Mommy Needs A Hug

Just before Mark turned a year old we started discussing baby number two. We had talked about it thoroughly and made a plan as to when I would stop taking birth control so we could try. So my pregnancy with Rose was as planned as it was going to get. I was actually very hesitant when it came down to the time to actually stop taking my pill and try. We had decided that I would stop my pill on Mark’s birthday because who knew how long it would take for my body to adjust and us to actually conceive? When it came down to the wire and I was faced with putting the plan in motion I got cold feet. I just kept thinking about how Mark would feel when we told him. Would he feel betrayed by me? Resent me even? A million questions and a wave of guilt rushed over me and made me feel like I was drowning. I didn’t want my sweet little boy to feel like we were trying to replace him or feel any less loved.

After a few days of Joseph consoling me and assuring me that it would be fine, Mark would be fine, I pulled the trigger and threw my pills in trash, then had a panic attack. Then I started wondering how long it would take for another sweet miracle to be made. Well apparently I am the most fertile woman in history aside from the Virgin Mary, because we conceived on our very first shot. I really should start playing the lottery with how extremely lucky I am with conceiving. 

We found out about baby number two on the October 1st and I immediately told my mom because I’m terrible at keeping secrets. By October 4th we had made the announcement public on Facebook for all of our friends and family to see, just days after finding out ourselves. I know a lot of people don’t agree with announcing while in the first trimester due to all the risks associated during the first few months. We decided that we weren’t going to be scared of the “what if’s” and if anything were to happen to the baby I didn’t want to go through it alone. If something happened I wanted to make sure I had a solid support system on my side and I wanted to be open and honest. I didn’t want to hide our tiny, so loved little miracle because of the fear that maybe we wouldn’t get a lot of time with them. 

My pregnancy with Rose started out as absolute cake, especially in comparison to the amount of sickness I had the first time around. “What a miracle”, I thought. I had picked up running a few months before we had started trying so I was determined to keep that up and maintain my healthier lifestyle for the duration of this pregnancy. Maybe of how meticulously we had planned this out was why it was going so smoothly. Who knows? But I was ready this time, more prepared, both mentally and physically. Or so I thought.

A few months into my pregnancy with Rose I had this overwhelming exhaustion. I could barely keep my eyes open anymore and would tear up sometimes with how tired I was. I was diagnosed with extremely low iron levels, anemia, which I probably should have seen coming with the lack of iron I consume on a daily basis. I had to go to a cancer center and speak with a hematologist who ultimately decided that I need iron infusions (IV iron) because if I had gone into labor that day I would have “bled out on the table”. Needless to say I did not want that or to need a blood transfusion after labor so I was very eager to start my IV’s. 

I also had recurring yeast infections with Rose. I had never had a yeast infection in my life, and had no idea how absolutely unpleasant they were and apparently how common they are in pregnancy. I think it came back 3 times in the course of my pregnancy despite every effort to keep it from returning. 

Other than those, what I like to consider, slight complications, my pregnancy with Rose was a breeze. That might seem strange to say following the words “you’re going to bleed out on the table”, but it really was a pretty simple pregnancy. I ran until I hit 36 weeks pregnant and just couldn’t take the belly and not being able to catch my breath after running anymore. I felt like I got really lucky with how easy my pregnancy with Rose went by. But I couldn’t help but feel that gnawing feeling again of guilt that I was taking something away from Mark. The further I got into my pregnancy the more guilty I felt. I just couldn’t brush off feeling like he was going to be crushed when his little sister made her appearance and he was no longer the sole attention getter. 

I’m going to go a little off track here and say that when we found out we were having a little girl I was terrified. My entire life I thought I would only have boys. I thought I would just have a gaggle of little boys trailing behind me with their toy trucks, just trying to get them to stop eating dirt or whatever I thought little boys liked to do. It was obviously very exciting to find out the unexpected news of having a little girl, but I was shocked and scared. I am in no way, shape, or form a feminine individual so I had no idea how I was going to handle being a girl mom now, after having prepared myself to be a boy mom. And then I started shopping. Why are little girls bows and outfits so cute and so much more diverse than boys? It was astoundingly easy to walk into a store and buy hundreds of dollars worth of bows and dresses for the little princess. I do wish they had cooler boy clothes though because it would be awesome to get to dress Mark all up all the time. 

When my due date rolled around I had an entire closet filled to the brim with bows and cute outfits, but no Rose to be found. Just like Mark, Rose was a little stubborn and she was born 3 days after her due date after over 24 hours of labor. I went into early labor at work at about 10AM and had her right after noon the following day. My epidural had worn off in the last hour of this long excursion and at one point I told Joe “I can’t do it”, as if I had a choice at this point with Rose crowning. 

I cried “she’s so beautiful” when she was born and just like that all my worries rushed away. Mark met his little sister and he was immediately in love with her, the best of friends. This whole time the only one making me feel guilty was me. My recovery was significantly quicker than the first time and I was up and moving around, going on walks with the family within 48 hours. And that was that. Now a family of four, transitioning into our new roles, and the new, yet somehow nearly the same, life. Or was it?

• 

For the majority of my first year as a mother, I was raising Mark alone. Due to deployments and other military obligations I was in it all by myself for probably 9 out of 12 months, which I quickly realized was how it was going to be until we moved again. I’ll be honest, it got kind of easy once I came to terms with being pretty solitary. I got into this groove with Mark that made things pretty easy. I finally felt like I enjoyed this and really fell headfirst into being a pretty kick-ass mom if I’m going to toot my own horn.

Right after Mark was born we were still living in a tiny little studio apartment on the side of a highway in Cambridge. Paying way too much money, with not nearly enough space, and no where for our dogs to be, well, dogs. Being right next to a highway we didn’t have really anywhere to go for those nice walks after he was born, but honestly I was so paranoid about the world around me with a newborn that it didn’t even matter. But soon after Joe got back from one of his trips, with a 1 month old, we made the switch and moved onto a military base near us to give me peace of mind when Joe wasn’t home, save some money, and finally have that safe space to walk around without having a panic attack.

Moving with a newborn is no small feat. We took several trips from our old apartment to our new house all while juggling feedings and diaper changes (and snuggles). It took us about a week to get all our stuff moved into the new place (not unpacked what do I look like? an overachiever?) and I will forever be grateful that in those moments I was not alone. At that moment, I had a village. I had my mom, my dad, my husband, and my beautiful baby boy. But that was not the case for most of the time.

Mark’s first year was a rollercoaster of me trying to figure out how to be a mom all alone, while he was just trying to figure out not being in his safe little apartment womb. I spent the first few months trying to figure out why this child would projectile vomit on me after every feeding. He ate just fine, he burped, he seemed content and then he would just vomit on me. I couldn’t figure it out and the doctor couldn’t give me any answers. I was crying every single night, a lot of the time to my mom, about how worried I was that he wasn’t getting nutrients, regardless of him gaining weight perfectly. I was loosing my footing again after finally starting to adjust, and just like my dad I was falling down a mountain head first (metaphorically for one of us). Long story short he was lactose intolerant I felt so dumb that as his mom I couldn’t have figured that one out immediately.

And this inconsolable, unsolvable diaper rash that he always got. I can’t count how many times I had to rinse him off in the sink and get peed and pooped on trying to let him air out. I was beyond relieved when I got an answer to that one. The yeast infection that just wouldn’t leave us alone finally got solved with some cream from the doctor after probably 8 months of chaos with diaper creams and changing diaper brands.

Every time that Joe was home I battled this terrible feeling watching my little man cling to me and not know his daddy. He couldn’t figure out why this giant beanstalk of a man would come and go so much. It felt good to be needed, but not if it meant that it was going to break Joe’s heart. And I’ll be honest him not knowing his daddy was definitely heart wrenching and having some help should’ve been an amazing thing, but this man just came in like a wrecking ball and ruined my entire routine. It took every second of the few short weeks at a time that the two of them would be together for Mark to adjust to having daddy home, and then just like that, we would be alone again.

I’m sure we’ve all heard “well when they start crawling you’re in trouble”, and boy is that right. He started crawling and I had to try and keep up with figuring out where to put gates, and how to keep him from touching the blinds when he so desperately wanted to look outside. I was running around like a mad woman trying to baby proof our house. Way harder than it looks. There’s so many screws and parts involved to making a house where your child isn’t going to do something detrimental to themselves.

When he finally started going to daycare I about made myself pass out from worry and then within 3 days he had pink eye. Just like a lot of other things, all the mom advice I got conveniently omitted the fact that your child will get sick, a lot, while in daycare. It’s a stressful experience to say the least to leave your child in the hands of a daycare after hearing all the horror stories that circulate every year. I thank my lucky stars that his first ever daycare had the most caring and respectful staff. They made me feel so at ease with something that had caused me so much panic. They really helped Mark and I come into our own and adjust to this new life, so thank you to them.

When he started getting bigger and developing this huge personality it was like a weight had just lifted off my shoulders. All this parenting alone and all the mistakes I had made were so worth it to see that smile and hear his little giggles all the time. This kid made chasing him around and playing with him so much more magical than I ever imagined it could be as a little girl dreaming of being a mom. Even through all our challenges, he made it all so absolutely worth it, and I will forever cherish all the snuggles and kisses I got from him while it was still just me and him.

• 

For a lot of moms their first instance of “mom shaming” is about feeding. Whether you decide to breastfeed, use formula, or exclusively pump, someone has judgment. The majority of what is hammered into most moms towards the end of their pregnancy and directly after the baby is born is “breast is best”. Breastfeeding is extremely beneficial and a great bonding experience, but no one mentions all the “what if’s” and what issues you could have that prevent you from having a successful breastfeeding relationship. And of course, no one talks about how you can have a just as meaningful bonding experience with your child with formula or bottle-feeding in general.

With always hearing and seeing that breast is best, it was a no-brainer for me that my kids were going to be breastfed. Breastfeeding for me was a losing battle though. I tried so hard to make is work with both kids. I pushed myself to the point of tears more times than I can count on both hands and feet trying to do the best for my children. You know what’s not the best for your children though? Stressing yourself out so much that you’re in tears, panicking, and just completely on edge.

Let me start from the beginning. With Mark I was immediately feeling like a bad mom and I was completely unprepared for breastfeeding. I had myself thinking that I could absolutely do it, what could stop me? Much to my surprise, Mark would not latch. I tried all the positions and did everything the lactation consultant told me. We just could not get the latch down, probably because upon further investigation, Mark has a lip tie. I had no idea that was even something that could be an issue. His lip tie made it impossible to latch properly and when he did latch it was so incredibly painful that within 24 hours of him being born my nipples were bleeding and completely raw. Still, I continued to try because what mom would I be if I didn’t give him the best form of nutrients?

We got home from the hospital and I kept trying, torn between covering while I tried or just letting it all flop out. After the first week, he was losing quite a bit of weight, but of course he made me a liar when I brought it up to his doctor and latched perfectly for the very first time. At this point, I was beyond stressed out, in pain, and taking it out on Joseph and his useless, not in pain nipples. We all three finally had enough and I decided that Mark being fed was the best thing for him and started him on formula, but I felt guilty. How could I fail him so soon? How could I let myself and the entire mom community down by not doing something so many moms could?

With how guilty I felt for not breastfeeding Mark, when Rose was born I made an agreement with myself that I would do it this time. This time I would go in there like a trooper armed with my Lanolin and nipple ice packs and I would blow it out of the water. I was wrong.

Rose latched perfectly every single time, despite a lip tie, but she also wanted my boob every (literally) 10 minutes. And this is where is all went downhill on roller skates, right from the beginning. Rose was born in very early afternoon but by nightfall I was already losing my grip on the breastfeeding situation.

Rose was waking up every 10 minutes to gnaw on me like a popsicle. I was exhausted, my nipples felt like they’d be in an overtime MMA fight, and Joe was watching me cry for the millionth time when I encountered the worst nurse I’ve ever had. She came in, I told her how much I was already struggling and asked for formula. She told me “no” and came back a few moments later with nipple ice packs and a different nipple cream. The sweet relief they offered was very welcomed at this point, but I really just needed some sleep and some formula. Since I couldn’t get either of those, I was in tears for the duration of the night.

I have never in my life been so happy for shift change. It was my saving grace to see this bouncy blonde nurse walk in the door and ask me if I was ok. I told her no I was no ok, asked for formula, and I swear the heavens opened up and this woman had a halo, because she said “oh honey of course you can” and immediately returned with ready to use bottles for us. After the night we had though I asked her if we could get discharged so I could go back to my own home and away from the worst night I’d had so far in life.

I was not going to let my breastfeeding dream die so easily. I had my pump waiting for me at home and like the milkmaid, I attached myself to that pump and spent countless hours hooked up to this machine. As I realized I was barely getting an ounce between both boobs for every hour of pumping, I watched my dream sink like the Titanic.

The magical thing about it ending this time is that I no longer felt guilty. I didn’t feel like I was a bad mom for not giving my kids less than an ounce of breastmilk and starving them. I came to terms with formula being just as valid a tool for feeding my kids. While I still occasionally hope I could have done it, and maybe one day will, I’m happy that my kids got fed and I wasn’t forcing myself to stress more during a time that’s already so stressful. I will no longer belittle myself because of a guilt that has no place in the mom community. In the end, a fed baby is a happy baby, and I definitely have two very happy, very fed babies.

• 

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be a mom. I’ve always wanted four kids and set out this elaborate plan of how my life would go. I wanted to have my first child around 25 years old and then have a baby every three years after that until my family was complete. But even the best laid plans, right? At the ripe age of 21 years old, while still religiously taking my birth control pill, my husband Joseph and I got this tremendous surprise and we never looked back.

At 21 and 20 years old we were shocked to get the news that I indeed, was pregnant with our first little bundle of joy. I always anticipated pregnancy to be this absolutely magical experience where you immediately get this beautiful glow and have perfect skin, hair, and just look amazing. I really shouldn’t have watched so many movies and believed everyone’s Instagram perfect pregnancies. From even before I got that positive test, I was sick. I distinctly remember being in Atlantic City for my mom’s birthday and barely functioning thinking “I must have the flu or something”. It was not the flu.

I’ll be blatantly honest, my first pregnancy was miserable. Mark did not give me a single break. I couldn’t gain weight because I couldn’t keep anything down. I woke up, went to work, came home, and immediately got into bed for the rest of the night. It was not at all what I was led to believe. I had been tricked, bamboozled. Why did no one tell me about this? To make matters worse I was doing it all by myself because, in true military fashion, my husband was gone my entire pregnancy. He got home right in time for my due date though because like the independent woman I still wanted to be, I broke my toe putting together a rocking chair.

Then when I hit my due date I tried every trick in the book. I did everything that family and friends with experience suggested. I walked countless miles around our apartment complex. I shoveled spicy food and pineapple down my throat every single day in hopes that something would happen. Nothing. He stayed put. Finally, we had scheduled an induction for the night that I reached 41 weeks and 5 days. And again, not at all what I thought my first pregnancy would end with, but at least it was consistently miserable.

My induction process was actually almost exactly what everyone had told me to expect. (Thanks guys for waiting this long into the game to be honest.) I got the meds at 8:30PM the night of August 30th and there was no turning back. I had hoped that I could do the “natural” (medicine free) birth that everyone always talks about. Spoiler: I could not. I tried to push through the pain and to this day Joseph tells me “I thought I was going to lose you”. I was pale and nauseous, having almost constant contractions but not dilating AT ALL. I got a shot in my butt cheek trying to avoid the epidural *cue spooky music*, because already I was worried about getting judged as a mother for “taking the easy way out”. Finally I gave in and got the epidural, and then my parents showed up. Mind you, it’s like, very late at this point. We told my parents “it’s going to be a while you should get some sleep”, but Boston didn’t let them get to a hotel before baby boy decided to try and make his entrance.

I remember the nurse saying “ok we’re just going to do some practice pushes while we wait for the doctor”, and then all of a sudden I was full on in the shit (literally), with my husband holding my leg and a mirror to watch. At 41 weeks and 6 days pregnant, after 11.5 hours of labor and an hour of pushing, at 0940AM our first precious little miracle entered the world at a whopping 7 pounds 15 ounces and 19 inches long. At that exact moment our entire world changed. We were a family.

A measly few hours after he was born all the grandparents were at the hospital and Mark gave us quite the scare. Little man had fluid still in his lungs and while I was looking away he had stopped breathing and turned blue. Within a few hours of becoming a mother, I already felt like a terrible one.

I tried for weeks to breastfeed to no avail. (More on that another time because boy do I have a lot to say.) I just continued to get so overwhelmed and felt like the worst mom in the world. No one ever talked to me about postpartum depression and anxiety, but here I was feeling like I was just completely failing this child. I was not the mom he deserved and I could not connect with him. This tiny little thing I had wanted so bad for so long and I couldn’t connect with him. What kind of horrible human being feels this way? But it’s so very common and all I needed to do was open up and ask Joseph for some help. I just had to loosen my grip, stop being so hard on myself, and ask for help.

My entrance into motherhood was not this picture perfect story that I always envisioned. It was far from the plan I had set out my whole life. I didn’t just become this spectacular superhero of a mother from the first moment like I wanted to be. But I was me, and I gave that little boy all my love, and became the kind of mother that works for me and my kids. I was enough, just like all mothers are enough in their own way. You love those babies and hug them tight, and that’s all they need.

Motherhood is not always perfect. Sometimes it’s really really hard, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about my journey into motherhood. I’m forever grateful that Mark chose me to be his mommy, and he was the best surprise I could have asked for.

• 

I’m going to start this off by letting you all know a little bit about me. I was born and bred in New Jersey and I have the sarcasm and the sass to back that up, trust me. In the spirit of being upfront, I vaccinate, I don’t watch my language around my kids, sometimes they only eat goldfish for dinner, I yell at me kids, I drink way too much coffee, and sometimes mommy just needs a hug (probably more than sometimes).

This whole idea of a blog started because my husband in passing said “I think you’d be really good at it”. I have an overwhelming desire to help people and I’m very passionate about being a mom, so after psyching myself out multiple times here we are.

My goal for this is to share my life with others in the hopes that maybe one of my parenting struggles will help someone feel less alone, or one of my parenting solutions will help someone else too. I love answering peoples questions and I have a bunch of random knowledge floating around in my child-sized head that I just want to pass on to people. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a wife, a mom, and to help people. I already am tripping and tumbling my way through the first two, more often than not falling flat on my face before dragging myself back to my feet, so I figured I’d get started on my third one.

My family is incredibly chaotic and only gets more chaotic by the day, and that’s what I love about it and want to share with everyone. We are currently a family of 4. We have two little ones, a boy and a girl, and two dogs. We are a military family so we are always on the move and love finding new activities. I grew up as an athlete, but since becoming a mother that has simmered down a lot. We try and keep our kids a little active and I like to get them involved with any workouts I do. My number one favorite activity is to snuggle. With my kids, my husband, and my dogs.

In a nutshell, that’s me. Happy reading folks and I hope you enjoy your time learning about my crazy family. I’m happy to answer any specific questions you may have, and I’m over the moon to get started on this new journey with you guys following along and helping me grow.