Life as a Mommy

Being a mommy is not an easy job. Being a mommy to two is even harder. Here is an inside look to my new life as mommy to two:

• You no longer have time for regular showers. Most of my showers consist of a change of clothes, some Suave professionals Dry Shampoo, a spritz of perfume, and some deodorant. All of this is done in the two minutes I have to slip away to the bathroom.

• You don't sit down to eat. You don't even make meals for yourself. You grab whatever you can find within arms reach and shove it in your mouth as you're hurrying to make breakfast/lunch/dinner/snack for baby #1

• Accept the mess. When you're holding and feeding an infant, baby #1 is bound to do something destructive, whether it be spilling her snack on the floor, ripping up her coloring books, taking all the batteries out of the remotes, or even, breaking her arm.

• The only "me" time you're going to get is going to be those few hours of silence between approximately midnight and 2am, when the infant wakes up. You can either take this time to try to get some sleep, or you can just sit there and enjoy the silence. Your choice.

• There is no such thing as sleep anymore. Between the two kids, someone will be up at every hour. The only sleep you'll be getting is the few minutes you can contain #1's destructiveness and #2 is not in need of anything. Do not think that night time means sleep. You'll be extremely disappointed.

• Do realize though, that as hard as it is, being a mommy is the most amazing rewarding experience in the entire world, and there is nothing I would trade it for. <3

Uncharted Territory

I've suffered from severe depression my whole life. I've tried many medications, and therapists, and programs, and nothing has seemed to work. If it did work, it was never for long. After so many years, I've accepted that this will be something I struggle with my entire life. I'd always have that heavy, empty feeling in my chest. I'd always have those thoughts telling me that I was worth nothing, that I don't deserve the life I was given, that nothing I ever did or ever would do could possibly matter.

As you may know, I recently had another baby. The one thing I feared more than anything was that I would have PPD like I did with my first. It was so bad I literally do not remember the first few months of my daughters life. I'd only recently asked friends and family about it, and I can't believe some of the things they've told me. I wouldn't let anyone near me or my daughter. I would lock myself in my room all day. I stopped talking to my family. After a month or so, I stopped taking care of Krystal. My mother would take her all day as I sat in my room and did nothing. I told my friends how I wanted to kill myself, and how I hated my daughter. I started drinking. And you know what? I remember none of this. I remember VERY little from about the first week of her being born to about 3 months. I remember taking a picture of a bee. I remember buying a roll of tape from Walgreens. I remember sitting in the secret office at my OB as she asked me how I felt towards my baby, and her calling the hospital and telling them I needed admitted immediately. And that's it. The first 3 months of my daughter's life and all I remember are those 3 little details. And that's only after talking to my friends about it for weeks and trying to figure out what happened.

Good news though. I believe I'm PPD-free this time, and I'm not even on medication. Sure, I get overwhelmed on occasion. Of course I get mad when Krystal doesn't listen. But I don't have that empty, sad, hopeless feeling I've experienced for so many years. I actually feel normal, and it feels amazing.

I hope this feeling stays. I hope I can be happy. I finally love my life, and I absolutely love my little family.

Welcome to the World, Grayson!

While it's still fairly fresh on my mind, I figured I'd write Grayson's "birth" story, in every detail I remember. So here it is :)

I'm pretty sure that my labor started on Sunday. I felt really, really "normal". The few days before I'd been completely exhausted and sick and tired, but Saturday and Sunday I felt completely fine and figured that I was far, far away from having this baby. Sunday I mostly just relaxed, I wasn't really tired, I just felt like I should take it easy. I figured it was just from my sister's wedding the previous day that I was exhausted. I sat around a lot, and noticed I had A LOT of Braxton Hicks contractions. I've had a lot the past few weeks, enough to where I've called my doctor a few times and been sent to L&D, but I didn't even care this time. I was 37 weeks, if they were going to turn into anything this time it was fine.

Around 2am I started feeling a little crampy, but I thought it was just an upset stomach, so I went to bed. I had a dream I was playing my Nintendo 3DS, but kept getting really bad stomach cramps and couldn't play. Eventually, they woke me up. It was around 4am now, and I remember thinking about what an odd, painful dream I was having. I had another one, and still kind of ignored it, thinking I was still sleeping. About 20 minutes later they were uncomfortable enough I couldn't ignore them anymore, and I got out of bed and walked around and got some water and stuff. Krystal woke up too and followed me to the living room.

Over the next hour they kept getting worse. I realized I was actually having contractions. I sat on my exercise ball and waited to see if they would go away since I drank water and was moving around and stuff. Nope! Krystal even came up to me once while I was having a contraction and grabbed my belly and said, "Mommy! Mommy! You ok? You ok?!" She was so concerned and it was so adorable :) I got her something to eat and put on some Mickey Mouse for her and went downstairs and got my mom. (I didn't want to wake Matt up for nothing. I also just wanted my mommy...)

My mom comes upstairs and we're sitting in the living room and the contractions keep getting worse. Around 6am they're getting bad enough that I can't walk or talk through them anymore. I'm still in denial, but my mom calls the doctor. The contractions are about 5-10 minutes apart at this point. The doctor tells me to go to L&D, and while my mom is finding a babysitter I spend half an hour telling Matt to call off work then changing my mind and telling him to go to work. I finally decide he's calling off work.

We get to the hospital around 7:20am, and they get me set up on the monitors and everything. I'm having contractions every 5-10 minutes still, which isn't as "normal" as they like. They just keep me there, and check me at 10:30. 3cm and 90% effaced. I was 3cm and 50% effaced last time at my doctor, so they tell me they'll check me one more time in a few hours. Around 11:30 the contractions start hurting so bad I asked for pain medication. They gave me something with an 'S', and I fell asleep for about 30 minutes. Of course it didn't work for long, and I felt woozy and in pain. Around 12:30 they checked me again and nothing changed. They called my doctor, who said I wasn't in labor, and they sent me home. The nurse was almost crying for me, she knew I shouldn't be going home but there was nothing she could do.

The next few hours were pretty hard. I did not want to go back to the hospital, because I was stubborn and angry. I walked around the living room, ending up on the floor for the most part. My contractions started coming about every 5 minutes and were getting stronger and stronger. I still didn't want to go back. My mom called the doctor again though, and I talked to the nurse. I was told to walk around and drink water. Sorry lady, that doesn't stop labor. Luckily for me, I had a contraction on the phone, started crying, and she put me on hold to talk to the doctor. A few seconds later she came back and told me it was time for me to go to the hospital. I got my stuff back together and tried to make it to the car before I had another contraction, but ended up laying in the yard for a minute while my dad had Matt move the car closer. After that, I ran to the car and we were on our way back to the hospital.

We got back around 4:30 or so and they put me back in a room. It seemed to take forever to get set up. Probably about 45 minutes after we got there the doctor finally came in to check me again. Finally! I was 4cm! I'm "in labor" now! It's official! I got admitted and immediately asked for the epidural. The pain was killing me. I was told they'd get it for me as soon as possible, they had a twin c-section to deal with first.

The next few hours were hell. No pain medication, no epidural. My contractions were coming every 3 minutes and lasting over a minute and a half. Every time a nurse came in they told me that I was going to get my epidural soon. Around 7:00 the nurse checks me, I'm at 5cm. Woohoo, don't care, get me the epidural. Soon after, the anesthesiologists come in the room. I cannot explain how excited I was. Of course, it doesn't matter. It takes them almost an hour to get the stupid thing in. They had to try so many times, and they kept stopping during my contractions, which was probably best, because I really couldn't stay still through them at this point. Finally, a little after 8, they get it in. About half an hour later, it's working and they check me again. I'm already at 10. It's time to push. (This would explain why it still hurt!)

They call the doctor and I try to ignore the fact that I feel like I really have to push. I try to relax and wait for the doctor. She gets there a little after 9, we get set up, and it's time! After 3 short pushes, my baby boy is born. :)

And that's it! That's the story of him coming into the world. It was a long day, but it was perfect!

Grayson Michael James 6lbs 14oz, 19in

Childbirth.

If you haven't already, please read my post about my daughter's birth before you read this one. It'll make a lot more sense. That post can be found here.

The thought of going through the process of childbirth again is horrifying to me. It's more than horrifying. It's nauseating. It's disgusting. It's... I'm not sure I can find words to actually fully describe how I feel about childbirth.

Now, I haven't always felt this way. I used to think childbirth was the magical, amazing process of bringing a new life into this world. Sure, there were some gross parts, but that's just part of it. Not all that much you can do. And in the end, you get to meet this amazing little person that's been growing inside of you for the past 9 months.

Now my views are completely different. Childbirth is a completely disgusting process. There are no other words for it. Every aspect of it is horrible. There's nothing separating you from your neighbor's dog who just birthed a litter of puppies a week ago. You just sit there as your stomach contracts and forces a giant gooey ball of child out of your body, all while you're sitting there moaning in pain and looking like a monkey in a zoo.

And it's not like you're going through this in private. You're sitting there constantly being watched and monitored by nurses. Nurses who also probably think you look like some kind of wild, dying animal.

I don't want to be humiliated again. I've already come to terms with the fact that yes, I will have to birth another child here shortly. I'm 7 months pregnant. For some reason when getting pregnant I hadn't really thought about the fact that they have to come out eventually. That probably would have altered my decision a bit about getting pregnant in the first place.

I do not want to be induced again, but I fear for my own safety if I go into labor on my own. Why would I willingly share the information that I'm in labor? That I have to go to the hospital? Why would I put myself in that position of vulnerability again? I keep telling myself that if I were to go into labor naturally, I would probably lock myself in my room and not tell anyone. I would just sit in my room, as quietly as I could manage, and avoid the hospital all together. But that is incredibly stupid. What if something went wrong? My selfishness could be deadly.

I don't know what I'll do when it's time for Grayson to make his grand appearance. Hopefully I'll be smart and selfless enough to get myself to the hospital. But I feel like I'm brewing up a brand new batch of crazy over here, so there's no guarantees.

Krystal's Birth

Technically I would say it started on the Tuesday before she was born. I went into my appointment, and my doctor asked me, "How do you feel about having her Wednesday?" I said sure, then I freaked out. It was Tuesday. Which meant that the next day was Wednesday. I asked her if she meant the next day, or the Wednesday after. "Tomorrow," she said. I still said yes, and wasn't fully aware of what I'd just agreed to.

That night I couldn't sleep. I was supposed to go in at 6am the next morning, but I couldn't sleep if my life depended on in. Finally, 6am rolls around, and we head to the hospital. The get me checked in and set up in this tiny little room where they start hooking up IV's. Problem with this is, no one can get the stupid things in my hands. I get stuck no less than 5 times in each hand before someone else finally steps in and tries, twice. Eventually they get it set up. Some time later they take me to the room I'll be actually delivering in.

They get me set up with a little sheet and start hooking up the pitocin and whatever else. They put a blood pressure cuff on that goes off every once in awhile. I'm not sure if you ever had 5 needle marks in your hand and then had your blood pressure taken, but it hurts SO bad. It felt like there was just so much pressure building up in my hand, and my hand was very close to exploding in pain.

The contractions started off slow and barely noticeable, but it wasn't long before I started getting the aches in my hips and my back. I remember it was only about 11 o' clock before I asked for some pain medication. The lack of sleep from the day before mixed with the medicine let me fall asleep almost immediately. I was probably asleep for 30 minutes before the contractions woke me up. I know I wasn't asleep for long, because I was still completely out of it when I woke up. They checked me, I was at 4 centimeters, which was basically nothing since I came in at 2. They decided to break my water then, which I only remember as being gross. My mom says I wouldn't stop talking about it (I was still under the influence of the pain medication).

More time passes, the contractions are getting worse and worse and I'm not getting any breaks between them. They're constant and intense, and I'm pretty sure my back is about to split in half and my hips are about to shatter. I can't stop crying and I feel sick. I don't think I was even 6 centimeters dilated yet. Although the thought of getting an epidural never even crossed my mind, I was asking for one now. Epidurals are terrifying. They put needles in your spine. I never, ever wanted one, but I couldn't deal with the pain. It took awhile for the anesthesiologist to get in the room, I think he was doing a c-section or something. He gets in and explains the procedure and risks and all that and then they make everyone leave the room. I begged for my mom or someone to stay because I was so scared but they made everyone leave. I don't get why I couldn't have someone stand in the corner of the room but whatever. They made me lean over this thing and I just freaked out. I didn't want to do it yet. I was scared. I asked for them to wait a minute but the nurse held me down. I screamed and cried and screamed some more.

Finally they get the epidural in and the nurse tells me I made a big deal out of nothing. I lay back down in bed and my family comes back in. The pain is gone for now and I can kind of relax. Then they decide it's time to monitor the baby better. How do you do that? You screw a little metal springy thing into the top of their heads. I recall not wanting it, but was told that I needed it.

I'm still not progressing very well, so they decide to flip me to my stomach over the side of the bed. Not something that works very well when you don't have any control of your legs anymore. Then the springy monitor falls off, and they freak out and flip me over again (where they find out the monitor fell off) and keep trying to get it on again. They finally give up because Krystal's hair was too thick and they couldn't get it to stay on.

I'm about at an 8 now, and the epidural feels like it's starting to wear off. My hips feel like they're about to shatter and my back hurts soooo bad. I tell the nurse I'm in a lot of pain and she tells me there's nothing she can do because I'm fine. Then she tells me it's time for me to practice pushing. I didn't want to. I'd never heard of someone practicing how to push. Then she took my sheet off of me and told me I had to. I try, and I can't. It hurts too bad. There's no point in it (at least not that I know of) and this nurse is just being a bitch. I keep trying and I'm so upset she took my sheet and I'm just exposed to the world while pushing for no reason I just start crying. I'm crying so hard I can't even breathe and I'm starting to feel sick. All I wanted was my stupid sheet back. Finally the nurse gives up and gives me my sheet back and leaves me alone.

About an hour later, I think it was actually time to push. The pain was so bad in my hips I could barely take it. I remember they had taken the sheet off of me again, and hiked my gown all the way up. I kept trying to put my gown down a little bit more, but they wouldn't let me. Then, half of my freaking family walks in, because the nurse didn't feel it necessary to shut the door. There was even a curtain they could've wrapped around the door, but she didn't even close that. So, surprise! It was absolutely humiliating. My mom mentioned it to the nurse the door was still open and all she said was "Oops." and shut the door.

Anyways, I pushed for 30 minutes as hard as I possibly could and Krystal was born. They put her right on my stomach, and I scooped her up and just thought she was amazing. I barely remember it though, because I literally pushed until I thought I was going to pass out. You're only supposed to do it for 10 seconds or whatever, I didn't care. I wanted it over. I wanted to be covered up and get these people away from me.

After I held her for a few minutes or however long they took her to clean her up and do everything. I got to hold her again afterwards, and then I'm guessing they took her again for something as I got moved to the recovery room.

I don't really remember going from the delivery room to the recovery room, but I do remember actually getting there. There were two nurses there to help me around, since I had no use of my legs. They wheeled me into my room and said I had to go to the bathroom before they put me in my bed. I didn't have to go. I didn't have anything to drink in at least 15 hours or so and had a catheter because of the epidural. They made me go anyway, and while struggling to get me into the bathroom my gown fell off. I already felt gross and dirty and ashamed from how I was treated during the delivery, all I wanted was my gown back. She wouldn't give it to me. I told her I couldn't go and she started squirting me with a squirt bottle. I finally was able to go, and she finally gives me my gown back.

The nurses are really rough with me getting me into the bed, and once I'm finally in I close my eyes for a few seconds because I'm so exhausted. This is when the nurse quietly mentions to the other that she never tells anyone her real name so she can't get reported. Then they bring Krystal into the room. The nurse asks me if she's been fed yet. I said I didn't know, because I wasn't sure if they gave her a bottle or something yet. I wasn't sure how everything worked. She asked it *I* fed her, and I said no. I had just gotten her like 2 seconds ago. She asks if I'm bottlefeeding or breastfeeding, and I tell her I wanted to breastfeed but I really wasn't sure what to do. After a rude comment on how it's so simple and my baby was starving, she takes to gown off my shoulder and forcefully shoves my boob into Krystal's mouth. After an eye roll and another rude comment about my lack of whatever you want to call it (mothering instinct? Intelligence? Who knows). She leaves. Then it's just me and Krystal. Visitors come in and out next day but for the most part it's just Krystal and myself.

And that's it. Apparently shortly after I came home I locked myself in my room for a few months and refused to talk to anyone other than a few select friends online. I don't remember much from her birth until I got help for PPD.

But yeah, it was possibly the most horrifying, terrible, most degrading experience of my entire life. And I wish I never had to do it again, but I do. And soon.

P.S. All that said, I'd do it all 1,000,000x over to have my baby girl here. She's my world. Despite the way I was treated, holding her for the first time still managed to be one of the happiest moments of my life. <3

Emotions and Pain

You probably think this post is going to be some long boring rant about how miserable I am or something, but it isn't. Well, not really. Let me explain.

I am not "allowed" to feel emotion. You know how boys are taught not to cry? I get in trouble any time I'm anything other than happy and healthy. I'm not allowed to get frustrated, or angry, or sad. I'm either being a bitch or trying to get attention.

Example: My grandmother passed away last year. She had cancer and there was nothing that could be done. I remember one time I was sitting in the living room, and I was thinking about everything, and I started crying. Nothing over the top, I don't think I even made a noise. Just a tear fell down my face. I was immediately asked "What the fuck my problem was." I said I was just upset about the situation. Who wouldn't be? But my emotions and feelings were wrong. I was told that I didn't understand. Basically, I shouldn't have any emotions on the situation, because I wasn't as close to her as other people were.

Every time I get mad about anything I'm told that I need to stop "being a bitch". I am not allowed to get aggravated that I constantly ask people to not throw food in the sink, and it keeps happening. I'm not allowed to be upset that the cat walks on the tables and counters, leaving dirty little kitty prints everywhere. I'm not allowed to get angry that Krystal is ripping pages out of her book and hitting me and screaming and causing trouble. I'm not allowed to get angry. There is no such thing as angry. It's me over-reacting and "being a bitch". I don't even know what is "justifiable anger" or is just me being crazy. Apparently everything I get upset about is unreasonable and crazy, so I feel guilty and stupid about my emotions.

I'm just not allowed to feel anything other than happiness. I'm 7 months pregnant and (already) can barely walk. I fell down the other day and was yelled at not to say a damn thing about my aches and pains, I didn't work all day. Yes I did. I woke up early and made enough potato casserole to feed 40+ people. All the chopping and cooking wasn't exactly easy. It took me three hours just to get it all in the oven. Then I had to try to keep the kitchen semi-clean (I totally failed there) and I had to watch the spaghetti sauce to make sure it didn't burn. I delivered the food and helped get everything set up. I helped in the kitchen. I helped put the food away. I had to make sure Matt was ok all day. Then I had to of course play with Krystal, get her food, all the regular mommy duties. At the end of the day I cleaned up her playroom, and was getting ready for bed. I could barely walk between the pain in my ankles and the pain in my hips and back. That's why I fell. But even my pain is wrong.

It's not fair. I had the stomach flu and was stuck in bed for two days with a fever throwing up every 15 minutes. I was told I was a bad mother. I couldn't watch her. I tried anyway. It was fun teaching her not to lean over the toilet constantly and make puking noises. I'm glad she didn't get sick though.

Apparently, life as a stay at home mom is nothing but pure joy and health. There is no reason for me to ever be anything other than happy. There is nothing stopping me from keeping the house spotless at all times. All this extreme joy and laziness I get from staying at home should even be enough to fight off the worst of flus.

Don't even get me started on trying to have "opinions". This post would never end.

Warning: Very Sensitive Issue

This is my blog. These are my feelings. I know some things should be thought and not said, but some of those things will eat at you until you get them off your chest. This post is about stillborn babies. If you do not want to read it I advise you stop reading now. This is an incredibly sensitive topic, and I do not mean to offend anyone. I am only speaking my person feelings.

I know of someone who recently lost their baby. I don't think that any person on the face of the earth should have to deal with losing a child, in utero or already born. I can't possibly imagine the pain of losing someone who never had a chance at life. Someone you were waiting so anxiously to hold, and to love. I hope and pray every day that I never have to feel that pain, and my heart aches for every mother that has had to deal with that loss.

Now, here's where I get to the sensitive issue, as this is clearly not a one-size-fits-all problem. Death to me is something I'm not very comfortable with. The thought of it is just terrifying. Some people are okay with it, I'm just... not. I don't understand posting pictures of your stillborn child on social networking sites. I didn't have a choice whether or not I saw that picture. There is was, right at the top of my news feed. I just looked at it, kind of in shock. This baby is not alive is the only thing my brain would let me think. I kept telling myself this is still her baby, her precious baby that she wanted, and loved. But at the same time I couldn't handle it at all. This tiny little person, dressed in white, she just looked so broken.

I can't get that picture out of my head. I'm truly sorry for her loss, but I feel as if the picture was a bit much. I felt so guilty about my feelings. I still do. I feel disturbed and incredibly upset. But it's just an innocent baby. Her innocent baby. Her angel. Her Facebook. She has every right to post anything she wishes.

I have no idea what I would do if I was ever faced with a situation like this. I would want to take pictures. They would be the only memory I had of my little one. But would I share them with Facebook? I want to say no. If I felt the need to share them, I would ask who would like to see them, instead of just posting them without warning. But I would probably keep them to myself. They would be my private pictures. Not in a shameful way, but in a personal way.

I still feel like absolute dirt for how I feel about this. I completely understand why you would want to share your child with your friends. But it's a very sensitive issue, and I just feel like there should've been some cover over it, instead of just thrown out there.

Again, I'm sorry if this offended someone. I just had to get that off my chest.