Mommy Needs A Hug

Let’s talk about being pregnant during a pandemic. Because it kind of sucked. Like honestly, it really blew and no one should have to do what so many women had, and still have, to do. It’s not cool to have to go through such a happy moment in life alone. It’s not cool to ever have to go through it alone, pandemic or not, so it sucks that we all had to go through what should be one of the happiest events of our lives with virtually no one there. Appointments-alone. Ultrasounds-alone. For some, labor-alone.

We found out in January that I was pregnant. I couldn’t get a referral to an OB until I got my pregnancy confirmed by the clinic and then again by a gynecologist. So at about 6 weeks, the beginning of February, I had a gynecologist appointment and an ultrasound shortly following for dating. I went to both alone, because it didn’t seem like that big of a deal when I knew I had a bunch of other appointments and a gender ultrasound for him to be at. And luckily, everything looked ok and I wasn’t finding out bad news at the dating scan like so many women have been forced to find out alone since the onset of COVID. Had I known how the rest of my pregnancy was going to go I would have made sure that Joe was at these appointments though.

You see, Joe missed out on the majority of appointments with both of my previous two pregnancies. He was underway or on duty for most of them. He went to 1 ultrasound and maybe a total of 5 OB appointments between my first two pregnancies. That being said, I was so excited that he was going to be here to experience all my appointments and this awesome life transition with me this time. I was beyond ecstatic. Over the moon even, that my life partner, my best friend, would finally get to experience this with me. And then the whole pregnancy, the plan, got flipped upside down (cue Fresh Prince theme song).

I was scheduled for my first OB appointment around 12 weeks. That’s pretty typical of my usual experience, maybe a little later but not too bad so it didn’t bother me at all. Now I got to 12 weeks at April 3, so you can just imagine the turn this going to take. By the time my first appointment rolled around lockdowns had started and we were full on, in the shit. The game completely changed.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was transferred off of the boat that I was on and to my current unit. A land unit that could, and was willing (thankfully) to accommodate for me and my pregnancy. I reported there on March 17. By the end of my first day at my new unit we got the news that we were shifting the schedule and it was determined that for the safety of myself and my unborn child, I would not be coming into work until further notice. (At this point as many of you know there was little to no research on the effects of COVID on pregnant women and unborn baby, still really isn’t too much research.) I was very cautious, some would say overly, (still am) due to being pregnant. I did not leave the house at all until my first appointment. Joe even only left the house one time to go out for groceries and when he got back I practically made him hose himself off. I turned on the shower and sink before he even walked into the house so it was ready. He walked in and immediately stripped and put his clothes in the washer, washed his hands, and showered. Followed by me sanitizing all the doorknobs, light switches, garage door button, his car, his shoes, and anything else he could have possibly touched before I would even look at him. I was VERY cautious.

Like seriously I was very careful. I can’t stress this enough. Despite that, appointment day showed up and I took my temperature when I woke up. Then I took my temperature again before I left the house just to make sure. I used three different thermometers that all read the same thing and I made a note that my temperature was 97.8, normal. I was very paranoid despite my caution so I wanted to be safe, and then I was on my way. It was a cold day that day so I had a hoodie on with the hood up and my heat in the car on full blast because I’m a pansy and don’t deal with cold well. I got there and confidently stood there as they took my temperature, because I knew it was fine since I had just gone through all that before leaving the house. They then told me I had a 100.1 temperature and proceeded to kick me out of the office, my first OB appointment.

At this point, I’m devastated. I’m here at the doctor alone, after not being seen for 6 weeks, not knowing if the baby was ok, and I get kicked out. I called my mom, I called Joe, I’m panicking that something could be wrong with the baby and now I won’t know for another two weeks (unless they kick me out again). Through tears I drive 30 minutes home without my heat or hood on, get out of the car and go inside to wash my hands. I proceeded to take my temperature again with the 3 thermometers, which came up at 97.8 again, normal, and my temperature just magically went up 3 degrees and back down in a matter of 45 minutes? Not likely. (I took my temperature every morning and night for 3 days, all normal.) So now I’m pissed! I understand precautions but it really didn’t seem like rocket science to me that I was wearing a hoodie with the hood up and the heat on full blast could have been the reason my temp was so high when I got there. So I’m pissed that now I’m going to go 8 weeks with no medical care for no reason other than being cold on the way there and doing what I needed to to be warm in the car. That in itself turned what was supposed to be a happy check up and pregnancy with little bean into a sad and panicked venture alone.

So 14 weeks rolls around and the entire time leading up to this I’m reluctant to even go again because I don’t want that experience again. But I truck myself the 30 minutes there for the safety of the baby, with a tank top on and the windows open the whole way, because I’m *petty*. I go in, mask donned, by myself. The nurses keep their distance like everyone has the plague, which I understand why but it still is strange. They mumble their instructions under their mask before hand sanitizing and slumping away, very impersonal. When the doctor came in she kept her distance too. She came in and stood across the room from me, only coming closer to hear the heartbeat and hand me genetic testing paperwork, careful not to touch my hands at all. A very sad, lonely, cold exchange in comparison to how these appointments usually go. I feel for moms having their first ever OB appointments and this is what their normal is. Going a whole pregnancy so distant from everyone, not getting to build that normal doctor patient relationship.

If you’ve ever been pregnant you likely know that your appointments are typically spaced 4 weeks apart and then sometime around 28-30 weeks you got to 2-3 weeks apart until 35-36 weeks when you start going every week. Well being pregnant during COVID that is no longer the standard for a lot of people. In my experience, I had my appointment at 14 weeks then not again until 22 weeks with an anatomy scan at 20 weeks. Then my next appointments were 29 weeks, 33 weeks, 35,36, etc. This spacing made me, personally, very uncomfortable. I was worried constantly that something would be wrong and I wouldn’t know for a long time, and then when I did fine out I would be alone. I honestly can not imagine being pregnant with a rainbow baby and barely getting medical care in the first and second trimesters. I can’t imagine the amount of panic that one who has had trouble conceiving or suffered from pregnancy loss must have felt/feel during this. Not knowing if this miracle rainbow baby was ok or not for 6+ weeks at a time. It was miserable for me, uncomfortable for me, not ideal for me, so I honestly can not imagine and I truly sympathize for all the women that are going/have gone through this during the pandemic.

Giving birth this time around was also a little different in my opinion. I didn’t by any means have a terrible birthing experience but it definitely wasn’t my typical experience either. First off, the mask while in labor is kind of a bummer. I know a lot of people are lenient about it because you’re pushing out a human, like my medical team was lenient after I got my test results, but I have also heard a lot of people having to labor/deliver with a mask on which totally sucks. I completely understand wearing a mask until your COVID test comes back, but beyond that, eh. Pushing a baby out with a mask on kind of dampens the experience. Speaking of COVID tests, it’s definitely not great to get a giant Q-tip shoved up your nose during labor. There’s enough pain that that is really just the cherry on top of a shit storm. Again, luckily I was not in labor when I got mine due to being induced, but that is not typically the case for women in the delivery room. It did really blow for me having to get my second COVID test after really hoping that I would never need another one ever again.

So your in this room, wearing your mask, people coming in and out so you don’t really get much chance to take your mask off for God knows how many hours for some people, get a Q-tip shoved up your nose and now you’re waiting for results (mine took like 3.5 hours to get). Then, again, everyone is a little more distant (my opinion). It’s weird not getting to see people’s faces that will be looking at your vagina and watching a literal human being come out of your body, but I digress. And for me, it was weird to only get to have one support person. My parents have been in the room for delivery both previous times, with my mom being my biggest help during my labors, so that was definitely an adjustment for me. Last, but not least, in the long list of reasons COVID ruins a pregnancy, no visitors. It was kind of nice for the first few hours to not have visitors, I won’t lie, but also really strange and really lonely. I would have liked nothing. more than to see Mark and Rose walk into that room to meet their baby brother. They have a way of making me feel better when I’m hurting too that would have been really nice at that time. It was such a special moment that I was looking forward to that I felt like we, as a family, got robbed of. It is obviously still great, and special, for them to meet their baby brother at home, but not quite the same. I missed my kids too, and it was kind of sad to have been a family of 5 for that hospital time without them there with us.

I could have never anticipated being pregnant and delivering during a pandemic. A lot of us, who got pregnant prior to the pandemic, could not have guessed this would happen. There was no way to know. It took so many magical moments and turned it into lonely doctor appointments, no baby showers, no special sibling meetings, and very strange delivery and recovery experiences. I feel for all the moms out there who experienced and continue to experience this. This is something that a lot of people won’t understand when moms say that this wasn’t their ideal pregnancy. I feel for first time moms who think this is normal. For moms having their last baby who don’t get to end it on a high note, with a normal pregnancy. I feel for those having rainbow babies who don’t get to share these special moments with their partners. I feel for those who have to suffer infant loss, alone, without their support system and have to find out that unfortunate news without someone by their side to hold them and help them. Sitting alone in an ultrasound room, or an exam room, by themselves finding out the most devastating news of their lives.

I wish that Joe could have experienced this all with me for the first time like he should have been able to, like we were so excited to, after missing the first two. Pregnancy during pandemic kind of sucked, and I’m just glad that it’s over and I get this beautiful child after such an unfortunately lame experience. What a beautiful outcome to such a horrible OB and pregnancy experience, alone and isolated from the world. The best thing to come out of a pregnancy during this pandemic are all these beautiful children. Thankful for baby Joey through it all, but fuck off 2020.

• 

I feel alone.

When I first became a mother I completely lost myself in motherhood. I threw myself into 110% from the beginning. I enjoy being a mom. I truly enjoy being a mom and I absolutely believe that I was put on this Earth to be a mother. But I jumped in head first into the ocean of motherhood and I just got crushed by a wave some time on the way in and never came back up for air. From the moment I became a mother all I have been is a devoted wife and mother. I became a crappy friend to a lot of people and I have no idea what I like to do for myself because I just gave up on it. I got so focused on being a mom that I think I gave away a piece of myself. I feel like a lot of mothers do the same thing. We get caught up in this cycle of being everything for everyone else that we just never catch up enough to be something for ourselves. And like I said I love being a mom, I just feel a little lost right now.

I have watched my husband consistently pursue some hobby that he is interested in for himself. I guess it’s just easier being a dad in that way. You can put in a lot less effort as a father and get absolutely praised, but being a mother you constantly give your all and manage a home, a job, kids, and a husband and you get told to try harder. (In our household it’s not that off balanced anymore with Joe staying home, but that’s a year out of the 4.5 years we have been parents.) It’s a lot easier to take time for yourself and have a hobby when you get praised and worshipped by everyone for doing the bare minimum of parenting.

It’s great for Joe that he gets to do something for himself because I acknowledge that he needs time away too. It’s important for him to get out of the house and enjoy himself, kid-free. But we became parents and he was completely centered on himself and his own free time. He constantly had a hobby he was doing. Or more than one hobby. I watched him do hockey, golf, read, go drinking with friends, go to hockey games, and smoke cigars. He always has something or is talking to me about how he wants to go do something. He even gets time to do things to better himself. He got to go to therapy, he had an internship, and he has college classes. And all of those things take a lot of alone time for him to succeed in too. I have sat back and watched him through all his hobbies, constantly encouraged him when he took time for himself, and just generally been supportive for all these years. I have helped him through some really hard times to help him into a better headspace. I have done everything I could possibly do to support him and be the best wife and mother I could be. But in turn, I never got afforded those same opportunities. I never got the same support to do things for myself. I never got the time to do anything for myself. My “free” time has consisted of laundry, dishes, keeping a clean home, and being a mother and wife for years. I lost myself and never got the time to figure out what I like to do for me, as an adult. I’m not the same person I was 5 years ago and I have no idea what I like to do for me anymore.

I briefly had a time in Boston where I went out once a month (probably closer to every 2 months) after work if we got done early on a Friday, and had 2 or 3 beers with one of my closest work friends. I have on and off for several years had running, but it hasn’t really been that enjoyable anymore. Those were the only times I got even remotely close to doing something for me. Unfortunately, our marriage was not in a great spot at that time so it was always an issue when I did something for me and turned into a fight. It sucked having that double standard pushed at me, constantly pointing out the double standard and fighting about it, and then nothing changing. It was always him going out but that one hour every few months for me always started a fight. Without fail. And then I would say I needed time for me and he would say “well you can go out, you never go out, I don’t know why you don’t go out”.

The past 7 months of our marriage since he started therapy have been the absolute best months of our marriage thus far. Things have definitely gotten way better as a whole and before anyone gets it twisted, we have both always loved and love each other very much despite our issues. Marriage is work and we were and are willing to work for it and evolve to get ourselves into the best spot we can which is why our marriage is doing so much better now. However, I still feel alone sometimes. There is still this double standard that we are constantly trying to even up the score. I still watch him go about his activities, having this abundance of time to himself, while I am still surrounded constantly by nothing other than being a mom and wife. I don’t get any option to be anything else, and at this point I truly don’t even know what I’d do.

The past week and a half for me has been *rough*. I have been in my thoughts and feelings a lot these past couple weeks and trying to communicate my needs with Joe. It’s been tough seeing Joe go out to the backyard or the garage to shoot golf balls for hours and do other stuff alone while I sit in the house alone with three kids. I’ve been spending a lot of time just me and the kids, which these days just looks like baby Joey on my chest while I yell at the other two to be quiet so he doesn’t wake up. It makes me feel really alone when I’m going on three hours in the house by myself trying to juggle getting things for Mark and Rose with a baby that doesn’t want to be put down but doesn’t want me to move either. It has gotten to the point a few times in the past week that I’ve spent so much time alone that even with him right next to me I still feel alone. And the more alone I feel, the more alone I feel, and the more I want to be alone. If that makes sense. I haven’t gotten a chance to practice self care or do some kind of hobby, and I need to. I need a hobby to do just for me. I need something that I enjoy doing.

Please don’t get me wrong I love that Joe gets time for himself, because he needs it too. I just sometimes feel like my concerns and thoughts go unlistened to. And he is a lot more understanding than before and he’s working on it and trying to understand that I need time. Like right now. He took the baby and put the kids for a nap and told me to take some time for me. But in the back of my head I know before I finish writing this someone in this house is going to need me and then this time is over and I won’t get another chance. And he definitely still gets swept up in himself sometimes. It’s also really hard when I don’t know what I like to do.

Those times when the lonely feeling washes over me and I’m feeling overwhelmed in it, I start thinking about how there aren’t a lot of people who help us. I watch so many people with kids who are constantly surrounded by help. Even military families they have friends around that offer help even when they’re 5+ hours away from their families. All these people around me that have a village. They have friends, family, in-laws, and coworkers always willing to help, doing things with them, and it hurts me. Where is my village? Why does no one want to help? Why can’t I make friends when we move? What’s wrong with me that no one wants to be in my village?

I find myself having to remind myself that I might not have a village but I have Joe, my mom, and my dad now. I haven’t always, but I do now. Joe hasn’t always been around, and my dad can’t always be here, but I always have my mom. She always offers her help and in the past 4.5 years that I’ve been a parent she is the one constant in my life, even when Joe wasn’t around to be. She has helped me so much and even drove the two hours to get here and watch the kids so that Joe could do his homework during a rough patch in classes while I had to go to work. She drives two hours damn near every weekend to see us and the kids to the point they think she lives here. I may not have a village, but I’m grateful to have anyone at all. I’m grateful for my mom and I’m grateful for my tiny little tribe.

Still, I feel alone, and it’s not all the time, but recently it’s been a lot more. I feel unwanted by anyone outside of that tiny little tribe I mentioned.

I desperately desire a break. I desperately desire a village who readily offers their help. They say it takes a village to raise a child, so why don’t we get one? Why do we feel like we have to beg people to be involved in our and our children’s lives? I’m jealous. It comes down to that. I’m jealous of people who know what they like to do, they have help that gives them the chance to do it, and they get to take those breaks that I desperately desire.

I love my kids. I love being a mom more than anything I’ve ever done in my life, but I want that. I want to stop being alone, or feeling alone. I want more help. I don’t want to cry on the couch, or in the bathroom to Joe so the kids don’t hear, because of my lack of support. My lack of a village.

And it’s a huge slap in the face to see so many people take their village for granted. I see all these people who have this huge support system. They have all this help, and then they still complain about how they don’t have any. How they don’t get any breaks when I see them all the time, or what feels like all the time to me, taking time for themselves. And I know some people have even less support than me so I don’t take it for granted, (and I hope one day those people with less support than me find their village too.) Any help I receive I am beyond grateful for, which is why I’m so thankful for my parents and Joe because they do offer a lot of help in the grand scheme.

Maybe I’ll never have that village though, that huge support system. Maybe it’s the nature of being in the military for us and people see traveling to us no matter where we are as a burden. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to feel alone anymore. I guess I’ll just have to keep working on it, trying to find hobbies, and trying to find my village if I’m meant to have one.

• 

While having low iron was one of my more serious issues during pregnancy, it was definitely not the only one. Hormones from pregnancy commonly bring women a whole slew of some unfortunate and uncomfortable issues. Some definitely less comfortable than others.

With Mark, aside from iron issues, I dealt with severe nausea and vomiting. Not to the point that I was diagnosed with hyperemesis, but it wasn’t great. Not the best situation, but I say this so nonchalantly because it turned into one of the least of my issues amongst my three pregnancies. I have definitely fried bigger fish than the constant nausea that accompanied my pregnancies with both of my boys.

See, like a lot of things about pregnancy and childbirth, no one informed me that pregnancy hormones commonly cause yeast infections despite proper hygiene and a healthy lifestyle. They also forgot to tell me about the unfortunate consequence of not peeing enough, UTI’s. Which seems like a no brainer, but like, when you feel like you have to pee every 2 seconds you don’t always go the second nature calls. At least not me, but I’m not always the brightest light bulb.

Prior to my pregnancy with Rose I hadn’t ever had a yeast infection and had only had one UTI in my entire life. I never realized how blessed I was to not have encountered these very unfavorable circumstances. I quickly realized, while talking to other moms in Facebook groups, that these were really common issues for a lot of women. Even more prevalent amongst pregnant women.

When I got pregnant with Rose, on top of anemia, I got surprised with a fun (*eyeroll*) new adventure. Shortly into my second trimester I got my first ever yeast infection. Yikes! If you’ve ever had a yeast infection you can imagine how unhappy I was to be heavily pregnant and dealing with this for the first time. And for those of you who have been ailed with this your whole life, bless you because it really sucks. Let me tell you, I have never been more uncomfortable in my life than during the first 3 days of that infection. And I sat there trying to figure out how this even happened. I wear full coverage underwear, I wear loose fitting clothing, I have good hygiene, I don’t use any of the Summer’s Eve crap that messes up your PH, and I use detergent for sensitive skin. I was like DaVinci over here trying to crack the code. (I’ve never read that book so don’t get mad at me.) Then my doctor informed me that it’s not abnormal during pregnancy because of all the hormonal changes.

I got past my first yeast infection and carried on with my pregnancy like a happy little clam. (Pun not intended.) Much to my disgust and dismay, I was welcomed with another yeast infection about a month later. Yay, lucky me. Again, wracking my brain trying to figure it out, only to remind myself it’s normal. I can not express to you how frustrating this was to deal with this in an otherwise pretty easy breezy pregnancy. Again, bless the women who deal with this their whole lives because I can not. I am a little sissy when it comes to that.

Fast forward, Rose is born and not another yeast infection to speak of. To this day not another one, thankfully. But, lucky me, pregnant with Joseph I got greeted by another unwelcome visitor. Throughout my pregnancy with Joseph I got 3, yes you read that right, 3, UTI’s. The crappy thing about UTI’s is that the more you get, the more you get. This one’s probably, definitely, absolutely my own fault though.

See I have a tiny bladder normally. I go pee every like 30 minutes even not pregnant, ask Joe. With that said, you can imagine how often I pee with a baby bouncing on my bladder like a trampoline. Because of this, I habitually hold it a lot. Terrible idea, terrible habit, but it gets extremely annoying to have to pee again before you even stand fully up from the toilet. So anyway, I brought it upon myself, but it’s unpleasant all the same. I spent several Sundays of my pregnancy at urgent care for antibiotics because it always happens when the doctor isn’t open right? The only good thing is that I’m very in tune with what’s normal with my body so I always caught it before it even escalated past just trace amounts. Because of this, my symptoms never got too terrible so I was able to get rid of the symptoms completely with the antibiotics before it escalated at all.

The moral of the story is, pregnancy brings some unwelcome ailments. Nausea, yeast infections, and UTI’s just to name a few. So don’t hold your pee no matter how annoying it is, and for the love of God don’t use those products that screw with your PH. Pregnancy is hard enough without adding in infections if you can do anything to prevent it. Keep those clams happy. I’m sorry that was a terrible attempt at a joke. Ok, I’m done. May the odds with on your side.

• 

In all of my pregnancies I have had issues with iron deficient anemia. I haven’t particularly shared it with a whole lot of people so a lot of people don’t know this about me. I’ve been taking iron supplements since my pregnancy with Mark as a result of my slacking in iron. I have continued my usage of iron supplements in between pregnancies as a corrective/preventative measure, which honestly kind of sucks because they taste weird, but I’m picky so ignore me. With two of my three pregnancies I have had to receive iron infusions because my levels have gotten to a dangerously low level. Low iron is fairly common during pregnancy as I’ve learned, to an extent, but my levels as I said get dangerously low. I’m going to share this experience because low iron is way more common during pregnancy than people account for and it takes a lot of women by surprise.

Full disclosure, I don’t eat a lot of iron rich foods. I never really have. I don’t like red meats, have no desire to eat them, and can very rarely even force myself to eat it. It’s a texture thing for me, I’m very texture perceptive and can’t eat something if I don’t like the texture because it makes me puke. (Side note: I once had a piece of brisket and I threw it up almost immediately.) I don’t eat a lot of nuts or spinach, just because I don’t. My point is, I probably should have seen this coming, and I’ve probably had low levels for quite some time and just never realized it until a little parasite was sucking what little I had away from me. (Don’t judge me for saying parasite, by definition babies are parasites and I love them for it.)

When I got pregnant with Mark I couldn’t stomach my prenatal. I’m terrible with pills and prenatals are gigantic, because after all this time we haven’t found a better alternative for pregnant women. What’s better to help nausea than having to swallow a horse pill? I threw up my prenatals every single time I tried to take them, and eventually just stopped trying. Now I’m well aware that nausea and fatigue are normal pregnancy symptoms, but I couldn’t keep anything down, couldn’t keep my eyes open, and kept getting these God awful headaches. I thought this was normal so I wasn’t too concerned, but my doctor gave me a talking to about how not taking my vitamins wasn’t good and that it would affect my iron and other key vitamin levels. So I started trying to take the gummy Flintstones vitamins like the child I am, but they don’t have iron in them so I just sucked it up for a while until I was ultimately prescribed an iron pill. Of course, I had trouble keeping them down because I’m bad with pills (I literally needed liquid Motrin after Mark was born because I couldn’t take adult Motrin), and they taste weird. I continued to try to take them and it wasn’t brought up again for the rest of my pregnancy.

This were things get a little more interesting. Ooo drama.

Shortly after confirming my pregnancy with Rose I began taking iron supplements once a day, when I remembered as a lazy attempt at trying to prevent issues again, because I was, as the kids say (am I old?) “back on my bullshit” and taking Flintstones gummies. I was still having terrible headaches and just getting so incredibly tired. The nurse hotline suggested drinking a cup of coffee a day to deal with the headaches, as she thought maybe it was just caffeine withdrawals. Honestly, made sense though.

When the coffee didn’t help any, I talked to the doctor who decided to do a blood test and ultimately decided I needed to consult a hematologist. This was scary for me having to walk into a cancer center, and I felt very out of place and kind of selfish for being there. I got my blood taken again and then met with the doctor. She asked me if I felt that if I went into labor that day if I thought I’d have the energy to do it. I told her “absolutely not” and she agreed. She set me up for iron infusions and suggested I take my iron three times a day if I could stomach it because my levels were so low I would have bled out or needed an immediate blood transfusion if I had gone into labor at that point.

So I went to the cancer center two times before I hit 36 weeks, to get infusions. Definitely the better option when faced with possible blood transfusion. For those who don’t know, iron infusions are an IV of iron. You get a higher dose of iron and it goes directly into your blood stream so it’s ultimately more effective than the iron pills. The iron I received when pregnant with Rose was a strong dose given in hour and a half intervals not given past 36 weeks because one of the main side effects is cramping that could cause labor. The up side is that when the iron starts it tastes like maple syrup in your mouth, and an hour and a half gave me some time to catch up on some reading. Luckily, after those two infusions and my three pills a day, my levels had risen to a more normal level and my headaches had gone away. An unfortunate side effect however is the cramping and constipation, but at least I wouldn’t need a blood transfusion. After Rose was born I continued my daily usage of my iron pills and upon a postpartum visit with my hematologist she said my levels looked wonderful and I went on my merry way.

By this point I would have been a fool to think I wasn’t going to have low iron when I got pregnant with Joseph. So when I got that positive pregnancy test, I mentally prepared myself and immediately informed my doctor that I did have problems with low iron. They said they would keep an eye on, despite my levels being normal at my 8 week blood work, and then they didn’t continue to monitor it, cool. I had continued to take my iron pills after Rose so I anticipated it being normal at my first blood work, but I didn’t get blood work again until 28 weeks when they performed my glucose test.

When I got into my third trimester the headaches and fatigue had come back with a vengeance so I told the doctor and was referred back to a hematologist. (Insert image of me lazily skipping, because I was happy to have a solution again, but also too tired to be excited.) So I went to the hematologist who told me that I would be getting infusions for the next 4 weeks with the 5th week being a check on my levels (I’d be 38 weeks at that point).

After week 4 of 45 minute long infusions (yay for maple syrup mouth!), I got another blood test. First I want to clarify that the iron I was getting this time was not as strong as last time which is why I had 4 infusions as opposed to 2, and got to continue past 36 weeks. Also, less side effects with this treatment, and safer.

Let me just say how annoyed I was at getting stabbed at this point after the amount of blood tests and IV’s I had gotten. My arms were riddled with tiny little scabs and bruises from all the sticks.

Well the blood test showed that my levels had barely risen at all in the 4 weeks I’d had infusions, despite 2 iron pills daily on top of it. The doctor pulled me aside and explained to me that she was very concerned with the very little progress we had made and wanted me to not only get another infusion that day, but also infusions until my due date (2 weeks) to total 7 infusions. Joseph had other plans and I didn’t make it to either of my last two appointments, but I made it through labor and delivery without needing a blood transfusion. I go back in a few weeks for a check up and possible infusion and thank God for that because my head is killing me and I’m tired, on top of the tired from having a newborn, even though I’m still on iron pills.

Having to get iron infusions is definitely not ideal. It’s also definitely not how I had expected my pregnancies to go, but I am so grateful for the medical opportunities I have been given. I’m grateful that I haven’t had to get a blood transfusion. And I’m grateful that, if only for a few weeks, I got the opportunity to be given some relief. I know a lot of women are scared of hearing they need infusions, or confused on what that means, but it is so worth it and absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

• 

Let’s talk about postpartum. Not the most thrilling topic. Kind of a gross process, but you have to do it if you are birthing children. I’m going to touch on my postpartum journey, a little from all three. I also really want to touch on my postpartum essentials for the first-time moms, or otherwise, because my list has greatly evolved with each birth and no one ever really knows what you need at home to recover. Mind you I’ve had some fairly easy recoveries, and all vaginal, so I obviously do not speak for every mother.

The bulk of this is going to be about my postpartum body image. It’s really important for moms to start talking about this. It is okay to not like how you look after having a baby. I’ll say it again for those who are feeling pressured to “bounce back” and get back into those pre-baby jeans. It is okay to not like how you look after having a baby. Your body has drastically changed, it is not the same body you are used to seeing and it is okay to not be okay with it.

I have never been a fan of my postpartum body. I have always had a slim, toned figure. I have always had the figure of an athlete so I have struggled each and every time with my postpartum body. I always get trapped in wanting my pregnant belly back, but simultaneously wanting my pre-baby 20-year-old body back. After Joseph was born, despite being in a way better headspace than the previous two times, I found myself looking down at my deflating belly and breaking into tears. Part of me upset that I didn’t just instantly magically return to abs and a slim waist. Yet another, stronger, part of me crushed that this once big, beautiful belly that I adored, that protected and nourished my child, was suddenly gone. Just like that. Then another part of me still, was looking down at these stretch marks, that have expanded three times over, and was just utterly disappointed by them.

This isn’t a new feeling for me at all. After every time I’ve given birth I’ve looked at my body and felt sad, ashamed even. My once slim, stretchmark free body, ruined. And it’s okay to not like your postpartum body, as long as you don’t become consumed with that feeling. It’s okay to want your slimmer, maybe more toned, figure back. It’s great to work towards a body you’re more comfortable in, as long as you’re not shaming yourself for the parts of your body that you can’t “fix” or won’t “go back to normal”. I have let myself become consumed by my dislike of my stretch marks, and it got me nowhere. I have let myself be consumed with getting my slimmer body back, and I guess I looked “better” by other people’s standards, but at the cost of not feeding myself properly and spending way too much of my free time working out. (3-4 times a day, every single day.) I have let myself become obsessed over my postpartum body and it has helped me, time and time again, achieve peace with it.

My body has grown, nourished, and raises three children. My stretch marks are my battle scars. My stretch marks remind me of the remarkable things my body has accomplished. My body has done absolutely incredible things and it will never again be that body I had at 20 years old, and that’s fine. That’s great even. I don’t always like what I see in the mirror, but that’s ok, because I appreciate what my body has done for me. I will not pressure myself to get back to that body I once had, because if I still had that body I would not have my three amazing children, and the body I have now does have those three children. This skin has stretched to hold humans and birth them. These arms have carried infants in them and held up toddlers that had an ouch and needed mommies hugs. These legs have held me up and carried me through pregnancies, births, and motherhood. I may not always like what I see, but I appreciate it.

Besides your body, postpartum is a difficult journey to navigate. Your body is still healing and many times your relationship is strained as you both juggle this transition in parenthood and the sleeplessness it brings. Postpartum brings a slew of struggles, but also so much joy, so many snuggles and precious memories. Your body has a major wound in your uterus, and whether c-section or vaginal, there is blood and a lot of the time, stitches, to attend to. It hurts to cough, sneeze, laugh, and that first poop is terrible. Yet you still have a baby to care for. It’s difficult to try and take care of yourself and not get swept up in the day to day and let your care fall to the way side.

My experience this time has definitely been easier, between the knowledge I’ve gained previously and having a much smaller baby. I’m healing quickly and in a much better headspace with myself and with my marriage than I have been the prior two times. I have my feet planted firmly on the ground and a much more supportive and helpful Joe this time around. This time I even got to take the time for some self-care within the first 24 hours. I took a shower, did a face mask, and just took the time to let Joseph handle the baby so I could really clean myself up after birth. With Mark, I could barely sit, let alone walk for over a week my body was in so much pain. With Rose, despite feeling well enough to go home at 24 hours, I was bleeding a lot for the first two weeks, and cramping just as long. But with Rose, I kept walking, doing chores, and pushing myself way too hard. This time, aside from being tired, a constant headache that I can’t shake, and getting a little sad every few days, I feel pretty good. Moody, but good. I obviously am still healing and having bleeding and some slight cramping, but apparently having smaller babies has a few benefits.

There are two things about postpartum that I truly fear though. Like shake in my boots, middle of a horror movie, fear. The first poop and the first period. For whatever reason that first period is like a normal period times 10. And I really don’t know why, but that first poop is something no one talks about and I will never be prepared for. Absolutely terrible.

Which brings me to my evolved list of postpartum essentials. Including some things that have helped me have what I consider a successful breastfeeding journey, despite not being at two weeks yet. Since I’m already talking about every parent’s favorite subject. The one we find ourselves oddly comfortable with talking about anywhere. (You know you’ve had the “is this normal” talk about it when it comes to your kids, don’t lie.) Poop. That’s what I’ll start with. For the love of all that is holy, take the stool softeners. The second they offer them at the hospital you better suck them puppies down. I have refused them every time and every time it takes me 4 days to poop and then I regret not taking them. Trust me, you want the stool softeners in your medicine cabinet when you get home.

Some general things that I need to have when I get home to take care of my own recovery. I get extra heavy overnight pads, they’re practically a diaper but sometimes you just need that. Accompany that with some full coverage “granny panties”, because your tiny underwear just isn’t gonna cut it this time sister. They have always given me Tucks at the hospital, but when I’m at home I much prefer soaking medium sized gauze in witch hazel, it fits the body better and has more coverage than using 3 Tucks. Also it’s way cheaper to just buy gauze and witch hazel and do it yourself. I also keep some panty liners on hand for when your bleeding slows down a little or if it’s lighter at night. I’m personally not really a fan of Dermaplast, but it does do the trick, I just hate the smell. Make sure you have your squirt bottle and lots of toilet paper. Essential.

If you’re planning on breastfeeding and have struggled before or this is new, I have been using a lot of things that I truly believe have helped me this time. I am by no means an expert on this at all and I still 100% believe fed is best and honestly wouldn’t even still be breastfeeding if I wasn’t supplementing with formula (he gets 2 two ounce bottles a day to give my nips a break). I have heard time and time again about the Haaka for collecting your leakage as you feed from one breast. I got one this time, and honestly I hate it. I don’t recommend it, but apparently it works for a lot of people and it is a very inexpensive option for pumping if you want to try it out. I did however get the Elvie breast pump and it has been a life saver. It’s a wireless breast pump that you just pump in your bra and let it do it’s thing. I know there’s quite a few of them out now but I got the Elvie. It’s amazing to not be tethered to a wall and without this pump I wouldn’t be breastfeeding or pumping anymore, quite frankly. If you’re pumping also, storage bags. I have found that the Target ones work just as well. I don’t find breast pads necessary, but I did get some store brand ones, but they don’t stick very well. I have always gotten the Dapple dish soap to wash bottles and pump parts with because it is more effective for baby smells in my opinion.

Now the things that have helped me continue my journey past the first few days. Body Armor drinks. I can not say enough good things about them. Joe loves them, the kids love them, and I love them. Breastfeeding is about being hydrated and I have always struggled with drinking enough water. The Body Armor drinks really have helped me stay hydrated because they taste amazing, and they’re incredibly hydrating due to the coconut water in them. Very important for me, a nipple shield. My right nipple is very sensitive and this nipple shield has saved me to many times in the past few days. It teaches Joey how to latch better and gives my nipple a little bit of a break. After every pumping or feeding I have been using Lanolin on my nipples and have also tried out Baby Bum Calendula Cream and Natural Monoi Coconut Balm, as well as some breast milk on the nipple. They really help keep the area around the nipple as well as the nipple, hydrated and soft so that baby doesn’t have to try so hard to latch. Also, after each pump or feed I use nipple ice packs. I got ones that can be hot or cold packs which helped in the beginning as heat packs for let down and relieving some engorgement. I haven’t been out with the baby very much due to flu season in addition to COVID so I haven’t gotten to use it much and it’s not super essential, but I got several covers from Milk Snob. They are breastfeeding covers, but also carseat covers and cart covers. Very versatile and I love the prints.

I think that’s all I’ve got for you guys. Postpartum is a truly difficult time. It’s a hard adjustment no matter how strong you are or how you dice it. It’s okay to not be okay. I’ll say it one more time. It’s okay to not like your body after you have a baby. Just remember to take care of yourself, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Drink plenty of water and let yourself heal. I wish nothing but the easiest of postpartum journeys on everyone of you. And don’t forget to slow down and enjoy your baby. It goes way too fast.

-A Postpartum Mommy

• 

For those of you who don’t know and have been wondering where I’ve been…Surprise! I recently gave birth to our third child. We kept this baby a secret from damn near everyone and it has been so hard to not talk about it since starting this blog because I had so much I wanted to share but was not willing to share my secret before he was born. With that being said the next few posts will be probably pretty spaced out and will be probably completely revolving around our new little baby boy and the things I’ve been holding back that I’ve wanted to share with you all. But for now, I’m going to start with my birth story, which did not really come about the way we expected.

We found out we were pregnant in January of 2020, so no, this is not a quarantine baby. He was not planned, but absolutely, more than anything, he was and is very wanted. Upon finding out I was pregnant I got a confirmation ultrasound and then in May we found out that we were having a little baby boy who, despite being due October 2nd, was measuring for September 29th at the time. My experience with the OB I was going to was not great for the first several appointments, but another story for another time. I got a different doctor right at around 32 weeks who told me when I first met with him that he would order an ultrasound at 36/37 weeks to check on baby and his fluid levels.

37 weeks rolled around and I went for my ultrasound. After that ultrasound at my 38 week appointment he informed me that if I made it 39 weeks he would order another ultrasound for me because it appeared as though my amniotic fluid, while still in the normal range, was on the low side. This terrified me to think about him not having enough fluid and I had definitely anticipated making it to 39 weeks for another ultrasound since both of our kids had been late I pretty much knew that I would make it that far. So at 38 weeks and 5 days I had an OB appointment where they ordered another ultrasound for the next day at the office right next to the hospital. I immediately called my mom and told her because I couldn’t help but think in the back of my mind that getting induced after that ultrasound was a slight possibility. She came the next before my ultrasound, despite me feeling like maybe I was blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

Well I went to my ultrasound and I sat there, quietly waiting to see what they would say, as the ultrasound was performed. Then after she did the scan I nervously waited in the room texting Joe and waiting for the doctor to come in and give me the news, whether good or bad. She walked in and told me that I did in fact have low fluid and since I was 38 weeks and 6 days that he was “better out than in” and told me she was calling the hospital and sent me over there to get an induction. Like an idiot I hadn’t thought to ask Joe to come with me because I had thought I was just being paranoid.

So at about 9:15 AM, at a ripe 38 weeks and 6 days on the 24th of September, I called Joe and said “it’s go time” and he needed to get to the hospital because I was getting induced. He thought that I was joking at first, but then quickly realized I wasn’t and loaded our bags (that had been packed for a solid month) and the car seat into the car while I updated my mom and headed over to the hospital.

I went over to the hospital main entrance and told them what was happening and asked how to get to the maternity floor. They sent me over to the Emergency Room (weird but alright). This really nice ER lady put me in a wheelchair and rolled me on up to the maternity ward where everything just became a whirlwind around me for a while. I was placed in a room, changed into a gown and given a urine test in a matter of seconds. They came in and explained that I was going to get induced and the doctor would be there soon, asked me a series of questions, had me sign consent forms, and told me that I would need a COVID test (ouch). I then had my IV placed and was put on a clear liquid diet, and then Joseph showed up thank God.

When the doctor came in to check me he said I got a “1” Bishop(?) score, which made my cervix unfavorable at that time and decided on a course of action. He explained to me that they would be placing Cervidil (a string with medicine on the tip of it that’s placed against the cervix) to ripen my cervix, and it would remain there for 12 hours before they decided the next step. So at 11:15 AM I signed the rest of the consent forms and they placed the Cervidil. Within a few hours my contractions had started and were increasing in frequency and discomfort pretty quickly after that. Right around 3 or 4PM I started asking for things to help deal with the discomfort. I was given a blow up stool called a “CUB” that I highly suggest. I sat on that for about an hour and was able to bounce and move around while I was sitting on it to help wiggle little guy down.

By this point both Joe and I were getting pretty annoyed with unplugging my IV and monitors for me to go the bathroom every 20 minutes. And if I was a nurse I’d be having a panic attack at my heart rate disappearing every 20 minutes, but I’m not so here we are. The pain was progressively getting worse and more frequent to the point where only laying on my side and breathing helped the pain. The nurse gave me this awesome peanut ball, which I had read about prior, that is supposed to be a passive way to move baby down and prepare your body for labor, which was great since I was just laying down. Man that thing was pretty amazing.

By shift change at 7PM I was in a lot of pain already and just trying to breath through contractions and walk around the room a little bit to deal with the pain. The nurse suggested Joe apply some counter pressure to my lower back while experiencing contractions and it was actually super helpful. We went on like that walking around, laying with the peanut, and back and forth to the bathroom until 11:15 PM.

At 11:15 PM I got the Cervidil removed and got checked again by 2 of the nurses. They said I was dilated to 3 centimeters and my cervix was still very thick. So they called my doctor and let me know the course of action was to have a dose of Cytotec (a pill to continue ripening my cervix) at 12AM and another at 4AM. I took my 12AM dose and everything picked up even more to the point that I couldn’t talk through contractions at all anymore. At 1:25 AM I received my epidural.

I’ll tell you, I did not remember that numbing shot for the epidural. That was way more uncomfortable than any other part of the procedure. Thankfully Joe got to be in the room this time, much to his dismay. Anyway, that numbing shot. When they say it’s going to burn they are not freaking kidding. But he numbed it and then placed the epidural, which I could feel going along my spine, not great but totally worth it in the long run. It took longer this time than the last two for the epidural to totally numb me. About 30 minutes after I could still feel slight pain in my left hip during contractions, but it went away shortly after. Man the epidural really is great because after being up all day I finally got to take a nice little nap and was just all smiles.

I shut my eyes at around 2AM to get a little sleep after being up since 6AM the previous morning. But you best believe Joe and I made a deal before that he would get me Chik-fil-A breakfast if I had the baby before the hospital started serving breakfast. At 2:35 AM I was woken up from a dead sleep by the feeling of a gush of fluid and was convinced for a second that I just peed myself until I remembered I had a catheter in. I called in the nurses and they determined that it was indeed my water that had broken and wrapped me up in those hospital pad things they put on the beds. If you’ve been you probably know what I’m talking about, but they’re like doggy pee pads that they put on the bed. My water had never broken. on its own so this really threw Joe and I for a bit of a loop. The nurse called the doctor again to let him know the newest labor chronicles and he decided that I would only get my second dose of Cytotec at 4 if I wasn’t dilated past a 4 by the time I was due for the second dose. Until then, we just kept trucking on with the epidural starting to help less and less at that point.

Right around 3:20 AM I started feeling a lot of pressure so I called the nurses back in again (I’m needy). I was checked by two separate nurses again who determined I was dilated to 9.5 centimeters with a “oh yeah that’s a head”. By 3:45 there was an almost unbearable amount of pressure and I could feel my body pushing on its own. The nurses were all rushing around preparing the room for baby and I, and I was informed that the doctor was on his way. As they were preparing I heard them talking about how another woman was also about ready to deliver so they were hoping the doctor would get there soon.

The doctor arrived at around 3:55 and my body was full on pushing without me trying. He gowned up and got the bed set up and everyone got into position. He put some olive oil to help the baby slide out, which seemed weird but also genius. It was something different for me and I’m very grateful for that little bit of olive oil. After that I went off pushing with contractions. I’ll be honest my first push was super lame as I was trying to remember how to push. With two additional pushes and a little more olive oil there was a head and I felt this immense amount of relief in my belly as he made his way out. I remember them telling me not to push while his head was halfway out because I wasn’t contracting and me just yelling “I’M NOT PUSHING!”. One final push and his shoulders were out and baby Joseph entered the world as I got another huge feeling of relief in my belly and throughout my body.

They put him on my chest and my first words upon seeing him will forever be “he smells like a mushroom”. Poor kid. With him laying on my chest I felt incredibly happy and relieved to have him in my arms safe and sound. I couldn’t stop looking at him, my eyes bouncing between big Joseph and little Joseph.

The doctor stitched me up, one little stitch in what he described as “just a flesh wound”, all the while talking to Joe. Apparently Joe and him had an entire conversation about how incredible I did and how easy of a patient I was. The easiest he’s ever had. He told Joe that what I did in that delivery room just doesn’t happen and I was made for having babies. (Go me.) It was honestly really nice to hear all the nurses and the doctor say how good I was at giving brith and that I had excellent control during my labor with my contractions and during delivery.

What a wonderful feeling to hold baby boy in my arms at 39 weeks pregnant, 4:04 AM the 25th of September, weighing in at 7 pounds 1 ounce and 20 inches long. My smallest but longest baby. And I got to hold my baby, early, with the peace of mind that I had done it once again. My tiny little peanut was here, and he was safe, thankfully.

Special shout out to my husband Joseph for being by my side. Not only that but for being so incredibly supportive. You did so much better supporting me this time and I appreciate everything you did in that delivery room. You helped me get through so much and really threw yourself into being a support person this time and I will never, ever forget that. I love you very much Joseph, I’m so thankful for you and wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by my side this time. You’re amazing.

• 

A lot of mothers fear putting their kids into daycare. I am no exception to the rule and never was. I mean with all the horror stories you hear about at home and large facility daycares alike can you blame us? It is our job to have our children’s best interest and safety in mind, but also a lot of us have to, or want to, work. How are we as mothers supposed to place all our trust and our children’s care into someone else’s hands, typically a stranger?

I had a lot of really good childcare experiences with the kids, all stemming from Mark’s first caretaker I guess is the word. I’m not going to use any names out of respect for her privacy, but I can not thank her enough. Her and her family truly made us feel like family. Before we even started dropping him off she made sure we met with them and got to ask questions and talk before his first day. She was phenomenal with Mark and offered to help care for him when we had no other options. She was tender and caring and had such a lovely bond with Mark. I will forever be grateful for her kids and her relationship with Mark being my introduction to the world of childcare. If she is reading this, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.

After several months of me being spoiled with this amazing family, I think Mark was 8 or 9 months old, we got into the CDC on base. It got off to a little bit of a rocky start. Within the first week Mark got Hand, Foot, and Mouth and had the worst diaper rash he had ever gotten. I had not anticipated him getting so sick so quickly and was frustrated, until I was reassured that this had happened to pretty much everyone’s kids upon starting daycare. After that it started to get better minus this one infant room teacher I didn’t like because she was awkward, but was harmless. Mark was thriving and moved up to pretoddlers where he had the MOST AMAZING teacher. Everything you could want for your kid. She is another person who really just made me feel at home and safe with my son in her care. She always made sure to ask me how I was, and even more so after I got pregnant with Rose. One day after Rose was born I got a cold and was looking forward to having a day without Mark to recover, when I got the call that he was sick. I broke down into tears and even with the kids rushing around she took a moment to make sure I was ok and called someone for me to talk to, which I needed.

At this point it was time for Rose to start daycare and the CDC was our obvious choice. As if I hadn’t been blessed enough, Rose got the best infant class teachers ever. Honestly, such wonderful women and I wish they got to see Rose grow up. Aside from a biting fiasco, Rose’s time at the CDC was great. There was however, one child that bit everyone in the class multiple times and I would have liked to punt him down a hallway because he repeatedly hurt my baby. It had to be like the 4th or 5th time she had gotten bit and I got a call at work, again. At that point I was on the verge of angry tears and going to lose it. I drove from Boston to Hanscom in record time just telling my boss I had to go. When I got there I stormed in trying my hardest not to lose it as I walked past the front desk. They asked me what I was doing and all I could say to keep from losing it was “picking up my kid”. I wasn’t going to let her get bit again, and when I got to the room and broke down her teachers consoled me and were also genuinely upset about the situation. As I walked out, Rose in arms, I heard the director on the phone with the kids parents. Thankfully shortly after that, the spawn of Satan was moved to a different class and things went back to normal. Don’t judge me for hating this small child, he truly sucked. He laughed when he bit people like a psycho, because he knew it was wrong. He was horrible.

while Rose was only in that one classroom, Mark moved up to toddlers, where he started teaching his classmates some colorful language. (Oops.) Now toddlers are on the other side of the building and for whatever reason, that terrified me. But again, Mark was blessed with amazing teachers who built such an incredible bond with him. Honestly, not a bad one in the entire bunch of toddler teachers. All the toddler teachers he was around really excelled at their job and it was great. And then we moved. First of all, those were some of the most difficult goodbyes for me, to have to say goodbye to all these wonderful women who had so easily eased my daycare fears. But then after we moved, it all went downhill, and fast.

I’m not holding back on this and I have a lot to say so buckle up.

We moved to Cape May, NJ and in what I thought was a no-brainer, chose the CDC there for the kids daycare. It immediately sucked. The director from the moment I met her had a nasty attitude and was, in general, a distasteful human. Then, they gave us a hard time about Mark being lactose intolerant and said we had to get him enrolled in the special needs program before he could start. This was ridiculous to me because, it’s lactose intolerance, definitely not a valid reason to be in the special needs program, especially when he hadn’t to be previously.

We were already off to a rough start and then they told us that we would be paying several hundred dollars more a month than we paid in Boston despite getting paid less than half what we were. Now I brought this up and was greeted with nothing but attitude and a “apply for subsidy then”. Honestly lady, fuck off. Somehow it just kept getting worse, but we didn’t have any other options as Cape May does not pay you enough and did not have any affordable options that we could find that worked with our ridiculous schedules. ( But that’s a whole other story.) So our kids started at the CDC and shortly after my worst nightmare came to life.

I partially blame myself for the events that followed because I still enrolled them despite the path lined with red flags and a flashing neon sign in my head reading “DON’T DO IT”. But like an idiot in a horror movie, I still enrolled them out of necessity. In August of 2019, I was in Virginia for a school when I got a call and photo from Joseph that turned my world upside down. He told me that Mark “tripped and hit” his head on a cinderblock wall at daycare. The photo absolutely terrified me. My sweet baby, hours after the incident, still had a giant bruised lump on his head. I immediately jumped into mama bear mode and called my command and contacted the daycare. My command was appalled and the daycare director told me she watched the tapes and he just tripped. Again, fuck off lady, there’s no way this child that’s been walking steadily for 2.5 years trips into a cinderblock wall, especially not that hard. Not to mention how sketchy his teachers and the assistant director started acting after the incident.

In the following week, the director continued telling my husband that he was a bad father because our children wore the same socks two days in a row. Now if you have kids you know that some days it’s just not worth the fight to try and get toddlers to take off their “favorite” socks, especially when the kids are clean. She also had the audacity to claim neglect saying that Rose’s hair was “matted to her head”. False. Literally anyone who spends any time with my kids can assure you that her hair has never been matted to her head. I don’t take too kindly to people accusing my husband and I of not taking care of our children. She wanted attitude and she sure got it.

Then the week after that, after already thinking I had lived out my worst fear, we got another call that Mark hit his head again, but he was “fine”. Now I don’t know where they learned to tell kids were fine because they were on crack on this one. Joseph and I left work and picked him up and it was horrifying. A bump, bruise, and cut, just as bad as the first, in the exact same spot. He was very disoriented and not acting himself at all so we rushed him to the emergency room where the doctor told us he had a concussion and likely had a concussion two weeks prior as well. Livid doesn’t even begin to explain how I was feeling. Luckily, my command let me take some time so I was at home with the kids for a few weeks instead of taking them into one of the deepest rings of Hell.

After the second incident Child Protective Services was contacted from our end to investigate the CDC. The daycare retaliated and told CPS we were neglecting our kids. The base also opened an investigation against us. They had a woman call us in to her office who proceeded to defend the CDC and accuse my husband of being unfit. CPS came to our house, investigated twice for the two separate cases, and told us we obviously take care of our kids and this call was ridiculous. In the meantime, CPS and TRACEN Cape May told us that the CDC had done nothing wrong despite our child having two concussions and various other wounds on both of our kids.

At this point, I obviously didn’t trust the CDC with my children’s well being and looked into several options in Cape May County. Finally, we landed on a daycare within a mile of our house that had just opened. We paid for two daycares for two weeks because we didn’t want them at the CDC for any longer than they had to be, but we had already paid for the month. We got our new daycare set up with childcare subsidy and we were ready to roll. And when the CDC told me that they had a check for us for money we were getting refunded because subsidy had just gone through, they mailed it because neither of us wanted to deal with the other and thank God because I don’t think I could have kept it together at that point.

Their new daycare was an absolute Godsend after the Hell we went through at the CDC. It took a few weeks to trust them a little bit, but they gave us peace of mind. Lil Prodigy 2 eased my worries and treated our kids wonderfully, despite Mark now being terrified of being at daycare. He screamed pretty much every morning before we left the house, and then again getting out of the car, and was always clinging to us so we wouldn’t leave. For the short time we had the pleasure of being there, it was almost a little like being back at the Hanscom CDC again. I thank them for helping me gain some trust back by not being disgusting human beings.

This is not meant to scare anyone, I just want to be blatantly honest about how these terrors you hear can quickly become reality. I saw all the horror stories but thought it wouldn’t happen to us because we had such good experiences. But no one can truly be 100% sure until it doesn’t ever happen to you. I would have never been able to forgive myself if I lost Mark due to their negligence. I will continue to fight this cause and encourage others not to use this daycare until my dying breath. For the other families I know of who had issues (quite a few) and those who I’m sure have had issues since, I hope your issues are resolved and you get/got closure, because we sure as Hell didn’t. They got away with these terrible events and it’s not right.

It only takes one bad egg for you to lose your child to someone’s negligence, and we know who the bad egg at that CDC is. We had a lot of wonderful experiences, but in the end, the one absolutely terrifying and heart-wrenching experience has ruined it for us, potentially for life. Heed your guts warning, and mine, and do your research. Follow your gut, read your reviews, and thoroughly research your daycares before enrolling your kids, because it can go bad quick, even if you think it will never be you. Keep those babies safe and I will keep fighting this fight for all of us.

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When I became a mother I developed this set of rules for people that wanted to deal with them. I’d like to believe all moms have a set of rules and I’m not just a psycho, but who knows. As I’ve grown and changed, and so have my kids and family dynamic, the list gets longer. The more we change as a family, as individuals, and as the world changes, the more rules I add to the list to accommodate. It’s ever changing but some things have always stayed the same.

Unfortunately, I’m extremely non-confrontational and I do notice that people take advantage of that. I don’t stick up for myself and unless it’s a safety issue, I’ll be honest, I usually don’t have the balls to enforce my list of rules. It gets really stressful for me because I’m a people pleaser, I’m not confrontational despite my temper, and even though most everyone knows the rules, they don’t listen to them because they know I won’t say anything to them. This makes for me feeling constantly undermined as a parent, which is frankly, really fucking disrespectful to me.

These rules I have aren’t anything crazy in my opinion, but still, no one cares. Mark is lactose intolerant so we greatly limit his dairy intake, which there are definitely people who are really respectful of that, others sometimes not so much. Mark also has acid reflux, since he was a baby, and projectile vomits when he drinks juices, so he isn’t allowed to have juice or lemonade (unless you’re cleaning up the puke and taking care of the ouchy stomach). Joseph and I don’t even drink soda except for a couple of times a year, and it’s usually ginger ale, so I don’t want my kids drinking soda either. It’s pretty strictly water and milk. They eat enough snacks and sugar with Joseph and I so I LOATHE when people give them sweets, unless they asked permission and I said yes. But again, I’m not confrontational so I usually will say yes because I don’t want to fight with anyone so just please try not to put me in that situation. And I don’t want people overfeeding my kids or giving them a different meal when they won’t eat what they’re given.

Then I have some rules that are just common decency that still, no one gives a shit about. You don’t kiss people’s babies or small children. You just don’t do it, especially now, I don’t what underlying conditions you have or where you’ve been. This applies to family and friends as well, if you didn’t make the baby and you don’t live with it, keep your lips to yourself. There are too many children that catch things and die because of the mindless act of kissing them (this includes kissing head, feet, and hands as well because you never know where there’s a cut and babies put their hands and feet in their mouth). JUST DON’T KISS PEOPLE’S KIDS!

Going along with that, my children don’t, and shouldn’t, have to hug anyone if they aren’t comfortable or don’t want to. This isn’t to say that they don’t like you, they may just not want to hug you and that’s fine. I don’t care if Christ himself wanted a hug. If my children don’t want to hug you, respect that and kick rocks. It’s about them having a say in their own bodies. Something not enough people understand or respect. If they want to give you a hug on Tuesday morning and by Tuesday afternoon they’re more comfortable with a high five, respect that. They are people too and get a say in their bodies.

If you are playing with my kids and they are crying or saying “No”, that means STOP! It doesn’t mean that they need to suck it up or get over it. It means that they are uncomfortable and don’t want to play so knock it off. Again, teaching my children they have control over their own bodies. If you continue even when they’re not comfortable you are telling them that their thoughts and feelings don’t matter. If it’s no longer fun for them, then stop.

While Joseph and I believe that these are reasonable. Actually, let me not speak for Joseph on this one. While I believe that these are reasonable guidelines and rules, every single one of them has been ignored far more than once. I mean when you know you can get away with it and I won’t confront you why would you just follow them on your own? It’s not like it’s human decency.

Every time one of my rules is broken I feel less and less respect from the people that break them. I feel invalidated. If you don’t respect the rules I’ve set forth for my kids, you don’t respect me, and you certainly don’t respect my parental authority. I’ve flown off the handle at Joe and cried more times than I can count about being disrespected, because I don’t feel like I can actually speak up to the people that disrespected me about it.

And for anyone that feels targeted by this, who knows me or is just relating this to their own relationships, 1. It’s probably written because of you, or people like you and 2. Me writing this is not trying to take the easy way out, it’s the only way I know how to articulate this without having a panic attack about saying it to anyone in particular. Just because I will not say anything in the moment, or after, does not mean it is right or that it doesn’t bother me when you don’t follow my guidelines. It bothers me more than anyone will ever know and I am tired of not being respected as an adult and a parent. I appreciate everyone who has ever helped us out or continues to help us, but I’d also like you to not take advantage of me not being confrontational.

Moral of the story, follow a parents rules for dealing with their kids. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s stupid or unreasonable, they aren’t your kids and it’s common decency, even if they don’t enforce it with you.

Much love, your friendly motherhood introvert.

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I was convinced going in to get induced with Mark that I was NOT, under any circumstances, getting an epidural. They had talked to me prior about a shot in the butt and laughing gas as other, temporary, pain solutions. I was fully mentally committed before the Pitocin started that I was not getting the epidural. The reason was not because I was trying to be one of those birth warrior badass moms who does it unmedicated. Which, side note, unmedicated and natural are not the same thing. Unmedicated is self explanatory and “natural” is any birth that a baby comes out of your vagina, and I’m tired of people not knowing the difference. Hard concept to grasp apparently for some people who are those badass warrior moms that do it without medication.

Anyway, let me back off my tangent and get back on track.

I didn’t want to get an epidural with Mark because the thought of it terrified me. The mere thought of them putting anything anywhere near my spine made my skin crawl and my stomach churn something fierce. It also severely freaked out Joe. To this day he still gets that weird “can’t grip anything” feeling if I bring it up, and he wasn’t even in the room either time that I got it. Not that it matters what Joe thinks about epidurals because he’s not pushing out his children’s giant bodies, but I digress.

So I got induced with Mark and it was way more painful than Rose. Definitely was not the experience I was expecting and more than I bargained for. I was in so much pain and cussing up and down at Joe. (I was sweet as pie when the nurses came in though don’t you worry.) I was giving Joe the typical “you did this to me” monologue and all that. He likes to tell me that at one point he was terrified that I wasn’t making it out of that delivery room, so obviously I was not taking it well.

Well I decided to get the shot in the butt to help me out a little. It helped me for about all of 20 minutes before I could feel it wearing off again. Couldn’t even tell you what the name of this shot is called if you wanted to know, I think it started with an “N”. Anyway, so I got this shot and they told me some time frame that sounded reasonable before I could get another one. A few hours or something. I made it what felt like days with just this shot, despite it not doing anything for me. It was probably only realistically like an hour or two, but we’ll pretend it was longer so I feel less like a bitch.

After what felt like days, I nervously asked the nurse if I could please please please have the epidural. They brought in the anesthesiologist a few minutes later, kicked Joe out, and we got started. For the worry that I had, it wasn’t that bad at all. The worst part about getting the epidural is having contractions the entire time it’s getting put in. (And yes, I have back pain now, but I’m fairly sure it’s more from the weight of my boobs and carrying children than the epidural.) As soon as that epidural gets placed I got from Satan’s spawn screaming at Joe “you did this!” to “you’re so pretty, I love you”. Literally, that’s exactly what happens, my exact words.

Both times I can remember being curled up into this little ball contracting while they stabbed me in the spine to get this thing placed. With Mark I hadn’t been dilating for hours until I got the epidural. With Rose I labored at home so as soon as I got to the hospital at 4 centimeters and was confirmed I was staying, I was all “fuck yeah let’s get these meds broski”.

After I got the epidural with Mark, the whole mood of the room shifted. I couldn’t feel a damn thing for the rest of my labor and delivery, and boy was it great. I was completely numb for pushing too, but it still only took an hour. My nurse afterwards referred to me as “The Patron Saint of Pushing”, which made me feel really good despite not being able to feel anything during it.

With Rose I got to the hospital, got checked, got wheeled to my room, and immediately got my epidural placed. After laboring at home for hours, like several hours, it was such an amazing relief. Then, it started making me feel nauseous and dizzy so I had to get medication to help out with that. I went on painlessly through labor for hours. I got the meds around 5AM and right around 11:45/12 they started to wear off, right as I got to a ripe 9 centimeters. By pushing time (12:05PM), I had no more meds and was doing the last bit of labor and delivery getting to feel every single twinge and ache. How lovely to get to feel the “Ring of Fire”, which helped me understand why it’s called that.

I had obviously not felt any of my pushing with Mark, so being able to feel at that point came as a complete shock to me. Now, I looked at that bag of medication and there was nothing in there, not a drop, bone dry, completely empty, the whole life squeezed out of it. However, I’ve had people tell me that the nurses probably just stopped my meds so that I would be able to feel when pushing. At the time I wanted to choke someone, anyone, for not giving me more meds because I had exactly zero desire to feel that baby making its entrance. Looking back now though, it was really a great, and different, experience being able to feel pushing and is probably why I tear as bad the second time around.

My overall lesson learned about epidurals has been that there’s no shame or reason to be afraid to get one. The epidurals were so helpful and I honestly don’t know if I would have dilated any further with Mark without one. Props to moms who are warriors and have unmedicated births, and props to moms who do what they need to do to get a happy, healthy baby into their arms, natural or c-section. It is absolutely amazing that we as mothers have the option to have a damn near pain-free birth. I’m extremely grateful that I didn’t have to feel the full labor or pushing with Mark, and equally grateful that I didn’t feel the full labor but did feel pushing with Rose.

If medicated is what you want, but epidurals freak you out, I’m here to tell you, just do it. Do whatever you want or need to do to get through your labor, because it’s your labor/birth and no one else’s. No one else knows what you need or want except you. Don’t let your partner, friends, family, nurses, or anyone else (yourself), force you into a direction you don’t want to take for fear of the decision or the guilt anyone might instill in you (unless it’s a safety issue). Happy birthing mama’s and may you all have happy, healthy babies no matter what way they come.

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I have absolutely terrible separation anxiety when it comes to my kids. Quite frankly, it sucks. I don’t want to feel guilty leaving them for me time, or have panic attacks in the supermarket worrying about if they’re ok. Everyone needs a break occasionally to collect themselves, practice self-care, and just generally do something for themselves. I know that I also need to do that, but I struggle with it so much. The second I step out of the house for anything other than work, I have a panic attack. Particularly if Joseph and I are going somewhere together without the kids.

I’m not even exaggerating, it’s literally the second I step out of the house. My mom can attest to that. A few weeks ago she was visiting and Joseph and I went to Rita’s while she watched the kids and before we even got out of the driveway I asked her to send me pictures of the kids. And it’s not that I don’t trust my mom to watch the kids, which I’m sure occasionally is how she feels. I just start playing out every possible worst case scenario in my head when I leave.

I walk out of the house and start thinking about what if someone breaks in while we’re gone, or the kids fall and hit their head. What happens if I’m in the middle of grocery shopping and my kid breaks their leg? I run through all the scenarios every single time. And I try not to. Obviously nothing has happened to them while I’ve been gone yet, but I can’t help but panic.

I haven’t spent more than an hour without my kids, aside from work, more than one time. Joseph and I went on a cruise in February 2019, and that was the only time I’ve been away from them for something even resembling self-care. I’ve gone to a school for work which was two weeks, but even then they drove all the way down to see me because I couldn’t take it anymore. I just can’t bring myself to take time away from them for myself, and it’s exhausting sometimes.

I really can’t pinpoint the exact reason I feel this way. I feel like maybe there’s just a combination of a lot of things that have put me into this spot. Between the experience Mark had at the daycare when we first moved here, the state of the world, mom guilt, or just the way I’m built, I think I have a reasonable explanation for feeling this way, but sometimes I feel bad like I’m being excessive. It’s really hard for me to justify taking time for myself the longer that I push it off also. The longer it’s on the back burner the more I think “well I’ve done it without a break this long I can just keep going”.

Joseph gets some breaks though. And I know that it’s by my own fault that I don’t get breaks, but it still really frustrates me that he gets to take a break. Honestly, it’s not fair of me to get irritated with it though because he’s a stay at home parent and he deserves a break too. I’m glad that he gets those occasional moments away for himself whether it be golfing, grocery shopping, going to get coffee, or just other little things to do. He needs it. It just gets to me that I need it too, but I can’t just go out and relax. I can’t just sneak away and worry about myself, by fault of my own.

Not getting a break makes me very on edge sometimes. And that makes me feel even worse, because then I lose my patience with the kids, and with Joe. No matter what I do I feel guilty, and like a bad mom. No matter what time I try to take for myself, I feel wrong, I go through the worst case scenario of me not being there for them. I honestly even do it for the very few solitary moments that I take to do things around the house, or write this blog. I worry about them getting hurt or something happening to them while I’m distracted, even though I know Joseph is with them.

One day I hope that I can get myself into a spot where I don’t constantly worry about everything. A spot where I can go to the grocery store without worrying about how they’re doing or if they’re ok. I’d love to go on an actual date with my husband instead of only being able to bear the 30-45 minutes it takes us to drive and get ice cream and come home. I hope one day, and one day soon, I can learn to let go a little and give myself the break I need, for my mental health and for my family. They deserve a refreshed, fully focused mama/wife, instead of a ball of stress, guilt, and panic. It’s an everyday struggle and I hope soon I can get there.

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