It's been awhile...

We've had some fun trying to figure out the complexities of parenthood. The joke is that they don't give you a handbook when your baby is born. But really...they don't! It's all learn as you go, and sometimes it's trial by fire.



Being a Mom didn't come as easily to me as I'd thought it would, and I don't think that I'm alone in this! If I hear one more person describe their first month home with a new baby as "Wonderful" or "The most amazing thing ever" I just might laugh in their face. SURE bringing your baby home from the hospital is a wonderful and amazing thing in general, but that first month? Not so much.

I bring this up because I have a dear sister-in-law who just gave birth to my newest nephew and right now I'm feeling her pain as I remember the struggles of being a new mom. My other sister-in-law has a 5month old boy and is due with her second in early September. I'm trying to imagine in my mind how I would deal with that...



I remember wandering around our house literally in a daze. Between the copious amounts of laundry that was piling up and my painful leaky ta-tas there was nothing "wonderful" about it. Take this with a grain of salt please as of course there were moments with my son that were so amazing and wonderful that I still cry when I think about them.



More than anything, in those first weeks I wanted to go back to work. "I don't believe you!" you say? I did. I felt like my job was something I knew how to do whereas this whole mom thing was beyond me. Everything was a big deal. From the color of his pee to the color of his spit up everything was cause for concern. Now outwardly I'm sure I came off as a mom who was confident in her motherly ability, but on the inside I was worried about everything. I was dying to go to work and do some sales analysis in an excel spreadsheet.



After the first month it got a little easier because the lil' devil got easier to handle. The neck thing wasn't as scary, we had figured out the eating thing, basically we got a handle on the basics. Unfortunately we, as women, aren't real good at admitting the "bad" things. It's taken a lot for women to open up and share with me how hard it was for them. The instant new mom reaction when anyone asks how it's going is to say "It's so amazing". Why can't we just admit to each other that it's tough, we sometimes don't know how we're going to keep doing it, and it just plain sucks sometimes?



There. I've said it. I'm sure I'll have my "Mom Club" card revoked, but I've said it. While being a Mom is truly and honestly the best thing I've ever done in my life, it's still the hardest thing I've ever done. When the whole family is bedridden with the flu, it's still Mom that keeps things going. Even if she's shaking with fever and puking in a bucket, Mom is the one who takes care of the baby and the Daddy. That just plain sucks, but it's a part of being a Mom. That's what I mean when I say it just plain sucks sometimes.

Balancing career, daycare, checkups, playdates and my marriage (poor hubby) is hard enough, but add in lovely cold and flu season and it's downright impossible. As I type lil' devil is in the midst of a bought with diahrrea cha-cha-cha. It never ends, and I have a much better appreciation for my mom who raised three kids. Nobody said it was easy but nobody told me it would be so HARD to be a Mom! Not that I would have listened anyway.

Then of course there are moments of immeasurable joy. The first smile, the giggles, all of the things that make you realize that although this is the hardest thing both physically and mentally that you'll ever do, it's also the toughest job you'll ever love.

Still, being a mom keeps me on my toes. The minute I think I've got a handle on it, something changes. But even with the ear infections, diahrrea, flu, rashes, fevers and the ever present mysterious virus, he is still the best thing that has ever happened to us.

As I stare at my lil' devil sleeping in his jammies, I fall in love with him all over again for the millionth time. We can't imagine life without him. Of course, I can't imagine doing it all over again either...yet.

I'm a good mom right?

As a new mom, I find myself second guessing a lot of things. Mostly I second guess myself. Should I have been worried when my 8wk old was a little congested? Should I be monitoring his poo more closely ala Celine Dion? Am I doing damage to his psyche because I'm not reading Shakespeare to him at bedtime?

It is even harder to be a new mom when you start talking to other moms. There is an unwritten rule of competition among moms. If your baby is sleeping through the night at 8wks, her baby slept through the night at 6wks. If yours smiled at 6wks, hers did at a month. The competitive mom in me pours over the books to see if the boy is more advanced than other 9week olds. What?

Your insecurities deepen when you find out that other moms are doing all sorts of developmental things with their child all day long. Am I really a bad mom because the boy sits in the swing so that I can try to do a load of laundry? Do I need to bring my 9 week old son to a museum to jump start his creative mind? Is my son really going to be pissed that I didn't keep a pregnancy journal?

New motherhood is full of mental pitfalls. There is a quiet fear in the back of my mind that I am potentially messing up my child. Insecurities are fed from all angles; celebrity moms, parenting websites and magazines, and of course that perfect mom in your playgroup.

My theory is that all new moms are the same deep down. Nobody is perfect, everybody has insecurities. I have to believe that, because I can' t possibly be the only mom who has cried because the boy has been crying for an hour. I'm sure we were a picture for hubby when he
came home to find both me and the boy crying in the rocker.

As moms we need to quit with the one upping, and the criticizing. We're all doing the best we can do right? It's hard to balance everything we have to do in a day, and a little time in the swing can be the one thing that helps us do it. I may not be a perfect mom, but if my boy is happy, isn't that the important thing?

The Little Barracuda

If you are squeemish about the gory details of breastfeeding, stop reading now. If you are one of the blessed moms who breastfed for a year, I salute you. For me, the road to/from the boob was not pretty.

It's true that breast is best when it comes to feeding your newborn. I won't attempt to argue that, there are too many studies that prove it so don't get your undies in a bundle. Simply put though, some women just aren't cut out for it.

I was always a little weirded out by the concept of breastfeeding, I must admit. But because I wanted to do what was best for my little one (the barracuda), I got comfortable and almost excited about it. Some of my best friends had done it and found the whole experience rewarding. Of course they were the same friends that swear pregnancy was better than Prozac.

So after the little miracle made his way into the world and I had enough painkillers to kill a small horse they brought EJ into my room for his very first feeding. Out came the boob and we fumbled our way through, well, nothing. Poor little guy was too new to latch. Unfortunately I was still fumbling when the urge to throw up hit me. Imagine a drugged up new mom attempting to breast feed on one side, and throwing up into a bedpan on the other side. Not exactly what I had envisioned breast feeding to be.

The next morning we started to figure it out. In the words of my wise post partum nurse, EJ was a "little barracuda" when it came to feeding. Those of you who have breast fed can relate to the nickname I'm sure. There really is nothing quite like that initial latch. Equal parts eye watering and toe curling pain. The pain of that was one thing, losing the latch and going through it all over again (multiple times) was quite another.

He finally figured it out, and all became right with the world. Let's face it, I was too exhausted from all night feedings to argue. About a week and a half after being welcoming the little one into the world I woke up in the middle of the night with my left boob as hard as a rock. It was nearly more painful than anything I'd ever experienced. Along with a fever of 102degrees, I was pretty sure it was mastitis. A trip to my local urgent care confirmed it and it was on with the antibiotics.

None of this was doing any good for hubby and me. We vacillated between loving kindness and wanting to kill each other. Although he developed sympathy for me when he let the barracuda suck on his pinky and got to experience the power suck first hand.

There I was; feverish, exhausted and still trying to feed the barracuda, when my mom called from Nevada. Before you knew it I was crying my eyes out and still trying to convince her that everything was okay. Then came the very stern phone call from my brother. My sister-in-law was coming over to take care of the boy during the night so we could sleep, and my brother booked a flight for my mom to come home and stay with us for a few days.

I started pumping in between feedings so that mom could feed the little bugger and we could get some sleep. After a few days I was feeling better and we actually left the house for dinner while mom watched the boy. Mom left for home at 4:30 on a Wednesday, and by 10pm my fever was back and I was miserable again. Off to the ER where hubby and I sat untill 3am to find out that I had mastitis in both breasts because the antibiotics that I had taken didn't work for me. So, it was onto the new antibiotics along with percocet for the pain. At least the percocet let me sleep!

At this point we had been supplementing with a little formula because he was eating more than I was producing. We decided that with all of the difficulties and mastitis issues maybe switching to formula wasn't a bad idea. I was also worried about post partum depression. With a history of depression myself, and depression running in my family, it was a very real fear for me.

So, for my boob health and mental health we switched to formula. After weaning, and some leaking, "the girls" are back to normal. A little deflated but normal, and now the barracuda takes out his sucking agression on artificial nipples. Healthy mommy and healthy baby, all is right with the world.

Prenatal yoga. AKA: Preggos Unite!

Love, love, loved prenatal yoga more than I can possibly say. There's something about a room full of pregnant women that is very empowering. Maybe because nobody is worried about looking good in yoga pants?

I was nervous as I rolled into my first prenatal yoga class, it was July and I hadn't practiced since January. All of that nervousness faded as soon as I walked into the studio and it was full of women in various stages of pregnancy.

Class always started with introductions, your name and due date. We were all anywhere from 3 months to due any minute. I was happily somewhere in the middle and in awe of the women that were due any day and yet they were still practicing.

Before getting pregnant I had been rockin' the power yoga three times a week, but because my pregnancy was high risk the doc didn't go ahead untill 6 months. Needless to say my flexibility was questionable and I had no idea how I was going to work around my big and getting bigger belly. Thankfully there was a lot of childs pose involved, and it was more than acceptable to chill out there when it all got to be too much. Of course when I looked up and saw the "due tomorrow" chicks still going I had to keep up. It did feel pretty good when I was the one who was due next...

I can't say my flexibility improved at all, but the practice helped me feel like I wasn't just sitting on my a$$ getting good and fat. Although I still gained 32 pounds which are all gone now, which I think means that I've just lost all muscle. Oh well.

Soon enough I'll be back doing regular yoga with regular non-pregnant women. Although I'm thrilled to be able to return to normal practice and get back to my pre-pregancy body, I will miss the comraderie that I found in that room full of pregnant women. I often wonder how everyone did during labor and delivery, and how they've all adjusted to mommyhood. Maybe we'll run into each other in regular yoga now...

Pregnancy. Oh the joys!

It seems so hard to remember the "good old days". You know what I'm talking about. The days before "it" happened. Back in the day when you could eat or drink whatever you wanted and the only concerns were weight gain or a hangover. Well, those days are long gone. Put away the booze and the smokes, it's time to overdose on pregnancy do's and don'ts.

Now the days of being pregnant are becoming a faint memory. With an overtired 6week old in his bouncy chair right next to me fighting off sleep I'm trying to remember the early days of his existence in my belly. You know, when hubby and I were the only ones who knew we were preggers and everyone else just thought I was getting fat.

There are many women who will go on and on about how being pregnant was the most wonderfully fulfilling time in their lives. Now I'm not sure if their lying or if they're just blocking out the miserable parts but I will tell you that I was not one of them. Don't get me wrong, I loved the majority of my pregnancy. My husband, however, will argue that into the ground if you ask him. I guess he thinks I complained a lot?

I thought I was completely prepared for being pregnant. After all, it entails getting fat and eating whatever I wanted right? Wrong. The minute we found out I was pregnant with EJ I began obsessing over the right and wrong ways to go about being preggo. The world of books, blogs, and magazines doesn't really help stave off the obsession it only feeds into it.

Really, it's amazing that pregnant women can consume anything other than organic produce and water. I'm oversimplifying of course, but who knew that my beloved salami sandwich was the enemy (according to the books anyway)? The books made me wonder, do French women really give up their brie? If they can go on with life amongst unpasteurized soft cheeses, why do I have to give them up? Thanks to the American pastime of cultivating fear in pregnant women, I cut out anything and everything that was a "no-no" on the lists. Thankfully I also developed a craving for fruit instead of McDonalds.

So pregnancy gets to a point where you aren't able to see your feet much less tie your own shoes. It was at this point when I started wishing that wine wasn't on the no-no list. Really, pregnant women would be much more relaxed if a glass of wine was socially acceptable. I've never gotten more dirty looks in a bar than when I was out with my girlfriends drinking a non-alcoholic beer. Incidentally, my favorite preggo photo is me at 6mos in a bikini top and pareo with a non-alcoholic beer in my hand.

Another crappy thing is that everyone tells you "sleep now, because you won't get any as soon as that baby is born". Please. There is no sleeping when you are so big that you have to lasso your undies just to get them on, and the only shoes you can wear are flip flops. The mere task of flipping over becomes a huge process. Sit up, shift over, readjust the body pillow, move the dogs, and lay back down. Oops, add in a trip to the bathroom because that happens every hour or two.

There are so many rules and regulations that I was thankful when we finally had that last appointment and found out we were going to be induced. I had naughty bad food, and a glass of red wine. I slept like a baby. Take that all of you rules girls!

All in all, pregnancy is what it is. You have to do what is best for you. I followed all of the major rules within reason, but didn't beat myself up if I broke one or two. We were blessed with a happy healthy son, regardless of the rules that I followed or broke. Moral of the story is, do what you need to do to stay healthy and happy. After all, if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.