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.
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