Mommy Needs A Hug

About halfway through 2022, I saw a bunch of mom vloggers talking about how they were trying to spend 1000 hours outside that year. I saw their updates and thought, “Wow. What a cool idea, but completely unachievable with three kids, a full-time job, two parents who are students, a child in school, and a baby on the way.” As the year drew to an end and I learned more about the benefits of being outside for children in my classes, I decided we were going to try it. It still seemed out of reach to even try given the cold winters and hot summers, but I brought it up and we decided to try.

Last year, 2023, we gave it a go. We really did not give it our best try because we just did not have the clothing and time to. By the end of March, we had barely hit 20 hours. On the days that we did spend time outside though, the kids had a lot of fun, got exercise in, and just generally seemed happier. It also motivated a lot more quality time as a family. I found myself actually participating in running around and making up games and activities rather than just going outside and letting them play on their own. We even ate some meals outside and utilized our kickass grill area more. We started saying “yes” to playing on the playground at school pickup a lot more.

To sum it up, the goal is to spend 1000 hours outside over the course of the entire year. That comes down to over 83 hours outside every month and an average of just under 3 hours every day. Which is an admirable thing to achieve given that many kids, at the detriment of their development, only spend 5-10 minutes outside a day.

Here’s a little recap of our 2023 outside time. The winter months were incredibly underwhelming, as were the few months where I was newly postpartum.

January: 6 hours 18 minutes

February: 4 hours 51 minutes

March: 9 hours 42 minutes

April: 49 hours 20 minutes

May: 64 hours 39 minutes

June: 38 hours 39 minutes

July: 10 hours 18 minutes

August: 14 hours 21 minutes

September: 8 hours 5 minutes

October: 39 hours 19 minutes

November: 52 hours 51 minutes

December: 2 hours 40 minutes

We ended with a total of just over 300 hours outside last year. It set a great bar to measure progress this year and a foundation for us to build this year’s goals. It also amounted to a greater appreciation of family time and being outside. We did not reach the average monthly goal once and only met the average daily goal a handful of times. Overall though, it was a great experience that I highly recommend, especially in our technological age where we get so wrapped up in other things. It is a great supplement to the lack of recess and outside time children get during the school day too with a heavier and misguided focus on standardized testing.

Our small goal this year is to hit 500 hours minimum. It isn’t about meeting 1000 hours for us as much as it is challenging ourselves to spend more time together and get outside to boost moods and children’s development. We have been more than doubling our time outside so far from last year, and it has made a world of difference in all of our moods. When we feel down, we go outside. When the kids are grumpy or otherwise unhappy, we go outside. Anything you can do inside, you can do outside.

I will probably be updating periodically on our time outside and observations. We are currently at 31 hours for 2024.

Now, I challenge you to get outside with your family. Take a walk. Eat a meal. Read a book. If you give it a try, let me know how it goes for you. Did you notice better moods, quality time, or other benefits? Your kids need time outside in nature and so do you.

I use the app “1000 hours” to track our time.

I’m really going to be transparent here. Not that I’m not always transparent because, baby, I’m like a window.

Warning: Given that I just had cold sores clear up about a week ago that made my entire lip swell up, I might be a little heated about this.

Parents are constantly telling people not to kiss their children. Aside from this being a consent issue, there are several other very important reasons for this that make me wish parents had adopted this earlier. It also makes me wish people would FUCKING LISTEN TO PARENTS when they say not to kiss their kids. We don’t care if you “aren’t sick” or they “just have the sniffles” or “it’s allergies” because that may not be true.

First, adult immune systems are much stronger than a small child, particularly a baby. While you may not seem sick to you, you could have an illness brewing inside you that just isn’t affecting you. What seems like just a runny nose to you, could be a serious illness if a small child or baby were to catch it. I don’t want my child to get your yucky runny nose even if it wasn’t. Then they have a runny nose, which sucks and makes them grumpy, and they also have no chill and will wipe their boogers in my eyes and hair or on my shirt, pillow, blankets, and couch (or the cat). Also, have you ever tried to wipe a baby’s nose? They hate it!

But again, it could lead to a serious illness in a child or baby even if it’s not serious to you. A baby could get RSV, which can be deadly. They could get the flu, strep, COVID, or any number of illnesses from you that could have severe and sometimes fatal consequences, even if to you it’s just a runny nose, a sore throat, or some other mundane symptom that you dismiss. Even if you have no symptoms of anything, there so many germs that could get a child sick if an illness is within your body.

Why am I talking about this now three years into having this blog?

I’m talking about it for several reasons. 1. I see people continuously dismiss my wishes to not have my children kissed by those that did not create said child. 2. I see people dismiss the wishes of other parents in regard to kissing their children. 3. I had cold sores that swelled up my entire lip and have had it happening as far back as I can remember.

Let’s break down why I have had cold sores since I was a child shall we. Could it have been from sharing a drink or something else with someone? Yes. Could it be some other unknown reason that I had not figured out yet? Absolutely. But the more likely answer to this is that someone either kissed me while they had an active cold sore breakout or something of that nature.

So basically, someone couldn’t keep their mouth off me while they knew they had Herpes Simplex Virus 1 (HSV-1). (And don’t try to bullshit me that you didn’t know because if you get cold sores, it is almost certainly because you have HSV-1 and even if you didn’t know, that’s exactly why you don’t kiss children or babies because you may not know.) Now, I have to suffer with cold sores for the rest of my life because someone couldn’t keep their mouth to themselves. That doesn’t seem fair. It also doesn’t seem fair that because I’m a responsible adult that I don’t normally kiss my children (I especially don’t kiss them while I have cold sores) because I don’t want them to have the same issue.

The fact of the matter is that you shouldn’t kiss people’s children. You don’t know what you have or don’t have that could harm them. You also need to listen to parents when they set boundaries about their kids. This applies to all boundaries not just kissing their children.

Just please. Keep your mouth and your hands to yourself. There are other ways to show other people’s children you love them besides hugging and kissing them.

One more time for the people in the back who are going to pretend they don’t hear anything several entire generations are saying to them.

DO NOT PUT YOUR MOUTH OR HANDS ON SOMEONE ELSE’S CHILD. If you did not have a hand in creating a child, figure out another way to show them you care.

KEEP YOUR MOUTH AND HANDS TO YOURSELF.

This is seriously something that shouldn’t have to be discussed. This is basic decency and common sense. We learn this shit in fucking preschool people.

Thank you and goodnight.

The past couple of weeks have been hard for me. It seems like a lot of weeks have been hard for me in 2023.

On December 6, I had a positive pregnancy test. We hadn’t been trying. My cycle and ovulation has been incredibly irregular so we weren’t that worried about it. See those two lines took me by surprise and I definitely panicked. By the next day I had set up bloodwork to be sure and I had started to get pretty excited at the idea of having another baby even though it wasn’t planned or expected. Joe was pretty happy and it made it easy to get excited.

By the night of December 7 I started spotting and was having pretty bad cramps. I was pretty aware what that meant. Even so, I remained hopeful and carried on. By December 8 I was having debilitating cramps and heavier bleeding so I called my OB. They told me to schedule bloodwork and they would call me on Monday to discuss the results.

The bleeding stopped on Saturday after bloodwork and I got excited again. Maybe it was implantation bleeding, maybe it was something else. In the back of my mind I still had a lot of worry about the cramping and a potential ectopic pregnancy, cysts, or something else entirely. I impatiently waited for my results, checking every 15 minutes to see if I had them yet.

Sunday morning came and the results were ready and waiting for me.

I opened up the file and it read “467” for my HCG.

I got so happy. There was HCG so surely that meant something good. But then I checked previous HCG levels from other pregnancies and they were much higher so I was still worried, but hopeful.

Come Monday the OB calls and says to get a second round of bloodwork to make sure they went up. I immediately book an appointment for the next day. I went and aside from a snide comment about my tattoos from the technician taking my blood, all went well. Then I started bleeding really heavily again and really lost all hope.

The following day, December 14, the results come back.

256

I definitely know what that means. I was overwhelmed with anger. I couldn’t understand why. The doctor called and confirmed what I already knew but told me to go get more bloodwork on Monday and then see them on Tuesday, today the 19th.

I know it’s unwise, but I didn’t go. I booked the bloodwork and the OB and didn’t show up to either. I couldn’t do it. It just seemed too tough to prolong what had happened and go to the doctor and answer questions and the whole thing. It just seemed like ripping open a wound that I was already working to heal. So I didn’t go.

This experience this time made me realize just how strong I am though. I was actively miscarrying but I had to carry on with my life. I had schoolwork to be done. I had Christmas things to do. I had school events and meetings that I had to go to. We had events that we had planned to do with the kids and a holiday season that I had to make magical. Not to mention taking care of the four wonderful children I already have at home. Despite being in physical and emotional turmoil, I kept going.

Just know that you are not alone if you experience this. You are strong. You are amazing. You will get through it. You always have someone to talk to even if you don’t realize it sometimes. Let yourself whatever you feel. Whether that is anger, sadness, confusion, or any other emotion. Feel it all and then work to heal. This goes for anything you go through.

I am strong. I am amazing. I am getting through it. I have so much support from friends, my kids, and Joe. I am so so blessed. Right now I am still angry, sad, and confused but I will heal in due time. Until then, I will embrace what I have, which is a wonderful family, friends that care, and the happy moments. Christmas time is a great time for remembering what matters and I am glad to be losing myself in it this year.

Here’s to a better 2024! Happy Holidays!

To say that I have spread myself thin for too long would be a vast understatement. The pressures of being a mom, friend, daughter, sister, wife, student, and employee had me feeling like I had to do everything for everyone regardless if they would do the same for me when I needed them. Those are the expectations society has set for mothers. To do it all and expect nothing in return, or else you’re selfish or greedy. Do it all, no matter the cost to your physical or mental health. Like Nike, just do it.

For years I have pushed aside what I wanted or needed for my health and put the needs of everyone else ahead of me. (I also have a bit of a mind that needs a million things going on to function like a human now.)

It has caught up to me though. Years of not setting boundaries and doing too much at once has definitely caught up to me. My body and mind has let me know lately.

I have been sleeping more days than not through the school drop-off routine. I feel terrible about it because that means Joe has to pick up my slack. Which makes me feel so guilty because I’m the stay at home parent and I should be doing that. I should be on top of it. I have been just extremely exhausted though. Between various types of meetings, schoolwork, being mom from 9-9, being a homemaker in general, a caregiver to a kid with PKU, and trying to juggle everything I have put on my plate, I just can’t wake up in the morning and I’m exhausted all day. Mentally and physically. My mind is foggy and unfocused. Sometimes life doesn’t even feel real.

I’ve also been getting sick a lot and my body just feels like crap. I haven’t been nourishing myself the way I need to, especially with breastfeeding.

Every time I try to take more than 5 minutes where someone isn’t talking to or touching me someone tells me “YOU DON’T LIKE ME MOMMY!”

Pretty sure everyone in my family outside of my kids and husband hates me but won’t actually speak their mind to me. Not that it would make a difference. I feel no connection to anyone outside of this house anymore. Everyone seemed to have stopped caring a long time ago about me or my family, at least at more than a surface level. But if I bring it up its going to be reversed so that I’m the bad guy. I’ve always been the one in the wrong and I’ll wear that one if it makes everyone else feel better. That’s something I can’t entertain anymore. This needs to be the year that I put myself first. (2024 I mean)

If you’ve gotten through all my downtrodden musings, this is the good part of the life update.

I have had so much fun reconnecting with my kids. I have had so much learning about who they are now and what they like. I’ve gotten to see so much growth in them. We’ve been spending more time outside and doing things. We’ve been spending more quality time together and I have found the joy in playing with my kids. They light up when they get to explain something to me or when we spend time doing the simple things. Like I’ve been taking one kid at a time with me to the grocery store and they LOVE it. They always pick out one thing for themselves and a lot of the time they pick something out for everyone else. The kids are starting to build a really strong bond and working on empathy.

And my favorite part of the Christmas season this year is not only going through the motions of what I know makes it special for the kids, but also focusing on what we can do to make it special for me and Joe. We are trying to refind the magic of Christmas for ourselves. We put Christmas lights out this year. Not a lot. Nothing crazy. Just some driveway lights. They don’t even go down the whole driveway, but they make us both really happy.

That’s the good that comes from hitting rock bottom and not having anyone else. You get to enjoy what you do have without spreading yourself to thin and making your own traditions.

I’m grateful for everything I’ve had, everything I have, and everything I will have. Because that’s growth baby. Everything happens for a reason.

Here’s to getting catching up on a seven-year sleep deficit and finding the best version of myself.

Breastfeeding is hard. That’s it. That’s the post.

No I’m kidding.

Breastfeeding a kid with PKU is inherently hard because he can’t do it all the time so I have to pump too. I hate pumping. That’s a different story for a different day.

Aside from that, breastfeeding can be really uncomfortable sometimes. Not necessarily painful because if it is painful, you likely don’t have a good latch if you’re past the first few weeks of life. What I’m talking about though is the discomfort of breastfeeding.

It’s really difficult when you are overwhelmed and touched out to then have a tiny human connected to you. Also, have you ever felt baby nails??? They are tiny little daggers. And when you get to the distracted phase and they start clawing at you it hurts more than a little. I keep this kid’s nails cut because if I didn’t I would look like I got attacked by a tiger only on my boobs. I went 2 weeks without cutting his nails and my boobs looked like a war zone from him pinching and scratching while he was eating.

The distracted phase also brings with it the abrupt disconnecting or turning their head with a nipple in their mouth. I don’t know about you. I may be built like a Pixar mom but I do not have the powers of Elastigirl that my boob can stretch across the room. It hurts. Again, its also really frustrating when you are touched out and breastfeeding anyway and then have them latch and unlatch every two seconds. It makes me so angry.

Not to mention that some people get intensely angry during letdown anyway. It’s called dysphoric milk ejection reflex, or D-MER. Can you imagine? And, like, it’s a baby, so it’s completely irrational because they don’t know better. And your mind knows that it’s irrational but you’re just, angry or sad for no logical reason.

My current situation: The distraction phase + first tooth poking through + plus a clog in both boobs that I can’t get out because he isn’t getting it out (distraction), and I can’t get it out with a pump (even Joe tried to help. Yes. He did. As any husband should do if it’s necessary in my personal opinion. You should want to help your wife if she is comfortable with you doing so to ease her discomfort. If you have an issue with that you should unpack that with a licensed therapist.) + overstimulation + pointy ass nails.

This kid has been yanking his head around and biting down because he’s distracted and GIRL (or boy) it hurts. He is clawing and pinching my skin because he’s distracted. I have clogs so there’s a lot of pulling and soreness already. It’s a time. I’m over it to be honest but the anxiety about starting him on solids with a low protein diet right now keeps me going. Low protein food is typically medical food so its expensive and then we have to start counting protein and phenylalanine (phe) and I’m not ready for it yet. I’ll get more into PKU and that scenario at a later date. In the meantime, send help.

What are some struggles you have had with breastfeeding and pumping. Share in the comments.

Sidenote: Go take that survey I posted a few weeks ago. It is also linked on the Contact page I believe. Thank you.

Bruised and Battered Boobs Signing Out.

I am feeling a lot of feelings about this one. My second grader just came in my room with tears dripping down his face. I asked him to come over to my desk and I could not have predicted what came out of his mouth. It crushed me.

I asked him what was wrong. He was visibly distraught, so for the first time in what seems like ages, he laid on my lap. He said to me, “I miss you when I’m at school.” I said I missed him too but asked if something was going on. The last thing I want is a repeat of what happened in daycare. He responded back, “There’s just a lot to learn, and I’m only one person.” A piece of me broke in that moment. I hugged him really tight as I came up with the words to say. All I could muster was “I know buddy. It’s hard.” Then he told me that no one plays with him at recess. He’s such a great kid. It really breaks my heart.

I know he has problems focusing, but he has never had trouble before like this. He has always excelled at school and never expressed any concern.

Let me just say, I understand teaching is hard and they are doing the best with what they are required to do. Most of the curriculum is predetermined and they have standards to meet. I appreciate teachers for what they do and how they manage with so little. I get it. I really do. I know this is going to be the hardest part of teaching when I start doing it myself.

That said, what the actual fuck? Has the school system gotten so far that we bring second graders to tears? They are children. They should not have so much pressure on them that they are so stressed about the workload they are crying. The priorities are off. They need to learn, but like, it’s day four. DAY FOUR! It’s too much. He even said earlier when our daughter expressed her concerns about not getting a nap time that “you get less sleep the higher the grade.” I brushed it off but let that sink in too. There’s proof that short naps make you more productive.

At kindergarten orientation they told the parents that they shouldn’t miss any days of school because they’ll fall behind. They said that the kindergarten curriculum is what they used to learn in first grade. They really stressed that “9-5” mentality and perfection. They all but flat out said that children should not take vacation during the school year or they’ll fall too far behind that they’ll never catch up.

I really can’t wrap my head around this. Leave a comment about your thoughts on where the school system is. Am I being too sensitive? Is this more serious than we realize? Should we be pushing literal children this hard? Have we prioritized test scores so much that we are having the opposite effect on learning? I remember still having fun at school in second grade. What happened?

This is a topic that was requested, so I am going to try and do this sooner rather than later. I would like to make a disclaimer that this is my personal experience as a mother of four, and this will not apply best for everyone. I did struggle with PPD, postpartum rage and PPA, so that is also a factor in my answer. These are more common than some people think so look up the signs of these and resources to help in those cases as well. If you need help finding resources I can help look for some. One thing that helped me was finding an online support group. It allowed me to talk to people who went through similar struggles and also gave me a break from the stress of postpartum while Joe was with the kids when I went to the group. I think it is important to do thorough research into your partner’s love language and the ways that they personally feel supported. I will also be enlisting my husband’s help to talk about this one because he has the partner perspective that I think could help in this case.

How exactly should you support your partner postpartum? We all know that they just pushed out a human being, and their body is healing and not the same. This means that physically you should support your partner by caring for them and the baby when you can. Feed the baby if or when you can. Change diapers often. Bring your partner food and water to help them nourish their bodies whether they are breastfeeding or not. There are times where I needed physical support. I would be in the bathroom and need help to get up or need something that wasn’t within reach. It is so important to be there and help instead of letting your partner struggle. When I did not have help in these times I would go into an emotional spiral where I struggled with anxiety, anger, and just overall panic. Helping with the physical things like chores, your partner’s needs, and the baby’s needs are a great way to try and minimize the amount of emotional turmoil they will endure in the postpartum stage. One of my largest sources of emotional struggle was the overwhelming mental load of housework that I had to do. Do things around the house or with the baby before they have to ask. If you know it’s time for the baby to have a diaper, change it (Download and app and track feedings and diapers if you need to). If you know the dishes are piled up in the sink, wash them. If there is laundry that needs to be done, do it. Don’t make them carry the mental load of having to ask. When I had to ask I usually ended up doing it myself because it was easier and then in the long run it made my physical recovery slower and made me angry and resentful.

*Postpartum is not just having a newborn. You are not fully back to your “normal” self until two years postpartum. Remember that these things do not just end after a few months. This really just ties into being a supportive spouse in general*

With the physical changes come emotional struggles, but there are also hormones raging and other potential struggles that emotional support is necessary to offer in the postpartum period. Regarding the physical changes, something that helped me was having my husband reassure me that my body is still amazing and perfect. Having him let me know that he is still attracted to me even though my body is different, broken, and beaten in many ways.

Something else that proved helpful was communication. This seems like a no-brainer, but I will give a specific example. We sometimes do a “feelings check-in”. This is where we sit down with each other. Joe and I will discuss how we are feeling periodically and what we can do to better support each other. I do think that during these check-ins it is important to not minimize your own feelings and hold them in. Be honest, but also understand that they did just push out a baby and have hormones changing so while your feelings are valid and need attention too, they should not always take the priority during these talks.

Validate your partner’s emotions. Don’t make them feel bad or crazy for feeling a certain way. It might seem irrational that they are crying because of something minuscule, but that is how they feel. I’ll bring up an example. I have had a complete breakdown postpartum over being unable to find my shoe. Like I would be crying, shaking, angry over it not being where I left it. Is this rational? No. No it’s not. But would it be helpful if Joe told me I was being stupid and walked away? No. No it would not be. It was more helpful when he would hold me while I cried, tell me that he would help me, and then help. Or another time he would tell me to go sit down and relax and he would find whatever it was himself.

Give your partner time for self care. This looks different for everyone. If they like to take baths and showers, let them do that. I know for me having the energy to gather the items and actually do it were a lot emotionally so I just wouldn’t. A way to make it easier is to gather everything: towel, soap, start the water, find them clothes, all of those things. This takes away that stress and makes it easier for them to want to engage in self care. If their self care is getting their hair done, make an appointment and stay home with the baby while they go. And then LEAVE THEM ALONE! I cannot stress this enough. If they are engaging in self care and you are constantly asking them questions it is not helpful and makes the entire experience stressful and irritating. You do not need to call them every 15 seconds. Take pictures of the baby while they are gone so you have them but you do not need to send them unsolicited. Let them be themselves for that time and unwind.

This is something that I will stress, whether postpartum or not. Get set up with a therapist. Have your partner get set up with a therapist. This becomes increasingly important if they show signs of PPD or other postpartum issues. You should also have a therapist. Or set up couple’s counseling. Your marriage does not need to be in trouble to go to couple’s counseling. It is super helpful. Having a child is a big change for both of you, whether it is your first or fourth.

My last suggestion is to take pictures of her with the baby. Something that always made me really sad was looking back and having no pictures of me with the kids. This doesn’t mean take pictures and never show her (Joe!). Share them with her.

Overall, just be there for them. Hold them when they need to cry. Let them feel their feelings. Be there. Be present. This was something that really helped after the baby’s PKU diagnosis. I felt really guilty and sad that I did this to our child. The most helpful thing at that time was Joe holding me while I cried, rubbing my back, and talking to me about my feelings.

Joe’s Input

Joe agreed with all the above. He also put in some suggestions. He said, if she wants the baby, give her the baby. If she needs a break, take the baby. Let her sleep and recover. (I’ll add on to this a bit because now that he brought it up I have direct examples. In the mornings he will take the kids, get in the car, and go get coffee while I sleep. This is SO helpful. He also does the majority of the night feedings and diaper changes. I breastfeed the baby all day from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep, sometimes more. It is so helpful when he does the night shift, even part of the night, and lets me sleep.) Another suggestion he gave was in regard to visitors. If there is someone who wants to visit that brings either of you stress, take the lead and tell them they can’t come. Make up a reason if you have to. Eliminate unnecessary stress because if those visitors are bringing stress without offering something helpful, they are just there for the baby and that is not helpful for anyone honestly. Take time to enjoy each other and the baby. Be there to help when you can. Process your emotions together and separately.

I hope this is helpful. Feel free to message me, leave a comment, send me an email if you have questions, need clarification, if you want to tell me I got this wrong, or if you have other topic suggestions.

I can also find some resources for anyone if you just ask. I like researching. I also may have some resources on hand that I can post another time.

Side note: Please take my survey. It’s super important to me. Copy and paste the link to take it. https://www.jotform.com/build/232495629584066

*****Click Link Do Not Do It Through This Website Or It Does Not Submit****

I created a quick survey so that I can confirm or deny a hypothesis that I have crafted. If you are so inclined, feel free to answer at the following link.

This is completely optional. Not for any particular project or anything. This is a scientific experiment that I conducting for my own personal information. It is completely anonymous. I will not share any personally identifiable information with anyone. If I intend to change this and use it for a project or official experiment, I will create a new survey to share here again and use that one for official purposes. Thank you.

Also, a side note, if you could leave me a comment and let me know what you think of the blog. Would you like to see more of a certain topic? Is there a topic I have not addressed that you want me to talk about? I want to hear your thoughts.

I definitely did not realize that it had been almost two months since I posted my birth story. Really left you guys on the edge of your seats with that “to be continued.” Not really.

Before I start, I just want to thank everyone who has been continued readers since the beginning of this thing. It means a lot to me that I can connect with everyone and you can get a glimpse into the unfiltered portions of my “people pleaser” mentality. No matter how infrequent this has been a great way for me to practice writing skills, spark discussion, and get things off my chest that I wouldn’t otherwise because I feel like I have to be the good girl that sits quietly and gets walked all over. So I truly just want to thank you all for following along with my journey as it twists and turns in its ever-changing path of life and motherhood. Now that I have said that, let us proceed shall we. *Curtain closes. Lights dim. Act 2, Scene 1* I’m not funny (Please laugh. I’ll cry if you don’t).

Now where did I leave off?

Welp. A tiny person just exited my body for the fourth time. I’m alive. He’s alive. He’s just beautiful. I am riding the high of just giving birth and feeling pretty good despite it being the literal middle of the night. The nurse has helped me get into a chair because I just don’t want to be in the bed anymore. She also gave me a PB &J. I don’t have it in me to tell her that I hate jelly because the only other option was a ham sandwich and I hate ham more. Also its the middle of the night and I am not going to eat a ham sandwich in the middle of the night. I need to be fully cognizant if I am going to put myself and my sensory issues through that. I also haven’t eaten anything in hours and I need this. I can tell you a PB&J and ice water has never tasted so good as it did that night.

She told me not to get up out of the chair without her help, but I’m not any good with rules like that. I feel fine anyway and I really have to pee. So I stand up and I immediately regret it because blood gushes onto the floor in what seems like a ridiculous amount. I sit back down and we call the nurse in. She essentially tells me in a really nice way that I am an idiot and could have fallen down. We get past this whole thing and get moved to our room for the night. Its in a quiet little corner of the ward.

This is the most hilarious part of any hospital stay because Joe couldn’t figure out how to turn the chair into a bed so he just kind of slept with it half unfolded. This continued the first like three times he tried to do it so I just kept taking pictures of him every time he tried to sleep because it made me laugh. The loud ass squeaks from the chair just cracked me up for some reason and then him sleeping on a glorified ottoman was just *chefs kiss*. Now don’t you go judging me and say I’m an asshole cause that is just how we are and I would bet my left toe that he would have found it just as funny if it happened to me.

(A disclaimer, I don’t proofread this or fix it and Grammarly is already telling me I’m an illiterate piece of shit. The website is also telling me this is unreadable. So. Sorry. Take it or leave it.)

At some point I notice that the baby isn’t waking up and feeding like he should be. We go hours and he doesn’t wake up to eat. I think in the first 8 hours of life he ate for maybe 15 minutes. And that might be generous. They keep asking but he isn’t eating. Then it hits me that he hasn’t had a wet diaper or a poop yet. Weird. That’s a new one for us. I keep trying to put him on the boob but he won’t stay awake long enough to eat. I just decided at one point that he was going to be a formula baby and ask for bottles. Again, he isn’t really eating the bottles and what he does eat he’s throwing up. I bring it up to the nurses but they aren’t concerned yet so I’m not too concerned. I get some sleep since he’s sleeping.

They keep coming in to do fundal massages and check on us. As they do. Morning hits and we get eat and then go back to sleep. At some point they take him to do his blood test and bath and then bring him back.

They get his results and his bilirubin levels are high. Now I start panicking because they said they were pretty high and they were going to retest him again in a few hours and to just make sure he’s eating and peeing. He isn’t. He just won’t stay awake. They retest and his bilirubin levels are still high. At this point my mom is now texting me asking when we are going to come home as if I’m on a tropical vacation and I’m late. It hasn’t even been 24 hours. I tell her what’s going on but she tells me she has to go to work tomorrow. I’m spiraling into an angry rage at this point. How am I supposed to control a newborn’s bilirubin levels?! I’m sure I said something snarky about it not being 24 hours but I honestly can’t remember between my panic and seeing red. All I know is I was crying tears of rage about how I would never do that to my daughter but that’s neither here nor there.

24 hours hits and I don’t know how many blood tests and bilirubin tests they’ve done, but its too fucking many. I’m allowed to get discharged if I want, but he needs to stay. I decide that I’m going to stay with him. They decide the next day that he can go home because his levels have lowered enough, but he needs to get retested the following day at the local hospital for his bilirubin levels. This entire time my mom is pressing me to get home because she has to get to work the next day. I just keep getting more angry. Who does this to their kid? Especially one who just gave birth?

I talk to a social worker about my anxiety and she gives me a blanket that is now dubbed the “depression blanket” because I couldn’t see how this blanket was supposed to help anyone. It was a really nice blanket and I’m grateful for it but at the time it seemed ridiculous.

We head to the truck and Joe hurriedly installs the carseat that he didn’t get the chance to the day before because I was having a literal baby and we really slacked off on it. Don’t you worry your pretty little head because we made sure it was installed properly before we drove home. We get home and I am honestly furious at seeing my mother’s face at this point but I put on a smile and mingle. I should be grateful that she even came at all after the whole debacle before. She hangs out with the baby for a bit and tells me the things she did around the house. That I actually am grateful for. Then she wastes no time in packing up and leaving. The kids get home from school to meet their new baby brother and its the cutest thing. They’re sad that MomMom didn’t stay though. They wanted to see her again.

The next day comes and we go to the hospital to get the bilirubin levels retested. It is terrible to hear him scream but the nurses are nice.

We wait impatiently for the results to come back. Right before we leave for school pick up we get the call that his results are good and we all let out a sigh of relief. Thank god for small favors right? We get in the car and as we wait for pick up I get a call.

It’s the children’s hospital.

His newborn screening came back abnormal. His levels are conducive with PKU. I hear her say that if he gets treated now “he might even be able to go to college.” We need to go to the hospital immediately to get retested.

I’m now in tears in the car. Joe gets the kids, and the entire way to the hospital, I’m researching and crying. It could be a false positive, I hear myself saying. I convince myself it’s a false positive by the time we get there. I go into the ER. Alone. While Joe waits in the car with the kids. We wait for what seems like hours before we go back.

When we finally go back they give me some cans of a formula I’ve never seen before and tell me they have to put in an IV to get blood for a retest. I should just breastfeed as normal until I get the results.

So now I’m here in a diaper. Bleeding, crying, with sore nipples not knowing what comes next.

They come in and place the IV. I can’t even hold him. He is two days old. He is screaming and crying and all I can do is rub his head while the nurse tells me I’m doing great. I’m not. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. They get the blood and we are on the way home. Several hours. At night. After the worst day of my life.

We get the call the next day that he has PKU.

What comes now?

I’m supposed to be doing homework right now, but I have been thinking about writing this for a while. Like 5 months. Who knew that pursuing a Bachelors, having four kids, getting out of the military, getting the kids to summer school, transitioning to a stay-at-home mom, handling all the paperwork, doctor’s appointments, and finances would be so time-consuming? Oh! Not to mention a PKU diagnosis for the tiny little lad. I kid. I knew it would be busy but I secretly love it even when it’s stressful.

As you can guess by the title, this is going to be my birth story. So buckle in, and if you get weak hands when you hear about birth: scroll, scroll. (It has come to my attention that using the term “weak hands” may be something only I use. I use the term “weak hands” to describe that feeling you get when you hear or see something gross or when you’re sick or something and you have no grip. Like you can’t grab anything at all.) Here. We. Go.

Going into labor when I did could have been at a better time. That’s for sure. I was 4 days past my due date. I had gone to the OBGYN and to do a non-stress test that morning. We scheduled our induction for 3 days later. I got home from my appointments to Rose being really sick. She threw up several times on the floor every time I cleaned it up. Then she pooped her pants. Now, Rose has been potty trained ever since she discovered she did not like the feeling of having a wet butt so this was very bizarre. I took her temperature and she was feeling hot. We got some Tylenol in her and I immediately rushed to urgent care to get her checked out.

5:30PM. As we are walking into the urgent care I get a pain in my stomach and feel it. My stomach is tense but I chalk it up to being a Braxton Hicks and keep going. As we are sitting in the waiting room, I am getting HOT. Here I am thinking, “I hope I’m not sick too.” Then about 10 minutes go by and I have another contraction. Not super painful. Probably just another Braxton Hicks. We are called back into the room a bit later and at this time I get another contraction. I decide its time to time them. Sure enough I having contractions that last almost a minute every 10-12 minutes. They have us sitting in the room waiting for a strep, COVID, and flu test while Rose eats a popsicle because she has not eaten or drank pretty much all day.

The contractions are getting closer together. More like 8-10 minutes now. 6PM.

They tell us it’s a stomach bug and just to let her rest and relax. So we start heading out and there’s another contraction. Kind of stops me in my tracks. But we’re in a parking lot so I keep moving. When we get in the car I sit there for a few seconds before going home.

Back at home, I lay down in bed. 7:20PM. I tell Joe I am not feeling well. I am having contractions. I’m going to try and get some sleep and see if they stop. Spoiler alert: They don’t.

I start texting my mom that I think I am in labor if she could come to the house. We go back and forth for a while and she can’t come if I am not sure I am in labor so I wait it out a little longer to see.

My contractions keep getting closer together and more intense, but still manageable.

After several hours of trying to make sure I am in labor and trying to get someone there to watch the kids, I finally call it. I tell Joe that I have to go to the hospital. This is unmistakably labor. I have, after all, done this three times before.

So I drive myself to the hospital, about 30 minutes. 9PM. All the while just breathing through contractions and keeping my eyes on the road. I have come to terms with the fact that I will be giving birth without my husband here. He has to watch the kids.

When I get to the hospital I pull into the parking garage. Great. No spots on the first or second floor. Keep going. Breathe. Breathe. I finally find a spot. I don’t have anything with me but myself. I head over to the ER where I am ushered into a wheelchair. They are asking me questions while I breathe through contractions. Someone else is on the phone with labor and delivery.

Sitting outside the triage room waiting for a room number, I breathe. 9:38PM. Breathe. Breathe. This doesn’t hurt as bad as I remember. The nurse asks me why I have a thumbtack tattooed behind my ear as she wheels me to labor and delivery. “It was mostly to piss someone off,” I say.

Here we are. The labor and delivery triage room.

A nurse comes in and I get into the hospital gown and lay down. They hook me up to the monitors and do a COVID test. They get an IV placed and we are off to the races. Another nurse comes in a checks me a little while later.

I am 3 centimeters dilated with regular contractions every 4-5 minutes. It is now 10:10PM and it really sinks in that I am going to bring a human into this world without a support person there at all. It is just me. I am angry. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. We made a plan. My mom would watch the kids. That was the plan. She would be available when I went into labor and she would watch the kids. Yet here we are. I am alone and they keep asking me if anyone else is coming. Nope. Just a baby. “My husband had to watch the kids.” I hear myself saying. This feels not real at all. My mom gets on the road shortly after because she felt bad. Now I am doing the math in my head. “If she gets there around midnight, 12:15 maybe, he can get here by 12:45 and still make it hopefully. This is going to take a while I am sure. 12:45 is plenty of time.”

They decide to admit me. 10:45PM. We are having this baby. I sit in my hospital bed breathing through contractions for about an hour, hour and a half. They got my negative COVID result back and I am good to get my epidural. The nurses keep saying I’m doing a great job and just to keep breathing through the contractions. Am I? Am I doing a good job? Hell yeah, I am! I am a warrior. Strongest person I know. The mind can trick you into doing and dealing with incredible things. They check me again right before the anesthesiologist comes in. 6 centimeters. It is about 11:15PM now.

The anesthesiologist walks in and he says, “You want an epidural?” Yes sir. Sure do. The anesthesiologist is about the nicest man ever. He turns around to try and give me privacy while I sit up. Those gowns sure do fly open.

Ok. Now it’s starting to hurt. Sitting up makes it awfully hard to breathe through the contractions.

He sets up the whole table and sterilizes it or whatever he does back there with his giant wheely cart of giant needles. I sign the consent forms. We do the whole “What are we here to do?” “Get an epidural.” thing. Good lord I do not remember an epidural hurting that much. I don’t think it ever has before. But I guess fourth times the charm.

The epidural is placed. He does the test dose and tapes me up. I get to lay back down and he hooks me up to the pump.

The midwife comes in after I get the epidural. We are around midnight now. 9 centimeters. She asks me the dreaded question of if anyone else is coming. I tell her that my mom just got to my house and my husband should be here in 30-40 minutes. She says that my waters are still intact and we will wait to break it until after my husband gets there.

I am feeling a lot of pressure. That familiar feeling of having to poop. But I know I don’t have to poop. The nurses know I don’t have to poop. So much pressure. I can still kind of feel right side but I kind of like it.

There’s some show on about making candy and the most popular candy in the world. Here I am having a candy history lesson and checking the time.

Joe had to stop for gas. I am panicking. He isn’t going to make it. There’s too much pressure. This baby is coming soon. I remember seeing the time hit 12:45AM and panicking. Then my epidural pump starts yelling at me. There’s air in the line. It is yelling at me.

Fuck. Now the heart rate monitor is going off too.

I anxiously wait for a nurse to come help me but no one comes. I press the call button and they come in. She calls the anesthesiologist and he offers a new pump, but the midwife tells me I am at 10 centimeters and I say I will just do without it. 1AM.

The midwife leaves and comes back in. They are going to break my water. 1:10AM. I’m panicking. Joe isn’t going to make it. They tell me that he is walking to the room now and they break my water. Immediate relief hits as he walks in and they rush around setting up the room around us.

Joe is holding my left foot. The nurse is holding my right. I get two good pushes in before amniotic fluid gushes into the midwife’s face. To be honest I am trying so hard not to laugh. Which seems crazy considering I’m crowning. Two more good pushes and the head is out. One more push. There he is. Our beautiful little boy. 1:19AM.

I half notice the midwife massaging my stomach and waiting for the placenta. I try to push it out. I have the baby now and can’t focus on anything else. He’s beautiful. Perfect.

I feel the relief of the placenta exiting my body.

The nurse says there is a laceration that won’t stop bleeding. The midwife says she isn’t concerned and I don’t need stitches. It’s just a very minor tear. I decide not to get it stitched. The nurse is still a little concerned trying to get it to stop. But it stops shortly after.

You would never believe me if I told you that the birth story was the least dramatic and stressful part of this, but it was.

To be continued.