Mommy Needs A Hug

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.

• 

Let me tell you, payback is a bitch. When I was a kid I was an extremely picky eater. Still am, honestly. I don’t eat a lot of meat, mushrooms make me gag unless they’re on something, and I’m more than content with just chicken (not reheated) and rice. I love cooking, I’m pretty good at it and can’t wait to share it with the kids and teach them, but I’m picky. I like to cook more for other people than myself because of my limited palette. I can vividly remember sitting at various people’s kitchen tables for hours until everyone just got annoyed and let me go. Apparently my eating habits were sweet revenge for my mom’s picky eating as a kid, and my children weren’t going to miss the chance to do the same to me.

Now, Mark has always had issues with eating, starting with his reflux. Despite throwing up his bottles, he still ate pretty well so I couldn’t have predicted what was coming down the road. I started trying solids with him at 6 months old, with baby food. He would only eat the mango baby food (and blueberry, but it gave him a weird rash so I didn’t let him eat that anymore). Then, when he moved out of the baby food phase I made him try a lot of things so it seemed like he was eating pretty well. But his regular meals weren’t a very diverse selection. He stuck to cereal bars, chicken tenders, and potato products (unfortunately for us, because he had issues with choking on mashed potatoes). I can’t remember the moment it clicked, but (at home at least) he ate barely any fruits or vegetables. Once Rose was born, it only got worse.

After Rose was born I noticed that he wouldn’t even try anything new anymore. I chocked it up to a little toddler rebellion against having a new sister, but he loved her and it didn’t change at all as he got older. There were days where I would break down in tears because he wasn’t eating. He was already a very slim child, probably due to his height, so I started to worry that he wouldn’t meet his weight milestones, but he somehow always did.

Fast forward to now and he is so extremely picky. He rarely eats more than half a meal, including the things that we KNOW he really likes. He will skip entire meals and then just snack all day. It’s so frustrating to put a bowl of spaghetti in front of this kid and watch him make a disgusted face like I gave him a bowl of dirt. It breaks my heart making meals centered around what Mark likes to eat and watch him not take a single bite. I thought for a while it was just because I cooked it, which obviously really hurt my feelings, but he does the same with takeout or food that Joseph makes as well.

I’ve been trying to come up with ways to get him to eat with a few small successes. One day I turned small pieces of spinach and egg into a makeshift “egg sandwich bite” and that worked. My methods don’t usually work more than twice though, frequently not even working a second time. I’ve tried bribing him to eat vegetables with occasional success, but that doesn’t last either. We’ve tried the age old “sit here until it’s gone”, but I’m living proof that for a stubborn kid that never works. Finally, most days we just give up and come to terms he’ll eat when he’s hungry. He doesn’t have to eat it, but if he doesn’t he doesn’t get any other snacks anymore. We leave out his meal for a while after meals and if he gets hungry he eats it. If not, then he doesn’t have to, because no amount of coercing is going to make him eat it. That works better than anything else, for all of us. It helps us stress less about it and Mark stresses less at meals thinking he’ll be forced to eat what’s on his plate. He’s still growing just fine, he still eats, and he’s just as active as ever. It’s still so irritating, but if he’s healthy and happy that’s all I can ask for. Maybe one day he’ll grow out of it, but until then, at least he occasionally tries new foods and he eats.

Now the other one, Rose. This little girl has always had the best appetite. The girl can eat something fierce. She tries everything. Joe gave her seafood, steak, pork, anything he has and she’s always tried it. She is the complete opposite side of the spectrum to Mark. She loves fruits and vegetables, thrives on salad, and doesn’t really like bread at all. Well, she did.

As of late, Rose has been getting slightly pickier and I’m just hoping it never reaches the level that Mark is at. She still eats all her veggies and she loves tomatoes and cheese more than anyone I’ve ever met. She eats an entire container of grapes before they even make it into the fridge after shopping. Recently Rose picked up eating bread and pasta, and kind of fixates on it. She says “I’m hungry” more than she says anything else she knows how to say. However, she doesn’t eat turkey, ham, or steak (probably my fault), and she has days where she’ll sit at the table through a whole meal and not eat a single crumb. She does snack a lot so I’m not worried about her eating, but it’s definitely not great watching her eat, and then immediately get up and ask for a snack with an “I’M HUNGRY”. (Yes she yells it, she’s very passionate about her food.)

Kids will eat when they’re hungry and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. I’d rather my kids have a healthy relationship with food because I didn’t constantly force them to eat things they didn’t want. The sooner we can all come to terms with a picky eater being a picky eater and just let them be, the easier and less stressful life will be. When it comes to your own picky eaters, may the odds be in your favor, your hopes be high, and your patience be steel.

• 

I hate birth control. There I said it. People always say how great it is and it regulated their periods or they don’t get periods at all. I hate it. It is literally my worst enemy. I started birth control at 19 years old after Joseph and I started dating and every day following I was a raging bitch. Granted, I’m a bitch to start with, but it definitely doesn’t help.

I’ve had the girl talk with probably dozens of females in my life about birth control. I had never heard any bad stories about it. I had always heard these great stories about how it helped people so much. It made their periods lighter, non existent, or at the least helped with cramps. So when I pulled the trigger and decided to start birth control I was stoked. Who doesn’t want to stop having cramps every month? And I had terrible cramps.

I went to the clinic is Portsmouth, Virginia absolutely terrified because I’d never had any kind of reproductive care before aside from one Pap smear at boot camp. I sat down with one of the doctors and after what seemed like an eternity of discussing options I decided on starting with a low dose pill because it was the least invasive option. And so the adventure began. For the first several weeks everything was fine. I didn’t even really notice any difference for a while. Then, it kicked in and my hormones were on a rollercoaster similar to that of Kingda Ka at Six Flags. I had extreme mood swings, with smaller, less drastic mood changes in between.

Once I started having these hormonal changes I started thinking about maybe trying a different option. But of course, now I started hearing all these scary stories. Seeing articles about women who had the arm implant and having it put in the wrong place, or getting rejected. Stories of people with an IUD whose period has been happening for months straight. Or it getting lodged in their uterine wall. Suddenly the mood swings didn’t seem so bad, so I stuck with it.

Then I became the tiny percentage of people that take their birth control correctly and still conceive and I didn’t have to worry about it for a while. What a glorious time to have not so crazy mood swings. You’d think being pregnant my hormones would be worse, but the break was amazing. I felt more leveled out for the first time in a long time, and it was great.

After Mark was born and I had to talk to my doctor again about my birth control options I chose the same low dose pill, because it was the lesser of the evils in my eyes. Once again, it sucked. At least it’s consistent. So for another year I dealt with my continued cramps, horrible periods, and raging hormones until the sweet relief of pregnancy came around to help me level out again. It was magical, like walking in your first snow storm as a child. Through out all of this Joseph had never even thought about how it was the birth control that was making me crazy, but I had.

A few months after my postpartum appointment with Rose I brought it up to Joseph. It finally clicked with him like flipping on a light switch. We had a long conversation about it. (Yes, he talks to me about “girl issues”, because he cares.) I continued taking my birth control because there isn’t really very much of an option as a woman. You either take the birth control or you get told that you aren’t being responsible with your reproductive health. So I continued to take the pills day after day.

I still don’t know where to go from here, but I know why my attitude gets so bad, and that’s a start. I hope that I can figure out a solution that works for me, but I don’t know what that is. I’m finding a lot more options and have talked with my doctors to help find the right method for more, but there’s a lot more out there than I naively thought all these years. I recently learned about natural family planning and maybe that’s where I go. Who knows? Until I figure it out I’ll continue discussing the options with Joseph, the doctors, and researching for myself. I hope I can figure this out and I wish all the women who have issues with birth control can also figure it out. It’s 2020 and birth control being mostly on women’s shoulders still with very few options for men is dumb. I’ll continue to hope that also changes. Because it sucks. Birth control sucks.

• 

Being a working mom is hard. Before anyone gets defensive, being a stay at home parent is just as, if not more, difficult. I couldn’t do it and people that do are stronger willed than I am. Stay at home parents do so much for so little recognition most of the time. Being a mom is hard. Being a parent is hard. But the point is, I have learned how difficult being a working mom is. It presents a unique set of struggles. Those challenges starting and ending with other moms feeling the need to make comments about how you work outside of the home and how awful that is for you kids. I will never forget the first time someone made a comment about me “letting someone else raise my child”, because he was going to daycare. What a horrible feeling when you already feel terrible about having to leave your kids.

Anyway, being a working mom is challenging. Somedays the kids just don’t want me to go. Sometimes they scream and yell and beg me to stay home. Sometimes it’s near impossible to walk out that door because my kids are so upset that I’m leaving. It was so incredibly difficult on those days when they were in daycare and they would cling to my leg (Mark mostly) and just keep asking for hugs, and then hearing them scream down the hallway for me. On those days I cry the entire drive into work. I show up to work with a puffy face and red eyes and have to visit the bathroom to try and pull it together and seem tough.

Even more often than those days they don’t want me to leave, are days when they just couldn’t give a crap if I was there or not. On those days I walk past those little faces and I say “goodbye, I love you” desperately hoping that they’ll say it back. Those days I feel like I’m not needed and it crushes me, but on those days I manage to hold it together because at least my babies are happy. I hate thinking about the time I’ve spent away from them, and the time that I still have to face away from them that hasn’t come yet. Every once in a while, on a bad day, I start contemplating about staying home with them. When we were both employed maybe, but that’s no longer realistic because bills don’t pay themselves so I have to keep my job. Also, I immediately follow the thoughts of staying home about how I would possibly maintain my sanity and completely dismiss it. Staying home, as much as I would love to spend more time with the kids, is definitely not for me.

I felt better about working when Joseph was working too. It felt a little less like I was abandoning them. I had my best friend who could relate to the pain and doubt of leaving our kids in someone else’s hands. Now that he’s a stay at home parent, it’s progressively harder to come to terms with working and leaving them. Joe does a great job with them and I appreciate him giving up his career so I could keep mine, but it’s troublesome not having a partner who can relate anymore. Since Joe’s been home I’ve found that my days are consumed more than not, with thoughts of my kids and if they’re mad at me for still working when they get to spend all this time with daddy.

It’s especially arduous looking back on when I was raising them alone and seeing how much they needed me then. They depended on me for everything at one point and it, quite frankly, sucks to see that role being taken on by Joe. Now they depend on him for everything. They depend on him for snacks, drinks, diaper changes, someone to play with them. It’s not me that fixes their boo-boos and their big emotional days and it really hurts. It hurts when Mark calls Joe his best friend, or when they walk right past me to ask for something, because that used to be all on me. I complained about it then, not realizing how much I would miss being depended on for everything. Today we went to get in the car and a sweatshirt I’ve been wearing on and off for 2 days, that Joe has a matching one, Joe decided to wear today. While Mark didn’t bat an eye when I was wearing it, he complimented Joe on it this morning. I know I shouldn’t be so selfish, but those moments really break my heart. I feel like they have a better bond now than I could ever hope to have and it’s crushing. Also this morning getting in the car I said to Joe “I feel like they don’t like me”, because that’s truly how it feels some days. Joe says his usual “that’s not true”, directly followed by Rose screaming “NO MOMMY, DADDY” from the backseat, and cue the waterworks.

Then there’s days when I get home from work and my kids run to the garage door jumping up and down, screaming “MOMMY’S HOME”, and what a spectacular feeling that is, especially in comparison. All those days that they just let me leave with no fuss, because they had daddy, and it broke my heart, doesn’t even matter anymore. In those days when they jump for joy to see me I have to remind myself that they do need me, not just today, but all the time. I’m still the one who gives them baths, brushes their hair, makes sure they brush their teeth, and gives them hugs when they’re feeling down and just need a mommy hug. They still depend on me to kiss their boo-boos and break up their fights. I’m still the one that cooks meals for them and makes sure they have clothes on their back, food in the fridge, and everything they need (and most of what they want). And when the sun sets, I’m still there to put them to bed and tell them I love them, way more night now than not.

Being a mom is hard. We judge ourselves just as much as other moms judge us. We tear ourselves down for all of our choices because it’s what we see all too frequently. Working or staying home, it’s difficult. It’s never going to be easy to be a parent. It’s never going to be easy to be a mom. The reality is it’s always going to be a grueling decision for every single decision we have to make. You can’t always be the superhero, number 1, everything to everyone. You have to do what you have to do to get the bills paid, keep the kids happy, and keep yourself sane. I’m so tired of judging myself for being a working mom because I’m way harder on myself now than anyone else could ever be. I judge myself harsher than any other mom, parent, or coworker could ever judge me. But I’m tired of making myself feel guilty for all my decisions, and like my kids don’t need me. Every time I look back and reflect on these decisions and experiences I’ve had as a mom, I think about how dumb it is that I make myself feel guilty. It’s a work in progress though and I’m probably going to keep doing it to myself even though I’m self-aware that it’s stupid. My kids do need me. They will always need me. I will always be their mommy. And for today, at this moment, I will not make myself feel bad for doing my best. I will not feel guilty for loving them with everything I am, giving them everything they need, and trying to give them a life they’ll look back on fondly. Today I will go for a walk with them, I will give them a bath, I will do silly activities with them, and I will not feel bad for being a working mom.

• 

Let me just warn you right now, this might trigger some people but I want to touch on this topic because the longer I am a mother and the more often I talk to other mothers, the more common I realize this is.

Joseph never wanted kids. He never even thought he would get married until he met me. He was just going to live out his days as a bachelor hermit venturing out to Coldstone by himself. When we first started dating, and then again when we got married, I made it abundantly clear that I wanted kids. However, when we found out I was pregnant the look on his face was as if someone had keyed his car while kicking him in the nuts. It was a shock to me as well when the test was positive being as I was still on birth control, but when I saw those two lines I was still really excited. After all, I had dreamed of being a mommy my whole life.

My excitement quickly changed when I called out to Joseph from the bathroom and told him, what I thought, was the good news. Seeing his absolutely devastated look took the wind right out of me and truly felt like somebody had stolen my soul. I was crushed at the thought that he did not want to have this child with me. That one look sent me into an emotional and mental downward spiral.

Within 30 minutes I went from two pink lines and being ecstatic, to on the phone with my mom crying about how I felt Joseph didn’t love me and wouldn’t love this baby. I hung up the phone and starting weighing any and all of my options, something that I definitely didn’t want to be doing. I didn’t want Joseph to be upset with me and I certainly didn’t want to feel so alone as I did in that moment.

For about a week I looked into every possible outcome and option while I starting getting set up for my first doctor’s appointment. This entire time I had been avoiding telling my dad for fear of his reaction. Then like a quickly passing rain storm, everything became so clear after I told him. His only words were “we like babies” and that was that. I no longer had a single doubt in my mind that this little miracle was coming home with us in 9 short months. And he did.

9 months passed by and our beautiful little Marky was on his way home with us. From the moment he first entered Joe’s arms, all those hesitant feelings and that devastating look didn’t mean a thing. He loved that little boy and immediately melted into fatherhood. It was such an amazing moment to know that all my fears, as far as Joseph loving our son, were just ridiculous thoughts in the end.

Then here we were again just over a year later. We had planned this out so he had to be excited right? Well we all know that “Scream” painting. Just imagine me saying “honey look it’s positive, we did it” and Joe turning into the living embodiment of that painting. It was like the first time all over again and it honestly made me incredibly mad. We had planned this out! We made the schedule, we talked this over, he was onboard and more excited than me even, and now that it happened it was like the slate had wiped clean.

All over again I was crushed. Obviously I had already come to terms that this little baby was ours and I loved it, now I just had to wait for Joe to come around. This man drives me nuts to this day thinking about how long it took. I guess it just is harder for him to grasp because he doesn’t get to feel the baby, he isn’t the one with the two pink lines. I’ve noticed this as a pretty common theme for fathers in general though the more people’s stories I hear.

Looking back it’s irritating and I wish his reactions would’ve been different, I really do. I wish I could’ve had those over the moon reactions that you see on social media videos all the time. But also looking back, having grown a little, I get it. A new baby is always kind of a shocking thing to take in, whether you plan it or not, because you never know how soon it will happen. I also understand now that it has to be a lot harder, as a father, to grasp the concept of a child that early when you can’t physically see or feel what’s happening. A baby is always a big change, no matter what number you’re adding to the mix. At the end of the day, he is still here, still loving me and our kids, and a totally kick ass father.

It’s still hard to think of those faces and still frustrating, but I’m glad I have him and our kids. I love you Googly Bear. Thank you for helping me understand a little bit of the male thought process because everyone thinks women are confusing but yeesh.

And I know it’s not always easy to come to terms with your partner not being as excited as you, or taking a while, but from my experience and what I hear from others, they do come around the majority of the time.

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Just before Mark turned a year old we started discussing baby number two. We had talked about it thoroughly and made a plan as to when I would stop taking birth control so we could try. So my pregnancy with Rose was as planned as it was going to get. I was actually very hesitant when it came down to the time to actually stop taking my pill and try. We had decided that I would stop my pill on Mark’s birthday because who knew how long it would take for my body to adjust and us to actually conceive? When it came down to the wire and I was faced with putting the plan in motion I got cold feet. I just kept thinking about how Mark would feel when we told him. Would he feel betrayed by me? Resent me even? A million questions and a wave of guilt rushed over me and made me feel like I was drowning. I didn’t want my sweet little boy to feel like we were trying to replace him or feel any less loved.

After a few days of Joseph consoling me and assuring me that it would be fine, Mark would be fine, I pulled the trigger and threw my pills in trash, then had a panic attack. Then I started wondering how long it would take for another sweet miracle to be made. Well apparently I am the most fertile woman in history aside from the Virgin Mary, because we conceived on our very first shot. I really should start playing the lottery with how extremely lucky I am with conceiving. 

We found out about baby number two on the October 1st and I immediately told my mom because I’m terrible at keeping secrets. By October 4th we had made the announcement public on Facebook for all of our friends and family to see, just days after finding out ourselves. I know a lot of people don’t agree with announcing while in the first trimester due to all the risks associated during the first few months. We decided that we weren’t going to be scared of the “what if’s” and if anything were to happen to the baby I didn’t want to go through it alone. If something happened I wanted to make sure I had a solid support system on my side and I wanted to be open and honest. I didn’t want to hide our tiny, so loved little miracle because of the fear that maybe we wouldn’t get a lot of time with them. 

My pregnancy with Rose started out as absolute cake, especially in comparison to the amount of sickness I had the first time around. “What a miracle”, I thought. I had picked up running a few months before we had started trying so I was determined to keep that up and maintain my healthier lifestyle for the duration of this pregnancy. Maybe of how meticulously we had planned this out was why it was going so smoothly. Who knows? But I was ready this time, more prepared, both mentally and physically. Or so I thought.

A few months into my pregnancy with Rose I had this overwhelming exhaustion. I could barely keep my eyes open anymore and would tear up sometimes with how tired I was. I was diagnosed with extremely low iron levels, anemia, which I probably should have seen coming with the lack of iron I consume on a daily basis. I had to go to a cancer center and speak with a hematologist who ultimately decided that I need iron infusions (IV iron) because if I had gone into labor that day I would have “bled out on the table”. Needless to say I did not want that or to need a blood transfusion after labor so I was very eager to start my IV’s. 

I also had recurring yeast infections with Rose. I had never had a yeast infection in my life, and had no idea how absolutely unpleasant they were and apparently how common they are in pregnancy. I think it came back 3 times in the course of my pregnancy despite every effort to keep it from returning. 

Other than those, what I like to consider, slight complications, my pregnancy with Rose was a breeze. That might seem strange to say following the words “you’re going to bleed out on the table”, but it really was a pretty simple pregnancy. I ran until I hit 36 weeks pregnant and just couldn’t take the belly and not being able to catch my breath after running anymore. I felt like I got really lucky with how easy my pregnancy with Rose went by. But I couldn’t help but feel that gnawing feeling again of guilt that I was taking something away from Mark. The further I got into my pregnancy the more guilty I felt. I just couldn’t brush off feeling like he was going to be crushed when his little sister made her appearance and he was no longer the sole attention getter. 

I’m going to go a little off track here and say that when we found out we were having a little girl I was terrified. My entire life I thought I would only have boys. I thought I would just have a gaggle of little boys trailing behind me with their toy trucks, just trying to get them to stop eating dirt or whatever I thought little boys liked to do. It was obviously very exciting to find out the unexpected news of having a little girl, but I was shocked and scared. I am in no way, shape, or form a feminine individual so I had no idea how I was going to handle being a girl mom now, after having prepared myself to be a boy mom. And then I started shopping. Why are little girls bows and outfits so cute and so much more diverse than boys? It was astoundingly easy to walk into a store and buy hundreds of dollars worth of bows and dresses for the little princess. I do wish they had cooler boy clothes though because it would be awesome to get to dress Mark all up all the time. 

When my due date rolled around I had an entire closet filled to the brim with bows and cute outfits, but no Rose to be found. Just like Mark, Rose was a little stubborn and she was born 3 days after her due date after over 24 hours of labor. I went into early labor at work at about 10AM and had her right after noon the following day. My epidural had worn off in the last hour of this long excursion and at one point I told Joe “I can’t do it”, as if I had a choice at this point with Rose crowning. 

I cried “she’s so beautiful” when she was born and just like that all my worries rushed away. Mark met his little sister and he was immediately in love with her, the best of friends. This whole time the only one making me feel guilty was me. My recovery was significantly quicker than the first time and I was up and moving around, going on walks with the family within 48 hours. And that was that. Now a family of four, transitioning into our new roles, and the new, yet somehow nearly the same, life. Or was it?

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For the majority of my first year as a mother, I was raising Mark alone. Due to deployments and other military obligations I was in it all by myself for probably 9 out of 12 months, which I quickly realized was how it was going to be until we moved again. I’ll be honest, it got kind of easy once I came to terms with being pretty solitary. I got into this groove with Mark that made things pretty easy. I finally felt like I enjoyed this and really fell headfirst into being a pretty kick-ass mom if I’m going to toot my own horn.

Right after Mark was born we were still living in a tiny little studio apartment on the side of a highway in Cambridge. Paying way too much money, with not nearly enough space, and no where for our dogs to be, well, dogs. Being right next to a highway we didn’t have really anywhere to go for those nice walks after he was born, but honestly I was so paranoid about the world around me with a newborn that it didn’t even matter. But soon after Joe got back from one of his trips, with a 1 month old, we made the switch and moved onto a military base near us to give me peace of mind when Joe wasn’t home, save some money, and finally have that safe space to walk around without having a panic attack.

Moving with a newborn is no small feat. We took several trips from our old apartment to our new house all while juggling feedings and diaper changes (and snuggles). It took us about a week to get all our stuff moved into the new place (not unpacked what do I look like? an overachiever?) and I will forever be grateful that in those moments I was not alone. At that moment, I had a village. I had my mom, my dad, my husband, and my beautiful baby boy. But that was not the case for most of the time.

Mark’s first year was a rollercoaster of me trying to figure out how to be a mom all alone, while he was just trying to figure out not being in his safe little apartment womb. I spent the first few months trying to figure out why this child would projectile vomit on me after every feeding. He ate just fine, he burped, he seemed content and then he would just vomit on me. I couldn’t figure it out and the doctor couldn’t give me any answers. I was crying every single night, a lot of the time to my mom, about how worried I was that he wasn’t getting nutrients, regardless of him gaining weight perfectly. I was loosing my footing again after finally starting to adjust, and just like my dad I was falling down a mountain head first (metaphorically for one of us). Long story short he was lactose intolerant I felt so dumb that as his mom I couldn’t have figured that one out immediately.

And this inconsolable, unsolvable diaper rash that he always got. I can’t count how many times I had to rinse him off in the sink and get peed and pooped on trying to let him air out. I was beyond relieved when I got an answer to that one. The yeast infection that just wouldn’t leave us alone finally got solved with some cream from the doctor after probably 8 months of chaos with diaper creams and changing diaper brands.

Every time that Joe was home I battled this terrible feeling watching my little man cling to me and not know his daddy. He couldn’t figure out why this giant beanstalk of a man would come and go so much. It felt good to be needed, but not if it meant that it was going to break Joe’s heart. And I’ll be honest him not knowing his daddy was definitely heart wrenching and having some help should’ve been an amazing thing, but this man just came in like a wrecking ball and ruined my entire routine. It took every second of the few short weeks at a time that the two of them would be together for Mark to adjust to having daddy home, and then just like that, we would be alone again.

I’m sure we’ve all heard “well when they start crawling you’re in trouble”, and boy is that right. He started crawling and I had to try and keep up with figuring out where to put gates, and how to keep him from touching the blinds when he so desperately wanted to look outside. I was running around like a mad woman trying to baby proof our house. Way harder than it looks. There’s so many screws and parts involved to making a house where your child isn’t going to do something detrimental to themselves.

When he finally started going to daycare I about made myself pass out from worry and then within 3 days he had pink eye. Just like a lot of other things, all the mom advice I got conveniently omitted the fact that your child will get sick, a lot, while in daycare. It’s a stressful experience to say the least to leave your child in the hands of a daycare after hearing all the horror stories that circulate every year. I thank my lucky stars that his first ever daycare had the most caring and respectful staff. They made me feel so at ease with something that had caused me so much panic. They really helped Mark and I come into our own and adjust to this new life, so thank you to them.

When he started getting bigger and developing this huge personality it was like a weight had just lifted off my shoulders. All this parenting alone and all the mistakes I had made were so worth it to see that smile and hear his little giggles all the time. This kid made chasing him around and playing with him so much more magical than I ever imagined it could be as a little girl dreaming of being a mom. Even through all our challenges, he made it all so absolutely worth it, and I will forever cherish all the snuggles and kisses I got from him while it was still just me and him.

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For a lot of moms their first instance of “mom shaming” is about feeding. Whether you decide to breastfeed, use formula, or exclusively pump, someone has judgment. The majority of what is hammered into most moms towards the end of their pregnancy and directly after the baby is born is “breast is best”. Breastfeeding is extremely beneficial and a great bonding experience, but no one mentions all the “what if’s” and what issues you could have that prevent you from having a successful breastfeeding relationship. And of course, no one talks about how you can have a just as meaningful bonding experience with your child with formula or bottle-feeding in general.

With always hearing and seeing that breast is best, it was a no-brainer for me that my kids were going to be breastfed. Breastfeeding for me was a losing battle though. I tried so hard to make is work with both kids. I pushed myself to the point of tears more times than I can count on both hands and feet trying to do the best for my children. You know what’s not the best for your children though? Stressing yourself out so much that you’re in tears, panicking, and just completely on edge.

Let me start from the beginning. With Mark I was immediately feeling like a bad mom and I was completely unprepared for breastfeeding. I had myself thinking that I could absolutely do it, what could stop me? Much to my surprise, Mark would not latch. I tried all the positions and did everything the lactation consultant told me. We just could not get the latch down, probably because upon further investigation, Mark has a lip tie. I had no idea that was even something that could be an issue. His lip tie made it impossible to latch properly and when he did latch it was so incredibly painful that within 24 hours of him being born my nipples were bleeding and completely raw. Still, I continued to try because what mom would I be if I didn’t give him the best form of nutrients?

We got home from the hospital and I kept trying, torn between covering while I tried or just letting it all flop out. After the first week, he was losing quite a bit of weight, but of course he made me a liar when I brought it up to his doctor and latched perfectly for the very first time. At this point, I was beyond stressed out, in pain, and taking it out on Joseph and his useless, not in pain nipples. We all three finally had enough and I decided that Mark being fed was the best thing for him and started him on formula, but I felt guilty. How could I fail him so soon? How could I let myself and the entire mom community down by not doing something so many moms could?

With how guilty I felt for not breastfeeding Mark, when Rose was born I made an agreement with myself that I would do it this time. This time I would go in there like a trooper armed with my Lanolin and nipple ice packs and I would blow it out of the water. I was wrong.

Rose latched perfectly every single time, despite a lip tie, but she also wanted my boob every (literally) 10 minutes. And this is where is all went downhill on roller skates, right from the beginning. Rose was born in very early afternoon but by nightfall I was already losing my grip on the breastfeeding situation.

Rose was waking up every 10 minutes to gnaw on me like a popsicle. I was exhausted, my nipples felt like they’d be in an overtime MMA fight, and Joe was watching me cry for the millionth time when I encountered the worst nurse I’ve ever had. She came in, I told her how much I was already struggling and asked for formula. She told me “no” and came back a few moments later with nipple ice packs and a different nipple cream. The sweet relief they offered was very welcomed at this point, but I really just needed some sleep and some formula. Since I couldn’t get either of those, I was in tears for the duration of the night.

I have never in my life been so happy for shift change. It was my saving grace to see this bouncy blonde nurse walk in the door and ask me if I was ok. I told her no I was no ok, asked for formula, and I swear the heavens opened up and this woman had a halo, because she said “oh honey of course you can” and immediately returned with ready to use bottles for us. After the night we had though I asked her if we could get discharged so I could go back to my own home and away from the worst night I’d had so far in life.

I was not going to let my breastfeeding dream die so easily. I had my pump waiting for me at home and like the milkmaid, I attached myself to that pump and spent countless hours hooked up to this machine. As I realized I was barely getting an ounce between both boobs for every hour of pumping, I watched my dream sink like the Titanic.

The magical thing about it ending this time is that I no longer felt guilty. I didn’t feel like I was a bad mom for not giving my kids less than an ounce of breastmilk and starving them. I came to terms with formula being just as valid a tool for feeding my kids. While I still occasionally hope I could have done it, and maybe one day will, I’m happy that my kids got fed and I wasn’t forcing myself to stress more during a time that’s already so stressful. I will no longer belittle myself because of a guilt that has no place in the mom community. In the end, a fed baby is a happy baby, and I definitely have two very happy, very fed babies.

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For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be a mom. I’ve always wanted four kids and set out this elaborate plan of how my life would go. I wanted to have my first child around 25 years old and then have a baby every three years after that until my family was complete. But even the best laid plans, right? At the ripe age of 21 years old, while still religiously taking my birth control pill, my husband Joseph and I got this tremendous surprise and we never looked back.

At 21 and 20 years old we were shocked to get the news that I indeed, was pregnant with our first little bundle of joy. I always anticipated pregnancy to be this absolutely magical experience where you immediately get this beautiful glow and have perfect skin, hair, and just look amazing. I really shouldn’t have watched so many movies and believed everyone’s Instagram perfect pregnancies. From even before I got that positive test, I was sick. I distinctly remember being in Atlantic City for my mom’s birthday and barely functioning thinking “I must have the flu or something”. It was not the flu.

I’ll be blatantly honest, my first pregnancy was miserable. Mark did not give me a single break. I couldn’t gain weight because I couldn’t keep anything down. I woke up, went to work, came home, and immediately got into bed for the rest of the night. It was not at all what I was led to believe. I had been tricked, bamboozled. Why did no one tell me about this? To make matters worse I was doing it all by myself because, in true military fashion, my husband was gone my entire pregnancy. He got home right in time for my due date though because like the independent woman I still wanted to be, I broke my toe putting together a rocking chair.

Then when I hit my due date I tried every trick in the book. I did everything that family and friends with experience suggested. I walked countless miles around our apartment complex. I shoveled spicy food and pineapple down my throat every single day in hopes that something would happen. Nothing. He stayed put. Finally, we had scheduled an induction for the night that I reached 41 weeks and 5 days. And again, not at all what I thought my first pregnancy would end with, but at least it was consistently miserable.

My induction process was actually almost exactly what everyone had told me to expect. (Thanks guys for waiting this long into the game to be honest.) I got the meds at 8:30PM the night of August 30th and there was no turning back. I had hoped that I could do the “natural” (medicine free) birth that everyone always talks about. Spoiler: I could not. I tried to push through the pain and to this day Joseph tells me “I thought I was going to lose you”. I was pale and nauseous, having almost constant contractions but not dilating AT ALL. I got a shot in my butt cheek trying to avoid the epidural *cue spooky music*, because already I was worried about getting judged as a mother for “taking the easy way out”. Finally I gave in and got the epidural, and then my parents showed up. Mind you, it’s like, very late at this point. We told my parents “it’s going to be a while you should get some sleep”, but Boston didn’t let them get to a hotel before baby boy decided to try and make his entrance.

I remember the nurse saying “ok we’re just going to do some practice pushes while we wait for the doctor”, and then all of a sudden I was full on in the shit (literally), with my husband holding my leg and a mirror to watch. At 41 weeks and 6 days pregnant, after 11.5 hours of labor and an hour of pushing, at 0940AM our first precious little miracle entered the world at a whopping 7 pounds 15 ounces and 19 inches long. At that exact moment our entire world changed. We were a family.

A measly few hours after he was born all the grandparents were at the hospital and Mark gave us quite the scare. Little man had fluid still in his lungs and while I was looking away he had stopped breathing and turned blue. Within a few hours of becoming a mother, I already felt like a terrible one.

I tried for weeks to breastfeed to no avail. (More on that another time because boy do I have a lot to say.) I just continued to get so overwhelmed and felt like the worst mom in the world. No one ever talked to me about postpartum depression and anxiety, but here I was feeling like I was just completely failing this child. I was not the mom he deserved and I could not connect with him. This tiny little thing I had wanted so bad for so long and I couldn’t connect with him. What kind of horrible human being feels this way? But it’s so very common and all I needed to do was open up and ask Joseph for some help. I just had to loosen my grip, stop being so hard on myself, and ask for help.

My entrance into motherhood was not this picture perfect story that I always envisioned. It was far from the plan I had set out my whole life. I didn’t just become this spectacular superhero of a mother from the first moment like I wanted to be. But I was me, and I gave that little boy all my love, and became the kind of mother that works for me and my kids. I was enough, just like all mothers are enough in their own way. You love those babies and hug them tight, and that’s all they need.

Motherhood is not always perfect. Sometimes it’s really really hard, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about my journey into motherhood. I’m forever grateful that Mark chose me to be his mommy, and he was the best surprise I could have asked for.

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