scarfed the entire thing down (i made the cubes in 2 tablespoon quantities, and had paired it with only 1 tablespoon of cereal), and was demanding more when he finished. success!
so okay, there's multiple supermom vs supermomish debates lurking in this situation. A) when the right time to start solids is, B) homemade vs jar, C) order of presented food & means of preparation. i've touched on them all slightly but let me break it down.
Issue A. I'm not going to beat this one down because I've covered it pretty well already. But, I just want to say that regardless of what other people think, this feels right for my baby. He loves it. He hasn't had any negative reactions to anything so far. We know a couple with a son who was born 10 days before our son, and his doctor won't let his parents (which is a laugh in itself) even attempt solids yet. Their doctor says it's pointless. Every doctor is entitled to their own opinion, I just feel lucky that our ped had a son sooo similar in preferences and temperament to ours, that she "gets it", and lets it known that we can experiment however we want until we find what works for him. And even if you still think he's too young, I promise you....if you knew my son in person, you would think he's older than he is. He's generally on par developmentally, but physically speaking he's quite advanced. And I'm not saying that to brag, at all - believe me, being pregnant with a Michael Phelps wanna be is no picnic! - I'm just letting you know how ready he is.
Issue B. For once, I'm choosing the more difficult method. (That's not to say I've always chosen things based on level of ease alone!!) I see nothing wrong with jar feeding if that's what you chose to do - in fact, I will probably do it on trips home to see the family (we live far from our hometown right now, boo). It's just too difficult to try and get cubes of food home with us, frozen & eaten within the safe window of time, not to mention having to make some when we get there and blah blah blah. While we're home, however....I'm making all of my son's food. It's really pretty simple. I'm doing it for a few reasons - yes, to avoid unnecessary sugars, salt, pesticides - and who knooows what food comes in contact with in factories (mouse poo??). I know this is all kinds of paranoid but I've seen one too many a jar of peanut butter laced with something nasty to trust mass-made food for my baby. I feel like I should add - I am not "crunchy" (that's probably fairly obvious by this point...), nor am I an all organic health nut (though I am going organic for some things), but I just....want to know exactly what's going in my baby's body, at least to the best of my ability. So, as long as I'm a SAHM, why not make his food, ya know?
Issue C. The least controversial, but still worth looking into. I was kind of obsessive about this - charting out the order I want to present the foods to him, and making sure they matched up with his age at the time. I wanted higher-nitrate foods to be presented last - closest to 6 months when they are virtually zero danger. I also looked into steaming vs microwaving vs baking in order to cook the food before pureeing it. If you're interested, I chose steaming. The case was made that microwaving keeps the most liquid in the food, resulting in the least loss of nutrients. But, if you microwave in plastic with plastic wrap (as suggested) you're also keeping all the chemicals and synthetic crap in those things with the food. So I passed. Baking requires no use of water, but I thought...it usually enhances the flavors of things, and that may concentrate flavors too much for a baby's first attempt at veggies. Maybe later in life, but not now. So I went with steaming...using a steamer basket, little water, and adding the water back to the food while pureeing. I feel the most confident about this method.
if you can't tell, i'm pretty excited about embarking on the solid food adventure. it's just so tiring when people try to rain on your parade. when will people realize that every mom knows her own baby better than you do - even if research shows your method is "best"?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Yay, achievement!
Thanks to Nori @ This Casual Life, my blog got it's first award :)I wish I knew enough bloggers to pass this onto that she didn't already award!
So, I will pay it forward as soon as I do! Thanks again!!!
So, I will pay it forward as soon as I do! Thanks again!!!
BOOBS!
Before becoming supermomish, I thought I would be supermom. How naive of me. I didn't think I would do everything that's considered "best" at the current time - but at least most of them. Not only is that not true, I didn't even stick to the ONE thing I thought was a sure bet. Breastfeeding. Admittedly, I was a little high and mighty about this one. I branded moms who didn't do it "selfish" and "uneducated", because there's so much information out there about the benefits to your baby. I feel bad for this now. REALLY bad.
I tried. I totally tried. My son was exclusively breastfed for 6 weeks, then occasionally supplemented with formula for a few weeks, then round-the-clock supplemented for a few weeks (by the doctor's orders, he wasn't gaining enough weight), and at around 3 months old he decided he'd had enough. I had issues with supply - sometime around 6 or 7 weeks I couldn't keep up with his appetite anymore. I tried it all - pumping, drinking more water, fenugreek seed tablets, mother's milk tea, nursing for hours at a time, drinking a beer every few days - nothing worked!! I don't know what was causing the problem, exactly...but at his 2 month appointment my son was an entire pound lighter than he should have been. I was fighting SO hard to keep it going, but not only was he underweight, he was miserable. He was crying all the time, he was never satisfied after a feeding. And stress? Wow. The wondering how many ounces he got, how much supply I actually had (when it felt like a few drops), trying to build it back up, how hungry he was, am I causing him harm, what is wrong with meeee?! Towards the end I would pump for an hour to an hour & 1/2 and only come up with 1/2 oz from each side. And the pumping wouldn't even encourage my supply - I never got more than 1/2 oz each side. I quickly learned why some moms choose formula!
When I realized I had to give it up (and really, I did HAVE to - my son was miserable and he was telling me what he wanted - as soon as I listened and stopped forcing the boob on him, he was a new baby!), I was depressed. I had major breakdowns to my husband about feeling like a failure and what people would think of me for not even making it to the minimum recommendation of 6 months. He was so encouraging - and let me see that most of the guilt I felt was because of the way society places judgement on moms. And usually, it's from other moms. It took a couple weeks, but I eventually got over it. Aside from having to wash bottles (well, nipples...we use drop-ins, but still boo!), our lives are much easier now. My baby is always happy, always full, and growing exactly as he should. Do I wish I could have done it longer? Yes. But I've come to terms with it, and I've also learned a lesson in humility about putting expectations on people when their situation could call for the choice they make. It may not be the one they WANTED to make. Perhaps that's why I only made it to 3 months? There's a reason for everything.
And ya know....breastfeeding was no walk in the park, even when it was good. Your boobs take about 6 weeks to get used to it - until then my nipples ALWAYS hurt. I only got to sleep 2 hours at a time at night because that's the longest the breastmilk would last for my baby. And while visitors were here I'd have to cover up with a blanket, which made both my son & I miserably uncomfortable (we live in the south [for now], its HOT). Not to mention, I felt tethered to the house because I wasn't comfortable nursing in public. Using bottles & formula has truly saved our sanity!
I know that it's not best for my baby, "technically". But it is what was best for HIM - he showed me. And I hope that next time, I have better luck. The difference is that next time, I'm not holding myself to any unrealistic time lines that may not fit with my baby. And I will not feel guilty turning to formula if my baby is not happy with my breastmilk supply. Nor will I try to make anyone else feel guilty. This little 15 pound man has taught me more in 4 months than I ever thought possible.
I tried. I totally tried. My son was exclusively breastfed for 6 weeks, then occasionally supplemented with formula for a few weeks, then round-the-clock supplemented for a few weeks (by the doctor's orders, he wasn't gaining enough weight), and at around 3 months old he decided he'd had enough. I had issues with supply - sometime around 6 or 7 weeks I couldn't keep up with his appetite anymore. I tried it all - pumping, drinking more water, fenugreek seed tablets, mother's milk tea, nursing for hours at a time, drinking a beer every few days - nothing worked!! I don't know what was causing the problem, exactly...but at his 2 month appointment my son was an entire pound lighter than he should have been. I was fighting SO hard to keep it going, but not only was he underweight, he was miserable. He was crying all the time, he was never satisfied after a feeding. And stress? Wow. The wondering how many ounces he got, how much supply I actually had (when it felt like a few drops), trying to build it back up, how hungry he was, am I causing him harm, what is wrong with meeee?! Towards the end I would pump for an hour to an hour & 1/2 and only come up with 1/2 oz from each side. And the pumping wouldn't even encourage my supply - I never got more than 1/2 oz each side. I quickly learned why some moms choose formula!
When I realized I had to give it up (and really, I did HAVE to - my son was miserable and he was telling me what he wanted - as soon as I listened and stopped forcing the boob on him, he was a new baby!), I was depressed. I had major breakdowns to my husband about feeling like a failure and what people would think of me for not even making it to the minimum recommendation of 6 months. He was so encouraging - and let me see that most of the guilt I felt was because of the way society places judgement on moms. And usually, it's from other moms. It took a couple weeks, but I eventually got over it. Aside from having to wash bottles (well, nipples...we use drop-ins, but still boo!), our lives are much easier now. My baby is always happy, always full, and growing exactly as he should. Do I wish I could have done it longer? Yes. But I've come to terms with it, and I've also learned a lesson in humility about putting expectations on people when their situation could call for the choice they make. It may not be the one they WANTED to make. Perhaps that's why I only made it to 3 months? There's a reason for everything.
And ya know....breastfeeding was no walk in the park, even when it was good. Your boobs take about 6 weeks to get used to it - until then my nipples ALWAYS hurt. I only got to sleep 2 hours at a time at night because that's the longest the breastmilk would last for my baby. And while visitors were here I'd have to cover up with a blanket, which made both my son & I miserably uncomfortable (we live in the south [for now], its HOT). Not to mention, I felt tethered to the house because I wasn't comfortable nursing in public. Using bottles & formula has truly saved our sanity!
I know that it's not best for my baby, "technically". But it is what was best for HIM - he showed me. And I hope that next time, I have better luck. The difference is that next time, I'm not holding myself to any unrealistic time lines that may not fit with my baby. And I will not feel guilty turning to formula if my baby is not happy with my breastmilk supply. Nor will I try to make anyone else feel guilty. This little 15 pound man has taught me more in 4 months than I ever thought possible.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
debbie downer for a day.
one of the biggest adjustments to motherhood, i think, is the flood of emotions. that's not to say round-the-clock feedings and sleeping in 2 hour intervals through the night is a walk in the park, BUT. the surge of emotions that just sort of hit you, instantly, is hard to sort out and balance.
there's of course, the good side of things. love, happiness, excitement, thrill, pride, optimism, etc etc - these are thing things that make motherhood a daily awe-inspiring thing. but there's also an ugly side. exhaustion, stress, jealousy (of your husband at times, of family and friends who seem to be "more together" at parenting than you, of your mother in law holding your baby), panic, worry, guilt, and on and on it goes. but the worst of all? constant, amplified, irrational fear.
maybe this makes me pessimistic, or dispositionally malcontent, or just straight up f'ed up, but on a daily basis - i consider the idea that my baby could die. before you go thinking i'm some sort of crazy person (though, honestly....if you're a mother i have a feeling you already know you can relate), let me elaborate. while my child's age lands within the first 6 months of his life, he is a prime contender for SIDS. no, he wasn't a preemie, no i didn't smoke when i was pregnant, so the odds are lower for him...but ya know, i've heard horror stories of seemingly healthy kids succumbing to SIDS unexpectedly. this makes me compulsively check on him when he's napping, or when i wake up in the middle of the night i use it as an opportunity to feel his chest rise and fall to make sure he is still breathing. and at times, when i'm climbing the stairs to see if he's comfortably snoozing in his crib, a split-second picture of stumbling on the most terrible situation flashes through my mind. why? hmm, i tend to blame it on pre-coping. i suppose my mind thinks it's best to walk through the scenario ahead of time so on the off chance this happened to my sweet baby i won't walk out of the nursery post-disaster discovery and into my closet to find suitable material to fashion a noose for myself.
(i know this post is terribly depressing, but i'm going somewhere. promise.)
but lately? my fears go beyond the slight possibility of SIDS. i blame it on the reading of My Sister's Keeper, and then randomly stumbling on people's stories of similar situations. i have this crazy, all-consuming, irrational fear of my child getting cancer. i can't even imagine the horror of this. when i read someone else's experience i cry, uncontrollably, about it. the disease itself, while terrible, requires some harsh treatments that a poor little person should never have to endure. so his childhood would consist of traumatizing procedures, and the possibility of him ever having a future would be iffy at best. my heart goes out to every mother who has ever or will ever have to go through this. and while my mind imagines the unthinkable, i cap it off with a silent prayer that my little man will NEVER have to go through it. i just can't even fathom seeing your little baby for the first time, falling so instantly in love, completely oblivious to the fact that years down the road he will be fighting hard for his life. i suppose that's how all of life is. but it just doesn't seem fair that something so cruel can happen to a little innocent person, and the parents who love him more than life.
truly....i now know that loosing your child, no matter which way, is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to a mother.
there's of course, the good side of things. love, happiness, excitement, thrill, pride, optimism, etc etc - these are thing things that make motherhood a daily awe-inspiring thing. but there's also an ugly side. exhaustion, stress, jealousy (of your husband at times, of family and friends who seem to be "more together" at parenting than you, of your mother in law holding your baby), panic, worry, guilt, and on and on it goes. but the worst of all? constant, amplified, irrational fear.
maybe this makes me pessimistic, or dispositionally malcontent, or just straight up f'ed up, but on a daily basis - i consider the idea that my baby could die. before you go thinking i'm some sort of crazy person (though, honestly....if you're a mother i have a feeling you already know you can relate), let me elaborate. while my child's age lands within the first 6 months of his life, he is a prime contender for SIDS. no, he wasn't a preemie, no i didn't smoke when i was pregnant, so the odds are lower for him...but ya know, i've heard horror stories of seemingly healthy kids succumbing to SIDS unexpectedly. this makes me compulsively check on him when he's napping, or when i wake up in the middle of the night i use it as an opportunity to feel his chest rise and fall to make sure he is still breathing. and at times, when i'm climbing the stairs to see if he's comfortably snoozing in his crib, a split-second picture of stumbling on the most terrible situation flashes through my mind. why? hmm, i tend to blame it on pre-coping. i suppose my mind thinks it's best to walk through the scenario ahead of time so on the off chance this happened to my sweet baby i won't walk out of the nursery post-disaster discovery and into my closet to find suitable material to fashion a noose for myself.
(i know this post is terribly depressing, but i'm going somewhere. promise.)
but lately? my fears go beyond the slight possibility of SIDS. i blame it on the reading of My Sister's Keeper, and then randomly stumbling on people's stories of similar situations. i have this crazy, all-consuming, irrational fear of my child getting cancer. i can't even imagine the horror of this. when i read someone else's experience i cry, uncontrollably, about it. the disease itself, while terrible, requires some harsh treatments that a poor little person should never have to endure. so his childhood would consist of traumatizing procedures, and the possibility of him ever having a future would be iffy at best. my heart goes out to every mother who has ever or will ever have to go through this. and while my mind imagines the unthinkable, i cap it off with a silent prayer that my little man will NEVER have to go through it. i just can't even fathom seeing your little baby for the first time, falling so instantly in love, completely oblivious to the fact that years down the road he will be fighting hard for his life. i suppose that's how all of life is. but it just doesn't seem fair that something so cruel can happen to a little innocent person, and the parents who love him more than life.
truly....i now know that loosing your child, no matter which way, is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to a mother.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
cry it out, baby.
i have a love/hate relationship with "cry it out".
i am a stay at home mom, and for the first 4 months of my son's life (which really, was just a week ago) i sat in my recliner and took care of my baby from there. i fed him there, i played with him there, i rocked him to sleep there - and i even let him take his naps there. i'd sit with the boppy around me and he'd sleep peacefully in my lap while i read a book. but as you can imagine - i was spending my life in the recliner while my house went to hell. and part of my SAHM aspirations involved having the time to do things like....the dishes, and laundry. my son is extremely demanding and high-maintenance, but i let him get away with it because, why not? he's a baby. a little baby, who needs to learn attachment. and i'm a stay at home mom, i have no where to be. the dishes will still be there when i'm done. someone said to me recently, "cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it's done snowing". i like that.
but, then comes the whole thing where...we want to sell our house. and i doubt potential buyers will be wooed by stacks of poopy diapers and colossal mountains of laundry covered in spit-up. something had to change. i asked our pediatrician how to handle the nap dilemma at his 4 month check up (the boy sleeps 9 hours at night. wonderfully. alone. but hates on his naps for some reason). she said that he is officially old enough to handle "cry-it-out" and that even though it is hard and it sucks, we have to remember that we're teaching him a skill. he needs to learn how to fall asleep on his own, or he will become a 9,10,12 month old (and beyond) with no independence. some people may still debate this....and i love my son with all of my heart, and then some...but i want my child to have independence.
so we started the very next day. it was 2 days of pure hell. he refused to sleep in his crib, and on the off chance he fell asleep for 5 minutes - he'd wake up crying louder than before, seemingly ticked that we "tricked" him into falling asleep. i considered giving up many times, but i kept repeating the doctor's reminder in my head, telling myself that i can surely outlast a baby. by yesterday afternoon he was unrested, cranky, and irritable. and me? not much better. i knew this was all a side effect of his learning, and that when he finally figured it out he would be in much better shape than before. i had to just wade through it. finally at 3pm, he'd had a full day of fighting it....and could no longer stay up. mid cry, he passed out in his crib...and slept for 3 hours. it was SUCH an accomplishment! you couldn't smack the smile off my face. it was the first sign of progress, and i knew that even if the coming days would suck - he was slowly figuring it out and he could learn this. it was my sign to keep at it.
we have visitors here for the long weekend, and i couldn't decide if i should push through this while people were here, subjecting them to his angry wails. i considered hanging up the towel until they left - partly to save their vacation, and partly to keep him in high enough spirits to be able to leave the house and do something with them. but after yesterday afternoon, i decided to just keep going - no matter what came our way.
he slept his 9 hours last night, got up at 6:30 this morning, and was ready for a nap at 8:30. he slept for an hour and a half in his crib. so i truly think - he's getting it!
i've had friends tell me that they "don't believe in cry it out", and ya know....i didn't either, before. i would have never done this in the first 4 months of his life, and for the first 6 weeks (when attachment is the most crucial) i barely put him down for more than a few minutes during the day. and i would never let my baby go without any of his needs met. but now, at 4 months & 1 week old, after he's been fed, burped, changed, played with, held and rocked to sleep - there's no reason he can't spend some time alone, crying if he chooses to, while he figures out how to sleep. how else will he learn? and the longer i keep up his habit of only sleeping with me, the worse the damage is half a year from now. it would be more traumatizing to him then, when he's more aware of his environment.
so at this point i say, whatever. hate on me if you want to. but my baby is going to be sleeping well, on his own, by the time he is 6 months old. probably long before. and not only will it be better for him (because motionless sleep is the most beneficial, he won't get overheated sleeping on another human in the heat of summer, and he will develop sleeping skills as well as independence), but mommy can spend a few hours keeping the house clean and escaping to the internet to revive her sanity. and i highly doubt my child will be scared for life in the process.
i am a stay at home mom, and for the first 4 months of my son's life (which really, was just a week ago) i sat in my recliner and took care of my baby from there. i fed him there, i played with him there, i rocked him to sleep there - and i even let him take his naps there. i'd sit with the boppy around me and he'd sleep peacefully in my lap while i read a book. but as you can imagine - i was spending my life in the recliner while my house went to hell. and part of my SAHM aspirations involved having the time to do things like....the dishes, and laundry. my son is extremely demanding and high-maintenance, but i let him get away with it because, why not? he's a baby. a little baby, who needs to learn attachment. and i'm a stay at home mom, i have no where to be. the dishes will still be there when i'm done. someone said to me recently, "cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it's done snowing". i like that.
but, then comes the whole thing where...we want to sell our house. and i doubt potential buyers will be wooed by stacks of poopy diapers and colossal mountains of laundry covered in spit-up. something had to change. i asked our pediatrician how to handle the nap dilemma at his 4 month check up (the boy sleeps 9 hours at night. wonderfully. alone. but hates on his naps for some reason). she said that he is officially old enough to handle "cry-it-out" and that even though it is hard and it sucks, we have to remember that we're teaching him a skill. he needs to learn how to fall asleep on his own, or he will become a 9,10,12 month old (and beyond) with no independence. some people may still debate this....and i love my son with all of my heart, and then some...but i want my child to have independence.
so we started the very next day. it was 2 days of pure hell. he refused to sleep in his crib, and on the off chance he fell asleep for 5 minutes - he'd wake up crying louder than before, seemingly ticked that we "tricked" him into falling asleep. i considered giving up many times, but i kept repeating the doctor's reminder in my head, telling myself that i can surely outlast a baby. by yesterday afternoon he was unrested, cranky, and irritable. and me? not much better. i knew this was all a side effect of his learning, and that when he finally figured it out he would be in much better shape than before. i had to just wade through it. finally at 3pm, he'd had a full day of fighting it....and could no longer stay up. mid cry, he passed out in his crib...and slept for 3 hours. it was SUCH an accomplishment! you couldn't smack the smile off my face. it was the first sign of progress, and i knew that even if the coming days would suck - he was slowly figuring it out and he could learn this. it was my sign to keep at it.
we have visitors here for the long weekend, and i couldn't decide if i should push through this while people were here, subjecting them to his angry wails. i considered hanging up the towel until they left - partly to save their vacation, and partly to keep him in high enough spirits to be able to leave the house and do something with them. but after yesterday afternoon, i decided to just keep going - no matter what came our way.
he slept his 9 hours last night, got up at 6:30 this morning, and was ready for a nap at 8:30. he slept for an hour and a half in his crib. so i truly think - he's getting it!
i've had friends tell me that they "don't believe in cry it out", and ya know....i didn't either, before. i would have never done this in the first 4 months of his life, and for the first 6 weeks (when attachment is the most crucial) i barely put him down for more than a few minutes during the day. and i would never let my baby go without any of his needs met. but now, at 4 months & 1 week old, after he's been fed, burped, changed, played with, held and rocked to sleep - there's no reason he can't spend some time alone, crying if he chooses to, while he figures out how to sleep. how else will he learn? and the longer i keep up his habit of only sleeping with me, the worse the damage is half a year from now. it would be more traumatizing to him then, when he's more aware of his environment.
so at this point i say, whatever. hate on me if you want to. but my baby is going to be sleeping well, on his own, by the time he is 6 months old. probably long before. and not only will it be better for him (because motionless sleep is the most beneficial, he won't get overheated sleeping on another human in the heat of summer, and he will develop sleeping skills as well as independence), but mommy can spend a few hours keeping the house clean and escaping to the internet to revive her sanity. and i highly doubt my child will be scared for life in the process.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Poo Envy
Supermomish Confession # 521:
I resent my husband for taking a dump.
Is that ridiculous or what?
But see, it takes him 30, 40 minutes - sometimes even more! And no, he's not actually pooping that entire time. If he was that would be some kinda record! He takes the laptop (oh yes) with him. Laptops are the new newspaper, don't ya know. So he does his thing in the first few minutes, and then spends most of his time surfing the web. Most men do this to some extent, right? So why does it drive me so crazy? Well, he does it every day - and has since the day I met him. While it seems unnecessary to say he should poo differently post-baby....he should poo differently post-baby, damn it! It bothers me that it hasn't changed. Because for me? Everything has changed. I pee in 10 seconds flat so I can jet back to my wailing baby. I take my showers while my infant sits, strapped in his papasan, just outside the tub. And between washing body parts I have to stick my head around the curtain so he stops whimpering in fear that I've disappeared. Even if my husband gives me a baby-free shower on one of the weekend days, I still rush through it rather than enjoy it because I know the baby is probably screaming for his daddy and I don't want either of them to get frustrated with me. Sometimes I will be "selfish" and take a few extra minutes, only to feel like I'm getting the death stare from 4 eyeballs when I finally come down the stairs. So why should he get his time uninterrupted, unrestricted, every single day? It doesn't seem fair.
I still get to read, and surf the web, yes - but not without holding my baby at the same time, or doing it 6 inches away from him - keeping one eye on him the whole time, or without feeling immense guilt from both myself & my husband if I selfishly say, no - I'm doing this right now, and give it my full attention. I never get no strings attached time! Yes, I know this is my job, and yes, my husband is juggling a lot - including working overtime. But....he still gets lunch breaks. Not me - I'm lucky if I eat at all. He still gets evenings, weekends, vacation days and sick days. I get none of theses. And once a day, without fail - without guilt or restraint, he gets the refuge of pooing in peace. I have a chubby baby with curious eyes staring at me while I rush through it.
Side note: If you, like me, have to stick your baby in some sort of restraint while you shower, I highly recommend an interesting shower curtain. I chose mine for it's design long before my little man came to exist, but conveniently - it is black & white (which you know, infants love!), and he spends most of my shower staring at it like an art enthusiast analysing a painting. Here's mine: Nicole Miller Rosewood Damask Shower Curtain, $49.99 at Bed Bath and Beyond.
Disclaimer: My husband is wonderful - both at being a husband and a father. He helps me out more than the average man and I love him for it. He just likes to poo a little too much. :)
I resent my husband for taking a dump.
Is that ridiculous or what?
But see, it takes him 30, 40 minutes - sometimes even more! And no, he's not actually pooping that entire time. If he was that would be some kinda record! He takes the laptop (oh yes) with him. Laptops are the new newspaper, don't ya know. So he does his thing in the first few minutes, and then spends most of his time surfing the web. Most men do this to some extent, right? So why does it drive me so crazy? Well, he does it every day - and has since the day I met him. While it seems unnecessary to say he should poo differently post-baby....he should poo differently post-baby, damn it! It bothers me that it hasn't changed. Because for me? Everything has changed. I pee in 10 seconds flat so I can jet back to my wailing baby. I take my showers while my infant sits, strapped in his papasan, just outside the tub. And between washing body parts I have to stick my head around the curtain so he stops whimpering in fear that I've disappeared. Even if my husband gives me a baby-free shower on one of the weekend days, I still rush through it rather than enjoy it because I know the baby is probably screaming for his daddy and I don't want either of them to get frustrated with me. Sometimes I will be "selfish" and take a few extra minutes, only to feel like I'm getting the death stare from 4 eyeballs when I finally come down the stairs. So why should he get his time uninterrupted, unrestricted, every single day? It doesn't seem fair.
I still get to read, and surf the web, yes - but not without holding my baby at the same time, or doing it 6 inches away from him - keeping one eye on him the whole time, or without feeling immense guilt from both myself & my husband if I selfishly say, no - I'm doing this right now, and give it my full attention. I never get no strings attached time! Yes, I know this is my job, and yes, my husband is juggling a lot - including working overtime. But....he still gets lunch breaks. Not me - I'm lucky if I eat at all. He still gets evenings, weekends, vacation days and sick days. I get none of theses. And once a day, without fail - without guilt or restraint, he gets the refuge of pooing in peace. I have a chubby baby with curious eyes staring at me while I rush through it.
Side note: If you, like me, have to stick your baby in some sort of restraint while you shower, I highly recommend an interesting shower curtain. I chose mine for it's design long before my little man came to exist, but conveniently - it is black & white (which you know, infants love!), and he spends most of my shower staring at it like an art enthusiast analysing a painting. Here's mine: Nicole Miller Rosewood Damask Shower Curtain, $49.99 at Bed Bath and Beyond.
Disclaimer: My husband is wonderful - both at being a husband and a father. He helps me out more than the average man and I love him for it. He just likes to poo a little too much. :)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
the great birth debate.
My own personal definition of being supermomish has to do with the day-to-day operations of motherhood. However, every little part of the mommy process (pregnancy, birth, and subsequent parenting decisions) sets the tone for supermomish motherhood. And I'm going into this blog with bare-naked-honesty, so I should give you all the details. Starting with the very moment I became a mom. I'm fully expecting gawking from natural birth enthusiasts here, but whatev!
I'll be blunt. I had a c-section. Hmm, let me be more accurate. I chose to have a c-section. There of course, had to be a reason why because unlike Britney Spears I can't just say "yeah I'm gonna do it that way" and fork over the 15 grand when insurance turns down my unnecessary procedure. I had a tumor on my ovary. But did I NEED the c-section? No, I could have given birth as naturally as I wanted and then gone back 6 weeks later when I was whole & healed again and had a much smaller procedure to remove it. But you know what i was thinking? Who wants to have surgery, full-out, knock-you-out surgery, when you have a breastfed 6 week old infant? Certainly not me. I wanted it all done and over with. And there was of course, the perk of not doing the whole labor bit. The case can be made that the final decision was for me, because it was easier. So...did I do it because it was easier? Absolutely. And I have no shame in that.
It would be a lie if I said I didn't have a little guilt about not doing it the old fashioned way (I'm a mom, guilt is my middle name). But I'm totally over it. My baby came out "extremely full term" as they called him - weighing over 9lbs. He was healthy as an ox, and still at 4 months he gets A+ report cards at his doctor visits. And yeah...recovery sucked. Not gonna lie. But how awesome was it that I never felt a painful contraction? Pretty freaking awesome.
Here's the point. If I thought my baby would have been in danger for a second, I wouldn't have gone that route. I was assured that he was as healthy as a baby could be and we were both in good enough shape to endure the procedure. It was the most convenient route for our family, and since it posed no obvious risk to either of us, why not? This type of decision making can cover everything - from birth, to feeding, to diapering, bathing, sleeping, etc etc. But that's part of the guilt and unrealistic expectations we try to put on ourselves as mothers. We think that we should always be 100% (and yeah, we should try), but when something finally has to give and we choose to do one thing over another because the main reason is to make our lives simpler, it makes you a bad mom. But lets face it, sisters. Using disposable diapers instead of cloth so that we can spend more time cooing back at our babies is worth the trade off, don't you think?
Anyway. I just want to say, if you pushed your baby out the ol' baby cannon without a lick of pain killers, good for you. If you did it with an epidural, good for you. If you had a c-section, good for you. You gave life to another human being, and that's all that counts. It might make you a little more courageous for doing it naturally, but that doesn't mean the mom sitting next to you loves her baby any less.
I'll be blunt. I had a c-section. Hmm, let me be more accurate. I chose to have a c-section. There of course, had to be a reason why because unlike Britney Spears I can't just say "yeah I'm gonna do it that way" and fork over the 15 grand when insurance turns down my unnecessary procedure. I had a tumor on my ovary. But did I NEED the c-section? No, I could have given birth as naturally as I wanted and then gone back 6 weeks later when I was whole & healed again and had a much smaller procedure to remove it. But you know what i was thinking? Who wants to have surgery, full-out, knock-you-out surgery, when you have a breastfed 6 week old infant? Certainly not me. I wanted it all done and over with. And there was of course, the perk of not doing the whole labor bit. The case can be made that the final decision was for me, because it was easier. So...did I do it because it was easier? Absolutely. And I have no shame in that.
It would be a lie if I said I didn't have a little guilt about not doing it the old fashioned way (I'm a mom, guilt is my middle name). But I'm totally over it. My baby came out "extremely full term" as they called him - weighing over 9lbs. He was healthy as an ox, and still at 4 months he gets A+ report cards at his doctor visits. And yeah...recovery sucked. Not gonna lie. But how awesome was it that I never felt a painful contraction? Pretty freaking awesome.
Here's the point. If I thought my baby would have been in danger for a second, I wouldn't have gone that route. I was assured that he was as healthy as a baby could be and we were both in good enough shape to endure the procedure. It was the most convenient route for our family, and since it posed no obvious risk to either of us, why not? This type of decision making can cover everything - from birth, to feeding, to diapering, bathing, sleeping, etc etc. But that's part of the guilt and unrealistic expectations we try to put on ourselves as mothers. We think that we should always be 100% (and yeah, we should try), but when something finally has to give and we choose to do one thing over another because the main reason is to make our lives simpler, it makes you a bad mom. But lets face it, sisters. Using disposable diapers instead of cloth so that we can spend more time cooing back at our babies is worth the trade off, don't you think?
Anyway. I just want to say, if you pushed your baby out the ol' baby cannon without a lick of pain killers, good for you. If you did it with an epidural, good for you. If you had a c-section, good for you. You gave life to another human being, and that's all that counts. It might make you a little more courageous for doing it naturally, but that doesn't mean the mom sitting next to you loves her baby any less.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
supermomISH moms unite!
i have dreamed about being a mom all my life. okay, maybe not the first 3 years. but from age 4 and on? oh yeah. in more recent years i had all these ideas about what kind of mom i was going to be. i even wrote letters to my "future self" about what i hoped to do - imposing expectations before i even knew what motherhood was like. i have only been a mom for 4 months now - but i have already seen the light, hallelujah! my visions of supermom are now a thing of the past.
so i'm sitting here thinking, i need a name that exposes my flaws, but still says "supermomish". twenty attempts later i think, "hey, why not supermomish!". ta daaa!
so what exactly IS being supermomISH? it's...well, what i'm doing right now, writing this blog. it's the fine art of being a fantastic mom, while still making time for who you are. even if that means making my baby take a nap in his swing instead of my arms while i do a little something for me. does that make me a bad mom? i think the opposite, actually. but that's the thing. point 20 moms my way and i'd bet 10-15 of them would be wagging their fingers at me. so here's the point of this whole thing. I'M NOT PERFECT! i admit it, and embrace it. and i will not judge, because motherhood should be a united part of sisterhood, not a fierce competition.
supermom is fantastic, but i want to keep my sanity. i will not feel guilty for being "good enough". being supermomISH is plenty for me.
so i'm sitting here thinking, i need a name that exposes my flaws, but still says "supermomish". twenty attempts later i think, "hey, why not supermomish!". ta daaa!
so what exactly IS being supermomISH? it's...well, what i'm doing right now, writing this blog. it's the fine art of being a fantastic mom, while still making time for who you are. even if that means making my baby take a nap in his swing instead of my arms while i do a little something for me. does that make me a bad mom? i think the opposite, actually. but that's the thing. point 20 moms my way and i'd bet 10-15 of them would be wagging their fingers at me. so here's the point of this whole thing. I'M NOT PERFECT! i admit it, and embrace it. and i will not judge, because motherhood should be a united part of sisterhood, not a fierce competition.
supermom is fantastic, but i want to keep my sanity. i will not feel guilty for being "good enough". being supermomISH is plenty for me.
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