Category: motherhood

Hey Mama, stop SHOULD-ing on yourself

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We all do it, don’t we? Walk around feeling guilty about what we “should” be doing instead of focusing on all the things we actually are doing?

Yeah. I think everyone does it, but you know who SHOULDs on themselves the most? Moms.

The SHOULDing starts right away. Pregnant? I SHOULD probably stop drinking wine (LOL, kidding, you really should stop the wine,) I should have a nursery full of all the newest and most expensive baby products prepared for baby’s arrival, I should have a natural, unmedicated birth. I should breastfeed. I should sleep-train. I should co-sleep. I should pump until my nipples fall off. I should be feeling healed and better from my 24-hour traumatic birth 3 days later. I should have lost the baby weight by now…. It literally never stops. And then, it just gets worse.

As baby starts to grow, society (and instagram) can easily chip away at all the layers of the paint color aptly named “all the things I’m doing” and roll over it with a new, cheaper color called “but you should be doing…”

I SHOULD have introduced solids by now, I should have done baby lead weaning. I should do a different sensory activity every day and I should NOT ever let my child watch Sesame Street. My baby SHOULD be crawling or walking by now. I should be preparing healthy meals daily with foods cut into shapes so it’s both nutritious and educational. I should never feed my child store-bought pouches or macaroni and cheese. I SHOULD go back to work… I should provide more for my family. I should be able to juggle work and kids and excel at both. I should do the laundry every day and keep the house sparkling clean. I should have the massive house and chef’s kitchen and brand new SUV.

I should, I should, I should. But I don’t.

In reality, you know what you actually should do?  Stop SHOULDing on yourself. Take a step back and look around at all of your accomplishments. Are your children fed and loved? Yes. Do they have a safe place to call home? Yes. Do they have a mother that loves them unconditionally even though she’s tired as hell? Yes. Do they eat nutritious yes. Do they eat microwave hot dogs? Also yes.

You’re doing more than you think you are mama. Stop comparing yourself to other mamas who seem to “have it all” or “do it all” because chances are, they’re shoulding on themselves for something else. We are our own worst critics, so be kind to yourself. The work you’re doing is amazing and just what your family needs.

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A letter to a mama on her baby’s first birthday

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Dear Mama,

You did it! You survived your first year and your baby is growing just like everyone said he would, too fast. You probably have a lot of big feelings today, and that’s okay.

You’ve probably spent some time over the last few weeks looking through the 10,000 pictures in your camera roll, dating all the way back to a year ago. It’s amazing, isn’t it? How fast they grow? How much they change? How time stands still yet flies through your fingertips at the same time? The beginning was such a blur. There was self-doubt and maybe some tears. Okay, there were a lot of tears. But as you scrolled through the photos, maybe you noticed it wasn’t just the baby growing and changing as the weeks ticked by, but you were too.

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A year ago, the 12-month sized baby clothes hanging in the nursery probably seemed outrageously big, and your pre-baby jeans seemed outrageously small. But now that tiny baby fills out those 12mo sized pajamas with little room to spare. Your jeans may still be small, but that’s okay. Really mama, it is.

Maybe you feel like you just barely survived the last 12 months. Maybe you’re finally getting your postpartum depression under control. Or maybe you’re still working through some trauma from your birth story or the early weeks. Maybe, you, Mama, are still a work in progress. We all are, aren’t we?

You look at your baby now, almost a toddler. That alone is enough to make you weep. A TODDLER? How did that happen? Maybe they’re crawling, walking or a combo of both. You wonder how they used to need you to feed them every 3 hours around the clock. There were feedings and burpings and spitup and blowouts. Round and round you went on the foggy new mom carousel, wondering if you’d ever see the day that tiny baby could hold their own bottle, or feed themselves dinner and not need you at 12, 3 and 6am. But here you are, your baby is now a lot more self-sufficient and you inhale them when they cuddle up and need you. Because truth is, they just don’t need you as much as they did a year ago. They’re always on the move, exploring, learning… Not just laying on your chest as you lay pinned on the sofa. They’re doing everything they’re supposed to do, and everything you taught them.BLUR1

The work you have done this year may seem small. It may seem like you barely got anything done at all, it may seem like a blur. But no mama, some of the most important work of your life happened this year. You learned things no book could teach and trusted instincts you didn’t know you had. Mama, you’ve never worked harder.

You may have stayed up too late planning the perfect first birthday party for your little one, scouring the internet for all the adorable party hats and decor to perfectly fit your theme. Maybe you even went a little overboard. Who cares. Your baby’s first birthday is reason to celebrate, so celebrate it how you wish.

But on your baby’s birthday, with all the balloons and big feelings, all the strolls down memory lane and birthday cake, don’t forget to celebrate you too. Mama, what you have done in this past 365 days is worthy of it’s own smash cake, and maybe even some champagne.

So, Mama, cheers to you.

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If someone tells you you’re a good mom, believe them

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Motherhood is one of those jobs that you can accomplish incredible, mind-blowing things, and at the same time, question yourself every single day.

You carried that baby inside your body for 9 months and gave birth, (pretty incredible and mind blowing) and you’re caring for that baby every single day. That baby is alive and well, (but is he doing well enough? Is he getting everything he needs? Questions, questions, questions.)

Something about motherhood makes you question if you’re doing enough, if you’re making the right choices on behalf of your kids, if you are enough.

Here’s the thing. I don’t think I’m a bad mom, but sometimes I don’t think I’m an amazing mom either. But instead, an average, just trying to survive each day mom. A “good enough” mom, if you will. But, when people look at me and tell me I’m an incredible mother, I wonder what they see that I don’t?

Sure, family and friends tell me I’m a great mom all the time. I thank them, internally disagree and go about my day. They love me and my son, so of course they’re going to tell me that, they’re being supportive. But the other day, we were out to dinner (at 4pm because, mom life) and a man came up out of no where, tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself. He said “Hi, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just want to tell you I think you’re doing an amazing job with him,” he said pointing to my 11-month old baby sitting in a high chair throwing puffs (hey, they were organic) all over the floor. He continued to tell me he had a 2-year old daughter, and he could just tell I was an incredible mother and that my son was a lucky boy.

Huh? If a total stranger seems to see this in me, why can’t I?

For some reason, the words of that stranger have stuck with me and have honestly  made me a little sad. I can look at another mom and tell her what an amazing job she’s doing, and truly mean it, but I have a hard time looking in the mirror and saying the same words to the mama looking back at me.

I think to myself, I don’t have it all together, Not in the least. These are the things the people who think I’m so great don’t see. I’m a stay at home mom—I don’t provide any financial support to my family.  This was a choice my family made together, and it’s a gift that I’m able to stay at home with our son. But yet, I feel incredibly guilty for this gift every day. If I was “working,” maybe then I’d be a “good mom.”

Some days, my baby fights me with all the tiny little fibers in his body. He refuses to nap, eat, or do anything other than being held. Instead of being nurturing and understanding during these times, sometimes, I break down. I get frustrated, I cry. And then, I fall deep into a pit of guilt. He’s just a baby, and he needs me, so get it together and be there for him. Be a good mom. Maybe if I could avoid breaking down sometimes, maybe then I’d be a “good mom.”

Some days, the thought of preparing a baby-friendly meal to therefore just clean it all up off the floor gives me more anxiety than I can handle that day, so my baby gets a store-bought baby food pouch and some Cheerios for dinner. Maybe if I made my baby homemade, healthy, nutritionally balanced meals like so-and-so does (for him to throw on the floor) daily, maybe then I’d be a “good mom.”

But after that man tapped me on the shoulder, I looked in the mirror and decided I needed to change my way of thinking. It would take time, but it was important to work on a mental shift on how I saw myself and my work as a mother.

Being a stay-at-home-mom is harder work than I’ve ever had in the workplace. It’s relentless. The days are long and a HUMAN BEING depends on me to show up every day. So instead of feeling guilty for not bringing home a paycheck, I will feel proud of what I’m accomplishing every day and watch my baby grow with the things I’ve taught and given him. Soon enough he will be in school, and I’ll be able to get back to bringing home some bacon. Now is time to focus on the present, not the “should be’s.”

Instead of feeling bad about having hard days when my baby is being difficult, or the fact that there’s no way I’m preparing a meal from scratch, I’m going to focus on the fact that everyone has hard days. If a good cry is needed, let it happen. If boxed mac and cheese is for dinner tonight, so be it. But know that tomorrow is a new day. I’m a human with feelings and I am more than my bad days. Because for every bad day, there are 5 more good ones, so don’t dwell on the bad.

Instead of waiting for someone to tell me I’m a good mom and rolling my eyes at the statement, I’m going to tell myself, YOU’RE A GOOD MOM. Your baby feels safe with you and needs you. He searches for you in a room and knows when you’ve left. You’re his person, the only person he needs. You would do ANYTHING for that child and you want nothing more in this life than to help that little person thrive.

Why do you do all this? Why do you care so much?

Because, you’re a good mom.IMG_0852

They say it takes a village but mine lives in my phone.

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They say it takes a village to raise a child, but I’m here to correct that phrase. The truth is, it takes a village to raise a mom.

The phrase “It takes a village” never truly resonated with me before I had a baby.  Back then, I thought it meant you’d probably need some friendly faces to bring you a casserole during the sleep-deprived newborn stage, or a few trusting pals to help pick up your kid from daycare. I learned very shortly after giving birth that you need people in your corner for things far beyond the occasional favor. You need a village. A village of gracious, trustworthy souls that can help guide you through the foggy world that is motherhood.

A lot of lucky mamas live near family and friends that can step in and act as their village. But what happens if you don’t? You can do one of two things, navigate that shit alone or find yourself a freakin’ village.

I’d like to strongly encourage doing that later of those two options.

Realistically, not everyone lives near their friends, family or people they can count on. Military families for example, are likely going to be displaced when they and add a tiny new member to their tribe. In our case, we had just moved hundreds of miles away from “home” when I found out I was pregnant. So when the baby came and my husband went back to work, I was pretty much navigating those murky waters on my own.

A few exhausting and overwhelming weeks into new motherhood, it became very apparent to me that I needed support. I found myself wishing so badly I had a readily available “village” nearby to support me and my new little family during one of the most difficult and to be frank, lonely times of my life.

It was during those very foggy weeks that I learned they didn’t need to be physically present to be my people. They didn’t need to ring my doorbell with a lasagna in hand to be exactly what I needed. I realized that a “village” for me was just people to talk to. I’m not talking about chit chat about the weather, I mean, people to really vent to—without judgement. People to be there to listen when I was ready to share my struggles. True conversations about the hard, messy, motherhood stuff you can’t talk about with just anyone. Like true confessions to a therapist at the other end of your fingertips. But on the same token, like-minded individuals to talk about the mundane, boring stuff too. So much happens in the nothings.

Aside from the obvious group of lifetime besties and family, my “village” expanded to include old friends I hadn’t spoken to in years, friends of friends I’ve never physically met, and even strangers I “met” on Instagram. Without even realizing it I was talking to these people nearly every day, because they too were in this weird new club we all somehow knew the password to. That club was motherhood and we were all dazed and confused and in it together. We were all just searching for our tribe.IMG_0633

Before I knew it, I had grown to find my village. But there was a catch—they didn’t have an address nearby. They lived in my phone. This random assortment of humans I would likely never see in person, filled a void in a way I never expected.

As months went on, I found myself texting these new found village people before anyone else. Why? Because they too were in my shoes, and maybe they found their village in me also. They too just wanted to vent that their husband “did it wrong” or that their baby wont nap. They too just want to know they’re not the only ones that have days of anxiety and self-doubt. They too just want someone to send pictures of their babies doing baby things back and forth with without worrying that they’re being annoying. They too love to share their baby’s milestones but also share the days their little ones are pushing them closer and closer to insanity. They too want to share easy recipes because they’re exhausted but also want to feed their families. They too, just want someone to talk to. They too, speak the language of a voice text gone wrong, and actually understand it.

They say it takes a village and maybe mine doesn’t live next door, but I’ve got one and a damn good one at that. I’ve got people in my corner. Motherhood can be isolating and lonely, but it can also make you feel like you’ve never been more connected or understood.

When you connect with women in a way you never thought possible, over this one thing that you have in common, that’s when you’ve found your secret society, your support, your village.

The village of motherhood.

To the mama in the thick of newborn life, I’m here to tell you it gets better. So much better.

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Anyone who knows me or who has read this blog, can probably guess I did not thrive in the newborn stage. It was hands-down the most difficult time of my life. So many people told me “enjoy every minute, you’re going to miss this…” and I HATED them for it.

I hated them because that statement, although meant to be harmless, made me feel so guilty that I wasn’t enjoying it. Did I enjoy cuddling that tiny, warm little baby that slept soundly (only) when on my chest? Absolutely. Was I in complete awe of him? Without a doubt. Did I love waking up to that tiny baby’s blood curdling cries every 45 minutes – 3 hours for weeks on end? Sure didn’t. There were women who actually told me, “But aren’t the 2 AM cuddles the sweetest?”

Um…No Sharon, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, 2 AM is not my favorite of all the cuddling time slots. Especially when they’re accompanied by 2 AM projectile spit up, wardrobe (and diaper) changes for both baby and I, and attaching my swollen, bloody boobs to a breast pump every night for weeks. Those nights were the nights I questioned everything.

I won’t carry on about the hardships of newborn life, because if you’re in it right now, I don’t need to remind you. But I will tell you that everyone said it would get better. That you will sleep again. That you will heal.  You won’t always need a plastic squirt bottle to accompany you to the toilet. You won’t always have a bag of frozen peas stuffed into your bra while you rock a screaming 6 pound baby that strangely resembles a roast chicken. That eventually, you’ll wash the spit up out of your hair, and you wont always be pinned beneath a (finally) sleeping baby on the couch, unable to move. I truly thought they were all full of shit, and this was my life now, and that they were all wrong.

But here I am. nearly 9 months into my motherhood journey, and I can tell you—things got better. SO. MUCH. BETTER. They were right. All those parents before me. It’s amazing what a little sleep can do for your mental state. Eventually, we fell into a rhythm. My body healed. We worked through kinks and food allergies and medical issues. Our chronically fussy newborn morphed into the happiest little cherub with the most delicious cheeks you’ve ever seen. I look at him every day and cry for a much different reason. It’s just incredible.  He’s just incredible. Watching him grow and change and learn every day, is just….There are no words to describe it.

Now, I’m thrilled to announce that I’m so incredibly happy. A happy, proud, beaming mama. The one I wanted to be from the beginning. It just took me a little bit to get here.

I didn’t love the newborn phase, and no, I don’t miss it. I miss him being that small, but I don’t miss the vulnurable chaos of it all. There, I said it. I don’t miss the exhaustion, or the fear, or how fragile my tiny baby was. I don’t miss how fragile I was either. I didn’t realize how fragile I was at the time, until I look back and see how far we’ve come, and how strong we are now. There is not a single photo of me with a big toothy-smiled grin until my baby was nearly 2 months old. It breaks my heart, but months 3-8 have been such a joyful sweet spot for us. The smiles, the milestones, the first giggles, the first foods… All the firsts… Did I mention the giggles? Although there are still learning curves and challenges every day, nothing compares to those first all-consuming weeks.

If you can survive the first few months—and you will, although you will question it every day—you will come out stronger than ever! adp_9578You’re a lot stronger than you think you are. Hang on mama, motherhood is a wild ride filled with seasons, and before you know it, that tough season you didn’t think you’d survive will be in your rearview.  Some seasons will feel like they will never end, but I’m here to tell you, they won’t last forever—promise.

Our Must-Have Baby Items for Surviving the First Six Months

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When I was pregnant, I scoured the internet for all the “must-have” baby products. I followed mom forums and asked all my mom friends what I needed to register for or purchase! Ultimately, it got pretty overwhelming and I ended up with a huge amount of baby stuff in a not so huge house.

Now that my little one is  8 months old, I’m starting to put away and purge some items Emmett has outgrown or no longer uses. I look at all this stuff like a staple in my home now, but know it wasn’t always that way. So I figured I’d do a round up for any expecting parents who might be interested on what worked in our house and what we could have skipped.

I’m going to go beyond the obvious car seat, stroller, high chair, crib… All these items have paid for themselves already. (I linked the ones we use in case you’re interested, and we’ve been happy with them overall!)

ITEMS THAT WE COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT (I mean, we could have, but these made life a whole lot easier) 116490561239272p

White Noise Machine: Hatch Baby Rest Sound Machine – We’ve been blasting this white noise machine + nightlight since night one. You can control it from your phone so you don’t have to sneak in and disturb a sleeping baby if you need to adjust it. It plays a ton of different sounds, has many different nightlight color options and honestly, just get it.
I asked 5 of my friends what their must-have baby item was, and this was in the top 3 for all. Honestly, I want one for my room too.  AND on the topic on noise machines, get a portable one for on the go. We have this one and it works great. Perfect for drowning out the sound of a waitress dropping a glass just as your baby falls asleep when you’re out to dinner. TRUSTTTT.

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Owlet Smart Sock:  Okay, this item was a major splurge, and at first I really didn’t like it. Because he was waking up ever 2 hours and sleeping 1 foot from my face in a bedside bassinet, (we had this bassinet that we got secondhand, but honestly we moved him to his crib after 3 weeks and wish I would have moved him sooner) so what was the point? I’d also forget to put it on before I put his footie pajamas on and I wasn’t going to get him undressed to put it on after the fact. But once he was in his crib, sleeping long stretches and I remembered to put it on right after his evening bath, this thing became my best friend, especially after some health scares. You can’t put a price tag on peace of mind, and being able to check my baby’s vitals easily (without hovering over him to see if his chest is rising and falling) was/still is priceless to me. We also have the Owlet Cam which we also love, but it was brand new to market when we got it, so there have been some glitches to work through. (They have great customer service!)

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Zip Up Swaddles – Love to Dream Swaddle Up – I’ll admit I spent a lot of money on swaddles that we barely used, until we found this one. Emmett preferred to sleep with his hands up and would bust out of every other kind of swaddle, so this one was a total game changer! GAME. CHANGER. Plus, it’s cute and made him look like a flying squirrel. There is also a transitional one for when they’re ready to have their arms free, which made the transition to a sleep sack so much easier. You can find the transitional one here.

BURP CLOTHS– ALL THE BURP CLOTHS – DONT GET CUTE ONES. GET ABSORBENT ONES… Like these. Even if you don’t have a baby with reflux, babies are still messy and drool a lot. Just get a pack.

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Bottle warmer: Philips Avent Fast Bottle Warmer – obviously, if you are solely breastfeeding, this won’t be necessary, but we were a pumping, bottle-feeding family pretty much from the start, and this was a necessary item for our family. (Used 8x a day for the first 4+ months) Even when we switched to formula, we had a special formula with mix-ins that we always prepped ahead of time. We pre-made bottles and stored them in the fridge for the day, and popped them in this thing to warm them up quickly and safely.

Play Gym Activity Center– This seems silly, because it’s just a mat with some dangly things, but we’re on month 8 and Em is STILL using this. We have this one by skip hop and he love, love, loves it! Plus the toys can come off and they can play with those as they get older.Unknown-3

Bouncer Seat– I’d like to promote the Rock ‘n Play as it was the only thing my child would sleep in the first few weeks, but it has been recalled so I will move on to the next best thing, a bouncer seat. We had this one by Ingenuity and at nearly 8 months are still using it. Bouncers (as opposed to a swing which is huge and my child hated) have a small footprint, don’t require an outlet and are portable. A lot of babies have some level of reflux and need to be propped up to help keep them from spitting up, so a safe space to place babe other than your tired arms is such a mom essential. You can also strap them in to the seat and bring them into the bathroom with you so you can take a shower. Besides, who doesn’t love showering with a tiny cute audience?

Zip Up Jammies– do yourself a favor, skip the snaps. No one wants to deal with lining up snaps in the dark at 2 am. We love the jammies from Carters. They fit him the best and wash well! These are also a great gift, because you can never have enough. Get all sizes, they grow so quickly! But be sure to keep the seasons in mind—fleece generally is not necessary in August.

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Moms on Call Books– I did a post all about how this book helped get Emmett sleeping. I won’t go into detail, but they are a great resource regardless on your view on schedules and sleep training. Great gift idea too!

Diaper Rash Cream–  This seems like a given, but it was one of the things I didn’t have stocked in the nursery. Newborns have super sensitive skin, and they also poop a lot. BAD COMBO. Grab a few tubes for the nursery before baby is born, so you don’t have to panic at 3am and send your sleepy spouse to CVS when your week old baby looks like they just sat on lava rocks (seriously, it’s terrifying and heartbreaking how bad diaper rash can get). We use A&D daily and Desitin when a rash flairs up.

Boon Drying Rack – A clean, designated place to dry baby’s bottles, baby bowls, pacifiers, etc. A tiny life hack, just get one. Plus there is a cute travel one too! Unknown-2

Blackout Curtains in the nursery or wherever the baby is sleeping– When baby sleeps, you sleep, and all is right in the world.  Be like NIKE and Just Do It.

GIANT WATER CUP WITH A GIANT ASS STRAW– This was something I Amazon primed for myself about 5 days postpartum at 3 in the morning and still use every day. I ordered this cup with these ridiculous 15″ straws. When you have a newborn, you won’t have free hands or free time to refill your water, and probably won’t have free hands to pick it up and drink from it either. And you’re going to be thirsty AF. Get a giant straw and a cup that won’t need as many refills. I will honestly gift these to all my pregnant friends from here on out.

 

Things we probably could have lived without.

Honestly, we’ve used everything we got for baby! Even the list below…  We got A LOT of stuff, but if I had to make a list of things we could have skipped, this is what I’d say:

Baby Swing – We had this one, every baby is different, but Emmett never loved it. We had high hopes for this item and it was one of the first things we registered for! But it’s big and we definitely didn’t use it as much as the bouncer.

SnuggleMe Lounger– I don’t know why I felt like I HAD TO HAVE this thing. I did so much research and heard so many great things about this and the Dock-a-Tot, but went for the SnuggleMe because it looked cozier for a new baby. (It’s supposed to mimic the feeling of being held) We used it a few times, but it definitely did not get it’s money’s worth.

Boppy Breastfeeding Pillow – My breastfeeding journey didn’t last long, but for the few weeks I did breastfeed, I found a regular pillow from my bed was a lot more comfortable and stayed in place better. However, now that he’s older, we brought it back out for him to lounge on and help him sit up!

Bottle Sterilizer and dryer– So, I did use this a lot, and still do because I have it and got it as a gift, but if I wanted to save money, I definitely don’t think this is a necessity. I feel like running bottles through the dishwasher with “sterilize” works fine and doesn’t take up counter space. You can also just just boil the bottles to sterilize. I felt like washing his bottles well with hot water and soap has sufficed most often.

All the breastfeeding tops, bras, etc…. I wish I would have waited to buy all these things as the whole breastfeeding thing didn’t work out for us. I’m not saying they’re not worth it, I’m just saying make sure you tackle breastfeeding before spending the money! Besides, I spent those weeks topless or in a robe anyway.

At the end of the day, a baby doesn’t NEED much.  They need to be fed, snuggled, changed and loved. However, a lot of the gadgets on the market these days sure make parenting a heck of lot easier.  I hope this list was helpful, and if you have any questions, feel free to drop a comment!

Learning to Tolerate… I Mean LOVE My Post Baby Body

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To be completely honest, when Emmett was born, I was so exhausted and just trying to survive those first months that I didn’t pay much attention to my new body. It was still really cold, so I kept the sweatshirts on and decided I didn’t have the energy to pay any attention to my postpartum physique. At my postpartum checkup, I hopped on the scale that showed I still had about 10 pounds to lose to get back to my pre-baby weight. I thought to myself, hey, it could be worse, I’ll get there and honestly I’m not in any hurry. It took 9 months to make this baby, I shouldn’t be expected to bounce back in a few weeks. Then spring started to melt into summer, and I thought I deserved some new clothes. I was 10 weeks postpartum at the time and I carefully selected a few cute summer dresses that would likely suit my pre-baby style and my post-baby body and hit proceed to checkout. When the box arrived on my doorstep, my Grandma was here and my husband had just gotten home from a deployment. I optimistically told them I’d model my new outfits for them!

LOL. That’s not what happened.

I had ordered these dresses with visions of cute, Instagram worthy pictures of me in Cape Cod this summer with an adorable baby on my hip. I made sure to select more forgiving flowy summer styles and left the fitted numbers where they belonged—saved for later. The flowy floral number I was so excited about zipped up, and I thought to myself, “Hey, it zipped! That’s a good sign!”

But the woman that stared back at me in the mirror looked like a stranger to me. She looked so tired. I could see the anxiety around her eyes, and she clearly shouldn’t be wearing anything relatively low cut or that doesn’t have an elastic waist. I think what really hit me was my breasts. I don’t use the word breasts, so I’ll call them what I normally call them; boobs. The dress was lower cut, and guess what else was lower? My freakin’ boobs. Before baby I never wore a bra. NEVER. I had silicone stick-on nipple covers I’d replace every few months as I rocked those low-cut sun dresses that flaunted my perky cleavage and cheeky side boob. Clearly, I can throw those out now… The nip covers and the cheeky dresses. My new boobs look like I tried to breastfeed a rabid grizzly bear and lost the fight. Within seconds I was in tears, with flashbacks of just how horrible my experience breastfeeding was. Not only was it the worst experience of my adult life, I now have a permanent reminder of it every time I look in the mirror.  A saggy, stretch-marked reminder of the constant pain, sobbing, bloody nipples and the sound of the breast pump’s aggressive buzzing as it tugged away at my raw nipples. A dainty scar left behind from Mastitis like a tattoo you regret but can’t get rid of.  I felt the defeat of screaming “I can’t do this anymore” through bloodshot eyes wash over me all over again. I felt the fever and chills from Mastitis return. I felt the sobbing in the shower as the warm water hit my tore-up nips. It all came back and it sucked just as much this time as it did when it was really happening. A true flashback of a time I’d rather never, ever revisit.

I also saw my tummy. That needed work too. Although it had somewhat deflated back to normal, the loose skin was definitely visible. My belly button looked like it was frowning. Kind of like the flower towards the end of The Beauty and The Beast—wilted AF. I thought to myself, thank goodness one-piece bathing suits are back in style. My hips were wider. My stance, less confident. Everything just seemed foreign and unfamiliar. Softer. I just stared at myself as the tears continued to well up.

I heard my eager audience say from the living room “I guess we don’t get to see the show!”… I wiped my eyes, folded up the dress and put it back in the box. I slipped back into the maternity leggings I still rocked and emerged from the bedroom explaining they weren’t worth showing. I picked up the baby and went into his nursery and sobbed as quietly as I could as I rocked him and put him down for a nap.

When I was pregnant, I cried over the most insignificant things and whined how I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could get my mental stability back. HA! After baby, everything is new, and the tears certainly didn’t slow down. Your life, your schedule, your body… Everything. But at that moment, I sat there staring at my baby who was now sound asleep in napland, and I took a deep breath and I thanked him. First, I thanked him for not fighting said nap at a time that Mama really needed him to be sweet and cuddly. I thanked him for making me a Mama and giving me this job. I assured him I wasn’t crying because of him. I whispered to him that I loved him more than any sundress. Then I thanked him for my new body. I wiped away my tears, turned off the tear spigot (righty tighty y’all), and promised I’d try to do better at respecting this body that gave me him, and not get so angry at it.IMG_7410

This is something that will be a constant struggle and will take some work, but I’ve promised to do better. Although I still joke about my body and say things along the lines of it being Emmett’s first apartment, I’m trying to not me mean to myself. I actually wrote this 3 months ago, and have never been brave enough to share it, because it’s weirdly personal and emotional. I’ve started working out again. But I’m not doing it “to get my body back,” I’m doing to for me, and for me time. I’m doing it as a little something good for myself. To thank my body for being strong during tough times.  I’m working out to stay healthy and strong for my baby who will soon be a toddler that needs chasing. Honestly, as much as it sucks, the endorphins really do a body and mind good.

This body, as much as I’m not a super fan of it’s appearance, worked really, really hard to give us this healthy baby, and so what if it’s hard work shows. The phrase “bounce back” needs to be retired. You can get back into a healthy lifestyle, but there certainly is no bouncing into anything… Especially because new moms are likely afraid of wetting their pants in the event of bouncing. With that said, you can find me in my yoga pants and one-piece swimsuit for now. And if you have a problem with that, then that sounds like your problem, doesn’t it.

Why breastfeeding was the hardest (and quite frankly the worst) experience of my life

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Whoever invented the phrase “breast is best” must have been a man. A man with worthless nipples. The title of this entry may seem harsh, but it’s true. Breastfeeding was the single most difficult thing I’ve ever done (or attempted to do). It was harder than giving birth. It was harder than being pregnant for 9 months. The physical and emotional toll of breastfeeding, well, it SUCKED for me—pun not intended but do what you want with that. If I could have fed my child with my tears, he’d be in the 100th percentile for weight.

I want to start this off by saying I think breastfeeding truly is incredible. I wanted to do it, I really did. It just didn’t work out for me and my baby. I’m not here to bash women who choose to breastfeed. Honestly, I’m in awe of you. Whether you breastfed for one day, one month or one year, you should be very, very proud of yourself. It’s a sacrifice no matter how your journey pans out. I know not everyone’s journey was or will be as difficult as mine, I know this because plenty of people found it helpful to tell me how easy breastfeeding was for them.

Disclaimer. This comment is not helpful.

I wanted to breastfeed my baby but did not set high expectations because I’ve heard it can be difficult. I figured if I didn’t set the bar high, it wouldn’t be as upsetting if it didn’t work—turns out it was still devastating. I wanted to give it my all and hopefully be successful. Deep down I thought we’d have some trouble getting started but in a few days we’d be golden. Before having a baby, I thought the most difficult part of breastfeeding would be not being able to enjoy wine even after I’d already given it up for 9 months. I told myself I’d give it three months, and if I felt like I was done breastfeeding at 3 months, I’d stop.

I made it three weeks.

My baby and I began our breastfeeding journey shortly after he was born. My baby was born 3 weeks early by force evacuation—meaning I was induced. It wasn’t his choice to come early. My little 5lb baby was rooting (that’s a term for the sucking motion babies do) so I shoved my nipple in his mouth and thought, oh my gosh, look! We’re doing it!

*Cue Morgan Freeman’s narration voice*

We were not doing it. We were doing nothing of the sort.

The magical picture I had painted in my head of my baby being born and feasting away on my boob within hours of birth was far from our reality. It’s far from any mom’s reality. There is no feasting right after birth. There is nothing to feast on. Your true milk supply does not come in for a few days, so in the first few days you’re dealing with a drop of colostrum here and there. Which is normal. I knew it was normal, I read the books. But because my baby was so small it gave me a lot of anxiety that he wasn’t eating when he desperately needed the calories.

We had several visits from different nurses, lactation consultants and doctors while in the hospital. Each one with a slightly different technique on how to get my baby to latch.  Each one squeezing my breasts with their rubber gloved hands trying to express just a drop of milk. This one suggested the football hold, that one suggested the pillow prop, and her? She suggested stripping baby down to his diaper every time I tried to feed as to keep him awake. Newborns are sleepy creatures and tend to fall asleep on the boob. None of them were successful in getting him to latch, but encouraged me to keep trying.

When I was evicted from the hospital 2 days later, with my baby and my aching nipples, I went home with a 24-hour supply of “just in case” formula and a breastfeeding pamphlet with a very happy mama on the front. The lactation consultant suggested I start pumping often to stimulate my milk supply and to continue to try working on my baby’s latch.  I did everything she told me to to get my baby to latch properly. I booped him on the nose with my sore nipples, I caught him mid yawn and shoved my nipple in his mouth like a sneak attack nip. I stripped him naked and blew on his face to keep him awake.  I football held and crossbody held and pillow propped him. It was 38’ outside and I was always topless and ready to strike if he seemed hungry and ready to feed.

My baby did not want to latch.

He was too small.

He did not have the energy and his tongue was always on the roof of his mouth.

He was losing weight.

And I was frustrated, exhausted and my boobs were really starting to hurt—bad.

When my milk supply did finally arrive and my boobs looked like they were about to explode off of my chest, I made yet another appointment with a lactation consultant. My baby still wasn’t latching right after days of endless attempts, tears, lanolin, ice packs, heating pads and dreaded pumping sessions. After that visit, we seemed to be getting somewhere, but she encouraged me to keep pumping eight times a day to keep up my supply while me and baby figured it out.

Let me paint a picture of what pumping your sore boobs eight times a day while being more sleep deprived than you’ve even been in your life, all while simultaneously keeping a newborn alive is like. It’s a living hell. Honestly, this is hard for me to write. I have such PTSD about pumping and breastfeeding that I have a physical reaction to the thought. That buzzing and sucking and whizzing sound a pump makes sends chills down my spine. The feeling of two plastic cones tugging at your already screaming nipples is the most confining, unnatural, horrific feeling in the world. Plus, you have to sit up straight (and slightly hunched forward) to catch the milk when you just want to lay down, and you can’t care for your newborn when you’re strapped to a breast pump either. It’s a recipe for a total mama breakdown.

But, I continued. I persevered. I tried. Society told me I had no choice. Everyone told me I had to give him my breastmilk, it was best for him. I wanted what was best for my baby. I was pumping and bottle feeding him my expressed milk 8x a day like I was told. I spent the time I wasn’t pumping or feeding cleaning the pump parts and bottles. I felt terrible when I supplemented with formula, because “supplementing” implied the work I was doing wasn’t enough. I wanted so badly for it to “click” like everyone promised and for it to work out. I would try to get him to latch before each session and for a few days, he was doing it. But still, his latch wasn’t quite right, and my nipples paid the ultimate price. After a few more days of bad latches and constant pumping, my nipples began to crack and bleed. When I say this was painful, it’s an understatement. I had to bite a kitchen towel when it was time to feed him because the pain was so great I’d scream and I didn’t want to scare him. I can’t even begin to describe the pain. Once your nipples start to crack, they then start to scab. But scabs can’t heal when those nipples aren’t allowed a break. They’re needed every three hours.

The song Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked was actually written about nipples, did you know that? Kidding, but maybe I’m not. I’ll have to look into that.

One evening, when I noticed the 2oz of milk I had worked hard to pump was tainted pink with blood, I completely broke down. No one else seemed to have these problems. No one else was screaming out in pain, no one else feared their baby’s next meal because you knew the pain that was about to happen. Well, at least they weren’t talking about it. Every time I’d hook up to that pump, the tears would stream and stream and stream down my face. I wasn’t sobbing, but the tears would just flow uncontrollably as I looked around with a defeated, exhausted, glare, just listening to the whooshing and buzzing of the pump.

I was doing what I was told was best for my baby. But what about what was best for me?

Around week 3, I woke up from one of my less than 3-hour sleep intervals in so much pain. My right boob hurt so badly it took my breath away. I had chills and my whole body ached. I didn’t think too much about it, I was too tired. So I grabbed my heating pad and popped more ibuprofen. That next day I didn’t leave the couch. I felt as though I had been hit by a bus. The baby laid next to me in the rock’n play while I continued my around the clock pumping. That’s when I thought, could this be mastitis? When I finally took my temperature, I found I had a 102 fever. I had a red, hot patch on the extremely painful breast. I had mastits. I had the boob flu. I don’t wish that nonsense on anyone.

Mastits is a clogged milk duct that becomes infected. It’s very painful and causes fever, chills and body aches along with the breast pain. You need a ton of antibiotics, and also you have to massage out the painful clogged duct. Oh what fun that was!

It was that night that I looked at my husband and said I can’t do this anymore. I am living in a hell I don’t wish on anyone. I’m in an endless cycle of pain, bleeding nipples, pumping, cleaning pump parts, popping ibuprofen and antibiotics and straight up trying to survive. All while trying to care for my newborn on zero sleep. I was absolutely miserable. Everything hurt. It was not a bonding experience with my baby. It made me fear him.

I didn’t want anyone to tell me to keep going at that point. I didn’t want anyone to tell me I was doing such a great job and they were proud of me. I wanted someone to tell me it was okay to stop.

Please, just tell me I’m not an awful selfish mother if I choose to put an end to this hell. The guilt I felt was so heavy on my heart that I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The moment I said out loud I was done, I immediately felt some relief. Mostly guilt,  but some relief that I was putting a stop to the madness. I could now focus on bonding with my child and not fearing him every 3 hours. You can’t stop breastfeeding cold turkey, so I’d continue my pumping hell for a few more weeks until my supply dried up. During my weening, I’d get mastitis yet again. This time, with an abscess that would protrude out of my breast and cause a nice scar that I still rock 4 months later. It adds some flair to the deflated, stretch-marked bags that hang from my chest now.

It’s a nice daily reminder of my breastfeeding journey.

I truly hope that others do not have as hard of a time with breastfeeding as I did. But if you do, please know you’re not alone and you should not feel any guilt about stopping. 4 months later I still feel guilt, but my baby is thriving with formula, and I’m much more relaxed mom knowing I can feed my child without pain.

How becoming a mom showed me gratitude

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Becoming a mom is one of the most incredible things to ever happen to me. It has been such a roller coaster of emotions that I’ve had a tough time processing them at times. It’s hard yet awesome. It’s exhausting yet most exhilarating thing ever. It makes you happy and sometimes sad, and sometimes I catch myself crying for no reason other than my brain is trying to keep up with all the emotions swirling around in my head.

But if there’s one emotion that has become the star of the show, its gratitude. Anxiety is a close second, but we’ll save that puppy for later. It may seem like I’m always whining about how hard it all is, but that’s because, well, it is hard. And by the way, hard does not always equal bad. But as hard is at may be, my son has single handedly showed me what it feels like to be hashtag blessed. I just stare at him in a complete awe and wonder how this tiny person that’s a mix of my husband and I is real. How his chubby cheeks and butt chin wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the miracle that is procreation.

I know, I know. I used to hate those bitches who said that their hearts were just exploding with love. Or said having kids is like feeling your heart walk around on the outside of your body, but it’s freaking true. Damn. I hate when those bitches are right.

Going out to eat with a baby can be a little stressful. Sometimes your baby will cooperate through dinner, and sometimes they won’t. They’re babies. They cry sometimes. And generally the people around you are not super pumped about being near your crying baby. But sometimes when your baby cries in public, you don’t get rude looks and death stares, but instead, looks of empathy from grandmas who are missing their little ones, or a waitress who has been there.

Recently, I was out to dinner and my baby had a full diaper blow out. He was crying. I was sweating. I was trying not to cause a scene as I snuck away from the table (just as the food arrived of course, because #momlife). As I approached the restroom while holding a poop grenade just waiting to be detonated, I prayed to the good lord baby Jesus that this restaurant had a changing table. Thankfully it did. As I laid my baby out on the changing table, hair in my face, poo that resembled spicy mustard just waiting to make it’s great escape, baby cries echoing through the marble bathroom (those bathroom acoustics!), I struggled to get wipes out of the diaper bag that swung from my elbow. With one hand on the baby at all times, I exhaled as I finally finagled some wipes from the swinging trapeze of my diaper bag. And in that moment, a woman came up to me and offered a hand. I didn’t know this woman. I politely declined her help and genuinely thanked her. She looked me in the eyes and told me I was doing a great job and she remembered how hard it was like it was yesterday. I went home later that night and thought, I wish there were more people in this world like her. To the kind strangers in the world who make up for all the not so kind ones, I’m grateful for you.

Also, can we just say I’m grateful to public places with changing tables? No matter how gross, at least there’s a safe place to clean up your babe.

When our son needed an emergency grand entrance to the world during his birth, the doctors and nurses made sure he and I were safe and healthy. They also made sure we felt safe and healthy. Even though I know it’s their job, the way they treated me with dignity and respect will never be forgotten. I feel forever grateful to these humans.

When our son had surgery at 5 weeks old, the skilled surgical team carefully operated on our tiny newborn with care and precision. His doctors and nurses cared for him and even myself with such grace and kindness, I felt like we were a part of their family. Each time we left the hospital as a healthy family of three, I thought to myself—thank God. I am not super religious. But there are times you just have to look around and thank the universe or the powers that be for your happy ending. I was bursting with gratitude. I still am.

When our insurance covered our baby’s operation in full, and then assigned a registered nurse to call and check up on him and answer any questions I may have, I felt so grateful to have such wonderful healthcare coverage. Not having to worry about a stack of medical bills piling up allowed us to focus on the health of our son, and I never once took that for granted.

When I struggled transitioning into my new role as a mother, with sleepless nights and a fussy newborn, my friends and family that checked in on me meant more than I ever thought possible. I was fighting that good fight of staying afloat as a new mom. Everyone has their own busy life, their own struggles, their own good fight to fight, but the daily calls, texts, cards and even gifts we received, made me truly realize how loved we are. My friends and family love our baby like their own, and it shows. For that, I am so freakin’ grateful.

When I watched the news and saw a segment about a mother living out of her car with her babies, it made me appreciate the walls around me and the roof above my head. Our house is not a mansion by any means. It’s not featured in Better Homes & Gardens Magazine. There is plenty of updating my husband and I would love to complete eventually, but it’s our home. The first home our baby will know, the house that turned into a home the second that baby came home with us. The one small bathroom is the one I found out I was pregnant in. The same bathroom that has become “Bubbie’s Spa” during our baby’s nightly bath. Our house that won’t be home forever, but it’s filling up with memories by the day. For this humble home that keeps us warm and safe, I am so grateful.

There’s so much more I’m truly grateful for every day, but this post would be 15,000 pages long and likely get cheesy enough to cringe. I’m grateful for the gift if being able to have a child, the gift of health, the gift of feeling safe and protected and loved. The gift of feeling supported when I needed it most. I’m grateful for my husband who loves both me and our son unconditionally. Grateful for this postpartum body, no matter how I struggle with it, because it gave me my baby. I’m grateful for the bad days, because they taught me just how good the good days are. Not to say that I used to be an ungrateful person, but the little things are just a lot bigger now, and the big things, well, they’ll figure themselves out.

When it’s not just reflux; my newborn had pyloric stenosis and needed surgery

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As a new mom, the word “scary” gets tossed around a lot. Because honestly, it’s the best way to describe it. Everything is new and unfamiliar, and every poop, grunt or squeak from your baby gets observed the way a resident on Grey’s Anatomy observes a patient who has been admitted for Ebola. “Does this look normal?” is also just a part of a new parent’s love language.

But when something doesn’t feel right, or in fact feels very wrong, it’s all consuming. I’m a brand-new mom to a brand-new baby—a baby who had been diagnosed with reflux. Reflux in babies is common. Their tiny tummies aren’t mature enough to hold their feeds down, so sometimes a little comes back up as “spit up”. I was told it’s usually more of a laundry issue than a medical one, but to monitor and call the pediatrician in the event things seemed to get worse.

By week 5 with my newborn, spit up was everywhere. It was in my hair, it was on my clothes and every surface of my home had a burp cloth ready for clean-up. I switched from breast milk to different kinds of formula. We kept him elevated after feeds. We tried it all. But when the burp cloths transformed into full on beach towels, and the “spit up” turned exorcist-style projectile, I knew in my gut it wasn’t just reflux. It couldn’t be.

The morning we found out that it wasn’t “just reflux” still haunts me. I brought my 5-week old baby back to the pediatrician, spit up in my hair, apologizing profusely for being a paranoid first-time mom. But my worry was valid. I wasn’t over-reacting. There was something wrong with my baby. They found he had a milk allergy and for a brief moment, that diagnosis was a relief. I assumed that explained all the vomiting and constant fussiness. We would change his formula, and everything would be better. Right?

Wrong.

The doctor also said they wanted to have him looked at for something called pyloric stenosis; a condition where the pylorus muscle in babies becomes thickened, preventing food from leaving the stomach and entering the small intestine, causing them to forcefully vomit up their feeds. She explained that this condition usually presents itself in babies around 4-6 weeks of age, causes forceful vomiting, and is most common in first born males. We checked all the boxes and were immediately sent for ultrasound at Hasbro Children’s Hospital.

When the ultrasound tech left the room to get the radiologist so he could take a closer look, my heart sank. It kerplunked so deep in my gut that I couldn’t breathe. I sat there, holding my breath and my 8 pound, 5-week old baby, when they returned with the news I already saw coming.

The radiologist said “Your son does in fact have Pyloric Stenosis and he will need surgery. We will be admitting him now.”

*Starts frantically googling pyloric stenosis*

No matter how good the bedside manner, or how many times a doctor calmly tells a mom that the surgery her baby needs is a “simple, straightforward one” or that “everything will be fine,” it does not ease the blow. At that moment, in that room, dried spit up caked to my scalp, eyes so heavy and tired from weeks of spit up filled nights, I lost it. I sobbed while rocking my baby, in shock that this was happening, yet saying over and over I knew something was wrong. My baby was so tiny, born just 5 weeks prior, at only 37-weeks gestation and already needed an operation. Why my baby? Why our family? Why did he have to be the one in a thousand babies who get this diagnosis?

We were admitted right away, to the children’s hospital that would become home for the next 3 days. They explained that the operation would not take place until morning, but they needed to keep him overnight on an IV drip to keep him hydrated, as the most dangerous parts of pyloric stenosis is dehydration. Several nurses were needed to place the IV in his tiny foot. I had to leave the room. I would have rather been pacing the halls of a children’s hospital with tears streaming down my face than see my baby get poked and prodded. I felt an enormous amount of guilt about this, but my husband stayed with our baby, holding his tiny hand while they placed the IV. The compassionate nurse signaled for me that it was safe to come back in.IMG_3029

We were not allowed to feed him until after the surgery, which was nearly 30 hours after first being admitted. Listening to your newborn baby cry his “hungry cry” and not be able to feed him, is a torture like I had never experienced. My body was so tense that I was physically sore for days after. My breastfeeding journey had ended about 2 weeks prior, and yet by the time we left the hospital, I had mastitis (a painful, clogged, infected milk duct) from my body physically trying to respond to my baby’s cry.

The hours spent in pre-op, rocking my infant son as he wailed, IV lines and EKG cords dangling from his foot, were the worst hours of my entire life. As we waited for him to be taken back to surgery, in the pre-op room with other parents and their sick kids, I looked around with blurry eyes. My eyes met the gaze of other moms, eyes filled with the same dread and worry, waiting for their turn to follow their kids out of the pre-op room, just to take their detour to the purgatory of the surgical waiting area.

When the surgeon came to take our son back for surgery, I was filled with dread—a dread that was almost tangible. My husband and I took our own personal journey to the waiting area. We were ready for this mess to be behind us, and to be reunited with our baby who would now hopefully be able to keep his feeds down.

A long hour and a half later, the surgeon came and told us our baby did wonderfully, and we’d be able to see him in recovery soon. When we finally got to see him, all bandaged up, monitors beeping, I exhaled for the what seemed like the first time in days. After some recovery time, and plenty of worry, our baby was going to be okay. Being in a children’s hospital has a way of making your issues—no matter how great—seem small. Looking around at the other recovering children and their worried families made it very apparent we were lucky. Our baby was going to come home with us in a few days, and some of these kids had a much longer journey ahead of them.

When we got home, there were a few more weeks of vomiting episodes. This was normal, but that didn’t make it easy. I had hoped the surgery would have been a quick fix, but it wasn’t. Every time he vomited or spit up from that point forward, my entire body would tense up and I’d be thrown into a full-blown hysterics. I honestly think I had a mild case of PTSD (self-diagnosed obviously). But as weeks went by, and he adjusted to his new milk-free formula and Zantac prescription to manage his reflux, things got better. It just took time and a lot of trial and error.

To all the mamas out there going through a rough patch and possibly a sick baby, I feel for you. It’s the worst feeling in the world. But always trust your gut and know that doctors and nurses are there to help, and they are truly miracle workers.