An Open Letter to the Preggos (This One’s for you, Anna)

Dear Preggos (Mostly you, Anna),

I wanted to write you a letter because I feel that you are about to go through something that no one can really prepare you for. Something that you will remember for the rest of your life. Something that will be the most traumatic, yet ridiculously beautiful thing that will ever happen to you and your body. And no one can tell you how profound it will be. But I am stubborn. And I’m going to try.

First off, I want to let you know that everyone fears childbirth because the idea of squeezing that little person out of your vagina is a big deal. And when I say “big deal”, I mean it. Because, and I’m not gonna lie, that shit hurts. But, don’t worry, you won’t even remember that part. I mean, you won’t REALLY remember it. Because the adrenalin makes you a beast of a person and it will feel like hell but it will feel like you could seriously move mountains if you wanted to. (They won’t let you attempt that, anyway. You are pretty much confined to a bed. But you are a strong ass bitch.) So, you will have this vague memory afterward of this pushing and this nurse yelling at you and you wanting to rip her face off. But in the end, you will have a baby. And, I mean, seriously, what is better than that? Unless you happen to give birth to, like, a suitcase full of money instead. Because, holy shitballs, that would have been awesome. Anyway…yeah. It hurts. But it is a small price to pay. So get over that fear and accept the reality that that little thing is coming out. Whether you like it or not. You will sleep easier. I promise.

Secondly, I feel it is imperative that you know that parenting is super hard. Like, harder than being pregnant. (Which, if you ask me, is the worst fucking thing EVAR, because you have all this stress and no one will bring you a cocktail.) You bring this little meatloaf home from the hospital and you, if you were like me, are totally clueless as to what to do with it. And I read everything. And it didn’t matter. I was a total wreck for weeks. Because just when you think you got this thing all figured out, it does something new. Like, changing its sleep pattern. Or growing a tooth. Or going from being the happiest baby ever, to being a screaming, inconsolable monster. Because all of that happens. And no day is the same as the day previous. Ever.

Thirdly, you probably have this idea of how you will raise your kid. You know, like you won’t use a pacifier because nipple confusion, blah blah blah. Or you will only breastfeed. Because, after all, breast is best. But that baby doesn’t care about your plans. Sometimes, you have to find some way to plug that baby’s pie hole long enough so that your head doesn’t explode. And sometimes, breastfeeding is harder than you had anticipated. And you might do it, and if you can, you are my hero. Because I couldn’t make it happen with either of mine for varying reasons. I did it. But not for as long as I wanted to. And not for lack of trying. Those babies just had other plans. And guess what! They both use a pacifier and drink formula. And they’re alive. And they are thriving. And its okay. And you might be disappointed in yourself for giving in or not doing everything the way you had intended. But…seriously? Shit happens. And you just do the best you can. And that’s all anyone (including you) can expect.

You are going to have some days where you will want to run away from home. And you will feel like shit about feeling that way. But believe me, it happens to the best of us. (In fact, early this morning, I almost escaped through my bedroom window while both of the kids demanded things as I tried to get ANY amount of sleep to prepare me for the day ahead, wherein they would demand MORE THINGS…) Sometimes, you will want to jam sharp things into your ears to stop the noise. And sometimes, you will consider crawling into the oven. Because, motherhood is not a joke. And its all okay. Because then, that baby will look up at you, totally helpless and totally beautiful and innocent, and you will fall in love all over again. And you will. Again. And again. And again. Because you are a mom. And that’s what that means.

Sometimes, when I am having a hard time, and it is the middle of the night and someone is refusing to sleep. Or someone has a fever. And my husband is sleeping and I feel like I am all alone and it will never END, I have to take a step back and remind myself what a beautiful thing I have done by having these babies. I have to remember the first time I saw their little faces and how much I loved them, even then. And how smart and amazing they are. Which is sometimes easier said than done when you are sleep deprived and frustrated and haven’t washed your hair in four days. But it is all worth it, you guys, seriously.

My advice to you (especially you, Anna) is to remember, through all the crazy and even if you feel totally alone, that it will pass. And tomorrow is a new day. And while this is the hardest thing you will ever do, it is the most important. And the most wonderful. And you aren’t alone. (And if you ever need reassurance of that, you guys, I will be right here, blogging about being puked on and having been up for 72 hours straight. Don’t worry.)

Good luck to you!

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Mourning the Lady Parts

There was really never any question, after I found out I was pregnant again, that Baby O would be our last child. I was never really sure I wanted to have kids until I had Baby L, so when a second was coming, I knew I was done. At my first OB/GYN appointment during this pregnancy, I was already asking about birth control for after Baby O was born. Because, you know, if you are keeping score, BOTH of my pregnancies were accidental and I was on the pill when I got pregnant this last time, so I was pretty sure the pill wasn’t going to prevent Captain Super Sperm from getting me knocked up again. But I wasn’t sold on the IUD method because I just didn’t want some weird object floating around in there. And I didn’t want something so invasive as a tubal ligation. (Mostly because I am a total wuss and, up until I had my kids, had had almost NO medical issues in my life. Seriously, I had an x-ray once.) But I wanted the permanence of a tubal ligation. You know, without the incision. Gross.

At my first OB/GYN appointment, there was a poster on the wall advertising Essure so I asked about it. Seriously? Permanent? Yes. In-Office procedure? Awesome. No incision? SOLD. So, I had decided at 14 weeks that I was getting this shit taken CARE of. With a QUICKNESS, you guys.

So, yesterday, I had my “counseling” appointment. Which basically means that I watched a video of women and doctors and some women doctors talk about their experiences with it and how awesome it is. And then I signed a consent form.  There is a waiting period of 30 days before I can have the procedure done. Because, you know, I might change my mind and decide I want another kid. (HA! If I ever say anything like that, internet, please remind me how long it has been since I have slept or eaten a meal while it was hot. Or while sitting.) So, now we wait.

What I didn’t expect was that I feel sort of like I am having to mourn the loss and/or use of my lady parts. I mean, first of all, I never really wanted to use them. And they are definitely USED at this point. And I don’t want to use them again. But it is sort of sad to think about. I never really thought about how much of a privilege it is to be ABLE to have children. Even if you don’t want them and don’t plan to have them, you have the POWER to create life. I mean, how amazing is that? I still don’t want to have another baby, you guys, it is just a crazy thought that I won’t be ABLE to.

I’m not going to change my mind. Because even if I did go absolutely batshit crazy and decide that more kids was a good idea, I wouldn’t do it. MB and I had our boy and our girl and we are absolutely elated to have completed our family and so QUICKLY! (This might have worked out for us. It seems doable. Hard, but we got this. In your FACE, universe!) Really, this is the only way to go. It is this or Captain Super Sperm over here will have to just stay away from me until I am all old and stuff. Because, I don’t even trust a vasectomy at this point. My husband is no joke.

Lumpy

Baby O is 7 weeks old today. I seriously can’t believe how quickly time is going by! I mean, I can. Because it seems like just yesterday that Baby L was this small. But it also seems like AGES ago. A year makes a hell of a difference, that’s for sure. But daaaaamn. SEVEN WEEKS. In a couple of days, I will have my check-up and then I will be given the okay for “activities”. I imagine that this means that they will tell me it is okay to lift heavy objects. Or chase heavy objects around the house to prevent them from destroying all of my things and then swoop down and pick them up. You know, I will be given the okay to be Baby L’s mom.

I am sort of excited to be given the okay for exercise. Not that I will have time to do any of that. (Although, I am fairly certain that I do more of it now, with a 14 month old, than I ever have in my life…but they don’t call it exercise. They call that parenthood.) And, you know, I can’t think of any kind of exercise that I actually enjoy. (You know, the kind that I like is what got me these two kids in the first place. And we are trying to AVOID any more of those, people. AVOID.) I just am not sure I can learn to live with this new body.

I think I have said before that I, in no way, plan to give up big fat cheeseburgers or giant beers. Because if I did that, I just wouldn’t be me. But I would like to feel normal again.

After Baby L was born, I lost all but 5 pounds of the weight I gained in the first 2-3 weeks. And I fit back into my pre-preggo clothes almost immediately. (Please believe that I am not a thin girl to begin with. I was pleasantly plump when I got pregnant and I wasn’t terribly upset about it. I was pretty content with my curves because, for the most part, they were in pretty good places.) With Baby O, I lost the weight just as quickly. I gained less with this pregnancy than with my first one (27 pounds with Baby L and 21 with Baby O) and the poundage seemed to fall right off.

But the body, you guys. The body.

Okay, so lets be for real, ladies and gents. (Mostly ladies because I doubt that you boys can relate here. And if you can…well, damn. Awesome!) Your body goes batshit crazy for ten months when you are pregnant. And then you push a whole person out of your nether region. And then you are able to FEED them with your BOOBS. And your hips are bigger. And your hair falls out. And you cry at commercials. And your belly is like a bowl of Jell-O. A BOWL OF JELL-O.

I don’t want a Jell-O belly. I want the regular beer belly I used to have. And my clothes hate this new belly. My jeans want to push it out the top. My cute tops want to cling to it and make me feel all…lumpy. Feeling lumpy is not so much fun. And if you are feeling lumpy and are crying at commercials, well, you probably drink a lot of wine. (Which could contribute to lumpiness and crying.)

I went out for the first time in a long time on Saturday with some girlfriends. I was absolutely so nervous to even try on any of my clothes because I didn’t want to see how different/horrible all my cute clothes looked on me now. And, seriously, I considered canceling before I even tried anything on. Because, at least in yoga pants, I feel hidden. And comfortable. And reasonably frumpy. But I did it. I told all of my anxiety, “Shut the fuck up. I JUST had a BABY.” (Because that’s what my friends keep telling me when I talk about my Jell-O belly.) And I tried on EVERYTHING. And I hated EVERYTHING. And then I considered canceling again. Because the thought of hanging out with my lovely girlfriends who had their own bodies but no Jell-O bellies was just terrifying. I just knew that they would judge me. Because OBVIOUSLY my friends are assholes.

But they AREN’T assholes. And they are more forgiving than I am about the fact that I JUST had a BABY! Imagine that. A woman beating herself up about the way that she looks. And comparing herself to other women. With different kinds of bodies. And who didn’t just push a human of their vaginas. Weird.

And now I am angry with myself for being so self-conscious. Because HOLY SHIT, you guys. It has only been SEVEN WEEKS! And I was no Kate Moss before these kids, why do I expect to be now? WHY? And why would I WANT to be?

I read an article recently about how a woman’s dialogue to herself and about herself affects her daughter. And how girls pick up on the negativity that their mother’s put out there about the way they look. And I thought about Baby L and how I really want her to be confident. I don’t want her to look in the mirror and pick herself apart and never recognize how beautiful she is. And I’ve always been pretty confident, but I am definitely guilty about talking shit about the way that I look. And I don’t want that to shape my daughter into some self-conscious little shell of a person. And I don’t want her to seek approval from people for her physical appearance. I want her to be a proud, confident little lady. And I am staring in the mirror at my Jell-O belly and setting a bad example. And that stops now.

Dammit. I JUST had a BABY. And even if I hadn’t, I am a curvy broad. And curvy is hot.

I had to do it. This song makes me shake my curvy ass.

A Couple of Things (While My House is Peaceful…)

I know I have been really slacking on Baby O’s birth story. And, to be honest, I have written that post in my head about 70 times but I can’t seem to find the time to sit down and blog. I know! Imagine THAT, right?!  But it is forthcoming. I swear.

First, though, I would like to give you a little peek into how things have been going over here in Oopsieville.

1. Having two babies is interesting. Because the minute you deal with one and make them all calm and serene, the other one sprays pee across the room and completely blows your mind. And then, once you have dealt with Pee Fountain, you will then find your toddler digging through the trash.  Coffee grounds, you guys. For reals.

2. I sweep the floor no less that 36 times per day.

3. Baby L has had mercy on me since we brought Baby O home and she has been VERY cooperative when she is being put down for her naps and for bed. It is amazing. But I can’t help but think that she is plotting against me and that this is all just a ploy to catch me off guard. She’s an evil genius.

4. MB returned to work yesterday after almost two whole glorious weeks of being home and helping chase Baby L around while simultaneously feeding a newborn. I miss him terribly because I sometimes wonder if I will be able to handle so much at the same time. And because Baby L likes to tug on my pants when my hands are occupied, I am also wondering if I can manage to do all of this sans pants. Because she is now pulling them all the way down when she knows I can’t do anything about it. Good times.

5. Baby L has officially learned to walk. It happened yesterday and it was so amazing. And I cried. Like a little bitch. (You know, like I do when she does ANYTHING AT ALL…)

All in all, things are moving right along. I don’t feel quite as scared as I originally did. Partially because Baby O has been a completely different baby than Baby L right from conception and has proven that not all babies will require that you sleep on the couch for 5.5 weeks because you have to hold them 24 hours per day. I remember feeling, with Baby L, more inept than I had ever felt at anything in my entire life. And now, well, I am more experienced. And I only feel painfully inept about 50% of the time. Not too shabby, I guess.

We’re a work in progress!

Go Time!

Well, folks, looks like Baby O will be joining us soonish! I’ll be admitted for induction tonight at 8 pm. This came as a shock to us, and I’m excited. And super extremely over the top terrified. I guess maybe the second time around isn’t any less scary! I hope there’s no repeat of Baby L’s stubborn ass antics! I’ll keep you all posted!