We ran away to Ohio for the majority of last week. Mostly we did it for me, because I'm turning 30 tomorrow and I couldn't stomach the idea of facing that without seeing some of the most important people in my life, but we also did it for Owen who turned 2 years old on Wednesday. I couldn't stomach the idea of him getting older without those same people surrounding him.
It was really a wonderful time. I got my fill of friends, family, and even a couple co-workers while there. The only other time we'd gone back for any extended period of time was for my father's funeral and time with my family took precidence over meeting my girlfriends or catching up with the in-laws. Not to mention we had just found out I was pregnant then. In fact, I took the deciding pregnancy test in the questionably clean bathroom of a Best Western in Breezewood, Pennsylvania on our way back to Ohio only hours after finding out my dad had passed away. Let's just say my head wasn't truly in our last extended visit.
Last week was a much needed vacation. I adore my husband and son but time with my girlfriends is important as it's one of the few things that reminds of who I am beyond mother and wife. They bring Kate out to play and they're just so damn entertaining. Facebook can only go so far in keeping in touch with loved ones. Sometimes you need the real thing and the real stories and the real laughs to really feel a part of anything.
Owen also seemed to have a great time with his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, and his friends. He cried every time we drove away from a grandparent and it broke my heart, making me question whether or not moving away was the right decision. Fortunately, the look on his face when we walked in the door after the 6 hour drive home and the way he ran to his toys, to his bed, to his favorite hiding places, and the smile that crossed his lips helped ease my fears. Owen had a great time in Ohio but he was never as comfortable and at home as he was within a mere 5 minutes of walking into our Baltimore home. He misses everyone like I do, but he also likes his life here as much as I do.
While I'm also pretty sure Jon had a good time, I know he only did it for me. He knew how much I needed to see everyone, and he was in no position to argue as he left for a week long work conference in Dallas this morning. He knew I needed good times and good memories to fill my heart for this coming week since I am literally facing my 30th birthday alone. I'm so thankful he knew.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Removing the anvil from my chest
I logged on to Facebook today and while scrolling through the news feed, I found a friend of mine shared a link regarding the decline of parents opting to have their little boys circumcised and her excitement at the news. Given the debatable subject of the article I knew it was bound to create a few opinionated posts, and being the nosy Facebooker that I am I decided to read the comments. Bottom line, I should have known better, but what can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment.
One thing I want to make clear is this has nothing to do with the friend who posted the link because she is truly a wonderful person and I value her advice in both parenting and lifestyle. I'm writing this now because the emotions I took away from her post reminded me of a topic that has plagued me during my entire time as a mother. It just so happens that her innocent and maybe even random re-posting of an article and some of the responses gave me the words to do so.
The following was too long to add to any comment thread:
I love my children with every fiber of my being. They are my entire world and the thought of anything ever happening to remove them from that world sends chills down my spine, creates a painful emptiness in my chest and completely removes my will to live. And that's just the thought that anything could happen. Every single decision in our lives, big or small, important or seemingly irrelevant, is made with them in mind. Every decision I have ever had to make as a parent, some even prior to becoming pregnant the first time, was made to keep us all functioning and happy and healthy to the best of my human abilities. I do the research, I ask for advice, I sit down and contemplate and try to envision every possible outcome, and then roll all of that into one final decision that will keep us moving as a solid unit.
I like to think this makes me a good mother. I have to believe this makes me a good mother. I have to remind myself all the time amidst debates on staying at home versus working, breastfeeding versus formula, vaccinating or not, circumcising or not, I made all of these very tricky decisions with Owen in mind. I made them to the very best of my knowledge with ALL of us in mind because we have to work as a whole. And I have to tell myself this makes me a great mother because based on some things I've read online I've already failed miserably despite putting my children first.
I breastfed for seven months. They were the darkest, scariest seven months of my life. I'm alternating between typing and sobbing right now as I force myself to go back there and find the words to describe it for you. Medication didn't work. I had this precious, beautiful little boy with bright eyes and the sweetest smile looking up at me every day and I couldn't return the favor. I never wanted to hurt him...just myself, very badly. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that if I ended my own pain by hurting myself I would in turn be hurting him. Strangely, the only thing that kept me alive was him and my unwillingness to give up on him. But it was my unwillingness to accept that breastfeeding, at that time, was not right for me and my inability to put the peer pressure and the everlasting battle between breastfeeding and bottle-feeding behind me that kept me in that horrific and depressing state in the first place! I tried to do what the majority of other mothers said was the only correct choice, and I fought a very scary bout of postpartum depression that was only prolonged by the breastfeeding, and I nearly did more harm than good.
So all you moms can come and yell at me for giving my child formula for the remaining five months of his first year, and for being fully prepared to do the same with the child that is in my womb should the same circumstances arise the second time around. You can scold me and tell me how selfish I am for not giving my child the best start possible. Go ahead. I won't listen. I will continue to make the choices that are best for MY children and OUR family and I will NEVER judge a woman for opting against breastfeeding. After all, how am I possibly giving my child the best start if it puts me in such a dark place that I can barely see him?
In my world, making the decision to stay at home or work, to breastfeed or use formula, organic or inorganic, to vaccinate or not, to circumcise or not, to baptize or not, to home school or private school or public school does not add or reduce value to your motherhood. What matters is that you give your children as much love and attention and safety and guidance as you possibly can. Help them become strong, confident, thoughtful, brave little people. Offer the support necessary to carry those traits into adulthood and their own parenthood. That alone will determine your value in motherhood.
For the record, Owen is circumcised. It wasn't until I learned we were having a little boy that I was made aware of an option not to. Jon and I sat down and talked about it, and I asked him if, given the choice again, he would opt to have the procedure done and he said "Yes." And since I lack a penis and the mountain of pride that seems to be held there, who am I to argue?
One thing I want to make clear is this has nothing to do with the friend who posted the link because she is truly a wonderful person and I value her advice in both parenting and lifestyle. I'm writing this now because the emotions I took away from her post reminded me of a topic that has plagued me during my entire time as a mother. It just so happens that her innocent and maybe even random re-posting of an article and some of the responses gave me the words to do so.
***
The following was too long to add to any comment thread:
I love my children with every fiber of my being. They are my entire world and the thought of anything ever happening to remove them from that world sends chills down my spine, creates a painful emptiness in my chest and completely removes my will to live. And that's just the thought that anything could happen. Every single decision in our lives, big or small, important or seemingly irrelevant, is made with them in mind. Every decision I have ever had to make as a parent, some even prior to becoming pregnant the first time, was made to keep us all functioning and happy and healthy to the best of my human abilities. I do the research, I ask for advice, I sit down and contemplate and try to envision every possible outcome, and then roll all of that into one final decision that will keep us moving as a solid unit.
I like to think this makes me a good mother. I have to believe this makes me a good mother. I have to remind myself all the time amidst debates on staying at home versus working, breastfeeding versus formula, vaccinating or not, circumcising or not, I made all of these very tricky decisions with Owen in mind. I made them to the very best of my knowledge with ALL of us in mind because we have to work as a whole. And I have to tell myself this makes me a great mother because based on some things I've read online I've already failed miserably despite putting my children first.
I breastfed for seven months. They were the darkest, scariest seven months of my life. I'm alternating between typing and sobbing right now as I force myself to go back there and find the words to describe it for you. Medication didn't work. I had this precious, beautiful little boy with bright eyes and the sweetest smile looking up at me every day and I couldn't return the favor. I never wanted to hurt him...just myself, very badly. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that if I ended my own pain by hurting myself I would in turn be hurting him. Strangely, the only thing that kept me alive was him and my unwillingness to give up on him. But it was my unwillingness to accept that breastfeeding, at that time, was not right for me and my inability to put the peer pressure and the everlasting battle between breastfeeding and bottle-feeding behind me that kept me in that horrific and depressing state in the first place! I tried to do what the majority of other mothers said was the only correct choice, and I fought a very scary bout of postpartum depression that was only prolonged by the breastfeeding, and I nearly did more harm than good.
So all you moms can come and yell at me for giving my child formula for the remaining five months of his first year, and for being fully prepared to do the same with the child that is in my womb should the same circumstances arise the second time around. You can scold me and tell me how selfish I am for not giving my child the best start possible. Go ahead. I won't listen. I will continue to make the choices that are best for MY children and OUR family and I will NEVER judge a woman for opting against breastfeeding. After all, how am I possibly giving my child the best start if it puts me in such a dark place that I can barely see him?
In my world, making the decision to stay at home or work, to breastfeed or use formula, organic or inorganic, to vaccinate or not, to circumcise or not, to baptize or not, to home school or private school or public school does not add or reduce value to your motherhood. What matters is that you give your children as much love and attention and safety and guidance as you possibly can. Help them become strong, confident, thoughtful, brave little people. Offer the support necessary to carry those traits into adulthood and their own parenthood. That alone will determine your value in motherhood.
***
For the record, Owen is circumcised. It wasn't until I learned we were having a little boy that I was made aware of an option not to. Jon and I sat down and talked about it, and I asked him if, given the choice again, he would opt to have the procedure done and he said "Yes." And since I lack a penis and the mountain of pride that seems to be held there, who am I to argue?
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Team Boy
Seriously. What kind of person posts that they are going to find out the sex of their baby and doesn't say anything about it for 2 more weeks? I do! Sorry I suck sometimes.
We're having a little boy! Owen is going to have a little brother! We shall name him Lucas! I know I expressed a strange desire for a little girl, and trust me it's still there (if it doesn't go away I guess this won't be my last pregnancy after all), but I'm ecstatic to be having another baby boy. A boy is familiar territory and I'm not good with change. We need next to nothing because I saved it all from Owen. Jon desperately wanted a little boy he could name Lucas because that's what he wanted to name Owen and I vetoed him. I also think back to my child and teen years and the way my brothers and sisters and I behaved, and well, my brothers were much nicer to my parents. Boys love and protect their mother, and teenage girls, sometimes no matter how well raised, can be caught calling their mother a bitch whore with little to no remorse.
Anyway, Lucas looked good in the views he would let us see. I knew he was a mover and a shaker prior to going in for the ultrasound but it was fun to let Jon and the technician see just how much he liked to move and shake. Feet were kicking, hands were fidgeting with the umbilical cord, and after 40 minutes of poking and prodding him to get better views he started flipping and twirling like a fish in water, doing whatever it took to get away from that evil woman with the pokey picture wand. I have to go back in 2 weeks so they can attempt to get the missing photos of his left foot and one final view of his heart. Otherwise, he is one very healthy and active 11 ounce baby boy.
We're having a little boy! Owen is going to have a little brother! We shall name him Lucas! I know I expressed a strange desire for a little girl, and trust me it's still there (if it doesn't go away I guess this won't be my last pregnancy after all), but I'm ecstatic to be having another baby boy. A boy is familiar territory and I'm not good with change. We need next to nothing because I saved it all from Owen. Jon desperately wanted a little boy he could name Lucas because that's what he wanted to name Owen and I vetoed him. I also think back to my child and teen years and the way my brothers and sisters and I behaved, and well, my brothers were much nicer to my parents. Boys love and protect their mother, and teenage girls, sometimes no matter how well raised, can be caught calling their mother a bitch whore with little to no remorse.
Anyway, Lucas looked good in the views he would let us see. I knew he was a mover and a shaker prior to going in for the ultrasound but it was fun to let Jon and the technician see just how much he liked to move and shake. Feet were kicking, hands were fidgeting with the umbilical cord, and after 40 minutes of poking and prodding him to get better views he started flipping and twirling like a fish in water, doing whatever it took to get away from that evil woman with the pokey picture wand. I have to go back in 2 weeks so they can attempt to get the missing photos of his left foot and one final view of his heart. Otherwise, he is one very healthy and active 11 ounce baby boy.
Profile of Baby Lucas
20 weeks and the bump that seemed to appear overnight. And the ironing board I didn't bother to move and the bed I was too lazy to make. Such is pregnancy, right?
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