Link's Birth Story

At my 38 week checkup I sat there on the table across from my doctor having some real talk. It was December 21st and I had starry eyed dreams that my little baby would be in my arms soon so that he could join our family for Christmas. I had even bought some cute little Christmas jammies for him just in case. My doctor offered to strip my membrane which I had never really heard of but was told it would either get labor going or it wouldn’t. Kind of like flipping a coin I suppose. Although my heart so badly wanted my sweet little boy here the reality of having another child, a newborn weighed heavy and I felt anxious at having to make that decision alone. Tycen of course was at home with Hayes. We had braved bringing Hayes to one appointment and after all the mayhem that ensued it was decided never again. In that instant all I could think of were those red and white striped jammies that needed to be worn by a tiny newborn. I told the doctor to go ahead and do it.

For any mommies reading and thinking, “gee I wonder what that feels like.” It’s kind of like when the doctor checks your cervix only worse…much, much worse. I can only imagine some bright eyed woman, pregnant for the first time strolling past my exam room and cooing over the picture of her sonogram at that exact moment and suddenly second guessing everything. I was wailing from the pain. “You’ll see some spotting for the next day or so, don’t worry, that’s normal. I’ll see you tomorrow and if not, I’ll see you next week!” And away my doctor went. I went about trying to put my pants and shoes on after that form of torture and headed home.

I called my mom per the usual to fill her in on the progress, she was waiting on pins and needles every day for obvious reasons. I text Tycen because phone calls at that point were making him anxious, I was only to call if “it was time.” And then of course I shot a text to all my mommy friends, all anxiously awaiting any word on the expected arrival of my little guy.

I remember being ready to go that day. I had my bag all packed, sitters on standby for Hayes and even better, Tycen had that day and the next off so he wouldn’t be scrambling to get his shifts at work covered. I waited and waited for something to happen, for anything to happen. I was having some painful contractions here and there but nothing that was noteworthy, definitely nothing rhythmic.

When it seemed like the horrendous membrane stripping didn’t work I slumped back into all the old wives tales. I was drinking raspberry leaf tea, walking around my house cleaning constantly, taking evening primrose oil, I changed the sheets and scrubbed the bathtub. Nothing was working.

December 22nd rolled around and still nothing. If anything I was just sore and tired from all the back breaking housework I had done the day before. I spent most of the day resting and reading up on other natural ways to get my baby out. Tycen rolled his eyes at my antics but I couldn’t help myself.

The 22nd quickly turned into the 23rd. I felt defeated because at the rate I was going I was certain I was going to give birth on Christmas day. I’d get my wish but in the most ironic of ways. I settled on a little trip to the grocery store, the walking around might help move things along but I also wanted to buy a couple “sure fire” items to get things going, pine apple, siracha, and even caster oil. Yes, that dreaded most disgusting concoction I swore I would never EVER consume again was once more in my possession, how quickly never had come.

The items all sat on my counter while I wrestled with the pros and cons. Do I continue trying to get things started and risk giving birth on Christmas day? Or do I just put myself on bed rest and hope I make it through to the 26th? Tycen teased me that he really needed me to go into labor so he could avoid going in for his swing shift that Friday evening.

After lamenting all my troubles to my mommy friends they all talked me into going to the hospital. What could it hurt? I was starting to have some painful contractions, more than usual but still nothing rhythmic. But why not? With Hayes my water never broke, at least not in the traditional way that my friends had described theirs breaking. That’s why when the nurses asked me if my water had broken my answer was, “I don’t know.” At my check up days before my cervix was measured at 3 cm which at 4 they consider you to be in active labor and some hospitals will admit you even if your water hasn’t broken. So again, why not go in?

It was early afternoon, Tycen was on his way out the door to work and an hour later my mom was there to escort me to the hospital while my dad stayed behind to watch Hayes. By this point I was growing confident that they would take me. If I was at a 3 on Wednesday, with all the walking and housework I had done on the days inbetween was sure to move me up to a 4! Plus I had all these fluids, it could definitely be that slow leak just like last time. I was certain. Tycen would be getting a call from me soon!

The maternity ward was buzzing but they took me right on back to one of those holding rooms where they decided whether or not you get to stay or if you go. After all my troubles with being sent home with Hayes I had a better game plan this time, I wanted them to check and see if my water had broken. As I said I didn’t know with Hayes and I never had nurses check me, so I suffered for a day and a half with very painful contractions that could’ve probably been avoided. With that in mind the nurse ran a couple of tests.

The first test was this magic little strip of yellow paper that needed to turn blue. Mine turned green. That meant my water could be broken but not likely, another more conclusive swab test would have to be run down to the lab to know for certain. Given my history with my previous labor and delivery the swab test was ordered. Because of the busy maternity ward we would have to wait about an hour for the results. So there we sat in a dimly lit room watching the pitch and slope of each of my contractions. I kept Tycen as well as my friends informed while we continued to wait.

Finally the nurse returned. She gave me a big. Fat. Nope. My water wasn’t broken. Thank you, but get out of the gown and leave. Not again. I couldn’t believe it. I was sent home three times with Hayes, how could this be happening again? I felt awful getting my family all worked up, my friends and Tycen. I had already gone through laboring before, how was I getting it confused this time? Maybe wishful thinking had gotten the better of me. The nurse shrugged, maybe sensing how embarrassed I was offered up that the pending storm had brought a lot of expecting mommies in that night.

Of course. With Hayes I had gone in with full blown contractions during a full moon and here the barometric pressure drop of this big storm that we had all been hearing about for weeks was the cause of my false labor. Ugh, that term. False labor. It was so cruel.

I returned home feeling dejected, thanked my parents for going out of their way for me for pretty much nothing and sent them on their way. Hayes had fallen asleep and since the contractions, albeit false, were causing quite a bit of back pain, I settled on a nice hot bath.

Tycen called me to tell me he was coming home early even though he knew that I wasn’t in labor, he explained that he didn’t want me to be alone taking care of a crazy toddler after the day I had had. Which I’m glad he did. He knew from all the times I was sent home with Hayes how much it wore on me, I welcomed the company or at the very least the opportunity to rest while someone wrangled Hayes.

We ate some dinner and Tycen settled into the evening by playing video games while Hayes cheered him on in the living room, I laid on the bed and read. I read about false labor. I read about the “slow leak.” I read about how to check your own cervix. I read about water breaking and how you can really tell if your water has broken, which is rather serendipitous. I laid there on my side reading about the “stand up test.” It was described that if you stand up from a lay down position and you wet yourself like you had peed your pants, that’s a good indicator. Sounded simple enough and I was already laying down. So I stood up and as luck would have it I was really, really wet.

But I had been sent home just hours before! I couldn’t be in labor! So maybe I had just peed my pants, no big deal right? Pregnant ladies pee their pants all the time! I settled on emptying my bladder and changing into dry pants. I laid back down, waited, and then stood back up… again, I was really, really wet.

As I walked to the living room more and more fluid and I knew. I called out to Tycen, deep into his video game and laughing with his friends over his headset while Hayes played with some toys on the automan. “Honey I think my water broke, in fact, I’m certain it did, I’m leaking all over the floor.” Tycen laughed, told his friends he was going to have a baby and we began fetching everything.

It was just past midnight. My parents having already been at the house earlier Tycen called up his mom, she didn’t answer. I decided to call my mom who like I said, was waiting on pins and needles for THE call. She finally got it and laughed at the irony of how everything played out earlier and here we were, REALLY in labor. It would take her about 15 minutes to get to our house to watch Hayes. Tycen raced around the house asking if I had everything ready, to which I laughed, we had just gone to the hospital hours before and had ourselves a dress rehearsal, I had everything ready from that! I focused on doing my makeup while Tycen gathered some things he would need. Before we knew it my mom was there and I was hugging my sweet little Hayes boy. I had pictured that moment, that final hug goodbye before we became a family of four. I thought I would be a mess but it seemed that in that moment I was finally ready, I was ready for our baby boy to get here. We distracted Hayes with one of his shows as best as we could but he knew something was up. He followed us to the door and cried, and cried. He ran to the window and cried as we pulled away. My mom text me to tell me he calmed down pretty quickly and started watching the movie we had put on but then he grabbed his blankie and sat by our front door, as if waiting for our return.

I was somewhat grateful for the dry run my mom and I had had earlier that afternoon because I knew exactly where to go. I had Tycen park the car and we walked up to the entrance. But then the doors didn’t open which for automatic doors was pretty confusing. Tycen tried to pry them open but to no avail. We guessed it’s because we were entering in through the visitors entrance, maybe the main entrance was a better option. It was a short distance so we walked. But those doors were closed too. We were too excited to notice the sign that read those doors would be close before midnight. Tycen gave me a sidelong glance because as we had driven in I motioned to park on the main side of the hospital and I looked at him sheepishly, “whoops.” So we hopped back in the car to head over to the emergency entrance but we still missed that, Tycen in his hurry pulled into the first place that said emergency, even though there was no where to park. I pointed out that we had pulled into the ambulance bay, we needed to head down just a little further. After circling around the entire hospital we FINALLY we made it.

In classic movie fashion they put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me over to labor and delivery. Tycen and I even got to ride the special triage elevator. Upon entering I shouted gleefully to the nurses huddled around the front desk, “I told you all I would be back!” Only none of the nurses at the desk knew who I was because there had been a number of shift changes due to the holiday. What was a bustling maternity ward earlier that afternoon had fallen quiet. The nurse took me back to a delivery room which made me oh so happy, no purgatory room for me this time, I went straight to the real deal!

In our delivery room the nurse checked to see if my water had broken just like before only this time, it really had. Then came all the IVs and the tags and the information, sooooo much information that all just kind of sailed over my head. Did I want the epidural? Heck yeah! I endured a day and a half of the worst contractions with Hayes, I didn’t need that nonsense again! The nurse hooked up the pitocin to get my contractions to be more rhythmic and told me to call when I was ready for the epidural. I thought I would ride things out a little bit but then the meds kicked in. Let me just say, pitocin contractions are like contractions on steroids. They hurt so incredibly bad. Before I knew it I was begging for the anesthesiologist to get there.

It was fun watching Tycen talk to every single person that came into our room and make conversation. The nurse commented because our anesthesiologist was a really quiet guy, she hadn’t heard him say more than two words and yet here he was telling Tycen all about his kid and some such superbowl they had both gone to. I’m not sure, I missed a lot of it, I was waiting for the epidural to kick in and was breathing through contractions.

We were fully admitted and ready to wait, it was about 2 am. Every so often the nurse would come in and check on me, a new one every time it felt like. I think it was about the third nurse I saw that explained that because of the holiday they all worked very short shifts, so basically a lot of different people were going to be seeing my goods for the next few days.

Around 3 they had checked me and I was finally dilated to 4 cm. I knew I had to let my friend know once I was at 5 because that’s when she would head to the hospital to capture and record the birth. Tycen and I laid back and laughed, how on earth were we going to manage two kids? Hayes is just so so so much for just one kid. Time is a tricky thing when you’re laboring, it both creeps along slowly and yet flies by at the same time.

Another hour passed and the nurse came to check on me, low and behold I had gone from a 4 to a 9. AH! She decided a couple practice pushes was in order get my baby moved a little further down the birth canal. After one push she stopped me and said if I pushed any farther we’d have to get ready to catch the baby! She called the doctor, which as luck would have it my doctor was out on holiday so I got some random doctor covering her patients. I called my friend and she raced over as fast as she could to make it in time.

My friend showed up just in time to cue up her camera and coordinate with nurses before my doctor for the day showed up. He was a really smiley and happy doctor which is saying a lot considering it was 6:30 in the morning on Christmas Eve.

In one, two, and three pushes, out he came. The doctor gave out a laughing sigh as he had barely caught out little babe that shot right out of the birth canal. Here’s where I give myself kudos for a strong core that took care of business!

December 24th, 2016 at 6:43 AM, our little Link James PoVey came into the world, 8 lbs 4 oz and a length that is up for debate but I’ll side with 21 ½ inches long.

Of course I cried, the familiar sensation of this little life being here before me out of my belly and in my arms is so powerful. It’s hard for me to compare to Hayes, my firstborn. A part of me feels as though the fact we chose to wait to find out the gender with Hayes just made those feelings a little more intense. It’s really hard to explain. I think I felt a little more awestruck that I had two kids now, in just three pushes and I was a mother of two.

My mom arrived to check on her baby and meet her new grandson when they moved me to a recovery room. From there we made plans for when to bring Hayes to meet his brand new baby brother.

From there everyone left to try and get a little sleep before returning to the hospital later in the afternoon… that is when I had some quiet one on one time with my little Link. It feels weird to describe my bond with him as not instantaneous but it wasn’t. I really felt so overwhelmed at the idea of wrapping my head around two kids. A forty week pregnancy isn’t fast by any means but it still didn’t feel like enough time to ready myself for this monumental change. But there in the early morning of Christmas Eve, A Christmas Story playing on repeat in the background while sun peeked through the window, I laid in a hospital bed next to the rolling bassinet and listened to his little squeaks as he stretched as far as his little limbs could.

I stared at him. He didn’t look much like Hayes, his hair was a lot shorter and darker, his complexion darker, no dimples and definitely not a little upturned button nose, but he was still such a handsome little guy. All the nurses commented on it.

I think it is the quiet time I got to have with Link I will revel in the most. There was so much hustle and bustle, especially the following day, Christmas day, when everyone came to visit again and came baring gifts. Toys and things were strewn all over the room and not nearly enough couches or chairs for everyone in the room to sit. I felt overwhelmed, especially with my crazy toddler running around all the medical equipment!

My most favorite time was later Christmas evening, everyone had left except for Tycen and Hayes. We called down to room service and I ordered a hot meal but as my husband, Tycen was permitted to order one too. I never got to make us a special Christmas breakfast but there we were, having a nice hot meal as a family of four on that Christmas night while we watched movies. With full tummies Hayes and Tycen curled up the couch and fell asleep, Link slept on the other side of me, and I laid there in my hospital bed feeling so incredibly blessed.

It is the fact that this Christmas was so out of the ordinary and so far from tradition that I will remember it most vividly. The first Christmas we spent with the four of us together.

 

No glow, just frump

Today has been one of those especially difficult pregnant days. For the most part I try to keep all my complaints about pregnancy at bay or at the very least light hearted and laughable. I know that I can’t quite imagine the pains of infertility as I’ve never actually experienced it myself but I have witnessed it first hand in my own family and from my own mom as she recounted her struggles to become pregnant with me. I try to air on the side of courteousness and empathy but today was hard so bare with me while I indulge a little in my own woes.

There are so many moms or mothers-to-be around me that seem to revel during this sacred time. They glow, they post weekly updates of their growing bumps, and seem to be over the moon tickled about being pregnant… and then there’s me.

Don’t get me wrong, the outcome of holding your sweet precious baby seems to melt all the burdens away and make every ounce of trouble worthwhile and there are also some pretty magical moments during pregnancy but to me, they are just that. Moments. Little blips in time when I can sit back and think, wow, there’s a life growing inside me. But then my thoughts settle right back into how bad my ankles are hurting or how much weight I’ve gained and how I just can’t wait to have this baby out of me so my body can start to feel normal again.

I love those videos of men trying to get a feel for pregnancy and labor. Trying on weighted bellies for a day or wearing a contraption that is supposed to mimic contractions. They are pretty hilarious as all the men can’t seem to endure it any of it. But there is a hollowness to it because it isn’t just a day that I carry this weight around. It isn’t a single day that I have a headache or a back ache or an all over ache. It is 280 days of not feeling normal. It is 280 days of not quite feeling right. For most we can shrug off a bad day and start the next day anew, but pregnant? Each passing day only gets worse. I will only get heavier and moving around will only become more difficult and strenuous. The 280 days really isn’t justice because of course there’s the labor and delivery and all that fun postpartum recovery jazz you have to somehow squeeze into your newborn’s sporadic sleep schedule.

As of yesterday I am six and half months pregnant, or 26 weeks for all you noobs. Between taking care of a rambunctious toddler and trying my best to maintain a household, I can’t help but cringe while passing by the full length mirror in the hall. My reflection has betrayed me as there standing before me is a frumpy and dumpy mess. I can’t help but feel as though I already look full term and here I have so many more weeks to go, more weeks of gaining weight, more weeks of struggling to get around and complete simple tasks. I feel so defeated.

Today I really missed the sting of a good workout. I miss lifting in a gym in a way I can’t describe. I still get to the gym fairly often but my current work outs are a far cry from the peak I was sitting at just a few short months ago. I miss being able to push my body and feel that deep soreness in my muscles. I’m sore every day now just for entirely different reasons. Housework makes me sore. Actually just being awake makes me sore.

It’s a different ball game this time around. The first time I was pregnant I didn’t really have anyone else to care for. I worked as much as I could so I could save up whatever nest egg I could before the baby came, but in between all the working? I was able to kick my feet up and relax. I treated myself to pedicures once a month and got my hair done whenever it needed it. I took baths nearly every night as the warm water soothed my aches and pains away. At night I nestled into my pregnancy pillow and slept for 10 hours at a time, only of course interrupted by bathroom breaks.

But this time it is just so so so much harder. The pedicures? Maybe once every three months if I’m lucky, same goes for my hair. I keep coasting on the mom bun and dry shampoo status and hope that when poor souls encounter me in public they lend a sympathetic smile at the mommy who’s at her wits end. Either that or I wear a hat so no one is the wiser to how much my hair has grown since I colored it last. All those luxuries take so much orchestrating, time, money and someone to watch Hayes that after household chores and working part time, I just don’t have the energy to deal with.

Then there is the ever elusive shower. I always think to myself, “man, I could really use a shower today.” But then I look around at my house. All the housework is going to make me messy and then I’ll be gross and need another shower, so it only makes sense to shower after the house work is completed. So I go about cleaning the house only to see that the day has slipped away and I am too tired to take a shower, so the shower will just have to wait for the next day. But then the next day comes, there are more messes ahead of me and who knows if and when I can get Hayes to take a nap so I can have an uninterrupted moment to wash my hair because let’s be honest, by this point my shower time is so limited that I have to narrow it down to what needs to happen most. Can my hair go another day without being washed? Or is it my leg hair that I cannot continue living with?

I was told once many years ago that I would have a hard time being pregnant. I think my active lifestyle and almost constant efforts in the gym were contributing factors to that assessment. I miss feeling fit and healthy, I miss feeling like my body was my own. I know that these feelings will subside and that in the grander scheme of life pregnancy is but a little blip on the radar. I know the longing for my old body will be subdued soon enough anyhow, October means Monopoly at McDonalds is back so I see a lot of McFlurry’s in my near future!

Not one but two

During my first pregnancy I was writing a lot. I was amid a flurry of emotions and sought some comfort at writing every little thing down and often. I’ve felt some familiar things lately as well as some new emotions during this pregnancy but the luxury to write whenever my heart beckons is no more. I know, how surprising that a 1 ½ year old won’t leave me to my thoughts for more than ten minutes, er sorry, I meant to say ten seconds. The not-so-tiny terror has worn himself out and is enjoying a nap, I’ve decided that from now on the cleaning can wait and that nap time is for writing.

I cried when I found out I was pregnant again, for different reasons this time around. Weeks before taking a pregnancy test I had awoken in the middle of the night from a nightmare. I had dreamt that I was pregnant and I was on the phone calling the bridal salon about my wedding dress, sobbing, when all they could tell me was I would need to pick out something different and better suited for my circumstances.

I remember being so exhausted that night, I’d had a really rough work out and finally put Hayes down for the evening, Tycen had fallen asleep on the couch and I was ready to join my boys in slumber. I was the kind of tired that I knew it would only be a matter of minutes before I would drift off to dreamland. My head hit the pillow, I closed my eyes and then this nagging sensation began digging at me from within. I might be pregnant. Suddenly my tired body was alert and a wave of anxiety had settled in. I wrestled with my thoughts for a while. Insisting that it was all in my head and I was only working myself up for no reason. But then what if I was pregnant? All the supplements I was taking for my upcoming bodybuilding show certainly weren’t approved for pregnant women. I laid there staring at the ceiling.

My nerves lead me to the living room where I sat and stared at Tycen, waiting for him to wake up. Maybe he could calm me down, reassure me that there was nothing to worry about. I sat and waited for an hour when he finally stirred. “What are you doing?” He said with sleepy eyes.

I told him of my concerns and begged for answers. Poor Tycen, probably not the most ideal way to wake up from a nap. We had some pregnancy tests, I told him I was going to take one. I was certain that I was taking it just for some peace of mind, that the test would read back negative and I would laugh off all my unprecedented worries. The reality of a pregnancy test woke Tycen up really quick. We sat quietly and waited, him much more stoic than myself. I couldn’t take it any longer and returned to the bathroom to check and clear as day there was, not one line but two.

How quickly my nightmare came flooding back and the reality of whatever wedding I had dreamt up began slipping away. I cried. My mind was overloading with how I was going to make it all work. Would we get married this summer or put it off till next? What about my dress? Could we move the wedding up? How much was I going to start showing and how soon? And what about Hayes… and then came the heaviest guilt.

What about my sweet little baby boy? He wouldn’t be my baby anymore. I suddenly felt like my time with Hayes was slipping away, here I had only just found out I was pregnant, but the weight was real. How could I do this to him? He needs me and I am his but now I’m not just his anymore. I asked Tycen if it would be okay if Hayes slept in our bed that night. I needed to snuggle him, I needed to be just HIS mama that night. I wept as he nestled in close to me and I could smell him. He had no idea what was coming or what I had done. I felt like I had betrayed him.

I know that my love for this new baby will blow me away just like my love for Hayes did. I couldn’t anticipate how much I would love Hayes but now having gone through this once I have a better idea of what to expect. I know the love will come and it will melt away every worry, every concern and every single doubt. All the questions of, “how am I going to do this,” will be answered, because just like the first time we’ll find a way.

I’m more exhausted this time. I get less sleep. I’m afraid to leave the house with Hayes and no helping hands. I fear with Hayes AND a new baby, I may never leave the house again. I mean I know it’s possible, I see other women out and about with all their littles in tow. I have done hard things and I will continue to do hard things. If I have to order my groceries online and have them shipped to my front door then so be it.

And I’m sure one day Hayes will forgive me for giving him a sibling, in fact one day he may even thank me. My sister explained that siblings are necessary because they give you at least one other person who knows just how crazy insane your parents are. So there you go Hayes, me and dad are crazy, one day you and your brother will laugh about it.

To all the mothers

May 11, 2014. Mother’s Day.

Terror. Disbelief. Awe. The words I had were few at first as only the tears flowing from my eyes conveyed the overwhelming fear that had began to consume me while we stood there staring at a tiny pale plus sign. So much was going to change, things that I wasn’t sure I was ready to let go of would be gone before I knew it. For a brief moment I sat and cried, nestled in the arms of my beloved. Then I quickly found my words. I vocalized my fears as best I could, the reality being that there existed a fear of talking about some of those fears. I wasn’t even a mother yet and I knew there was a stigma associated with admitting less than joyful feelings at the arrival of the pitter patter of little feet.

From May 11, 2014 until January 15, 2015 at 9:31 in the morning I carried the weight of that fear in my heart. This isn’t to say I was never happy or excited because I was, but those joyous feelings were so fleeting. I spent the better part of 40 weeks feeling disappointed, ashamed, and afraid. That is until 9:32 in the morning on a foggy January morning when I saw him for the first time.

The saying “love at first sight” has always seemed like folklore to me, it’s a fabulous detail to sprinkle over a fairytale but highly far fetched for reality. Yet there I laid after 27 hours of labor and wept at the mere sight of my baby boy. From that very first second I loved every single part of him.

All the fears I had didn’t wash away instantly but rather they slowly subsided day by day as my confidence in myself as a mother began to grow. I began to trust my instincts more and I learned that being a mother is truly remarkable innate experience. Its as though a switch deep within myself had been flipped into “mother mode.” I would see the amazement in Tycen’s eyes when I tended to Hayes and knew exactly what he needed, almost like autopilot. I wasn’t sure how I knew what to do, I just knew it.

I have been blessed with such a happy little boy, although I should use the term little lightly as he seems to be a rather giant baby. He has such a zeal for laughter and storytelling. That smile. Nothing makes me feel more loved by my sweet little Hayes than when he flashes me the face consuming, ear to ear grin and I get a glimpse at the single trait he got from mama, his dimples.

A mother’s love is unlike any other. I remember when I was younger, being a teenage brat and fighting with my mom, a common quip from her was always, “I can’t wait until you’re a parent, then you’ll know!” I’m sure she was cursing me with bratty teenagers but the saying is no longer falling on deaf ears. I am a mother now mom, so I do know. I know what an endless love feels like and the true capacities of the human heart. I know what it means to love someone completely. I know what it like to mourn the loss of my tiny baby every single day yet at the same time feel overjoyed and ecstatic about the new discoveries he’s making. I love watching him grow and learn. To know that my own mother loves me in this same way fills my heart with even more love.

I feel that today isn’t just about appreciation, although there is a mountain of things we can appreciate our mom’s for. Tycen knows, he played mister mom yesterday, it was doozy of a day so I hear. To me today is a celebration for all of us mothers, for the growth and understanding we gain as a result of heading forward on this crazy journey known as parenthood. It is a day we can reflect on where we started and how far we’ve come. The struggles we have endured, from messy diapers and spit up, to late night homework assignments and broken hearts. No matter the strife I think all of us can say that it was all worth it just for the opportunity to love someone this much.

Nearly a year ago to the day I was frightened, crying, and unsure of myself. Today I am a mom. I’m still crying quite a bit these days but for all the right reasons.

 

 

To my own mom I wish a happy Mother’s Day and the sincerest thank you for helping me become the mom I am today.

Breast is best and you're the worst

Breast is best. Why not? It’s kitschy, it rhymes, and it states a well known scientific fact. I can’t speak for all mom’s but I can speak for myself when I say that I absolutely hate this saying to the very core of my being. If I had been given a dollar for every time that stupid phrase was uttered to me as if it were some sort of miracle solution to my problems, then I’d have Hayes’ first year of college tuition paid for already. Had I actually been paid then I likely would have welcomed the little ditty verses my knee jerk reaction of grinding my teeth and pretending to thank whoever offered up the quip.

I personally believe that as moms we all strive to give our kids the best in life. I’ve only been a mom for a short time but I can’t even begin to describe some of the lengths I’ve gone to already to make sure my baby is getting the very best and I know that I’m not alone in this endeavor.

How many moms before me have sat and researched car seat brands and studied any recalls for hours at a time? How many moms have overpaid for a top of the line baby swing because reviews claimed it was the best one out there? How many moms have taught themselves using youtube videos and pinterest pins how to prepare and store baby food that packed full of nutrients? The very essence of motherhood is going above and beyond measures we ever thought possible and digging down deep within ourselves so that we might give our tiny little loves everything that life has to offer.

I have spoken very candidly about my travails with breastfeeding. I know in my heart of hearts that I fought relentlessly to breastfeed my sweet baby boy. For me to fail at it, this little saying “breast is best” is a reminder that I haven’t done the very best for my child. I have failed him and doomed him for life with the silver medal of infant nourishments. Because of my weakness and my inability to push through the pain he is the one that will suffer the consequences…. no wonder some mom’s fall so quickly into postpartum depression.

Oblivious to all the self loathing that is already taking place, well meaning moms love to share facts and statistics about breastfed babies which is great but it somehow gives me the impression that deep down they themselves believe that I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I can only gather from their persistence that they picture me being just too distracted or busy to devote the kind of time it takes to breastfeed my baby. Perhaps they think that by sharing this tidbit of information about my baby’s brain development or my own weight loss will be just the ticket that sends me over the edge and motivates me to try harder to breastfeed. I mean you know because that whole wanting to give my baby the very best thing in the whole world wasn’t motivation enough.

In all sincerity I applaud any mom that has struggled with breastfeeding as much as I did and were still able to carry on nursing in spite of the torture. Some moms don’t experience that kind of pain at all and I am envious of that. I envy the moms that don’t get blisters on their nipples and the ones that don’t bleed. But I resent anyone who offers up that thoughtless blanket statement, “breast is best,” to me because they don’t know how disciplined I am and how strong willed I can be. Simply put, they don’t know me. If they knew anything about me and they truly understood how much love I have for my sweet boy, then instead of giving me unsolicited advice and repeating information that I’m all too aware of, they would pat me on the back and congratulate me for hanging in there as long as I did.

My Hayes baby is doing marvelously. He is the least picky eater, eats generously and rarely spits up. So he’s not strictly breastfed, so what? He’s as healthy as can be and growing like a weed. That’s all any mom can really ask for.

it isn't always bliss

“I’m like so happy and my life is like so great. I do fun things all the time and like everything is totally perfect for me ALWAYS.”

Scrolling through my never ending feeds on Instagram and Facebook there is an all too common theme of optimism and bliss. Is it really so that all the world around me are living such perfect lives? Could it be that everyone is really that happy and everything is always that great? Or just maybe it is a facade. We all wear social media masks to hide our vulnerabilities and moments of weakness, I’m no different. My blog has always been different however.

Posting smiling selfies on Instagram or a cheery status update on facebook is the norm, yet in my blog I find it easier to be more authentic. In my darkest hours I would spin the pains of my soul into words and pieces for others to read and perhaps find relief or comradery. Now that I’m a mom I have felt an unprecedented desire to keep up with all the other moms. It feels incredibly taboo to ever admit even for just a second that this motherhood thing ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. This fear has spilled over into my blog where I’ve mostly shared mushy lovey gooey feelings about being a mommy. I feel the need to talk about some things that have been on my mind in an effort to quash the belief that admitting dissatisfaction is somehow synonymous with loving my child less.

I miss my freedom. This isn’t to say that I feel like some sort of caged animal plotting and planning my escape but I do miss my life feeling like it was mine. I can’t just throw on some clothes and take off on a jog whenever I want. I can’t run to the grocery store to pick up some toothpaste without the miniscule errand being a big production. I need to make sure that the baby’s bag is ready, the base is in the car, he’s buckled in his car seat and he’s dry and he’s fed and he’s hopefully not fussy, just so that I can lug his car seat out of the car, into the store to buy one stupid tube of toothpaste. Or there’s the other option of finding a sitter, usually my mom or dad, in which case I have to make sure he is dry, fed, and hopefully not fussy before I can even run to the store. Even then it seems ridiculous to have them sit him for me to just buy a tube of toothpaste. So then I have to think, okay what else do I need to buy? How much grocery shopping can I get done? Is this something I really need to buy now or am I buying it just because I don’t know when the next time I’ll have the chance to do this will be?... see how quickly its become a production? Running to the store to buy one thing is no longer something I can do.

I HATE my body. It doesn’t matter how many times I am reminded or reassured by loved ones that my body created, housed, and birthed a miracle, I still hate my body. For the miracle that came out of my body, it sure looks like hell for it. I’ve always struggled with body image issues which might explain why I am always working so hard on making my body look the way I want. Right now my body looks and feels like nothing I have ever wanted. I don’t recognize my breasts, they used to make me feel womanly, feminine and attractive. Now… now they just make me sad. My body feels soft and jiggly everywhere, when I run I can feel my flesh flopping around. Since when is floppy flesh something I’m supposed to be happy about? I’ve already started training again. I have started a lifting schedule and am trying to find a way to fit in some cardio, I have almost completely cleaned up my diet. Once upon a time I trained like this and I lost a pound every week for 12 weeks… its like my body doesn’t know how to lose weight anymore. I feel defeated when I glance down at the scale and see I’ve not only not lost weight, I’ve gained it. Which is normal, it could just be water weight. I also hate being told to get used to it.

Finally, motherhood isn’t always blissful. The stock photos used in all the marketing geared toward ‘mom’s like me’ would have me believe otherwise. The pictures would have me believe that my baby is always going to be happy and staring up at me with wonderment. Or that my baby is going to be sleeping like a sweet little angel whilst I ooo and awe over him. At 4 o’clock in the morning having finally gone to bed at 2, my sweet little angel is up once again. I’ve changed him, fed him, and burped him and yet he’s still screaming in my ear.. where is the wonderment in this scenario stock photos? Where is it then? Where is the stock photo that is supposed to include me and the struggles I’ve had with breast feeding? I’d also like to know for one thing, how on earth does a baby know the difference between me sitting and holding him verses standing up and holding him? Why is standing up so much better for him? I’m still bouncing him, I’m still making all the same noises, what gives? What is so great about me having to stand up??? I’ll never know.

I know that it is the darkest times that make the sweetest times all the more sweeter. It is for that very reason that we encounter hardships in the first place. When that sweet little boy smiles up at me, a smile so big his eyes are almost closed and all his dimples are all accounted for, I quickly forget the sleepless night I just went through and how tired I am. In that moment it all becomes worth it. I love my little baby with all my heart but that doesn’t mean I have to love all the hardships that go along with being a mommy. Admitting that there are things I don’t love about this new stage of life doesn’t mean I love him any less, it just means I am human and admitting that seems pretty fine by me.

Three weeks and two days

Short wispy hair falling in my face, plopping down on pristine white carpet as was in good taste in the early 90’s. It was bright and early on December 25th when I opened up a gift from Santa. It was a water baby, you guys remember those right? I wonder if they still make them. At the ripe age of six I had myself a little baby doll to tote around and pretend to mother. The joy of this gift was short lived as my little brother was opening Hot Wheels racer tracks and Domino Rallies, his gifts were way cooler than my dolly that just sat there. I mean you could put warm water in the doll and it was supposed to feel like a real baby, that was kind of cool I guess. Quickly my little dolly was cast aside as my brother and I began setting up the battery fueled race tracks that we could start spitting cars through.

I’ve never been a big girly girl or the mothering type so to speak. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to an educational path that could make up for what instincts I sincerely felt I was lacking. Some people have Bachelor’s degrees in business or marketing, health or English. Me? My degree was Child and Family Studies. My degree sounds fluffy but the coursework was grueling, so much so that I took a step back and questioned whether I would continue on to my graduate. I learned a lot about relationships and families during my four year stint but no amount of statistics and research, exams or group projects, could have ever prepared me for this crazy thing called parenting.

I have been a mommy for three weeks and two days now. There are a lot of things I didn’t know before hand that I wish I had known so I’ll share some of my experiences.

Recovery is hard:

Being pregnant wasn’t very difficult for me. I side stepped nearly all of the most dreadful symptoms. I wasn’t afraid of being pregnant. Most fears come from the unknown, being pregnant I had books and apps to guide me through each symptom as they occurred. “Feeling a lot of heartburn this week? Here’s why and what you can do to help it!” Likewise I was surrounded by friends, family and coworkers that warned me constantly about how hard the transition to parenthood would be. While their words were terrifying it helped me to mentally prepare myself for the coming sleepless nights, or at least I was able to kid myself into thinking I was prepared.

The one aspect I hadn’t thought over too much was my recovery. I don’t know how I glazed over this “4th Trimester” so easily in my thoughts. It was as though I really thought I would waltz into the delivery room, pop out a baby, and dance back to the car with my bundle of joy and begin my crash course in parenting. What I didn’t consider is the pain. I didn’t realize that I would desperately need those three days in the hospital and that coming home was going to be the scariest thing yet. I see so many new parents expressing excitement at coming home but I had to leave the comfort of the hospital. I would no longer have a call button on my bed and a nursing staff waiting to take care of whatever need I had, no matter how small.

I had severely underestimated how out of shape I had gotten during my pregnancy. Couple that with fresh stitches, a uterus trying to shrink back to normal size, and lack of sleep from hanging out with a newborn 24/7 and I was starting to get the sensation I would never feel well or normal again. I was so tired of being pregnant that I had developed this idealistic image that pushing out the baby would solve all the discomfort I had accumulated while being pregnant. The reality is I was a hell of a lot more comfortable at 40 weeks pregnant than I was 2 weeks postpartum.

I could tell when my four hours was up and it was time for another dose of my pain meds. My prescription was small, no refills. I had assumed that meant by the time my pills were gone would be the same time I no longer needed them… oh how wrong I was. I tried to push it and make the pills last longer, maybe I could go six or eight hours… by the eighth hour it was as though my body were shutting down and the pain would consume me. I’d get the chills like I had the flu and start trembling all over. It is downright impossible to take care of a fussing baby at 4 o’clock in the morning when it feels like you are going to die. Finally I decided to call my doctor and ask for one refill. I was so afraid that I was going to come off like a junkie but the pain simply wasn’t manageable. She granted my wish and I feel like it saved my life because by the time I ran out of my refill I no longer needed them, or at least I felt like I wasn’t going to die anymore without them.

Here at 3 weeks I’m feeling a lot better, definitely not normal yet, but I’m feeling better. I’m still not healed but I finally feel well enough to get out on walks which leaving the house for a walk at this point compared to how I felt just a few short weeks ago is nothing short of miraculous.

Breastfeeding is hard:

Much like recovery I had this illusion that breast feeding just happened. I mean, its nature, its what us mammals do, whip out a nip and let the babies suckel. I thought it would be that simple for me even though I had heard stories of women struggling with it, for hells sakes women close to me had expressed their hardships with it. I was foolish and arrogant enough to believe that wouldn’t happen to me.

The thing about breastfeeding for me is there was little I could do to prepare for it. The lactation specialists kept telling me that I would get “used” to it and that my nipples just had to toughen up. It was so incredibly difficult to go from zero to sixty in such a short amount of time. Literally, no action and then biting, chomping, and sucking every few hours. Three days in and I’m bleeding and blistering, to which the nurses could only tell me I’m not doing it right, that he isn’t latching on properly, but then they would observe me getting him to latch on and they would tell me it looked perfect… if it was perfect then why did it hurt so bad?

At home I continued my efforts to breastfeed. I was determined to get over this hurdle, I had those voices still nagging, “you just have to get used to it,” “its not supposed to hurt,” or “your nipples will toughen up,” but I was failing… I couldn’t do it. For any inquiring male minds find yourself a couple clothespins, clamp down on your nipple till it hurts, release, then clamp that sucker down again, repeat process for ten to fifteen minutes every 3 hours and if you think that hurts, wait until your nipples start bleeding and you still have to clamp a clothespin down on them.

My body was already in so much pain but the babies don’t wait, when they are hungry, they are hungry. I would brace myself for him to latch on because the latching always seemed to hurt the most. The pain was mind numbing and shot through my whole body. I could feel myself tensing up every single muscle in my body as I suffered through nursing. One week after being home I had actually pulled one of my glute muscles from tensing up.

The physical anguish was only half of it. My parals in breastfeeding lead me to my first experience of mom guilt. It hurt so bad to feed him that it almost made me angry. What kind of mother was I? I was resenting my sweet little baby boy because he was hungry. That line of thinking of course made me the worst kind of mother that could possibly exist. I was so upset with the world and all these images of women blissfully nursing their newborns and bonding with their sweet babies, meanwhile there was me crying quietly in the rocking chair trying to let him feed as long as possible so that he could get the nourishment he needed.

I started telling my mom about how much it was hurting and I burst into tears. I was afraid to feed him because it hurt so bad and I knew I wasn’t bonding with him. Finally we gave him a bottle of formula which some kiddos hate, but not my baby boy. If its food, he’ll take it, so long as its not cold. The relief I felt that for one feeding I could take a break. Of course the mom guilt remained because then I’m told that my milk could dry up because I’m not breastfeeding and that once again, I am doing it wrong. A week into parenting and I’m already making the wrong choices. Mom guilt is awful.

Finally I decided to just pump my breast milk. This was no easy task. I set up an alarm on my phone to go off every 3 hours to remind me to sit down and pump some milk for him. I’m sure some specialist out there somewhere is reading this and thinking that I did it wrong. But wouldn’t you know it, at his two week check up he gained nearly a pound, so my sweet little boy was doing just fine and getting plenty of food.

The pump was so much more gentle and after taking a week or twos break from nursing him, all my sores healed up and I was able to breastfeed him the other day without being in excruciating pain, which felt miraculous as well.

The only hardship I am facing now is that it seems like my supply is diminishing. I’ve looked into foods I can incorporate into my diet to help pump up the supply but I am to a point that if I dry up then I dry up. It is so incredibly hard when it feels like everyone around me is an expert at this breastfeeding stuff and everyone wants to offer me advice, the likes of which I have already heard over and over and over again. To any well wishers, whatever tips and tricks you think you have that I haven’t heard, I’ll stop you there, I’ve heard it and while I appreciate the intentions behind it I can say that the advice only makes me feel worse, not better.

There is no going back to normal:

What I knew as my normal no longer exists and the way things were before never will be again. Life is rather fluid anyhow, always changing and evolving, there is always a new normal to get used to right around the corner. I had a bishop that always used to say there was no parking in the comfort zone and there really isn’t, because just as I get used to this new phase of life my little boy will continue to change and grow, and I will have to change and grow with him.

Even though I have been with my sweet boy all day and all night, it hadn’t quite settled in that he was mine and that I was his. That is until the pediatrician’s office called me and the girl on the other end asked, “Is this Hayes’ mom?”... yes… yes it is. Its kind of like when you’ve just had a birthday. For a whole year you’ve told people you’re 27 and now all of a sudden you have to remind yourself that, oh yeah, I’m 28 now. Maybe that’s an odd way of describing it but that’s sort of what it feels like. Oh yeah, I’m a mom now.

We were watching the superbowl last week, Tycen and my parents and I gathered around a flat screen eager to see a good game and of course the highly anticipated commercials. History has proven to have hilarious commercials in between game play. I can say that I don’t remember a single funny commercial because I was reduced to fits of tears as a result of the mushy advertisements designed to tug at your heart strings. I felt blind sided. I’ve always been kind of tenderhearted and have been known to tear up a bit, there isn’t a Disney movie out there that hasn’t brought me to at least one or two tears. I’ll never forget that superbowl. A softened acoustic version of that 80’s song, a sweet little puppy befriending a clydesdale. It was a freaking beer commercial for hell’s sakes! The commercial was meant to make you feel, but I felt way WAY too much! Tears were streaming and before I knew it was bawling. I wish I could say that was the only commercial that did that to me but the truth is I had an emotional break down seven times that day… I guess that’s part of my new normal.

My new normal means sleeping a lot less. My once coveted 9 hours of sleep is now reduced to 4 hour stints, if I’m lucky. It means I no longer put myself or my needs first. Showers take a back seat, eating takes a back seat, laundry and cleaning, relaxing, watching tv, writing blogs… all take a back seat when that little guy needs me. My new days drag on and yet are moving incredibly fast at the same time. My new body feels like a nightmare. I’m soft and squishy and my dreams of fitness and the stage seem so far away. My new normal is really really hard… but it isn’t bleak, in fact it is far from it.

My new normal means a sweet little human that hears my voice and will crane his neck just to see me. I have a tiny person that is soothed when held in my arms and snuggles into me until he drifts off to sleep. My new normal has me loving in ways I never knew possible. My new normal is so full of love that there isn’t anything I would ever trade to have my old normal back, as hard as my new normal is, it is the best normal I could ever hope for. It is a normal that will only get better.