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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Time to talk potty training. I started potty training Mark when he was just a little over a year old. I didn’t know that there were cues you were supposed to look for to see if they’re ready so I just thought it was time. I knew very little about it at all actually. I didn’t even do very much research on it. I just decided to wing it and give it a shot in an effort to have him potty trained before Rose made her appearance. I was starting the process completely alone though, no research, no Joe, no help at all just going for it.
Joe was gone the majority of the time I was potty training Mark. The time that he was home it was hard for him to keep up with the program. It’s hard to come into the middle of a routine when you have your own and just catch on to what’s happening. Potty training was stressful for all of us and it got overwhelming for him to try and potty train when he wasn’t home when it started. I had to explain to him what we were doing or trying and it just didn’t really help him understand at all.
From what I hear, it took Joseph a long time to get potty trained, and boys tend to be more difficult anyway. I did not know this going into it, so I had unreasonably high expectations for a one year old to master the potty in a few months time. I thought it would be a year tops and he would be fully potty trained by two. I was very, very wrong. Mark actually only recently got potty trained shortly before his fourth birthday. He was fully potty trained with no accidents right around 3.5, give or take a few months. So that puts us at a grand total of about 2.5 years of potty training, again, give or take a few months.
Up until the last few months, it was a trial and error of me trying to figure it out by myself. Learning new things. Trying new ways to encourage him, and losing my patience a lot. By the end we were taking him to the bathroom every 5-10 minutes. We would have timers set and no matter what we were doing, Mark was going to the bathroom when that 5 minutes was up. I mean this was our last resort. We had tried just letting him not wear a pull up, which just led us to messes constantly on the floor. The same goes for just trying to cut ties with the pull ups and put him straight into big boy underwear. I’d try giving stickers for him to put on his potty, stickers for him, and other small rewards to no avail, so the timer was our last chance. At this point it was getting increasingly stressful for all three of us, but we were so close to the end and this wasn’t something we could just give up on at 3 years old. Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel and Mark had finally started to get the hang of going on his own.
We let him pick out his own underwear, because we were super proud. But, again, being naive I had thought “that’s it! We did it! It’s done!”, and tried to get back into a more normal routine. Silly mommy. We had many accidents following. Honestly, not all were accidents though. If Mark got sent to time out, or sent to nap time, pretty much anything he didn’t want to do, he went in his pants. It didn’t matter if he had literally just gone to the bathroom before he went to his room. This kid was really pooping his pants out of spite. I know you’re all probably thinking I’m crazy, but it wasn’t hard to tell when he genuinely had an accident and when he was just doing it out of retaliation. I refused to wash poopy underwear when he did it on purpose. Why? Because I’m petty. I can not even tell you how many pairs of his “cool” underwear went in the trash or how many sheets, blankets, and toys I washed because of his “accidents”.
Don’t get me wrong he did have a lot of actual, genuine accidents. We always sat him down and talked with him when he had an accident. We reestablished the proper place to go potty, cleaned him up, and got him all set to go again. Like I said though, it was really easy to tell when it was truly accidental and when he was doing it on purpose though. We had so many talks I tell you. So many talks where I came down to his level, sat on his bedroom floor and talked about not peeing his pants on purpose. At one point he had to clean it up himself and you could see he understood how frustrating it was. So much laundry. So many paper towels.
He also went through a phase where if he did have an accident he would hide it at all costs. We kept trying to encourage him to tell us if he had an accident because we would rather him tell us the truth and let us help clean him up than for him to hide it and lie about it. He would come out of his room after a nap in a completely different outfit than he went in with. He would just creep around his room going through his drawers and hiding his dirty clothes. This made for a really fun game for me of playing hide and seek with piss soaked pants. He also would poop in his pants and then use the bathroom towels and his hands to clean himself up. He mastered quietly washing his hands in his bathroom. Much to my surprise, I’d find shitty towels, walls, and pants around the house in hiding spots. It was great.
Lately (knock on wood) he’s been doing really well though. I don’t find poop anymore and there’s no more hiding pee pants. He very rarely even has an accident anymore. Also, he stopped using an excessive amount of toilet paper (the whole roll), and is wiping himself now. We are FINALLY completely wrapped up on potty training Mark, just in time for Rose to really get started.
Learning from my mistakes, I got Rose a potty when she turned one but was waiting on the cues. We have never tried to push her into potty training before she was ready. We would just leave the little potty out if she decided to get acquainted with the idea. When we first got it she was sitting on it a lot getting associated with it, but we didn’t push it at all. As a matter of fact, Rose has taken it into her own hands.
We got a special toilet seat for the bathroom toilet, along with the plastic potty, and a step stool. Overnight Rose became obsessed with the potty. She wants to spend all her time on the toilet or eating, there’s no in between. I’m not exaggerating, she is like the living example of “shit or get off the pot”. I mean, I guess it’s a good thing she’s taken it into her own hands because 1. we know she’s ready and 2. it’s less stressful for her. We have a long way to go still with her though.
So far what I’ve learned from Rose is to always check her pull up for poop before she decides to take it off and sit on the toilet. She likes to poop and then immediately decide she needs to be on the potty. Not the greatest cleaning smeared poop off the toilet seat and her. Also, I’m learning that she needs instruction on how much toilet paper to use. She uses an excessive amount and also thinks you just go into the potty and wipe even if you aren’t using the bathroom. Thankfully we aren’t going the toilet paper shortage of 2020 anymore.
Hopefully in the time it takes for Rose to get potty trained I get more patient and learn even more. Also, I hope Mark starts getting more pee in the toilet than on the seat or the floor, because it’s getting old cleaning the bathroom two or more times a day.
I continue to learn every day and now have potty training both genders under my belt. I look forward to the light at the end of the tunnel, and continuing to improve my teaching methods to tailor to the kids more specifically. It’s a long road ahead of us still and I’m sure I’ll have a lot of stories and updates on the serial pottier. And to any one out there potty training, patience is key, all kids are different, you will get there eventually. And you will get used to the word “potty” and use it around adults too. Most importantly, GOOD LUCK!
As we know, toddlers gradually get more independent. They start wanting less help and want to do more things for themselves. Which as a mother, the thought of that has always been very bittersweet for me. I simultaneously love catering to my little gremlins and them needing me for every little thing, and also thinking “man could you just do this yourself please I need a break”. When it actually starts happening its a very nerve-wracking experience. Obviously our kids have to start doing things themselves at some point, and we all want our kids to grow into capable adults so we let them do things alone, but it gave me this haunting sense of replacement.
With Mark his independence came very slowly, A little at a time he would want to try and do something for himself. It would be something new that he would try and master every month or two. It was nice getting to ease into that change. It would just be like one day he would want to pick his own shirt, then weeks later he would work on getting himself dressed, and so on and so forth. It was never learning to do two things at once. He always wanted to master the one thing he was learning to do along before he tried something else. By the time he was 2 and Rose was born he was doing a whole lot by himself and insisting on helping me with the baby. It obviously takes longer to get places, and do things once they start doing them without help, but the goal is to teach your children to be pretty self reliant. Teach them that as a parent, I’m always standing right here to help you, but you know you can do it on your own.
Rose’s independence didn’t come gradually. We are in the midst of dealing with that right now. Instead of the nice steady easing into it, her sense of independence came in like a tidal wave crashing right on our heads. This week to be exact. It was just like an overnight thing that she suddenly just wanted to do everything on her own. At the beginning of this week she just decided she wanted not a crumb of help from Joseph or I, and she was going to master it all on her own. I’m going to attribute her new found sense of independence to always seeing Mark get to do so many things on his own. I don’t know if that’s actually what happened, but that’s what I’m going with.
In the blink of an eye we went from ushering her around and holding her hand to do everything to watching her conquer the world. This week alone she doesn’t want help getting in or out of the car, she HAS to turn the lights on herself, she picks her own clothes, tries to wash her own hair, tried to teach herself to swim (obviously we intervened on this one), helped me cook once, wants to help with dishes, unloads the groceries with me (and puts them away), and so much more. If we try and help her she yells at us and will do whatever it is, again. For example, if we walk in the house and turn the lights on she will yell and then get up on the couch, turn the lights off (or demand we do), and then turn them back on. And she is very feisty about it.
When they start doing things slowly, it’s easy to handle. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, it’s easier to grasp that you’re coming into the “not needed” territory. But the way Rose decided to take it on all at once, whew, we are exhausted. She has us running all over the house constantly trying to make sure she’s learning correctly and being safe with what she’s teaching herself. It’s just a constant blur of movement, and let me tell you I’m not usually home, but when I am it’s absolutely exhausting. Joseph and I are beat with chasing her around. Mark gave us this false sense of security that she too would gradually progress, and boy she is the polar opposite.
We decided to start potty training with Rose because she seemed ready. Apparently that little bit of teaching, coupled with Mark’s independence, opened up Pandora’s box. But there will be more on that another time.
These days I’m just trying to figure out where my two little babies went. I’ve been looking at throwback pictures of them and wondering how they got to this point so quickly. Seeing pictures of them when they were so tiny and helpless. They depended on us for everything and we just thought “man I wish they could do this on their own”. Now I see those pictures and think about how I wish I had a little bit more of that time back. Now we have two very independent mini teenagers and it’s so incredibly bittersweet. I’m glad that they are doing well learning to do things on their own, and that they’re self-reliant, but I wish time would just slow down a little so they could need me more again. I miss my little babies needing me for everything. But I’ll continue to teach them how to depend on themselves, believe in themselves, and be here to kiss away the tears and embrace the snuggles that they still give me. And today I’ll glow in the fact that I taught my babies that they can do anything they set their mind too.
