Dear Diary,
I'm sitting in the clinic. Waiting for my prescription for zoloft to be filled. I was just diagnosed with postpartum depression. I've known for months that something was "off" with me. But I just kept thinking, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better" but even if tomorrow was better, I could never feel it. My entire day would go smoothly and my kids would cooperate, yet I'd still be left feeling like we had the worst day ever. It's exhausting feeling so miserable for no good reason.
I had a difficult start with Rowan. Her colic and reflux causing all the constant crying is hard for anyone to deal with. But she is all better now. And I am not. I wish I could snap out of it. I can see myself drowning in unnecessary misery but I can't pull myself out. I am literally stuck here. So. Fucking. Stuck.
I barely interact with my poor kids. I do what I need to do to keep them alive. But that's it. I sit on the floor and stare at the ground as they play around me. "Smile now, you're supposed to smile at your children. Laugh now, that was funny. Look how silly they are. Why arnt you laughing?!" On the really bad days things like this cross my mind on a loop, "you're a selfish bitch Jo. How hard is it to sing itsy bitsy spider?! How hard could it be to dance with your babies, sing to them, read to them, be more than just 'here' but actually be 'present'? Is it really that difficult to smile at your husband when he comes home? You're lucky he hasnt left you yet."
It's hard. Really fucking hard. But it shouldn't be. I should be so happy. My kids are healthy, we are financially stable, we have everything we need and most of the things we want. My life is great! I am just not enjoying it. I feel like someone died. Always. Who died?! Me, I guess. I am dying inside. I have fleeting moments of happiness. Every now and again I have a good day. But the bad days are much too often. Most days I go from feeling nothing at all to being outraged. I am numb unless I'm angry. Thank goodness there are smiley face emoji's so I can fake smile without actually having to break my face. It seriously feela like my face will crack if i "turn my frown upside down" I don't want to feel like this anymore.
There is nothing like this that I know of to compare it to. I had no idea that I would be aware of what is happening but still not be able to help myself. It's scary. I feel like I'm fucking insane. How can I know I should be happy, but still not be happy.
I am not the mother I was after JJ was born. I'm not the mother I want to be or know I can be. I'm not the wife I once was. I am now cold and angry all of the time. I'm so grateful for Josh's patience with me. God bless him. He is so patient.
I feel a little relief with the diagnoses. It's nice knowing I'm not just a miserable bitch and that my brain is actually broken. I feel a sliver of hope. That i can be fixed. That i will soon feel better and more like myself and the person i know I really am. I look forward to smiling a real smile that doesn't hurt.
I worry that people are going to treat me differently now. I'm an open person. I feel it's important that I be open about this, other mothers openess about their PPD is what gave me courage to finally seek help. I have great friends who I know will be so supportive as I fight to get better. And Josh of course. He's got my back 100% and we both just want me to feel better.
Ugh. I fucking hate this. I HATE THIS!!!!! ITS SO UNFAIR!! I AM A MOTHER OF TWO BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN AND A WIFE TO AN AMAZING HUSBAND! WHHHHYYYYY?!!! <--me screaming. In my head of course. I can't actually muster up the energy to scream. But I want to. So there's that. It's kind of depressing knowing you're clinically depressed. I hope this zoloft works for me. 1 month. 1 more month of this and I should start to feel normal again. My prescription is ready.
Honestly, Mommy
Monday, May 2, 2016
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Birth Story: Seeley Joshua
Guest submission by Lauren C.
Dear Diary,
Dear Diary,
So I'm not sure how to start, or where in the story I should start... I guess I can give a quick back story perhaps, so understanding the labor with Seeley is more understandable.
Back story: I was induced with my daughter, Eva, at 40 weeks and 2 days. We began that lovely drug pitocen about 8:30ish, I would think, by the time we got checked all in, hooked all up and the trainee had a go at putting my IV in (she failed, but ya gotta start somewhere). I lasted roughly 3 hours before breaking down and receiving an epidural. I want to say I was terrified and scared of being a first time Mom and came in completely uneducated on pretty much everything that dealt with the whole process of birth. I remember being very solemn, worried the whole time ( Josh said he was really worried about me, I may have dealt with some baby blues and not even realized it). I began to plateau in my labor and my dilation slowed. Around 8 that evening I began to run a fever. My contractions stopped being strong enough to push Eva down. I had to have that one monitor inserted to measure my contractions' strength. So they began to up my pitocen again. Fast forward a bit around 9ish and the word c-section started to be tossed around.... ahh heck no. I willed my body to get in gear and at 10 PM I began pushing. 10:28 PM she was born, 9 lbs 1.5 oz. No gestational diabetes.
Fast forward almost two years.
When we decided to try for baby 2. I wanted a natural birth. I didn't by any means regret my birth with Eva. My nurses were phenomenal, and I, in general, just remember a nice experience. But, I knew I wanted to go natural. I wanted the beautiful, stunning, make me tear up and weep pictures! The water birth and that look of utter relief and amazement that are depicted time and again on these amazing women's faces as they hold their baby that literally just entered the world seconds before. I wanted the immediate skin to skin contact. To watch my baby root and nurse for the first time right their on my chest. The delayed umbilical cord cutting and for Josh to do it. I wanted hands off, no wires and monitors. I just wanted that experience, ya know?
I did not get that...
We decided to go to the birth center, and over all I loved all the midwives. Each spent a good portion of time each check up and talked with me, never hurried. I think I knew from the beginning my pregnancy and delivery weren't gonna pan out how I envisioned it. From the beginning I voiced my concern on not going into labor, size of the baby, etc. And the midwives the closer to the due date would ask over and over again how my labor and delivery went with Eva. Around 34 weeks I began measuring 4 weeks ahead and eventually went in for a growth ultrasound at 37 weeks, and he was measuring normal and was around 8 lbs 10 oz.
I'm gonna fast forward to week 41. I tried everything in the books to induce labor. I literally was drinking pitchers of red raspberry leaf tea, clary sage essential oil, evening primrose oil, birth ball, sex, pressure points, and in the last week black cohosh. We and the midwives, specifically Fran decided I was a good candidate for a soft induction. It's where I go to the birthing center and she would break my water. Which we did and I started contracting beautifully 30 minutes later. But it went downhill from there. My contractions weren't ever really consistent but averaged about 2 minutes apart, but became unbearably painful. I remember laying in the bed as each contraction would come and if I even moved my legs during one just piercing pain would just shoot everywhere, up through my stomach, down through my legs, and around my back. I remember Fran asking near the end of the birth center stay if I wanted to get up and walk.
My reply was something about I cant even move my legs haha. Not long after that I broke down and said I was done, I wanted an epidural. So Fran and Josh packed everything up and I barely made it to the car. I look back and giggle now because once we pulled up to labor and delivery, Josh and Fran were both running around haha. Josh ran to get a wheel chair for me and was just gonna leave the car parked on the curb *sigh* I love him. So Fran pushed/ran me into the hospital. I thought to myself at the time (Fran is probably late 50's-60's) she was too old to be running like this; seriously the woman was booking it. We made it to my room and into utter chaos, nurses were running in and out, Fran was running in and out. And I'm laying there moaning through contractions. Then the beautiful woman that would give me sweet relief arrived. I didn't care about the burning sting that I knew was a freaky long needle sliding between two vertebrates in my back or that I would need a stupid catheter or not be able to walk (I couldn't anyway) I just wanted the severe pain in my legs and my stomach to stop. As I think back on it, it may have been Seeley trying to move down... but obviously due to his size, he couldn't.
Once my epidural took hold, my sense of humor and appetite came back and uncontrollable shaking. Some kind of side effect apparently and crazy itching all over my stomach from the epidural. I had a wonderful woman there who was supposed to photograph my awesome birth center birth came with us to the hospital and her and I talked the whole time just about. I recall giving my nurses a hard time about not letting me eat or even have a popsicle. Or complain about the awful cotton mouth that no amount of water helped haha.
Then deja vu from Eva's birth began. A fever began. I tried everything to get it down, my oils on my feet and back, diffusing them, and just willing my body. Which worked a little, because it did go down, just not enough. Then my labor slowed and eventually stopped progressing. I stayed dilated at 9 cm from 5 PM to 11:30 ish PM. I remember Fran thinking he may be turned wrong and couldn't really feel "molding" on Seeley's head. And he never progressed past zero and eventually went back to -1. At 10ish Fran and the doctor that was on duty that night said if I didn't progress to 10 cm in 2 hours a c section was the last resort, they were also going to up my pitocen to get stronger contractions. Fran said that they have done everything possible to progress the labor. I asked if me getting an epidural caused the slow progression. Her reply was "No, if anything, it would've helped it with relaxing you." Midnight rolls around and instead of an awesome 10 cm I was an 8....
Apparently, if you test positive for group b strep you are more prone to develop infections, which is what happened both times in labor and my uterus was tired and just gave up... in a way I feel betrayed by my body in that sense and that it never went into labor to begin with.
I remember laying there as people began to start coming in to prep me. Telling me the devastating news that not only would I be cut open, but no you can not do skin to skin, no delayed umbilical cutting. Josh and baby would go back to the room without me... while I was being put back together, Josh could do skin to skin when they got back to the room, but he couldn't even hold him until then. Everything I wanted stripped away with 1 cm...
I had a sarcastic-ish anesthesiologist guy. He came in and started to give me the stronger dose epidural and gave me something to drink to help nausea because 30% of people get sick. I was in that category. They had laid me flat which was very uncomfortable for me. I started to feel sick almost immediately. I can still imagine the ceiling tiles as they rolled me to the operating room, and willing myself not to be sick. Josh had to stop at the end of the hallway and wait to be let into the room. I guess so they could prep me. They wheeled me into the operating room. Bright, white, and cold. And I couldn't handle it anymore. I told the sarcastic-ish anesthesiologist that I was going to be sick and before he could do anything I puked all in the oxygen mask he had just placed on me, which conveniently just shot my puke all back in my face and down one side and into my hair. And all he did was dab my face... no cleaning me up. And I had started the stupid uncontrollable shaking again from such a high dose of the epidural. Here I was about to welcome a my son into the world and I was strapped down on this table in an unbearably cold, stark feeling room and now I had puke all over me.
Josh came into the room and Fran I remember being there and I just cried, the sobby crying that makes your body bounce (I know this because I could feel my still very pregnant stomach bounce ha) and Fran grabbing my hand and I can hear her telling Josh to comfort me and me replying "I'll be ok." I remember praying that I would be ok, and so would Seeley. Like a sudden fear that something would go wrong and my babies would grow up without a mom... All the while hearing them on the other side of the blue "curtain" saying the were cutting... It was by far the worst, most bazaar feeling in the world, the tugging and pulling (it was still painful to a point too) and knowing they aren't just cutting skin but nerves and mucsles. Then painful pressure as the pushed hard at the top of my stomach to I guess push him out. I groaned quite loudly I think and then I felt him leave and my stomach deflate. "You have a linebacker" "He's huge" "There was no way she was going to have him vaginally" and other numerous comments swirled around the room and Josh talking in my ear saying he was here and look how big he was... All I could see was my naked, purple baby couple feet away from me. They took him to a table and swaddled him. And brought him over for me to look at. All I could do was kiss his face.
And then he and Josh were gone. I was still there feeling the awful tugging and words like "a lot of blood" "clots" and imagining my stomach and muscles open. Still wigs me out. When I did make it to my room, I was shaking so bad, I was too afraid to hold Seeley and probably didn't even get to hold him until he was an hour old.
I can say now 3 weeks post partum that I regret nothing. That, yes, my birth story is no where near what I intended or wanted, in the end both my son and and myself came out of the experience just fine. Maybe my recovery is longer than with my daughter and that totally sucks, but looking into that sweet chubby face and seeing his little blue grey newborn eyes focus on me makes it so worth it. I feel weepy when I look at his beautiful perfection and a little pride that both Josh and I could make such a beautiful baby, and thank God daily for blessing me so much.
Honestly, Mommy
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
I Cried because I Was Broken
Guest submission by Amanda D.
Dear Diary,
I'm finally going to write about my journey with secondary infertility, and the mysterious underlying conditions that may or may not be the cause. We have two beautiful children that I love so much it hurts. Two beautiful, rambunctious, silly, wonderful little girls. Our oldest came as a lovely surprise when I got off of my birth control so we could start trying a few months later. At the time I was convinced we would have a hard time getting pregnant since my cycles had always been slightly irregular, even when on birth control. Always between 30-36 days-ish. I never really knew why.
After our beautiful baby girl, Isabelle, was born, I did not go on birth control. We knew we would probably want another sometime down the line, but we were comfortable just leaving it in God's hands about when it would happen. Or so we thought. When Isabelle turned one I decided to stop breastfeeding her as I had not gotten my period back and hoped that if I stopped nursing it would help it start back up. It took another six months to start again. That is eighteen months from when I had my baby. At first my periods were normal, but after a few months they started to get a little wonky. And then a lot wonky. Pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test I finally realized my new normal cycle length was anywhere between 47-60 days. This was unheard of for me.
We officially began trying again when Isabelle turned two. I soon realized this wasn't going to happen without fixing my crazy cycle. I went to the Doctor. I was told I needed to lose weight. No blood tests, no exams, just told I was too fat. At the time I was only ten pounds more than when I got pregnant the first time. I joined a cross fit gym with my husband the following week. I started slow and worked my way up. It was hard. It was really hard. After four months I had lost a whopping two pounds. I had not lost a dress size, I had not lost any inches, and I still looked pretty much the same. My cycle was still crazy, and so I went back. The Doctor told me I probably wasn't trying hard enough. I should watch what I eat. Go on a diet as well. I told him I was working out five to six days a week. Sometimes even twice a day! Still, go on a diet. Ok, I decided to try paleo. I had some more success on that. Two months later I had lost ten pounds, yay! My cycle was still incredibly crazy though, almost worse than before. I went back to the Doctor. I told him that I currently weighed less than when I got pregnant before. I was on a diet, I was working out, and nothing was changing in my cycle. I was finally given a referral to an infertility specialist. I went home and cried the rest of the day.
Why would I cry about something I wanted so badly? This was going to fix me, right? I cried because I had finally come to accept it. I finally accepted that I couldn't do by myself what so many women do by accident. I cried because I was broken and didn't know why. I didn't know what I had done to cause this. I cried because I tried so hard to fix it by myself and couldn't. And it had finally become official.
I went to the infertility specialist. He was a funny one. I found out I even had several acquaintances and friends who went there. I felt out of place with my two year old in tow though. I felt guilty because I should have been happy with this one perfect, beautiful gift God had already given me in my arms. But I longed for another. Just one more I told myself, just one more to fill my heart to its brim.
My first appointment included an ultrasound and bloodwork. The ultrasound showed that I was not ovulating. Everything looked "lovely" in there though, so what was the problem? They took some blood, quite a bit of blood, and tested the crap out of it. They gave me progesterone to make me have my period, and scheduled a follow up the next week.
Well, the next week my labs all came back "lovely." He really liked that word. One hormone, Prolactin, was slightly high, but no big deal. I was given Clomid to make me ovulate, and told we would do another blood test at the beginning of my next cycle. I had to schedule another appointment later on to test the pH of my lady parts. I had to come in and have a swab taken after having "copulated" within 8 hours. I was told I would not be able to get pregnant without using Intra Uterine Insemination (IUI). My lady parts pH was too high or low and was killing all the swimmers in there, which were supposedly all dead. I went home and cried again. We were going to try without it anyways. Turns out I didn't have to worry about it after all.
Surprise, Surprise! My first round of Clomid worked! We were pregnant! How on earth people can get pregnant on that is beyond me. I cried. A lot. I got mad. A lot. I cried because I didn't know why I was so mad. A whole lot. I was hot. I was cold. I was in the mood. Then I was mad. Then I cried. It was crazy. Props to my poor husband who had to deal with me during all that.
My first appoint at the specialists after I found out I was pregnant involved an ultrasound. Yay! Wow. My husband couldn't be there, so I go to tell him on the phone. They thought it was TWINS!!! Holy Moly! He half cried and laughed at the same time, and then he cried more than he laughed because we would have to get a van and we had just paid off the car. That whole week I had to adjust my thinking. Not just one more baby, but two. Not two children for me, but three beautiful babies in our family. The following weeks ultrasound showed only one baby though, and they weren't sure if the other had been a baby or just some implantation bleeding. For one whole week I was convinced we were having twins. I cried at home, and my husband was sad but happy we didn't have to buy a van afterall.
The weeks wore on and he deployed. I recorded my ultrasounds and emailed them to him. My twenty week ultrasound came and I didn't want to know the gender. My husband did though, so they put it in an envelope and I gave it to a friend so I wouldn't peek. I finally caved in to the pressure from my husband and our friend told us while I skyped with my husband so we could find out at the same time. A girl. Another beautiful baby girl. My husband said soon after (a few days? That same conversation? I forget) that we could try for one more, hopefully a boy. What?! Lets have this baby first before we start talking about any more.
This baby finally came. All my worry over how I could love another baby as much as I loved Isabelle disappeared when I held her. Oh that sweet little angel! We had a bit of a rough time at first, but oh how I loved her! My sweet girls. I loved them both. And I thought then that maybe two were enough. But then my baby Margot got bigger, and bigger. And then she turned one. I started to get the baby bug again watching all my friends get pregnant.
I never went back on birth control after Margot was born either. I figured it would be like last time. Well, I stopped nursing her at thirteen months old. I figured my period would show up a few months later like last time. Six months at the most, right? Six months came and went with no period. I went to my new Doctor since we had moved. He gave me a referral right away for a Gynecologist off base who was also supposed to be an infertility specialist.
"When was your last menstrual cycle?"
"Two and half years ago, before I got pregnant with my baby."
"Excuse me? Why haven't you had your cycle since then?"
Um, gee, maybe that’s why I'm here? Blood tests. More progesterone. No cycle this time though. All levels normal except one that’s just a little bit high. You guessed it-prolactin. This is the hormone your body makes to help you produce milk. I had stopped nursing eight months previously though. Blood tests again. A little higher! Time for an MRI of my pituitary gland, where prolactin is made. All normal. Tests for Thyroid function. All normal (but not really, one thyroid hormone turned out to be low. Apparently they say it isn't something to worry about, but then why test for it?). Test. Test. Test. All normal. More progesterone. No cycle. They finally decided to put me back on birth control. I cried again.
In all the testing and retesting, I finally realized that I didn't just kind of want another baby, but that I desperately wanted another baby. A sweet, snuggly, chubby little baby to make our family complete. My five year old had been asking me for over a year now if we could have another baby, preferably twin boy mermaids (mermaids? Yes you read that right), but a girl would be okay too she said, and the baby didn't have to be a mermaid after all. My husband was on board too. He would love a little boy (which of course means we will have another little girl if it ever happens, but that’s ok with me). Somewhere in the mess of these appointments, I realized this wasn't just about getting my period back and my cycle regulated. It was hoping to have one more baby. On our own this time. Trying to fix whatever was wrong with me, and THEN trying for another baby. Not just going on clomid again, only to have the same problem after a baby came. And so I cried when I went back on birth control because that meant even longer to reach my goal. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted at the time. So I went on birth control anyways. I had a light period the next two months. Hardly anything, but at least it was something. After the third month I stopped taking it as it had caused me to gain a whopping twenty pounds. Awesome… My Gynecologist had said three months should be enough to kick-start my cycle again.
No period the next month. Test after negative pregnancy test proved a baby on the way was not the reason. Back to the Gynecologist I went. More progesterone. Still no cycle. I had to have an ultrasound. All clear and normal, although they didn't use the word lovely like my last doctor. A higher dose of progesterone was prescribed for three months, only during ten days of the month on the same days each month. I also got a referral to endocrinology because I didn’t want to go back on the birth control, and I also didn't want to just go on clomid. Her diagnosis was PCOS (Poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). Let me give you an overview of the criteria you need to have in order to be diagnosed with this. 1. Irregular or anovulatory cycles. Check! 2. Many small cysts on the ovaries, often appearing as a string of pearls. Nope, my ovaries were fine and I had had three separate ultrasounds to prove it. 3. High levels of testosterone and insulin resistance. Nope. This same gynecologist had bloodwork done to test me for this at the beginning. SO…. Could I have PCOS? No. Not without at least two of the three criteria. When you look it up on wikipedia or other websites it says this. And it also says that there are several other issues that can present with similar symptoms including, drumroll please…. Hyperprolactinemia (high prolactin).
So off to the endocrinologist I went. I was so happy to get that sweet, sweet referral. Finally, someone who could fix me! My appointment came. I told the nurse my history. I had my previous labwork with me for them to peruse. She made copies for the doctor. I told her I had low T3 (that "unimportant" thyroid home). I showed her the lab. I told her I had high prolactin, and showed her the lab. I told her about all my strange symptoms which strangely enough seem to be the same symptoms as a thyroid condition called hypothyroidism. Its quite common. The doctor finally came in, my labs in hand. I tried to tell him my symptoms, and tried to ask if it had anything to do with my T3 and my thyroid. Did I have hypothyroidism after all? He told me to forget about it, my thyroid levels were fine. That test didn't even show the right kind of T3 anyways. I asked about my high prolactin levels. He said it wasn't that either, my levels were only slightly above the normal range and not at any level where it could be wreaking such havoc in my body. He said I have PCOS.
Oh no. Not this again. I tried to tell him I had already been tested for this twice now. Once just recently by the Gynecologist, and once a few years before at the infertility specialist. My ultrasounds were fine, no cysts. My testosterone and insulin were fine, not elevated. He didn't believe me. He told me I needed to lose weight. I felt a part of me going numb inside as he continued to talk. He would have blood work ordered… take all the tests to be sure… 1,200 calories a day… I stopped listening. He prescribed medicine to help for insulin resistance often given to PCOS patients, and also to diabetic patients. He told me to take more Vitamin D as it was a little low. I asked again about the prolactin. He said that if it was still high and everything else was fine he would give me medicine to lower it. I cried the whole way home. He was my last resort. I felt like he had failed me and there wasn't anything else I could do. No one else to go to.
Low and behold, all my blood tests were normal except my prolactin, which was just a little high. What did this mean then? Did the Doctor still think I had PCOS? If my testosterone and insulin were normal it meant I couldn't have it, right? Just like I said? The nurse couldn't elaborate much on the phone. Apparently he still thought it could be a possibility as he didn't have my ultrasound results. Really?! I asked her to mail me the labs for my records. After my "normal" T3 reading at the Gynecologist I didn't trust not being able to see them for myself. She said they put the prescription in for the prolactin lowering medication and I could pick it up. At least I had gotten that much. I knew it wasn't PCOS, but he apparently didn't care what I said. I got my labs in the mail a couple days later. Guess what the Doctor did not test for? T3. Not the "right kind" or the "wrong kind" as he had described. I called the nurse right away and left a message about it. I didn't get an answer back, even after I called a second time. I called my regular Doctor and he said if I brought in all my labs for him to look at he might be able to get some more blood work ordered about it. I love that Doctor. He's been the only Doctor I've ever had who listens to me, who seems to care about helping me get better. He's awesome.
So now we are all caught up to the here and now. I'm on the prolactin lowering medication which I started last week. It has some awful side effects. I have to wait six more weeks to go back and have my prolactin tested again. I still have a long way to go it seems. My cycles still haven't resumed. Still no hope in sight of having a baby in the near future. Sometimes I wonder if this is God's way of trying to tell me that two babies is enough? Maybe I'm not praying hard enough? Maybe I'm not thankful enough for the two wonderful gifts he's already given me? Maybe I should give up on fixing myself first and just try the clomid like the Gynecologist suggested? But how can that even work if I'm not having a period to begin with?
Right now I will try and hold out hope that the medicine I'm on will help. In the meantime I am also trying out essential oils specific for infertility. One in particular I am really hoping will help, Progressence Plus. I don't have to be taking the high levels of progesterone that the Gynecologist prescribed, which is great since they make me so nauseous all day long. I snuggle my two year old as often as I can, and kiss her still chubby cheeks. I wonder how long she will let me call her a baby, and carry her around. She's getting so big so fast. I hold her close and wonder if she is my last, and close my eyes to keep from crying when I see the beautiful swell of a blossoming pregnant belly walk by.
Honestly, Mommy
*About Amanda*
My name is Amanda Diamond. My husband and I have been married nine years now, have had an amazing wonderful life so far. Thanks to the Air Force we have been able to travel all over the world. We have two beautiful little girls, Isabelle who is five, and Margot who just turned two. I am currently a stay at home mom, which has been an emotionally rewarding, yet incredibly taxing and difficult, job. Especially without the support of family close by.
Dear Diary,
I'm finally going to write about my journey with secondary infertility, and the mysterious underlying conditions that may or may not be the cause. We have two beautiful children that I love so much it hurts. Two beautiful, rambunctious, silly, wonderful little girls. Our oldest came as a lovely surprise when I got off of my birth control so we could start trying a few months later. At the time I was convinced we would have a hard time getting pregnant since my cycles had always been slightly irregular, even when on birth control. Always between 30-36 days-ish. I never really knew why.
After our beautiful baby girl, Isabelle, was born, I did not go on birth control. We knew we would probably want another sometime down the line, but we were comfortable just leaving it in God's hands about when it would happen. Or so we thought. When Isabelle turned one I decided to stop breastfeeding her as I had not gotten my period back and hoped that if I stopped nursing it would help it start back up. It took another six months to start again. That is eighteen months from when I had my baby. At first my periods were normal, but after a few months they started to get a little wonky. And then a lot wonky. Pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test I finally realized my new normal cycle length was anywhere between 47-60 days. This was unheard of for me.
We officially began trying again when Isabelle turned two. I soon realized this wasn't going to happen without fixing my crazy cycle. I went to the Doctor. I was told I needed to lose weight. No blood tests, no exams, just told I was too fat. At the time I was only ten pounds more than when I got pregnant the first time. I joined a cross fit gym with my husband the following week. I started slow and worked my way up. It was hard. It was really hard. After four months I had lost a whopping two pounds. I had not lost a dress size, I had not lost any inches, and I still looked pretty much the same. My cycle was still crazy, and so I went back. The Doctor told me I probably wasn't trying hard enough. I should watch what I eat. Go on a diet as well. I told him I was working out five to six days a week. Sometimes even twice a day! Still, go on a diet. Ok, I decided to try paleo. I had some more success on that. Two months later I had lost ten pounds, yay! My cycle was still incredibly crazy though, almost worse than before. I went back to the Doctor. I told him that I currently weighed less than when I got pregnant before. I was on a diet, I was working out, and nothing was changing in my cycle. I was finally given a referral to an infertility specialist. I went home and cried the rest of the day.
Why would I cry about something I wanted so badly? This was going to fix me, right? I cried because I had finally come to accept it. I finally accepted that I couldn't do by myself what so many women do by accident. I cried because I was broken and didn't know why. I didn't know what I had done to cause this. I cried because I tried so hard to fix it by myself and couldn't. And it had finally become official.
I went to the infertility specialist. He was a funny one. I found out I even had several acquaintances and friends who went there. I felt out of place with my two year old in tow though. I felt guilty because I should have been happy with this one perfect, beautiful gift God had already given me in my arms. But I longed for another. Just one more I told myself, just one more to fill my heart to its brim.
My first appointment included an ultrasound and bloodwork. The ultrasound showed that I was not ovulating. Everything looked "lovely" in there though, so what was the problem? They took some blood, quite a bit of blood, and tested the crap out of it. They gave me progesterone to make me have my period, and scheduled a follow up the next week.
Well, the next week my labs all came back "lovely." He really liked that word. One hormone, Prolactin, was slightly high, but no big deal. I was given Clomid to make me ovulate, and told we would do another blood test at the beginning of my next cycle. I had to schedule another appointment later on to test the pH of my lady parts. I had to come in and have a swab taken after having "copulated" within 8 hours. I was told I would not be able to get pregnant without using Intra Uterine Insemination (IUI). My lady parts pH was too high or low and was killing all the swimmers in there, which were supposedly all dead. I went home and cried again. We were going to try without it anyways. Turns out I didn't have to worry about it after all.
Surprise, Surprise! My first round of Clomid worked! We were pregnant! How on earth people can get pregnant on that is beyond me. I cried. A lot. I got mad. A lot. I cried because I didn't know why I was so mad. A whole lot. I was hot. I was cold. I was in the mood. Then I was mad. Then I cried. It was crazy. Props to my poor husband who had to deal with me during all that.
My first appoint at the specialists after I found out I was pregnant involved an ultrasound. Yay! Wow. My husband couldn't be there, so I go to tell him on the phone. They thought it was TWINS!!! Holy Moly! He half cried and laughed at the same time, and then he cried more than he laughed because we would have to get a van and we had just paid off the car. That whole week I had to adjust my thinking. Not just one more baby, but two. Not two children for me, but three beautiful babies in our family. The following weeks ultrasound showed only one baby though, and they weren't sure if the other had been a baby or just some implantation bleeding. For one whole week I was convinced we were having twins. I cried at home, and my husband was sad but happy we didn't have to buy a van afterall.
The weeks wore on and he deployed. I recorded my ultrasounds and emailed them to him. My twenty week ultrasound came and I didn't want to know the gender. My husband did though, so they put it in an envelope and I gave it to a friend so I wouldn't peek. I finally caved in to the pressure from my husband and our friend told us while I skyped with my husband so we could find out at the same time. A girl. Another beautiful baby girl. My husband said soon after (a few days? That same conversation? I forget) that we could try for one more, hopefully a boy. What?! Lets have this baby first before we start talking about any more.
This baby finally came. All my worry over how I could love another baby as much as I loved Isabelle disappeared when I held her. Oh that sweet little angel! We had a bit of a rough time at first, but oh how I loved her! My sweet girls. I loved them both. And I thought then that maybe two were enough. But then my baby Margot got bigger, and bigger. And then she turned one. I started to get the baby bug again watching all my friends get pregnant.
I never went back on birth control after Margot was born either. I figured it would be like last time. Well, I stopped nursing her at thirteen months old. I figured my period would show up a few months later like last time. Six months at the most, right? Six months came and went with no period. I went to my new Doctor since we had moved. He gave me a referral right away for a Gynecologist off base who was also supposed to be an infertility specialist.
"When was your last menstrual cycle?"
"Two and half years ago, before I got pregnant with my baby."
"Excuse me? Why haven't you had your cycle since then?"
Um, gee, maybe that’s why I'm here? Blood tests. More progesterone. No cycle this time though. All levels normal except one that’s just a little bit high. You guessed it-prolactin. This is the hormone your body makes to help you produce milk. I had stopped nursing eight months previously though. Blood tests again. A little higher! Time for an MRI of my pituitary gland, where prolactin is made. All normal. Tests for Thyroid function. All normal (but not really, one thyroid hormone turned out to be low. Apparently they say it isn't something to worry about, but then why test for it?). Test. Test. Test. All normal. More progesterone. No cycle. They finally decided to put me back on birth control. I cried again.
In all the testing and retesting, I finally realized that I didn't just kind of want another baby, but that I desperately wanted another baby. A sweet, snuggly, chubby little baby to make our family complete. My five year old had been asking me for over a year now if we could have another baby, preferably twin boy mermaids (mermaids? Yes you read that right), but a girl would be okay too she said, and the baby didn't have to be a mermaid after all. My husband was on board too. He would love a little boy (which of course means we will have another little girl if it ever happens, but that’s ok with me). Somewhere in the mess of these appointments, I realized this wasn't just about getting my period back and my cycle regulated. It was hoping to have one more baby. On our own this time. Trying to fix whatever was wrong with me, and THEN trying for another baby. Not just going on clomid again, only to have the same problem after a baby came. And so I cried when I went back on birth control because that meant even longer to reach my goal. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted at the time. So I went on birth control anyways. I had a light period the next two months. Hardly anything, but at least it was something. After the third month I stopped taking it as it had caused me to gain a whopping twenty pounds. Awesome… My Gynecologist had said three months should be enough to kick-start my cycle again.
No period the next month. Test after negative pregnancy test proved a baby on the way was not the reason. Back to the Gynecologist I went. More progesterone. Still no cycle. I had to have an ultrasound. All clear and normal, although they didn't use the word lovely like my last doctor. A higher dose of progesterone was prescribed for three months, only during ten days of the month on the same days each month. I also got a referral to endocrinology because I didn’t want to go back on the birth control, and I also didn't want to just go on clomid. Her diagnosis was PCOS (Poly-cystic ovarian syndrome). Let me give you an overview of the criteria you need to have in order to be diagnosed with this. 1. Irregular or anovulatory cycles. Check! 2. Many small cysts on the ovaries, often appearing as a string of pearls. Nope, my ovaries were fine and I had had three separate ultrasounds to prove it. 3. High levels of testosterone and insulin resistance. Nope. This same gynecologist had bloodwork done to test me for this at the beginning. SO…. Could I have PCOS? No. Not without at least two of the three criteria. When you look it up on wikipedia or other websites it says this. And it also says that there are several other issues that can present with similar symptoms including, drumroll please…. Hyperprolactinemia (high prolactin).
So off to the endocrinologist I went. I was so happy to get that sweet, sweet referral. Finally, someone who could fix me! My appointment came. I told the nurse my history. I had my previous labwork with me for them to peruse. She made copies for the doctor. I told her I had low T3 (that "unimportant" thyroid home). I showed her the lab. I told her I had high prolactin, and showed her the lab. I told her about all my strange symptoms which strangely enough seem to be the same symptoms as a thyroid condition called hypothyroidism. Its quite common. The doctor finally came in, my labs in hand. I tried to tell him my symptoms, and tried to ask if it had anything to do with my T3 and my thyroid. Did I have hypothyroidism after all? He told me to forget about it, my thyroid levels were fine. That test didn't even show the right kind of T3 anyways. I asked about my high prolactin levels. He said it wasn't that either, my levels were only slightly above the normal range and not at any level where it could be wreaking such havoc in my body. He said I have PCOS.
Oh no. Not this again. I tried to tell him I had already been tested for this twice now. Once just recently by the Gynecologist, and once a few years before at the infertility specialist. My ultrasounds were fine, no cysts. My testosterone and insulin were fine, not elevated. He didn't believe me. He told me I needed to lose weight. I felt a part of me going numb inside as he continued to talk. He would have blood work ordered… take all the tests to be sure… 1,200 calories a day… I stopped listening. He prescribed medicine to help for insulin resistance often given to PCOS patients, and also to diabetic patients. He told me to take more Vitamin D as it was a little low. I asked again about the prolactin. He said that if it was still high and everything else was fine he would give me medicine to lower it. I cried the whole way home. He was my last resort. I felt like he had failed me and there wasn't anything else I could do. No one else to go to.
Low and behold, all my blood tests were normal except my prolactin, which was just a little high. What did this mean then? Did the Doctor still think I had PCOS? If my testosterone and insulin were normal it meant I couldn't have it, right? Just like I said? The nurse couldn't elaborate much on the phone. Apparently he still thought it could be a possibility as he didn't have my ultrasound results. Really?! I asked her to mail me the labs for my records. After my "normal" T3 reading at the Gynecologist I didn't trust not being able to see them for myself. She said they put the prescription in for the prolactin lowering medication and I could pick it up. At least I had gotten that much. I knew it wasn't PCOS, but he apparently didn't care what I said. I got my labs in the mail a couple days later. Guess what the Doctor did not test for? T3. Not the "right kind" or the "wrong kind" as he had described. I called the nurse right away and left a message about it. I didn't get an answer back, even after I called a second time. I called my regular Doctor and he said if I brought in all my labs for him to look at he might be able to get some more blood work ordered about it. I love that Doctor. He's been the only Doctor I've ever had who listens to me, who seems to care about helping me get better. He's awesome.
So now we are all caught up to the here and now. I'm on the prolactin lowering medication which I started last week. It has some awful side effects. I have to wait six more weeks to go back and have my prolactin tested again. I still have a long way to go it seems. My cycles still haven't resumed. Still no hope in sight of having a baby in the near future. Sometimes I wonder if this is God's way of trying to tell me that two babies is enough? Maybe I'm not praying hard enough? Maybe I'm not thankful enough for the two wonderful gifts he's already given me? Maybe I should give up on fixing myself first and just try the clomid like the Gynecologist suggested? But how can that even work if I'm not having a period to begin with?
Right now I will try and hold out hope that the medicine I'm on will help. In the meantime I am also trying out essential oils specific for infertility. One in particular I am really hoping will help, Progressence Plus. I don't have to be taking the high levels of progesterone that the Gynecologist prescribed, which is great since they make me so nauseous all day long. I snuggle my two year old as often as I can, and kiss her still chubby cheeks. I wonder how long she will let me call her a baby, and carry her around. She's getting so big so fast. I hold her close and wonder if she is my last, and close my eyes to keep from crying when I see the beautiful swell of a blossoming pregnant belly walk by.
Honestly, Mommy
*About Amanda*
My name is Amanda Diamond. My husband and I have been married nine years now, have had an amazing wonderful life so far. Thanks to the Air Force we have been able to travel all over the world. We have two beautiful little girls, Isabelle who is five, and Margot who just turned two. I am currently a stay at home mom, which has been an emotionally rewarding, yet incredibly taxing and difficult, job. Especially without the support of family close by.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and Tears
Guest submission by Kelsey L.
Dear Diary,
Can we be real for a second? I think I lost my freaking mind when I decided having 2 babies 13 months apart was a good idea.
Seriously, don't take this the wrong way. I love my boys more than anything and everything in this whole entire world. But man, they sure do give me a run for my money. And some days, I swear I'm actually going to go insane. Maybe I'm being just a little dramatic. But what I really DO feel some days is that I have forgotten who I am, in a sense. My life has been consumed by sleepless nights, diaper blow outs, toddler tantrums, endless nursing sessions, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and tears. Ohhhh the tears. If you were to combine all the tears that my kids and I shed together some days, you may have a solution to the drought here in Southern Arizona. Yeah, we have days like that. Days where I question who I have become. Am I seriously that stay at home mom who smells like a dirty diaper, walks around with boogers in her hair, and finds cheerios in her bra all day long because I hardly manage to shower before my husband gets home from work? Yes, most days I am. But, what I've very recently discovered was that there's actually so much more to this whole stay at home mom thing then walking around smelling like baby poop. I'm pretty sure this journal entry is supposed to be witty and entertaining... but I'm more of the sentimental type. So, let me cut to the chase and say, being the mother of these two bright, loving, beautiful boys is hands down the absolute most rewarding thing I have ever done and ever will do. No college degree, career, volunteer oppertunity, or any other accomplishment in my lifetime will ever compare to the joys of being their mother. These moments I share with my babies everyday will be locked away in my memory and cherished forever. The good, the bad, the ugly (and the stinky) times with these two little boys will be mine to remember for the rest of my days. it doesn't matter how much the day sucked, it was time well spent with them. And to them, that time truly matters. I try to tell myself that when the going gets tough. Instead of dwelling on all the things I'm not accomplishing as I sit here in my baby's vomit with greasy hair and unbrushed teeth, I focus on the things I AM accomplishing. Like, you know... being a good mom. A mom who pours all her love, energy, sweat, and tears into her babies. (Literally, it's a workout) I'm 22 years old and have accomplished more in the last two years of my life than I ever have before, or ever will. I (with the help of my dear husband, of course) created two little humans. My little humans. I carried them, I birthed them, I nurse them, I care for them, I play with them, I cry for them, I love them. That's freaking impressive, I don't care what anyone says... it's hard work. I'm proud of myself. And though I may not give myself the credit I probably deserve most days, at the end of the day as I kiss my babies goodnight, I do know my job is the most important job on the face of this planet. So rock on, all you fellow stay at home mamas. I feel for you on every single level. You all kick major tail, every damn day.
Honestly, Mommy
**a little about Kelsey**
Kelsey Latchaw, 22 year old SAHM to two very sweet little boys. JoeJoe who is the strong-willed, loud, yet loving 17 month old. And Benjamin, the 3 month old who has major FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), but makes up for it with his smiles and snuggles. Strives to make a difference in her children's lives every day and make the most out of these years. Dreams of becoming a special education teacher one day and make a difference in the lives of children who deserve it the most.
Dear Diary,
Can we be real for a second? I think I lost my freaking mind when I decided having 2 babies 13 months apart was a good idea.
Seriously, don't take this the wrong way. I love my boys more than anything and everything in this whole entire world. But man, they sure do give me a run for my money. And some days, I swear I'm actually going to go insane. Maybe I'm being just a little dramatic. But what I really DO feel some days is that I have forgotten who I am, in a sense. My life has been consumed by sleepless nights, diaper blow outs, toddler tantrums, endless nursing sessions, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and tears. Ohhhh the tears. If you were to combine all the tears that my kids and I shed together some days, you may have a solution to the drought here in Southern Arizona. Yeah, we have days like that. Days where I question who I have become. Am I seriously that stay at home mom who smells like a dirty diaper, walks around with boogers in her hair, and finds cheerios in her bra all day long because I hardly manage to shower before my husband gets home from work? Yes, most days I am. But, what I've very recently discovered was that there's actually so much more to this whole stay at home mom thing then walking around smelling like baby poop. I'm pretty sure this journal entry is supposed to be witty and entertaining... but I'm more of the sentimental type. So, let me cut to the chase and say, being the mother of these two bright, loving, beautiful boys is hands down the absolute most rewarding thing I have ever done and ever will do. No college degree, career, volunteer oppertunity, or any other accomplishment in my lifetime will ever compare to the joys of being their mother. These moments I share with my babies everyday will be locked away in my memory and cherished forever. The good, the bad, the ugly (and the stinky) times with these two little boys will be mine to remember for the rest of my days. it doesn't matter how much the day sucked, it was time well spent with them. And to them, that time truly matters. I try to tell myself that when the going gets tough. Instead of dwelling on all the things I'm not accomplishing as I sit here in my baby's vomit with greasy hair and unbrushed teeth, I focus on the things I AM accomplishing. Like, you know... being a good mom. A mom who pours all her love, energy, sweat, and tears into her babies. (Literally, it's a workout) I'm 22 years old and have accomplished more in the last two years of my life than I ever have before, or ever will. I (with the help of my dear husband, of course) created two little humans. My little humans. I carried them, I birthed them, I nurse them, I care for them, I play with them, I cry for them, I love them. That's freaking impressive, I don't care what anyone says... it's hard work. I'm proud of myself. And though I may not give myself the credit I probably deserve most days, at the end of the day as I kiss my babies goodnight, I do know my job is the most important job on the face of this planet. So rock on, all you fellow stay at home mamas. I feel for you on every single level. You all kick major tail, every damn day.
Honestly, Mommy
**a little about Kelsey**
Kelsey Latchaw, 22 year old SAHM to two very sweet little boys. JoeJoe who is the strong-willed, loud, yet loving 17 month old. And Benjamin, the 3 month old who has major FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), but makes up for it with his smiles and snuggles. Strives to make a difference in her children's lives every day and make the most out of these years. Dreams of becoming a special education teacher one day and make a difference in the lives of children who deserve it the most.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Mama Bear Has Lost Her Shit
Guest submission by Stephanie.
Dear Diary,
It's been 10 days since my mom passed of cancer. She survived 2 years and 8 months! These 10 days have been some of the most emotional days of my life. While there's so much to express there's a few scenarios that I can truly express the emotions coming out despite knowing this time was coming. Starting with the phone call that no one EVER should have to get at 1143pm on January 2nd 2016. "um, I'm so sorry, I hate to do this over the phone but your mom has passed" "we have called hospice and are waiting for them to get here" I slammed my phone down shaking and suddenly furious that NO ONE had called me earlier in the evening to tell me she had had a rough day, thinking we were going to have some kind of warning. Instantly I panicked because my husband was at work in the air on a flight(he's a flight medic) calling dispatch, leaving my 4 kids In the middle of the night with a sitter and driving to his base quarters. Awaiting a phone call on the next move. It finally came through and he had landed but I had to drive all the way to TMC to pick him up(it's 50 min from our house). At this point I had to pull it together to try and make it there. Eventually, a friend came through and met us there to continue driving to green valley to see her. The hospice nurse finally made it there at 1215am stating "I'm going to pronounce her" and did! My heart sunk even more. It was final. There's no going back, no speaking with her, no more hugs from her, watching her rock in her chair, or breath funny, NOTHING, she was GONE! He nurse wouldn't wait for us to get there. We didn't make it until 130ish. Found out absolutely no one had called the priest to give her "last rights" because she was Catholic. So, my husband ended up doing the prayer and blessing himself. My husband, myself and friend sat there with her and cried and reminisced and cried again for about 4 hours until we got a phone call from the funeral home asking for her paperwork at 530am. I just about lost it because I wasn't even over the initial shock and she hadn't even been gone 6 hours yet. They were nice and said "just call us back in a couple days" we then headed home getting breakfast on the way. Now at 24 hours with no sleep. Exhausted, we thought we'd go home and sleep for a few hours. That never happened unfortunately. Although our kids were gone. We were bombarded with phone calls from grieving family and friends AND a very rude one from her care home about "removing her body an items ASAP"! Glad I didn't take that one and my husband did. Then the offers of "help to move her items out of the care home she had been" and while we had the help they all decided to get her furniture out of her house as well. I called upon my best friend to meet me there. It felt so rushed. By 9pm I still hadn't slept yet. Going on 40 hours now. My friend bought me a bottle of wine to try and ease my nerves. I drank the whole thing in 30 min(I rarely drink ANY kind of alcohol) We finally headed out about midnight and made it to the Denny's by our home about 2am Monday morning after realizing it had been 21 hours since I last ate. Thank god my kids were with a friend. Making it home about 315..... And I crashed. FINALLY slept for the first time in 45 hours! This was only the beginning of a stressful week of funeral preparations. Through out the week my emotions got the best of me a few times. I accidentally drove over my best friends foot, punched a guy for picking on my 11 year old, self conscious daughters hair cut, melted down over leaving my moms blanket for a guy trapped in his car after crashing into a ditch during a snow storm, screamed at my husband(our relationship is way better than that) and yelled at a funeral director for not consulting with me on music for her funeral. Today myself and family had some closure as we celebrated her life here in Arizona but I still have to plan another funeral for anxious family members in Vermont. Along with purchase horribly priced plane tickets for 2 weeks from now! Thanks for listening to my story! It means more than you know.
Love the "mama bear who lost her shit"
Honestly, Mommy
**about Stephanie**
Mom to 4 children ages 11,almost 9, 4 and 2. I am a SAHM during he school year homeschooling our oldest. I teach swimming during the summer and coach swim team year round. My husband and is a 13 year veteran and civilian flight medic.
Dear Diary,
It's been 10 days since my mom passed of cancer. She survived 2 years and 8 months! These 10 days have been some of the most emotional days of my life. While there's so much to express there's a few scenarios that I can truly express the emotions coming out despite knowing this time was coming. Starting with the phone call that no one EVER should have to get at 1143pm on January 2nd 2016. "um, I'm so sorry, I hate to do this over the phone but your mom has passed" "we have called hospice and are waiting for them to get here" I slammed my phone down shaking and suddenly furious that NO ONE had called me earlier in the evening to tell me she had had a rough day, thinking we were going to have some kind of warning. Instantly I panicked because my husband was at work in the air on a flight(he's a flight medic) calling dispatch, leaving my 4 kids In the middle of the night with a sitter and driving to his base quarters. Awaiting a phone call on the next move. It finally came through and he had landed but I had to drive all the way to TMC to pick him up(it's 50 min from our house). At this point I had to pull it together to try and make it there. Eventually, a friend came through and met us there to continue driving to green valley to see her. The hospice nurse finally made it there at 1215am stating "I'm going to pronounce her" and did! My heart sunk even more. It was final. There's no going back, no speaking with her, no more hugs from her, watching her rock in her chair, or breath funny, NOTHING, she was GONE! He nurse wouldn't wait for us to get there. We didn't make it until 130ish. Found out absolutely no one had called the priest to give her "last rights" because she was Catholic. So, my husband ended up doing the prayer and blessing himself. My husband, myself and friend sat there with her and cried and reminisced and cried again for about 4 hours until we got a phone call from the funeral home asking for her paperwork at 530am. I just about lost it because I wasn't even over the initial shock and she hadn't even been gone 6 hours yet. They were nice and said "just call us back in a couple days" we then headed home getting breakfast on the way. Now at 24 hours with no sleep. Exhausted, we thought we'd go home and sleep for a few hours. That never happened unfortunately. Although our kids were gone. We were bombarded with phone calls from grieving family and friends AND a very rude one from her care home about "removing her body an items ASAP"! Glad I didn't take that one and my husband did. Then the offers of "help to move her items out of the care home she had been" and while we had the help they all decided to get her furniture out of her house as well. I called upon my best friend to meet me there. It felt so rushed. By 9pm I still hadn't slept yet. Going on 40 hours now. My friend bought me a bottle of wine to try and ease my nerves. I drank the whole thing in 30 min(I rarely drink ANY kind of alcohol) We finally headed out about midnight and made it to the Denny's by our home about 2am Monday morning after realizing it had been 21 hours since I last ate. Thank god my kids were with a friend. Making it home about 315..... And I crashed. FINALLY slept for the first time in 45 hours! This was only the beginning of a stressful week of funeral preparations. Through out the week my emotions got the best of me a few times. I accidentally drove over my best friends foot, punched a guy for picking on my 11 year old, self conscious daughters hair cut, melted down over leaving my moms blanket for a guy trapped in his car after crashing into a ditch during a snow storm, screamed at my husband(our relationship is way better than that) and yelled at a funeral director for not consulting with me on music for her funeral. Today myself and family had some closure as we celebrated her life here in Arizona but I still have to plan another funeral for anxious family members in Vermont. Along with purchase horribly priced plane tickets for 2 weeks from now! Thanks for listening to my story! It means more than you know.
Love the "mama bear who lost her shit"
Honestly, Mommy
**about Stephanie**
Mom to 4 children ages 11,almost 9, 4 and 2. I am a SAHM during he school year homeschooling our oldest. I teach swimming during the summer and coach swim team year round. My husband and is a 13 year veteran and civilian flight medic.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Rain on Mommy's Parade
Guest submission by Mckenzie.
Dear Diary,
My kids hate me. I swear they do and they want me to look like a hot fucking mess 24/7. It seems like whenever I try doing something for myself such as, try to shower, try to even change clothes, go shopping, basically anything that has to do with my self...shit hits the fan. Always. Get both babies down for a nap so I can enjoy my recorded reality shows while stuffing my face, that's literally my "happy hour" but never fails that they choose that day where they take 30 minute naps instead of their typical 2 hour nap to rain on mommy's parade. Try to take a shower and attempt to actually shave for once cause it's probably been at least a week and boom, they're screaming. Take them with me to my sisters so she can cut my hair and boom, they scream and cry the entire time making me just want to go Britney Spears style. But that days where I don't even change out of my pajamas, my hair looks like a rats nest, teeth haven't been brushed and we might be going on two days with out a shower...they're the happiest, well behaved babies. So am I just meant to smell and look like shit? Or should I let them scream and cry so I can get a little bit of personal time in and feel a little good about myself? Either way I feel like I'm losing to these little humans who just want to rule the world. I'm sure my hubby who works long hours just thinks I'm a gem to come home to. I'd love to at least look half way decent for him time to time. But no matter what as long as my babies are happy, mommy is happy right? One day I'll get to that "MILF" look that I always thought I'd have but for now I'll go change the 7th shitty diaper of the day and cuddle my babies.
Dear Diary,
My kids hate me. I swear they do and they want me to look like a hot fucking mess 24/7. It seems like whenever I try doing something for myself such as, try to shower, try to even change clothes, go shopping, basically anything that has to do with my self...shit hits the fan. Always. Get both babies down for a nap so I can enjoy my recorded reality shows while stuffing my face, that's literally my "happy hour" but never fails that they choose that day where they take 30 minute naps instead of their typical 2 hour nap to rain on mommy's parade. Try to take a shower and attempt to actually shave for once cause it's probably been at least a week and boom, they're screaming. Take them with me to my sisters so she can cut my hair and boom, they scream and cry the entire time making me just want to go Britney Spears style. But that days where I don't even change out of my pajamas, my hair looks like a rats nest, teeth haven't been brushed and we might be going on two days with out a shower...they're the happiest, well behaved babies. So am I just meant to smell and look like shit? Or should I let them scream and cry so I can get a little bit of personal time in and feel a little good about myself? Either way I feel like I'm losing to these little humans who just want to rule the world. I'm sure my hubby who works long hours just thinks I'm a gem to come home to. I'd love to at least look half way decent for him time to time. But no matter what as long as my babies are happy, mommy is happy right? One day I'll get to that "MILF" look that I always thought I'd have but for now I'll go change the 7th shitty diaper of the day and cuddle my babies.
*about Mckenzie*
Mckenzie Root, mommy of a wild yet sweet 13 mo boy named Remy and a smiley 2 1/2 mo boy named Rayden. I'm a 22 yr old stay at home mom who strives to keep her family happy and healthy.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
SQUIRREL
Guest submission by Robin L.
Dear Diary,
Let's go back a month or
So... When a Mom is done! Like worse than an overcooked cafeteria steak. D-O-N-E! Done done done!
Stick a fork in me, roll me to the edge of the house and let me wallow in self pity. Done! Yep, you get the point. Ok now backstory...
I'm a few months into a deployment, my 10th to be exact- but hey who's counting? (Ah yah, this girl right...) I'm exhausted, drained, happy, sad, upset, pissed off, pleased, content all in one big fucking ball.
But every day i wake up- new day new challenge smiles and let's do this!
I'm not one to complain or moan or groan but dammit- I'm PMS'ing for the 3rd time in years (pregnant + breastfeeding = 32 months no period- yay me! Not!) all those emotions come back with a vengeance! A big bitchy vengeance. Didn't miss you Aunt Flo- go back on vacation.
Today was one of "those days" it's like a downward spiral of shit gone wrong.
Kids up. Out the door, day with toddler feeling like a rockstar! Woohoo I got this! Off to get free broken pottery, 2 yr old in tow, load the car, run to Walmart for a "quick trip" easily spend $100, toddler had a holy screaming fit in the checkout- how the hell did that happen? Well crap! Now I'm "that lady" who can't control her screaming toddler! Screw you check out number 5! You have no idea what my life is like and honestly if he's screaming for 5-10 mins it means that I've tried every damn thing and trick from my Mary popping mom bag; to include gummy candies, broken saltines, gum, money, my cell phone and nothing, I repeat NOTHING WORKED! So here I sit in your line! With a screaming yelling pissed off toddler! As you sweat bullets I quickly load the conveyor belt and try- I mean "try" to look like I've got this- in the mean time I want to run- kick scream and throw myself on the floor in complete madness and humility too!
We get out successfully and now we endure the 15-20 minutes of screaming bloody murder all the way home! Because at this point I have a headache as does my toddler and my eye begins to twitch because of my anxiety. Ugh! It's 5 o'clock somewhere right?
At home I get him inside, quickly try and nurse thinking sweet Jesus he WILL NAP! He had to he must be exhausted! Ah! Nope he speed nurses and as I try to lay him down he wakes up and starts screaming all over agin! Oh holy shit! Ok think think think.... Toddler happy, toddler likes Mac n cheese! Yes that's it! I start the boiling water and thanks to Pinterest have found out you don't have to wait for it to boil, so boom mom for the win! Noodles on and we step into the garage.
Then I see car and think oh shit that's right I have pottery I can load into my pool side yard! So we take a few wagon loads over! Yay, this is working he's happy I'm happy yay! We successfully unload everything! Go inside and open the door!
OMG! What is that smell, loud beeping? More loud beeping? Oh shit shit shit! It's the pasta......
Run to the stove smoke everywhere! Turn off stove, add water to pan and put a lid on it, fan on, open back door, kid on hip, oh shit.... The beep what the hell is the beep!? It's MY ALARM- my house ALARM! Oh dear god... Run fidget with numbers and cancel.... Or so I thought! Open garage door- aunt Clo (who's visiting) says what's the beeping? Ha ha ha..... Just as a FIRETRUCK arrives at my driveway!! Then another!! Oh dear god! This is not happening!
Not only was my house alarm notifying fireman and the smoke alarms were blaring, my deployed husband kept getting alerts via text messaging and email from the alarm system saying that the alarm has been on acknowledged at home please contact the proper authorities. And as he's blowing up my phone trying to call me it's currently in the house where the smoke is happening on the charger because it completely died in the hysterics of the Walmart checkout line. So you can only imagine how that phone call went later after my has been was finally reassured his house nor his family were burning inside!
After observation & the layer of smoke that was clearly in the house we did evacuate they opened doors and windows and pushed the "bad air" out! Ugh! Wth this so it! I'm done! Exhausted! Over worked underpaid! Done!
We shoot the shit, make small talk and I say hey well guess I started your Friday off with a bang? Ha ha I'm sure they didn't find it as funny as I did but I was really trying to prevent from crying.
House gets all clear! Firefighters leave, neighbors come to check on us, they get a good laugh with me now. I crack open a beer! Much deserved after that theatrical performance!
My 2 older Kids come home, "mom why does the house smell like
Fire?" I laugh and explain....
we do the usual pick up this & that, take care of backpacks, lunch boxes, get your snack, watch one tv show and then it's homework! Back to business. 1 mom 3 kids here we go. It's like what you've read on the meme's moms with kids have the mentally to juggle 15.12785 million things at once & SQUIRREL!
Well yes! That's exactly it.
Now what's for dinner? Who's
Cooking? Oh that's right, me!
Honestly Mommy
**About Robin**
Millitary wife, lived here a year (the last 7 spent on Japan- loved every minute of it) mom of 3 boys whom are non stop! But wouldn't change a thing!
Enjoy Every day, every minute, every memory! That's all we've got.
Dear Diary,
Let's go back a month or
So... When a Mom is done! Like worse than an overcooked cafeteria steak. D-O-N-E! Done done done!
Stick a fork in me, roll me to the edge of the house and let me wallow in self pity. Done! Yep, you get the point. Ok now backstory...
I'm a few months into a deployment, my 10th to be exact- but hey who's counting? (Ah yah, this girl right...) I'm exhausted, drained, happy, sad, upset, pissed off, pleased, content all in one big fucking ball.
But every day i wake up- new day new challenge smiles and let's do this!
I'm not one to complain or moan or groan but dammit- I'm PMS'ing for the 3rd time in years (pregnant + breastfeeding = 32 months no period- yay me! Not!) all those emotions come back with a vengeance! A big bitchy vengeance. Didn't miss you Aunt Flo- go back on vacation.
Today was one of "those days" it's like a downward spiral of shit gone wrong.
Kids up. Out the door, day with toddler feeling like a rockstar! Woohoo I got this! Off to get free broken pottery, 2 yr old in tow, load the car, run to Walmart for a "quick trip" easily spend $100, toddler had a holy screaming fit in the checkout- how the hell did that happen? Well crap! Now I'm "that lady" who can't control her screaming toddler! Screw you check out number 5! You have no idea what my life is like and honestly if he's screaming for 5-10 mins it means that I've tried every damn thing and trick from my Mary popping mom bag; to include gummy candies, broken saltines, gum, money, my cell phone and nothing, I repeat NOTHING WORKED! So here I sit in your line! With a screaming yelling pissed off toddler! As you sweat bullets I quickly load the conveyor belt and try- I mean "try" to look like I've got this- in the mean time I want to run- kick scream and throw myself on the floor in complete madness and humility too!
We get out successfully and now we endure the 15-20 minutes of screaming bloody murder all the way home! Because at this point I have a headache as does my toddler and my eye begins to twitch because of my anxiety. Ugh! It's 5 o'clock somewhere right?
At home I get him inside, quickly try and nurse thinking sweet Jesus he WILL NAP! He had to he must be exhausted! Ah! Nope he speed nurses and as I try to lay him down he wakes up and starts screaming all over agin! Oh holy shit! Ok think think think.... Toddler happy, toddler likes Mac n cheese! Yes that's it! I start the boiling water and thanks to Pinterest have found out you don't have to wait for it to boil, so boom mom for the win! Noodles on and we step into the garage.
Then I see car and think oh shit that's right I have pottery I can load into my pool side yard! So we take a few wagon loads over! Yay, this is working he's happy I'm happy yay! We successfully unload everything! Go inside and open the door!
OMG! What is that smell, loud beeping? More loud beeping? Oh shit shit shit! It's the pasta......
Run to the stove smoke everywhere! Turn off stove, add water to pan and put a lid on it, fan on, open back door, kid on hip, oh shit.... The beep what the hell is the beep!? It's MY ALARM- my house ALARM! Oh dear god... Run fidget with numbers and cancel.... Or so I thought! Open garage door- aunt Clo (who's visiting) says what's the beeping? Ha ha ha..... Just as a FIRETRUCK arrives at my driveway!! Then another!! Oh dear god! This is not happening!
Not only was my house alarm notifying fireman and the smoke alarms were blaring, my deployed husband kept getting alerts via text messaging and email from the alarm system saying that the alarm has been on acknowledged at home please contact the proper authorities. And as he's blowing up my phone trying to call me it's currently in the house where the smoke is happening on the charger because it completely died in the hysterics of the Walmart checkout line. So you can only imagine how that phone call went later after my has been was finally reassured his house nor his family were burning inside!
After observation & the layer of smoke that was clearly in the house we did evacuate they opened doors and windows and pushed the "bad air" out! Ugh! Wth this so it! I'm done! Exhausted! Over worked underpaid! Done!
We shoot the shit, make small talk and I say hey well guess I started your Friday off with a bang? Ha ha I'm sure they didn't find it as funny as I did but I was really trying to prevent from crying.
House gets all clear! Firefighters leave, neighbors come to check on us, they get a good laugh with me now. I crack open a beer! Much deserved after that theatrical performance!
My 2 older Kids come home, "mom why does the house smell like
Fire?" I laugh and explain....
we do the usual pick up this & that, take care of backpacks, lunch boxes, get your snack, watch one tv show and then it's homework! Back to business. 1 mom 3 kids here we go. It's like what you've read on the meme's moms with kids have the mentally to juggle 15.12785 million things at once & SQUIRREL!
Well yes! That's exactly it.
Now what's for dinner? Who's
Cooking? Oh that's right, me!
Honestly Mommy
**About Robin**
Millitary wife, lived here a year (the last 7 spent on Japan- loved every minute of it) mom of 3 boys whom are non stop! But wouldn't change a thing!
Enjoy Every day, every minute, every memory! That's all we've got.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Through Gritted Teeth I Play Ana
Guest submission by Alisha.
Dear Diary,
At 6 in the morning, Rayne will wake up with 11 demands, not realizing that her Mommy was up every hour nursing her baby brother since midnight. After cooking breakfast for her, I will feed Silas, who will then spit up in my hair, on the couch, on the dog, or all of the above. After cleaning the dog/couch/eggs from the dining room table, I will battle with my daughter to brush her teeth and hair and get dressed ("I don't like pants! I don't like shorts!"). I would have laid the baby in one of the play apparatuses we purchased that he despises, so I have about 10 seconds before he screams bloody murder to brush my teeth and hair, put on deodorant, and find an outfit that both fits me and allows me to nurse in until the next time I'm spit up on and am forced to change. Next, I will read 10 stories with my daughter who interrupts and corrects me on every page. A sip of ice cold coffee that was once upon a time hot will get me through the hardest part of the day: Rayne's free play time. I will attempt to feed/cuddle/play with the baby all the while remaining patient with her couch acrobats, high pitched screams, and dumping her toys all over the living room. After all, I am supposed to "not say no", "say yes more", "ignore the mess", or any other phrase used to guilt moms. One of the flips Rayne did will undoubtedly result in an injury and require lots of kisses and wiped off tears, which will mean independent play is done, I guess. Next, we will transition to one of the art or science activities I prepared the night before in my free time, in which Rayne will most likely complain about, causing another discussion on being grateful. "What is grateful?" "Oh, you mean that thing we talk about every single day?" Forget about pooping alone. I will nurse Silas while pooping. Then, on this particular day, it is ballet class, a notion that I am entirely too thrilled about getting out of the house for. After lugging the 30 pounds of baby + car seat, the slowpoke 3-year-old, and diaper bag a mile from the parking lot, I feel relief. This is where I get a break, where Rayne will be safe inside a dance studio, interacting with children, and I get to sit down! Wait, no. Silas will wake up screaming (after screaming the entire time in the car, of course), wanting to nurse, so I will seek out a deserted hallway to pull my boob out while the ballet moms rally against Planned Parenthood or gay marriage or human rights. Passersby will shoot me dirty looks at me FEEDING MY CHILD, as I'm sure they would rather me go in a bathroom and do it. After ballet, we will make the trek back to the car with the howling baby while Rayne asks me where I'm taking her for lunch (for the record, I've never taken her to lunch after ballet), and feels cheated at the idea of eating lunch at home. Once home, after trying to prepare her lunch in 30 seconds while the baby cries out in starvation, I will find myself saying "Please keep your fork out of your pants" and other sentences I never thought I would utter. Even though Rayne will take an extraordinary amount of time to finish her lunch, it is still too early for nap, so we will do a math or writing activity. Silas will wake up in the middle of the activity and require being held, so I will somehow bounce him on my knees while counting/sorting/making patterns with Rayne.
Then, finally, it has arrived. Nap time! After cleaning the booger stained toilet paper all over the bathroom floor and calling insurance companies, I will pee for the first time in hours. Upon settling on the couch comfortably with a sleeping baby, the dog will bark. Or - my personal favorite - Rayne somehow won't be feeling tired on this day, so she will get up constantly or shout at the top of her lungs and kick the wall, any of which will wake her brother. This will go on for about an hour until I finally give up hope of her taking a nap. Daddy will call (yes! a grownup) with the dreaded news that he won't be home until around 6, another 12-hour day. Rayne will come out of her room asking if she gets candy (huh?) and throwing her Barbie at me, proclaiming that I'm Ana and she's Elsa. Remembering all the studies I've read about the importance of make-believe play, through gritted teeth I play Ana trapped in the ice castle, attempting to create scenarios from my sleep and caffeine deprived brain that will simultaneously meet the master's approval. I will then suggest outside time, which includes two options: 1) chalk on the 6 foot slab of concrete that we call a front porch or 2) strap a flailing Silas to me and take Rayne for a bike ride around the complex. The backyard (a.k.a. Poop Graveyard) is not an option. Due to the amount of crackheads asking for money or fighting in the street, I will suggest going inside. This will be matched by the always bi-polar Rayne, who will either tell me that I'm mean or say "Ok, Mommy" so sweetly. It will be time to prepare dinner, so naturally, it will have to wait until I feed Silas. After pooping up his back, he will happily sit in his jungle chair long enough for me to pull the meat out of the fridge. He will cry while Rayne climbs the armoire or presses buttons repeatedly on the cooler. She will help me get dinner started but will be mad at me for not allowing her to stir boiling hot rice or veggies by herself. Dinner will be ready, which means I get to eat on the couch while nursing Silas and feeling guilty for Rayne sitting by herself. Then, my favorite sound on planet earth will ring through the air: Daddy's work truck reversing into his parking spot! After dinner, it will be shower time for Rayne and I, which means meltdown city. I will floss/brush her teeth, wash her body/hair, leaving me 3 inches of shower to stand in and scrub food, dirt, spit up, pee, poop, and sweat off of my post partum body, the same body that Rayne asks if still pregnant every day. Once I get Rayne dressed and brush her hair, Daddy will read and I will either do the dishes or - you guessed it - feed the baby! We will tuck Rayne in with two songs and 4 "I need a hug"s, after which I will alternate feeding Silas and folding laundry for the following hour. I will finally get to put on that TV show I've been wanting to watch, but I will pass out within the first 7 minutes. Don't worry, though, I will catch the ending spoiler when Silas wakes me up by punching me in the eye.
Honestly, Mommy
**About Alisha**
My name is Alisha. I'm 26, married, and have a almost 4-year-old and a 4 month old. Currently, I'm a SAHM, but my background is in early childhood education and speech/language development. I've recently taken up wine and fleeing to my bedroom to count to 10, but the kids always find me there!
Dear Diary,
At 6 in the morning, Rayne will wake up with 11 demands, not realizing that her Mommy was up every hour nursing her baby brother since midnight. After cooking breakfast for her, I will feed Silas, who will then spit up in my hair, on the couch, on the dog, or all of the above. After cleaning the dog/couch/eggs from the dining room table, I will battle with my daughter to brush her teeth and hair and get dressed ("I don't like pants! I don't like shorts!"). I would have laid the baby in one of the play apparatuses we purchased that he despises, so I have about 10 seconds before he screams bloody murder to brush my teeth and hair, put on deodorant, and find an outfit that both fits me and allows me to nurse in until the next time I'm spit up on and am forced to change. Next, I will read 10 stories with my daughter who interrupts and corrects me on every page. A sip of ice cold coffee that was once upon a time hot will get me through the hardest part of the day: Rayne's free play time. I will attempt to feed/cuddle/play with the baby all the while remaining patient with her couch acrobats, high pitched screams, and dumping her toys all over the living room. After all, I am supposed to "not say no", "say yes more", "ignore the mess", or any other phrase used to guilt moms. One of the flips Rayne did will undoubtedly result in an injury and require lots of kisses and wiped off tears, which will mean independent play is done, I guess. Next, we will transition to one of the art or science activities I prepared the night before in my free time, in which Rayne will most likely complain about, causing another discussion on being grateful. "What is grateful?" "Oh, you mean that thing we talk about every single day?" Forget about pooping alone. I will nurse Silas while pooping. Then, on this particular day, it is ballet class, a notion that I am entirely too thrilled about getting out of the house for. After lugging the 30 pounds of baby + car seat, the slowpoke 3-year-old, and diaper bag a mile from the parking lot, I feel relief. This is where I get a break, where Rayne will be safe inside a dance studio, interacting with children, and I get to sit down! Wait, no. Silas will wake up screaming (after screaming the entire time in the car, of course), wanting to nurse, so I will seek out a deserted hallway to pull my boob out while the ballet moms rally against Planned Parenthood or gay marriage or human rights. Passersby will shoot me dirty looks at me FEEDING MY CHILD, as I'm sure they would rather me go in a bathroom and do it. After ballet, we will make the trek back to the car with the howling baby while Rayne asks me where I'm taking her for lunch (for the record, I've never taken her to lunch after ballet), and feels cheated at the idea of eating lunch at home. Once home, after trying to prepare her lunch in 30 seconds while the baby cries out in starvation, I will find myself saying "Please keep your fork out of your pants" and other sentences I never thought I would utter. Even though Rayne will take an extraordinary amount of time to finish her lunch, it is still too early for nap, so we will do a math or writing activity. Silas will wake up in the middle of the activity and require being held, so I will somehow bounce him on my knees while counting/sorting/making patterns with Rayne.
Then, finally, it has arrived. Nap time! After cleaning the booger stained toilet paper all over the bathroom floor and calling insurance companies, I will pee for the first time in hours. Upon settling on the couch comfortably with a sleeping baby, the dog will bark. Or - my personal favorite - Rayne somehow won't be feeling tired on this day, so she will get up constantly or shout at the top of her lungs and kick the wall, any of which will wake her brother. This will go on for about an hour until I finally give up hope of her taking a nap. Daddy will call (yes! a grownup) with the dreaded news that he won't be home until around 6, another 12-hour day. Rayne will come out of her room asking if she gets candy (huh?) and throwing her Barbie at me, proclaiming that I'm Ana and she's Elsa. Remembering all the studies I've read about the importance of make-believe play, through gritted teeth I play Ana trapped in the ice castle, attempting to create scenarios from my sleep and caffeine deprived brain that will simultaneously meet the master's approval. I will then suggest outside time, which includes two options: 1) chalk on the 6 foot slab of concrete that we call a front porch or 2) strap a flailing Silas to me and take Rayne for a bike ride around the complex. The backyard (a.k.a. Poop Graveyard) is not an option. Due to the amount of crackheads asking for money or fighting in the street, I will suggest going inside. This will be matched by the always bi-polar Rayne, who will either tell me that I'm mean or say "Ok, Mommy" so sweetly. It will be time to prepare dinner, so naturally, it will have to wait until I feed Silas. After pooping up his back, he will happily sit in his jungle chair long enough for me to pull the meat out of the fridge. He will cry while Rayne climbs the armoire or presses buttons repeatedly on the cooler. She will help me get dinner started but will be mad at me for not allowing her to stir boiling hot rice or veggies by herself. Dinner will be ready, which means I get to eat on the couch while nursing Silas and feeling guilty for Rayne sitting by herself. Then, my favorite sound on planet earth will ring through the air: Daddy's work truck reversing into his parking spot! After dinner, it will be shower time for Rayne and I, which means meltdown city. I will floss/brush her teeth, wash her body/hair, leaving me 3 inches of shower to stand in and scrub food, dirt, spit up, pee, poop, and sweat off of my post partum body, the same body that Rayne asks if still pregnant every day. Once I get Rayne dressed and brush her hair, Daddy will read and I will either do the dishes or - you guessed it - feed the baby! We will tuck Rayne in with two songs and 4 "I need a hug"s, after which I will alternate feeding Silas and folding laundry for the following hour. I will finally get to put on that TV show I've been wanting to watch, but I will pass out within the first 7 minutes. Don't worry, though, I will catch the ending spoiler when Silas wakes me up by punching me in the eye.
Honestly, Mommy
**About Alisha**
My name is Alisha. I'm 26, married, and have a almost 4-year-old and a 4 month old. Currently, I'm a SAHM, but my background is in early childhood education and speech/language development. I've recently taken up wine and fleeing to my bedroom to count to 10, but the kids always find me there!
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Thank God they gave me Xanax
Guest submission by Jessica Berard.
Jan 12, 2016
Dear Diary,
Where do I even begin? The twins are almost 4 months old and holy shit has time gone by...way...too...fast!! I feel like it was just yesterday I was going to my 35 week OB appt and heard my doctor mutter the words "you have developed pre eclampsia and need to have these babies today!" Do you know how freaking scary it is going in for a routine appointment, to then find out you'll be ending up in the hospital where your life is about to change?! Not many people know my delivery story, why? Because it's dramatic, and scary, and NOT picture perfect like all moms wish for.
I got to triage just minutes after my doctor muttered those awful words (thank goodness the hospital was right across the street) and had to sit there for 8 long hours. Everyyyy single room in L&D was full, I mean come on, I was terrified as shit, and couldn't even be in a nice big delivery room. I had eaten breakfast that morning so my doctor had me wait 8 hours before my surgery in the event I needed general anesthesia - those were the LONGEST 8 hours I have ever experienced. Anxious that my blood pressure was high, anxious that I would become paralyzed from the spinal, anxious that my babies would come out and need NICU time since they were preterm. On top of those fears, I started having contractions and holy shit balls, they were painful. I do NOT know how women give birth naturally, I'd probably pass out from the pain, and I give you natural birth mamas MAJOR props.
Around 3:30pm the nurses wheeled me into OR prep, hooked me up to tons of fluids, put the compression machine on my calves to prevent clots, and proceeded asked me a million questions. Nurses kept coming in and out like I was a damn celebrity. The anesthesiologist finally came in {thank goodness because I had a million questions} and in my fear mode I asked him how many times he'd done this and if anyone had ever become paralyzed (< was such a legit fear of mine). Apparently that was an amusing question because he instantly started laughing like I was some dramatic idiot lol Once he explained everything and reassured me he was a pro, they wheeled me into the OR (which for the record is small as shit unlike what you see on TV shows - can you say claustrophobic?!?) and prepped me for my spinal...and guess what?! I survived the spinal and didn't die or become paralyzed like I thought - although once it kicks in it's the scariest feeling in the world being numb from the chest down. They finally let my husband in the OR, and then the swarm of help arrived. There could very well have been more that I didn't see, but there was for sure: one NICU doctor, 4 NICU nurses, two surgical nurses, three OBs, the anesthesiologist, and a nurse who was shadowing. The procedure begin and took what felt like forever for me to hear baby cries. Kenneth came out first screaming balls to the wall, and a minute later I saw little Alice..but there was no sound. I have never been more scared in my life. So helpless. She had swallowed fluid on the way out and was born not breathing, but within a minute (or less) the NICU doctor had her breathing (and screaming!) thank goodness. And yes, it's true, you do bawl when you hear your babies cry for the first time - it's pure joy! I will say, the c section was NOT easy though - I got violently sick from low blood pressure, couldn't feel myself dry heaving (attractive huh?) and even after four anti-nausea injections nothing helped so the doctor was use suction in my mouth like dentists use lol. The NICU Doctor took the babies and then my doctors finished and wheeled me into recovery where I got MORE anti nausea medication and something to stop me from shaking uncontrollably.
At 7pm the nurses had turnover, and at 730pm I was wheeled into the NICU where the babies were being monitored. There is nothing scarier than the NICU by the way - babies everywhere that were so small and helpless, & parents who were exhausted and emotionally drained. The nurses wheeled me up to Alice first and all I could do was smile from ear to ear (I didn't even cry which was surprising). She was only hooked up to a BP cuff and ekg leads and was perfect, I mean there is no words to describe how she looked. The nurse asked if I wanted to hold her and I was so scared of "breaking" her - she was only 4lb12oz and 18" at birth. BEST moment of my life and I did not want to give her back to the NICU nurse. Kenneth was in the next room over and was just as perfect - 6lb8oz and 20.5" of perfection! Let me tell you too...you love your husband a lot before children, but that love grows substantially when you see him hold his children for the first time! ❤.
They made me leave to go into my postpartum recovery room, but assured me the babies were well enough to be transferred to my room later that night. Do you know how amazing that is?! They were born at 35w2d and only needed 7 hours of NICU monitoring...that almost NEVER happens to preterm babies! Go me for growing them so well ahaha 😊
They brought them to our room around 11pm that night and I was freaking exhausted but my husband and I held them like the night would last forever. We got absolutely ZERO sleep, and it sucked to function, but it was all worth it. We had visitors starting the next day (in laws and my parents) and it was overwhelming as hell. The mamma bear in me kicked in and I didn't want ANYONE holding the babies. I know that sounds so f*ed up but they were mine and I didn't want to share.
Wednesday (two days post delivery) all was fine and well until I got up to walk the halls. I made it to the end of the hallway, and then felt like I was going to pass out. Went back to my room where I had visitors and the nurse checked my BP. Guess what?! It was back up to the 160s/100. I instantly went into panic mode. In my mind, I was about to die - okay, that may be a bit dramatic, but really, I thought for sure I was going to die. My blood pressure had not only spiked, I was starting to become hyper-reflexive, was shaking uncontrollably (from the nerves and high BP) andddd after bloodwork, found out my liver/kidney values were screwed up. The nurses consulted with my OB and attempted oral blood pressure meds, which weren't working, then turned to IV blood pressure meds which worked for like an hour. I tried so hard to remain calm until the next morning when they said my OB would stop by. When you're in that state you want to see you OB calm. Well, holy shit, when even your OB is worried who wouldn't freak the f out! 😕. She increased my meds, and told me she'd check back on Friday, and that's just what happened...
She came back Friday morning and my BP was not coming down and I was having bad side effects of the pre eclampsia. I was sent immediately to L&D where I had a catheter placed and was started on the dreaded magnesium sulfate for 24 longgggg hours. It's serious when they start that...why you ask?! It's the drug they turn to to prevent seizures which can lead to...DEATH 😞 For those that have never experienced it - be glad, VERY glad! That shit messes you up big time...you can't walk, can't comprehend anything happening around you, can hardly open your eyes, and you feel shitfaced drunk. That's NOT how I imagined spending my time in the hospital and I was scared to death. I couldn't stop crying, and was so anxious (thank god they gave me Xanax lol). I couldn't even hold my newborn babies for fear of dropping them. Thank the lord for my husband. That man did EVERYTHING for those babies while I was praying {hard} that I wasn't going to die and leave my husband a single dad.
Saturday morning they checked my BP and it had come down (although still high) so they shut off the magnesium, rechecked labs (which hadn't gone up, but also had not changed) and told me I wasn't going home!! This was day 6 for me in the hospital and I wanted to get the hell out of there!! I kept taking my meds as directed and late that afternoon my BP had somewhat stabilized. I begged my doctor to let me leave - I'm pretty sure she felt sorry for me, because she ACTUALLY approved me to be discharged. It was lateeeee Saturday night that we left but lordy lord it was amazing to see the outside of a hospital and be on our way home.
The first month at home with the twins was so fucking hard (excuse my language). They were never on the same schedule, slept for what felt like 5 minutes, were sooooo clingy and I was overwhelmed. I'd go in the bedroom and just bawl hysterically. Thank goodness my husband had 40 days off or I truly would've had a mental breakdown and developed PPD.
Like I said earlier, they're almost four months old now and they're starting to get fun. They're not just blobs anymore - they smile and coo when you talk to them, play on their activity mats, and {for the most part} we've been lucky enough to have them sleeping ~6 hours straight at night.
Looking back, I hated my delivery story and those first moments the babies were born, but I have God to thank because he brought them into this world with grace, made sure they were healthy, and most of all, made sure I pulled through my recovery safely. My story isn't picture perfect, and some will feel sorry for me, but don't, it's a huge part of my life that I'll never get to experience again so I take it now with a grain of salt.
Here's to good, bad, happy, and sad of motherhood!! <3
Honestly, Mommy
Jan 12, 2016
Dear Diary,
Where do I even begin? The twins are almost 4 months old and holy shit has time gone by...way...too...fast!! I feel like it was just yesterday I was going to my 35 week OB appt and heard my doctor mutter the words "you have developed pre eclampsia and need to have these babies today!" Do you know how freaking scary it is going in for a routine appointment, to then find out you'll be ending up in the hospital where your life is about to change?! Not many people know my delivery story, why? Because it's dramatic, and scary, and NOT picture perfect like all moms wish for.
I got to triage just minutes after my doctor muttered those awful words (thank goodness the hospital was right across the street) and had to sit there for 8 long hours. Everyyyy single room in L&D was full, I mean come on, I was terrified as shit, and couldn't even be in a nice big delivery room. I had eaten breakfast that morning so my doctor had me wait 8 hours before my surgery in the event I needed general anesthesia - those were the LONGEST 8 hours I have ever experienced. Anxious that my blood pressure was high, anxious that I would become paralyzed from the spinal, anxious that my babies would come out and need NICU time since they were preterm. On top of those fears, I started having contractions and holy shit balls, they were painful. I do NOT know how women give birth naturally, I'd probably pass out from the pain, and I give you natural birth mamas MAJOR props.
Around 3:30pm the nurses wheeled me into OR prep, hooked me up to tons of fluids, put the compression machine on my calves to prevent clots, and proceeded asked me a million questions. Nurses kept coming in and out like I was a damn celebrity. The anesthesiologist finally came in {thank goodness because I had a million questions} and in my fear mode I asked him how many times he'd done this and if anyone had ever become paralyzed (< was such a legit fear of mine). Apparently that was an amusing question because he instantly started laughing like I was some dramatic idiot lol Once he explained everything and reassured me he was a pro, they wheeled me into the OR (which for the record is small as shit unlike what you see on TV shows - can you say claustrophobic?!?) and prepped me for my spinal...and guess what?! I survived the spinal and didn't die or become paralyzed like I thought - although once it kicks in it's the scariest feeling in the world being numb from the chest down. They finally let my husband in the OR, and then the swarm of help arrived. There could very well have been more that I didn't see, but there was for sure: one NICU doctor, 4 NICU nurses, two surgical nurses, three OBs, the anesthesiologist, and a nurse who was shadowing. The procedure begin and took what felt like forever for me to hear baby cries. Kenneth came out first screaming balls to the wall, and a minute later I saw little Alice..but there was no sound. I have never been more scared in my life. So helpless. She had swallowed fluid on the way out and was born not breathing, but within a minute (or less) the NICU doctor had her breathing (and screaming!) thank goodness. And yes, it's true, you do bawl when you hear your babies cry for the first time - it's pure joy! I will say, the c section was NOT easy though - I got violently sick from low blood pressure, couldn't feel myself dry heaving (attractive huh?) and even after four anti-nausea injections nothing helped so the doctor was use suction in my mouth like dentists use lol. The NICU Doctor took the babies and then my doctors finished and wheeled me into recovery where I got MORE anti nausea medication and something to stop me from shaking uncontrollably.
At 7pm the nurses had turnover, and at 730pm I was wheeled into the NICU where the babies were being monitored. There is nothing scarier than the NICU by the way - babies everywhere that were so small and helpless, & parents who were exhausted and emotionally drained. The nurses wheeled me up to Alice first and all I could do was smile from ear to ear (I didn't even cry which was surprising). She was only hooked up to a BP cuff and ekg leads and was perfect, I mean there is no words to describe how she looked. The nurse asked if I wanted to hold her and I was so scared of "breaking" her - she was only 4lb12oz and 18" at birth. BEST moment of my life and I did not want to give her back to the NICU nurse. Kenneth was in the next room over and was just as perfect - 6lb8oz and 20.5" of perfection! Let me tell you too...you love your husband a lot before children, but that love grows substantially when you see him hold his children for the first time! ❤.
They made me leave to go into my postpartum recovery room, but assured me the babies were well enough to be transferred to my room later that night. Do you know how amazing that is?! They were born at 35w2d and only needed 7 hours of NICU monitoring...that almost NEVER happens to preterm babies! Go me for growing them so well ahaha 😊
They brought them to our room around 11pm that night and I was freaking exhausted but my husband and I held them like the night would last forever. We got absolutely ZERO sleep, and it sucked to function, but it was all worth it. We had visitors starting the next day (in laws and my parents) and it was overwhelming as hell. The mamma bear in me kicked in and I didn't want ANYONE holding the babies. I know that sounds so f*ed up but they were mine and I didn't want to share.
Wednesday (two days post delivery) all was fine and well until I got up to walk the halls. I made it to the end of the hallway, and then felt like I was going to pass out. Went back to my room where I had visitors and the nurse checked my BP. Guess what?! It was back up to the 160s/100. I instantly went into panic mode. In my mind, I was about to die - okay, that may be a bit dramatic, but really, I thought for sure I was going to die. My blood pressure had not only spiked, I was starting to become hyper-reflexive, was shaking uncontrollably (from the nerves and high BP) andddd after bloodwork, found out my liver/kidney values were screwed up. The nurses consulted with my OB and attempted oral blood pressure meds, which weren't working, then turned to IV blood pressure meds which worked for like an hour. I tried so hard to remain calm until the next morning when they said my OB would stop by. When you're in that state you want to see you OB calm. Well, holy shit, when even your OB is worried who wouldn't freak the f out! 😕. She increased my meds, and told me she'd check back on Friday, and that's just what happened...
She came back Friday morning and my BP was not coming down and I was having bad side effects of the pre eclampsia. I was sent immediately to L&D where I had a catheter placed and was started on the dreaded magnesium sulfate for 24 longgggg hours. It's serious when they start that...why you ask?! It's the drug they turn to to prevent seizures which can lead to...DEATH 😞 For those that have never experienced it - be glad, VERY glad! That shit messes you up big time...you can't walk, can't comprehend anything happening around you, can hardly open your eyes, and you feel shitfaced drunk. That's NOT how I imagined spending my time in the hospital and I was scared to death. I couldn't stop crying, and was so anxious (thank god they gave me Xanax lol). I couldn't even hold my newborn babies for fear of dropping them. Thank the lord for my husband. That man did EVERYTHING for those babies while I was praying {hard} that I wasn't going to die and leave my husband a single dad.
Saturday morning they checked my BP and it had come down (although still high) so they shut off the magnesium, rechecked labs (which hadn't gone up, but also had not changed) and told me I wasn't going home!! This was day 6 for me in the hospital and I wanted to get the hell out of there!! I kept taking my meds as directed and late that afternoon my BP had somewhat stabilized. I begged my doctor to let me leave - I'm pretty sure she felt sorry for me, because she ACTUALLY approved me to be discharged. It was lateeeee Saturday night that we left but lordy lord it was amazing to see the outside of a hospital and be on our way home.
The first month at home with the twins was so fucking hard (excuse my language). They were never on the same schedule, slept for what felt like 5 minutes, were sooooo clingy and I was overwhelmed. I'd go in the bedroom and just bawl hysterically. Thank goodness my husband had 40 days off or I truly would've had a mental breakdown and developed PPD.
Like I said earlier, they're almost four months old now and they're starting to get fun. They're not just blobs anymore - they smile and coo when you talk to them, play on their activity mats, and {for the most part} we've been lucky enough to have them sleeping ~6 hours straight at night.
Looking back, I hated my delivery story and those first moments the babies were born, but I have God to thank because he brought them into this world with grace, made sure they were healthy, and most of all, made sure I pulled through my recovery safely. My story isn't picture perfect, and some will feel sorry for me, but don't, it's a huge part of my life that I'll never get to experience again so I take it now with a grain of salt.
Here's to good, bad, happy, and sad of motherhood!! <3
Honestly, Mommy
Sunday, January 10, 2016
I just want to be left alone..
Guest submission by Olivia Wilkes
January 9, 2016
Dear Diary,
Another glorious morning…makes me sick!” Seriously, my mantra of the morning. Having to wake up before the ass crack of dawn is getting really fucking old. We need a new vehicle. W2’s hurry your ass up. Not to mention my head has been killing me since last night. I thought sleep was supposed to help that? Apparently not because all day I have felt like I have an elephant inside of my head slowly crushing every inch of my brain. After we dropped Garrett off the kids and I came home and I cocooned myself in my heated blanket and vowed to not emerge for the rest of the day. Then it hit me: I’m a mom. There is no break, there is no peace, there is no crawling into a dark place and sleeping off the major migraine. In fact, after letting me doze in and out of consciousness for a good 45 minutes, the trio decided it would be a great idea to throw me a concert. With every noisy ass toy we own; right next to my head. What.the.fuck?! Luckily my kids can be pacified with food. Making them a snack bought me 15 minutes of silence..well at least the closest thing to silence I could get. Then, the unthinkable happened. BOTH boys went down for a nap. B.O.T.H boys. Chubba hasn’t napped since we left Tucson, it was a fucking miracle, and just to prove the napping God’s were shining down on me singing ‘Hallelujah!’ the boys slept for three and a half hours. OVER.THREE.HOURS. I’m almost scared to say it out loud, for fear that it may be a dream. Princess on the other hand. She puts the fucking Energizer Bunny to shame. People always joke that children siphon their energy from their parents, but with this child I seriously think it’s true. I love her to death, but some days (especially days like today), she is like that overly preppy girl in the movies (like Patty Simcox from Grease) that you just want to punch in the face. I couldn’t do it. I guess my saving grace was that I was in so much damn pain that I didn’t have the energy to lose my shit on her. So, that made two good things for the day: nap for the boys, and I actually held my composure and didn’t lose my shit. When Chubba and the Boob Monster finally woke up, Chubbs still wasn’t feeling well. Poor kid has been sick for the last few days. So when he wanted to cuddle I was all over it, especially since it meant I didn’t have to leave my beloved spot on the couch that I had pretty much melted into.
After an hour or so of cuddling I realized I had totally failed at life today, and didn’t accomplish any sort of house work. Sometimes, being anal retentive about how my house looks gets really fucking old. Can I just take one fucking day and be a lazy sack of shit?! Nope. After unloading the dishwasher and washing the few dishes in the sink, I realized I had only fed Princess lunch today. Fuck, mommy fail. Looking at the clock on the stove I realized it was already 3:30, too late to feed the boys lunch. Food: SHIT, I didn’t plan anything for dinner either. Parenting Level: fucking awful. Thankfully I had ground beef that I needed to cook, but what to make with it? I didn’t want to spend any significant amount of time in the kitchen cooking. Tater tot casserole. Sold! I even made a healthy version of it, because, again, I’m so fucking neurotic sometimes I can’t just make a meal full of chemicals for my kids. Organic it was (well, mostly. **Note to self, find organic tater tots). Dinner made and cleaned up, magic popcorn made, and the older two kids in bed; I saw freedom. Made myself a hot tottie and curled back into my spot on the couch with the Boob Monster and tried to get him to sleep. Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took for Boob Monster to decide he was exhausted but didn’t want to sleep. WHY!? I.WANT.TO.BE.ALONE. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEEEEEP KID! So now, here I sit, boob in Boob Monsters mouth, yet again- for the 10th time in an hour, trying-begging-pleading-bribing, to get him to go to sleep. I tell myself he is only nursing so much because he is teething, and it won’t last forever. I wanted him to make it a year, and we’ve gone past that. But, damn, I just want to be left alone for a bit. I need time to decompress. But that doesn’t seem like it will happen today. So here I sit bitching to you, diary, crying on the inside from being touched out, and mentally fist pumping the fact that Chubba took a long nap, and the fact that all three kids survived today. Maybe tomorrow my Parenting Level will be raised to amateur. Here’s to hoping.
Honestly, Mommy
**a little about Olivia**
I am a mom to three: Princess: age 4, Chubba: age 2, and Boob Monster: age 1 (yes, they are nicknames: no, I am not one of 'those people' who give my kids weird ass names). As of now I am a stay at home mom, however, I just finished my Bachelors Degree- so I suppose I need to join the adult world and find a job soon. I love crafting: using my silhouette, sewing, embroidery, etc. Which mainly consists of me cursing out my machines for not being able to figure out exactly what I am doing. Reading is another hobby, it allows me to escape. I am neurotic about cleaning and my house being clean, it sucks. My family has recently moved to Montana, for my husband's job, which takes him away for four days at a time. Upside to this: my alcohol tolerance is becoming a champ! Even though I like seeing how my liver can withstand different concoctions, I like to hook mostly healthy. Non-processed foods, organic, and as natural as I can find it...unless it's chocolate, then I don't care, I'll eat Hershey's all day!
January 9, 2016
Dear Diary,
Another glorious morning…makes me sick!” Seriously, my mantra of the morning. Having to wake up before the ass crack of dawn is getting really fucking old. We need a new vehicle. W2’s hurry your ass up. Not to mention my head has been killing me since last night. I thought sleep was supposed to help that? Apparently not because all day I have felt like I have an elephant inside of my head slowly crushing every inch of my brain. After we dropped Garrett off the kids and I came home and I cocooned myself in my heated blanket and vowed to not emerge for the rest of the day. Then it hit me: I’m a mom. There is no break, there is no peace, there is no crawling into a dark place and sleeping off the major migraine. In fact, after letting me doze in and out of consciousness for a good 45 minutes, the trio decided it would be a great idea to throw me a concert. With every noisy ass toy we own; right next to my head. What.the.fuck?! Luckily my kids can be pacified with food. Making them a snack bought me 15 minutes of silence..well at least the closest thing to silence I could get. Then, the unthinkable happened. BOTH boys went down for a nap. B.O.T.H boys. Chubba hasn’t napped since we left Tucson, it was a fucking miracle, and just to prove the napping God’s were shining down on me singing ‘Hallelujah!’ the boys slept for three and a half hours. OVER.THREE.HOURS. I’m almost scared to say it out loud, for fear that it may be a dream. Princess on the other hand. She puts the fucking Energizer Bunny to shame. People always joke that children siphon their energy from their parents, but with this child I seriously think it’s true. I love her to death, but some days (especially days like today), she is like that overly preppy girl in the movies (like Patty Simcox from Grease) that you just want to punch in the face. I couldn’t do it. I guess my saving grace was that I was in so much damn pain that I didn’t have the energy to lose my shit on her. So, that made two good things for the day: nap for the boys, and I actually held my composure and didn’t lose my shit. When Chubba and the Boob Monster finally woke up, Chubbs still wasn’t feeling well. Poor kid has been sick for the last few days. So when he wanted to cuddle I was all over it, especially since it meant I didn’t have to leave my beloved spot on the couch that I had pretty much melted into.
After an hour or so of cuddling I realized I had totally failed at life today, and didn’t accomplish any sort of house work. Sometimes, being anal retentive about how my house looks gets really fucking old. Can I just take one fucking day and be a lazy sack of shit?! Nope. After unloading the dishwasher and washing the few dishes in the sink, I realized I had only fed Princess lunch today. Fuck, mommy fail. Looking at the clock on the stove I realized it was already 3:30, too late to feed the boys lunch. Food: SHIT, I didn’t plan anything for dinner either. Parenting Level: fucking awful. Thankfully I had ground beef that I needed to cook, but what to make with it? I didn’t want to spend any significant amount of time in the kitchen cooking. Tater tot casserole. Sold! I even made a healthy version of it, because, again, I’m so fucking neurotic sometimes I can’t just make a meal full of chemicals for my kids. Organic it was (well, mostly. **Note to self, find organic tater tots). Dinner made and cleaned up, magic popcorn made, and the older two kids in bed; I saw freedom. Made myself a hot tottie and curled back into my spot on the couch with the Boob Monster and tried to get him to sleep. Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took for Boob Monster to decide he was exhausted but didn’t want to sleep. WHY!? I.WANT.TO.BE.ALONE. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEEEEEP KID! So now, here I sit, boob in Boob Monsters mouth, yet again- for the 10th time in an hour, trying-begging-pleading-bribing, to get him to go to sleep. I tell myself he is only nursing so much because he is teething, and it won’t last forever. I wanted him to make it a year, and we’ve gone past that. But, damn, I just want to be left alone for a bit. I need time to decompress. But that doesn’t seem like it will happen today. So here I sit bitching to you, diary, crying on the inside from being touched out, and mentally fist pumping the fact that Chubba took a long nap, and the fact that all three kids survived today. Maybe tomorrow my Parenting Level will be raised to amateur. Here’s to hoping.
Honestly, Mommy
**a little about Olivia**
I am a mom to three: Princess: age 4, Chubba: age 2, and Boob Monster: age 1 (yes, they are nicknames: no, I am not one of 'those people' who give my kids weird ass names). As of now I am a stay at home mom, however, I just finished my Bachelors Degree- so I suppose I need to join the adult world and find a job soon. I love crafting: using my silhouette, sewing, embroidery, etc. Which mainly consists of me cursing out my machines for not being able to figure out exactly what I am doing. Reading is another hobby, it allows me to escape. I am neurotic about cleaning and my house being clean, it sucks. My family has recently moved to Montana, for my husband's job, which takes him away for four days at a time. Upside to this: my alcohol tolerance is becoming a champ! Even though I like seeing how my liver can withstand different concoctions, I like to hook mostly healthy. Non-processed foods, organic, and as natural as I can find it...unless it's chocolate, then I don't care, I'll eat Hershey's all day!
"Bye Felicia" - JJ
Dear Diary,
JJ is 2 now. TWO. He’s a badass little dude. He’s also a little shit. Everyone says 3 is worse than 2 and I just cannot handle that information right now. Where did my sweet baby go?! I now have this little boy with a big attitude, a big vocabulary, and a banshee scream that makes anyone within ear shot want to claw their eyes out. I really feel like I need to write about this right now. I have been “bye Felicia’d” by my own child! I tried to get him to come in the house while Josh was grilling, he pushed me in side, told me “bye” and then shut the door..in my face. Is this real life? What the fuck. If you tell him not to do something he looks at you, nods his head, and says “ok?” Not cute, “yes, I understand mama.” It’s a mocking, finishing my sentence, neck role, “ooookaaaayy?” Asshole. Nothing makes you feel as low as a toddler smacking you across the face. Parental abuse is real. I am a victim. He likes to test the limits. He likes to see how close he can get his feet to Rowan before I tell him not to kick, how hard he can “honk” her nose before I tell him to stop, how loud he can scream in her face before I grab him and tell him to stop being a little shit head to his sister. Yes, I cuss at my kids. I have no shame. Toddlerhood has been a challenge for me. I specifically remember disliking kids at this age when I was not a mom. Sadly, that dislike has not completely gone away. Don’t judge me, this is my diary. I love him, duh. And I like him most of the time. If you have a toddler then don’t kid yourself, these feelings are familiar to you. I will say, I’m proud of the little boy JJ is becoming. He’s smart, and head strong. He knows what he wants and when he wants it. These are amazing qualities to have when he’s older. Right now, it’s a huge pain in the tit.
Honestly, Mommy
Sometimes I get this JJ
Most of the time it's this JJ. This was Christmas morning by the way. Yea.
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