web analytics
Category:

Confessions

Ugly Babies, ugly, baby, ugly in the cradle, pretty at the table

Let’s talk about the old saying, “ugly babies in the cradle, pretty at the table.” I had never heard of it and quite frankly, took great offence at the thought of an adult calling a baby ugly. Are there such things as ugly babies?

Have you ever heard this crazy saying?

As most of you know, I am walking around in a new baby (nephew) induced fog. I am seeing the world with new eyes and loving on my own daughters harder and stronger than I did a couple days ago because of my reminder of the preciousness of childhood. The moment my beautiful nephew entered the world, all I could think was how very blessed we all our to have our babies children in our lives.

From the moment I saw my daughters’ faces, they were the most beautiful baby, no human, I had ever seen. They still are. They will always be.

I am their mother and their birth was the culmination of a whole lot of love. Their very existence is a constant reminder of how very blessed I am in this life. It was like looking upon the sun. It was joyous and humbling. With each birth, I was metamorphisized into a better person (even if it doesn’t feel like it on most days).

I thought every mother felt this way when she saw her baby for the first time. I naively thought that every mother thought her baby was the most beautiful baby in the world because to her it is the most beautiful baby in the world. I never imagined someone would call their own baby ugly.

Ugly Babies, ugly, baby, ugly in the cradle, pretty at the table

Ugly Babies don’t exist

This morning as I’m driving my girls to school, we are listening to the radio and the deejays are talking about a phrase used by parents “Ugly in the cradle, Pretty at the table” apparently this is something that parents say to console their children who they have told are ugly.WTF? Why would you ever tell anyone they are ugly, let alone your child?

READ ALSO: One in Ten Babies is Born this Way

Newsflash, people have mirrors they already know they are ugly. Kids know if they are not as cute as the kid next to them, but to their parents, they should be the cutest freaking thing in the world. It’s in the parent handbook. Didn’t they get it when they got that stupid ass free plastic diaper bag from the hospital?

Don’t tell your kids they are ugly. Don’t think your kids are ugly. And for the love of God, if you do think they are ugly (besides something being fundamentally wrong with you in the head) where do you think they got those damn ugly genes from?

Ugly Babies are A Myth

Look, I am living in the real world and I have perfect 20/20 vision so I do realize that some babies are cuter than others when they are born. Let’s be honest, most newborns look like one of two things; a little old man or a fuzzy ball sack. But we love them and to the parents who produced them, those babies are the most beautiful babies in the world.

By the way, how good do any of us look after taking a transatlantic flight or participating in fight club? Let’s be real, that’s pretty much what being born is like. How good did any of us look after giving birth and we were on the outside?

Ugly Babies

Precious

 There are No Ugly Babies

I don’t know who came up with such a ridiculous saying as “Ugly babies in the cradle, pretty at the table” but I bet they were ugly on the inside and certainly need to be flogged. Stop using it!

Remember, next time you are thinking about saying how ugly a baby is, those ugly babies are somebody’s everything that is beautiful and good in the world. If you are a parent who has called your baby ugly, please email me a photo because I need to see what level of ugly it takes to make a parent call their own baby ugly.

READ ALSO: Does Advanced Maternal Age Really Mean You’re Too Old to Give Birth?

Please stop telling your babies they are ugly. They will look human in a couple of months. Now put your standard issued Mommy thinks you’re perfect glasses back on NOW!

Have you ever thought your child was ugly? Come on, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. We’ve all thought there are ugly babies out there, but usually not our own. I mean come on, we’ve all got an ugly cry. They don’t call it that because it’s pretty. I bet even Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie look pretty gruesome when they ugly cry.

I’m a realist, I am not opposed to the fact that there are ugly babies in the world. I am however opposed to the fact that there are parents out there who are stupid enough to not only think it but to say it out loud, to their little ugly babies. Just remember, there are no ugly babies just adults who should have thought before they spoke.

Do you think there is such a thing as ugly babies?

5 comments
1 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Santa, Santa Claus, Saint Nick

The Day I Took away Santa Claus~ This Christmas season has been craziness, wrapped in chaos, and tied up with a big bow of peppermint flavored stress over here these days. I know what you are thinking; its the holidays.It’s like this for everybody. Suck it, Truthful Mommy! Stress is a primary part of most Christmas traditions. And I do realize that along with being the “most wonderful” time of the year it is also fraught with balding stress ( for me anyways)What you’re not balding? Well, then obviously I am more stressed than you.I win!Score!

Santa, Santa Claus, Saint Nick

Santa Claus; You’re outta here

I am no more pitiful than the rest of you or inundated with any more responsibility. But, this week is not a good week for this Mommy to have so much on her plate. This Mommy is trying to recoup emotionally and psychologically, not to mention physically, from the last month.Add to the mix a healthy  dose of exhaustion and cramps and there you have it; Mommy needs a rest preferably without the side of sass.

I find myself teetering between thinking my girls are the best thing since Ding Dongs were invented and quite possibly the spawn of Spongebob ( you know adorable to most but ever so annoying that you’d just like to bash your head into the wall?) Anyways, most of our days start off with good intentions then they wake up and dawdle ( like real life, slower than molasses dawdling. It requires a concerted effort on their part!) then they get dressed and eat even slower than that. Then trying to wrangle them into their hats, gloves, scarves, coats and boots must burn at least 500 calories.I’m exhausted before we even leave the house.

Santa Claus; You better Watch out

Then I drop of my 5 year old and she is adorable with her kiss kiss ” Love you Mommy” and wave.My ears perk up a bit.Then my 3 year old is absolutely freaking cuteness for the next 3 hours,usually singing songs, randomly bestowing hugs and saying “Me love you Mommy”.Then its pick up time.Then hell breaks lose. Trying to wrangle tired, hungry kids back into the car is worse than trying to get the out the door. Then there is whining, loads and loads of whining.We discuss our plan of attack for the afternoon, then somehow between the ride home and lunch, they turn into someone else’s children. Someone whose children I’d like to be able to send home!

Today, sometime in that time is when it happened. Seems the Santa threats and now even the kneecap busting elves are of no consequence. Instead, these two, seemingly innocuous to the naked eye, girls are taunting me, ignoring me and defying me at every turn.Pick up your room! NO!Finish your lunch!Nah!Stop hitting your sister!Complete silence, in observation of what an apparently stupid asshole I am for thinking they are going to listen to anything I say!Today, I told them, ” If you don’t behave for the rest of the day, Santa won’t be coming to Grandma’s house!”( They hire a Santa to come visit the girls at their annual holiday party) My  5 year old went on about disobeying me and my 3 year old looked me in the face and said( all exasperated like) : “Me know! Me heard you!No Santa!” And that was the moment that I realized that I had lost all credibility with my girls.My threats have become idle.They called my bluff.So, even though I didn’t necessarily want to…I canceled Santa. I took Santa away from my girls.*(Hangs her head in shame)*. I don’t think they believe I will follow through but little do they know, in the heat of the moment I texted the Big Guy and there will be NO Santa at the party. They will know I am serious on Saturday when there is NO Santa HoHoHoIng.Of course,that is assuming they make it to the party. They may be sitting home learning a lesson! We will see what tomorrow brings!

Santa; Where for art thou Santa Claus?

What threats have you made that you had to follow through with even though you may not have wanted to? How do you handle it when your kids completely ignore your requests to cooperate and behave? Would you go as far as to take away Santa Claus?

Photo Credit

27 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Grinch

I feel like the Grinch~ This is a post I wrote last year at about this same time and I realized that the same thing is happening again. I’m just recognizing it earlier in the holiday season. I don’t want to be this person who is wound so tight at the holidays that she pops out of her face like a jack in the box at the drop of a hat. This post is a good reminder to stop, breathe and try something different. I think we’ve all had our holiday Grinch moments. Let’s not the Grinch steal our children’s holiday memories or their holiday Mommy.

The holidays for me are usually all warmth and fuzziness, mostly. Don’t get me wrong they are chocked full of craziness but right underneath the surface of all the chaos, complete happiness is bubbling its way to the surface and about to spill over. But for some reason, this year things feel… off. It all looks great on paper, we are doing all the things that should be done to make wonderful memories for our girls but for some reason, I don’t feel like my heart is in it. I don’t feel the bubbly goodness rising to the top as it should be this far into December.

Grinch, Christmas, parenthood, stress, holidays

Grinch, We Don’t Need no Stinkin Grinch

 

Grinch, Christmas, parenthood, stress, holidays

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am watching the finances closely since this year has been full of new jobs, relocations and maintaining separate households, which is nothing to speak of the fact that our whole life has been suspended and not quite right with the Big Guy not living here. Maybe my lack of enthusiasm has something to do with being overwhelmed by the to do lists and not enough time to accomplish the tasks at hand. I have been buried under snow for most of December and there’s been no time for shopping, baking, enjoying. Its been a series of appointments and dates. Truly, I feel like my girls are being jipped out of their Christmas. I’ve been so  caught up in all the obligations that I’ve been snapping at my girls and firing snark from my mouth like an AK-47.I know on more than one occasion, lately, I’ve given them the “are you retarded?” look and may have even said something to that effect, but not quite as awful. But the sentiment was there and that is as guilty as saying the words themselves. Thoughts become words and words become actions.Well, even thinking that makes me a really horrible Grinch of a mother, in my book. I don’t want to be THAT person.I don’t want my girls to think it even fathomable that I could mean such awful words.The thought of them believing that I think they are anything less than amazing or that my love is conditional upon whether or not they are pleasing to me, makes me sick to my stomach.I want to be happy, excited and gay. I need to get my warm fuzziness boiling back over. I want to spread it all over my children like warm molasses.

Grinch, Christmas, parenthood, stress, holidays

Please Grinch Mommy,don’t take away their smiles

Grinch, Christmas, parenthood, stress, holidays

Christmas is not about things to do, places to be or presents to open; Christmas is about love, peace and people.I want my girls to look back on their childhood Christmases and remember the cuddles in front of the fire, spontaneous Christmas cookie baking, making fudge with Daddy, snowball fights, and watching Christmas Movies; staying up late to put cookies out for Santa and going to mass with the whole family.It’s firsts snows and snow angels.It’s togetherness.It’s a series of moments that form a lifetime. I want it to be a feeling in their heart.I want it to be the spirit of something larger than us; of hope, love and joy. I’m clearing out the clutter of my life and my mind and going forth, my only true obligation is going to be to see to it that my girls are happy.Everything else is secondary.

Grinch, Christmas, parenthood, stress, holidays

Christmas Memories Better when Mommies Not a Grinch

Grinch, Christmas, parenthood, stress, holidays
Fah who for-aze! Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze! Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas, Welcome Christmas,
Come this way! Come this way!
Bottom Line is this, we determine how/what our memories will be. We are the parents and it’s up to us make the most of our children’s memories. They won’t remember every single detail but they will remember the feelings associated with being loved unconditionally and all that it entails.
I am laying out all the wisdom for the teens in my post High School Confidential at Aiming Low today.  Would love it if you would stop over there and share what vital piece of wisdom that you would impart on the teens of the world. Looking forward to hearing your advice.
Also, how do you keep from becoming overwhelmed, exhausted and a Grinch at the holidays?
3 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
elves, elf, Christmas, holidays,

elves, elf, Christmas, holidays,

Herbie the Elf

The Elf is back in town ~ It’s happened again, Santa has sent his henchmen to keep the girls in check. Mommy is glad because after all that sugary dessert on Thanksgiving, those girls were a little off their rocker. Lots of screaming, screeching, thunderous laughter and gratuitous “No”s. I am hoping that with the arrival of Herbie Hancock the elf ( because what else would you call Santa’s coolest elf?) the girls settle into a nice quiet, yes ma’am existence ( at least for the next month or so). I’m quite sure after the girls go to bed, Herbie Hancock the elf is break dancing his little tiny elf self all over the house..helicopter head spinning on the tiles in the kitchen, running up the walls in the hall way and doing back flips, probably moon walking all over the mantel, and I am positive that he is doing the centipede all over the joint. Silly elf, I think he may even have his own elf break dancing crew back in the North Pole.

Herbie the Elf is Mommy’s Little Holiday Helper

Don’t be fooled by the dopey smile and rosy cheeks. This guy means business. Don’t you see the placard that he is holding? Old boy is not all a rosy glow from just sitting by the fireplace, he has been busting ass and breaking kneecaps. Think less Buddy the Elf and more Tony Soprano the Elf. Yeah, that’s how we roll over in these parts. Now, as you can see, the whole Elf on the Shelf craze has really taken off this year; as is evidenced by the elf on the shelf kit being displayed prominently in every cartoon channel’s commercials and in the toy/children’s section at your major retailers. First let me say, the whole elf on the shelf kit elf..scares the holy hell outta me ( which may be the purpose..sinister little bastard) but now that he is on the front page of Target’s ad and gone all mainstream…don’t you think the kids might catch on? I mean, my girls are 4 and 6 and they are not blind and they’re kinda smart so they’d figure that one out in a hot second. No, here at casa de Truthful Mommy, we go rogue. We find some out of the way shop that specializes in magical, Santa henchmen who serve up justice with a smile and a side of curls.

I know there are parents out there who think it is an awful sin to lie to your children ( these are the same parents who probably want to send me to hell for leashing my girls when they were toddlers..after a near fatal escape by my 2 year old when I was very, very pregnant with her sister) or perpetuate the myth of Santa, the Tooth fairy and Easter Bunny and even worse to threaten my children with mafioso elves but really who am I hurting. I don’t generally lie to my girls, well, unless you count my all time favorite…doing more good than harm white lies that I’ve told over the years but at Christmas time, with all that sugar and hyperactivity running rampant, late bedtimes, visitors and such the routine gets a bit haywire and Mommy needs a little help with the baby wrangling and that’s where Herbie Hancock the Elf comes in. He’s my little ninja Mommy assistant during the holidays.

This year we needed to kick it up a notch and after a reminder by Mommyfriend Lori and referencing last year’s post about the elves running a muck , I’ve decided to let the girls invent their own kind of Santa Big Brother. Last year, Bella told me that she thought that Santa had spy cams planted around the world so that he could keep his eyes and ears on all kids at all times. I chuckled last year when Bella told me this but then Mommyfriend Lori wrote about the fire alarms in her house being Santa cams and eureka….Santa Big Brother is watching! The girls have been running up to the fire alarm all day so that Santa could see their smiling , doe eyed selves being oh so docile and respectful children. The awesome thing about this? Well, when good old Herbie Hancock the break-dancing, beep-bopping, kneecap breaking, enforcer elf heads back for colder climates…the fire alarms Big Brother Santa spy cams will remain…forever! Genius. Elf on the shelf ain’t got nothing on Herbie and the Santa Spy Cams.

Herbie the Elf & Santa Spy Cams to the Rescue

7 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
parenting

[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]

parenting

akanemd

Parenting Techniques are like assholes..everyone has one!

2 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Mommy brain, forgetfulness. children

We’ve all heard of Mommy brain, right? You know that condition that makes everything foggy, forgotten and not quite sure if it’s really happening, supposed to be happening or already happened? Yeah, that’s Mommy brain. Hell, I’d bet my reminder list that most of us are in the throes of it at this very moment. Me, I’m convinced that I am probably on the verge of a full-blown case of sun-downers of the Mommy Kind. Shark week and a severe case of mommy brain seem to be co-existing in my life right now, running rampant if you will. I am not exaggerating when I say that if it weren’t for my head being attached, I’d have misplaced it by now. I have had some pretty near misses while experiencing my advanced stage of Mommy brain but some experiences stand out above and beyond the others in the humiliation department. Like this one…

Mommy brain, forgetfulness. children

Oh Mommy brain, why have you forsaken me?

It was a cold day in January and I had an OB/GYN check up. I was at that point in my pregnancy where I couldn’t see my feet. Let’s be honest, I couldn’t see anything south of the topside of my burgeoning belly swell. Who knows what the hell was going on south of that border? But I had a check up, nonetheless, and there was no way I was going in for it without a little landscaping down below beforehand. I refused to look like I had a chia pet in a headlock. It wasn’t happening.

I stepped into the shower and almost immediately; I was trying to lift my belly out of the way, to just be able to catch a small glimpse of my lady bits. Oh ,my poor lady bits I don’t think I’d actually seen them since conception.  All I could do was feel my way. Scratch. Bump. Crease. Opening. Labia. Clitoris. Baby. I’m making a mental note of the lay of the land, as I go. After much panting, praying and contorting, I started the near impossible task. This was a dangerous endeavor, to say the least. I’m no Helen Keller. I’d never done this before. There was a huge chance that some very important parts of me could be permanently severed and left behind to circle the drain. *Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death* Hour of our death? Yes, this could have been at any moment. Can you imagine the amount of blood loss one could suffer if I she severed a lip? That thing’s attached for a reason. Sure it may look like it’s coming detached but damn it, it’s not.

Mommy brain, note to self..no lip left behind

An hour later the deed was done. I grabbed the mirror and when I lifted my belly, what was revealed to me looked very similar to a teenager trying to grow his first beard. Patchy with tufts of what looked like tiny Fu Manchu’s scattered all throughout my groin region. And not the tiny Fu Manchu’s that you might see on some hipster band mates, no these were the scary tiny Fu Manchu’s that you might see on a little person Kung Fu Master with a bad attitude and one eye. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I returned to the bowels of shower hell and after much effort on my part and a mirror that perpetually steamed up; I, finally, got the job done an hour and one freezing shower later.

I was so proud of myself.  I was going to walk into that appointment, drop trough, and show that handsome OB/GYN the most impressively landscaped vagina he’d ever seen on a woman that far into her pregnancy. Of that, I was certain. But wait; let’s take it to the next level. Why stop at just pretty? I grabbed the feminine hygiene spray and after a quick once over, I was not only impeccably groomed but I KNEW I smelled like a beautiful summer’s day. I got this.

After the exam was done, my doctor looks up at me and says, “Everything looks great and (with a knowing smile and a wink) very festive.” What the F*ck? That was inappropriate but I was a over cooked, over stuffed, waddling pregnant Godzilla in need of some extra attention. Hey, Big pregnant Girls need love too. Of course, I had no idea what he was referring to until I returned home. After a quick look in the mirror, to my utter surprise, what I thought was feminine hygiene spray was actually my 2 year olds Christmas themed Barbie spray. Yes folks, festive indeed. My hairless Chihuahua was now covered with green sparkly glitter spray. Nothing says Happy Holidays like a freshly decorated vagina.

 

*P.S. My birthday is next Saturday (9/25) and I would LOVE to reach 1000 blog followers via GFC by then. MY damn GFC was actually not working most of the past year so  if you loved this story, or you just love The TRUTH about Motherhood please consider clicking the GFC box and following me! Thanks. XO Debi

This is your vagina on Mommy brain

41 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
First day of preschool, last baby

The First Day of Preschool has snuck up on me. After 4 years, my baby girl is starting preschool. Let the letting go commence. My heart is a little broken at the very thought at not having my little girl next to me every day all day, her big bright smile beaming up at me at any and every hour of the day. Her giggle not resonating through the house at something silly she has thought up or seen on the television. No sticky little fingers to grab at my breakfast. No little toes to trip me when I walk. No small little hands to hold mine when we leave her sister at school. No more special breakfasts, just the two of us. My last baby is starting her first day of preschool.

First day of preschool, last baby

The truth is that it has all gone by way too fast. It feels like a month ago that I found out I was pregnant and heard your heartbeat for the first time. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I brought you home from the hospital, swaddled tightly in a little blanket of pink. Wasn’t it just a couple of hours ago that I was changing diapers and waiting desperately for you to say Mama and take your first steps? Where have the years gone? I want them back. I want to hold you in those moments and close to me forever. I know babies outgrow their Mommies laps, but you will never outgrow my love.

last baby, first day of preschool

First Day Of Preschool, where have the years gone

There is so much change coming. I remember this part. This is where my forced letting go begins. This is where your growing up begins. This is where the hurt starts. I am so proud of you. You are so smart. You will take preschool by storm. You are fearless. You are amazing in ways that I can not fully explain. I am sitting here typing through tear filled eyes because I know where this road ends. A parent’s job is to raise children that make the world a better place, to be humans that we wish we could be more like to fulfill their potential and exhaust their dreams. I will be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where your passions may lead and I will always be here when you need to come home. My heart will ache, it may even break, bursting with pride and love for you my little girl. Tomorrow will be just the first in a long line of little letting goes.

last baby, first day of preschool, bluesTomorrow, the First Day of Preschool

Tomorrow, we begin a new chapter. Tomorrow will be one of the hardest mornings of my life. Tomorrow, my last baby has her first day of preschool. I have already summonsed the troops. The Big Guy is taking a vacation day. When Ella started preschool, Abs held my hand and we spent the morning together, trolling the aisles of the grocery store keeping ourselves occupied until we could pick Ella up from school. Abs had spent that morning screaming down the hallways of the school, as I pulled her away kicking and screaming “ELLA!!” Tomorrow, that will be the Big Guy’s job but this time it will be me who is kicking and screaming, raging against my baby growing up..crumpling to the floor in a pool of snot and tears. I only hope that I can hold the tears at bay until I am securely out of Abs’ line of sight. God, how I love this kid. She is my heart and soul. She is my happiness.

first day of preschool

How did you deal with the letting go? Does it ever get easier? I am so dreading college that I feel like I could vomit at the very thought of it. What helps you get over that missing my baby hump? Or worse, how do I get over this giant lump in my throat? Every time I think of dropping her off tomorrow morning, my eyes begin to fill up and I just know if I try to speak…I will cry. I’ll need you ladies tomorrow to metaphorically get me through the first of many letting goes of my last baby. How did you deal with the first day of preschool?

My last baby, First Day of Preschool Blues

18 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Birth, Pregnancy,labor,dleivery, birth

Birth and pregnancy happen, especially when you least expect it. It seems that it is universally applicable that trying too hard at anything puts too much pressure on ourselves and we end up with performance anxiety. This is why on my first pregnancy, I conceived while still in the “planing to plan to have a baby stage”. There was no pressure, we were just sexing it up and having a good time…maybe too good of a time. When I found out that I was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I had waited for this moment since I had gotten married, maybe since my husband proposed. There is just something so liberating about intentionally making a baby ( *or planning to plan to have a baby) with the man that you love, aside from all the baby making, birth control free nookie.  And I don’t just mean the fact that I took it as a license to eat carbs without guilt for 10 months. Heck to the yeah, I could finally eat and exhale! I was overjoyed, to say the least. Do you know how awesome it is to NOT worry that someone is going to mistake your baby doll dress and burrito belly for a baby bump? It was glorious!

Oh Sh*t, Pregnancy!

Then I made the mistake of reading all of those nightmare inducing, statistic laced pregnancy books. All the good times I had planned for gave way to worry and anxiety. Thank God, I hadn’t tried to educate myself before conceiving or I would have been scared to death, maybe even chalked up the whole idea. I’m pretty squeamish about pain, blood and body fluids and let’s face it..that’s all giving birth is aside from the miracle it all results in. Before getting pregnant, no one told me about gestational diabetes, the disfigurement of stretch marks, outtie belly buttons, linea negrias, noses spreading, feet growing, acne, bacne and spider veins. Nobody told me that the “glow” was code for ugly, exhausted and fat. Worse, nobody told me about what happens when you give birth. NOBODY told me how excruciatingly painful it would be. No one gave me a heads up that there was NO modesty or dignity in giving birth. My friends never told me that transition labor would feel like a cracked out, ninja ghoulie was trying to chew it’s way out of my lower abdomen. Nobody told me that trying to birth a baby would take as long as a transatlantic flight. NO.BODY.TOLD.ME!! Not even my Mama! Why?Why did no one tell me????

Pregnancy, Nobody Told Me

I had no idea that I’d be put into a gown that couldn’t possibly cover my protruding belly without completely exposing my pasty white derriere complete with assne. No one told me that I’d have 27 doctors, nurses and passersby sticking there hand in my woohoo to check “how far along” I was. I wasn’t told that I’d be bored out of my brain, watching Jerry Springer, when I’d be struck mute by pain and only be able to whisper the words, “Oh Sh*t” and “Oh God” alternately and on repeat. Most importantly, NO ONE told me that I might have a bowel movement on the birthing table.  Between you and me, that’s a deal breaker. I would have opted for a surrogate or adopted a little brown baby from Mexico (then maybe I would have had a chance that the baby would look like it was actually related to me).

But no one tells you these things. To be clear, I intentionally starved myself for the two days before I was induced. When the time came, I gave it my all. I got 25 stitches for my trouble and a gorgeous baby girl. My husband assures me that I did not poop on the birthing table and the only thing I pushed into the world that afternoon was our firstborn. Did he tell me the truth? Or was he trying to restore some of the dignity I had lost from the hourly dipstick checks? I’ll probably never really know. I’m just hoping in the throes of a heated discussion I never hear “ Oh yeah, well you did sh*t on the birthing table! It was real and it was spectacular!” For now, I choose to believe in a world where there are unicorns, fairies and no one poops the table while giving birth. If there’s a next time, I may just be done with it and have Indian food the night before induction. I say go big or go home. Sh*t happens!

During Pregnancy, Sh*t Most Certainly Happens!

36 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
Pregnancy, Babies, Love, my girls, daughters

Pregnancy, why do any of us do it? They say a picture is worth a thousand words so let’s save some time..

[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]

Pregnancy, Babies, Love, my girls, daughters

*Swoon*

Pregnancy End Result; My First Miracle

I know why I did it. I did it because I wanted to peer down into the face of awesome and feel my throat close itself with a giant lump of love. I wanted my heart to walk around outside of my body. I wanted to cry tears of awe and inspiration. I wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted to love something so completely that time and space could not measure it. I wanted to experience selflessness beyond measure. I wanted to have a physical piece of myself and the Big Guy joined forever. I did it because, since I can remember, I always wanted to be someone’s Mommy. I wanted someone to curl into that space between my neck and my shoulder and fill my heart completely. I wanted little fingers to wrap around mine and hold on for dear life. I wanted to experience hiccups in my belly. I wanted to experience the evolution of myself into a better version than I ever could have imagined. I wanted to feel small in the universe but mighty in my own life. I wanted to provide the change that I wanted to see in the world. I wanted to create a little person who I could call my very own. I wanted to hold the future in my arms and quietly sing her a lullaby. I did it for a purpose. I did it because my heart wanted to grow three times it original size. The love and joy quota that is met by having a child is addictive. At the moment of birth, I felt so small next to my little one who had come into the world and humbled me into wanting to make the world better for her sake.

[/fusion_builder_column][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]

Pregnancy, baptism, daughters, little girls,love

Our hearts were wide open after Ella and Begging for Abbi.So, we had #2!

Warning: Pregnancy Can be addictive

Then I did it again! But now, I am at a point where I am far enough away from the beginning of my babies and heading head first into big girl territory that my retrospective 20/20 vision is kicking in. The fog of baby bliss is giving way to the reality of sibling rivalry, no peeing in peace, no showering alone, no time to myself, temper tantrums, “You’re the meanest mother in the world”, changing outfits 75 times a day and  picky eating habits with an even more discerning entertainment palate. I still love my girls with all that I am and for all that  they are but now, sometimes…I need a moment or two to hit refresh. I have been spying small glimpses break through here and there of what the future holds…quiet time, me time and time alone with my husband. I hate the letting go and growing up part. It hurts to love someone so much that you can’t imagine a time when they will not be snuggled firmly in your lap or resting their sweet head on your shoulder but there is comfort in finding yourself again, with a renewed perspective and more bold take on life. I am looking forward to that. I frequently say that I am done, half true and I believe, half to convince myself. Either way, my heart is full and I have learned from experience to never say never.

Where are you on the pregnancy spectrum? Are you expecting? Anticipating? Unsure if you are ready to embark on the momentous occasion ? On the fence as to whether or not you want to go through it all again? Or contemplating being fulfilled with what you have now? Or have you decided that it is not for you at all? How did you come to where you are? Why? I’d love to hear your stories.

Pregnancy, to be or not to be

[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

17 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail
first grade

This morning my oldest daughter started First Grade.*Swoon* & *Sigh* My stomach was nervous all last night for her. I’m no stranger to this phenomenon.It’s been happening to me since MY own first day of kindergarten. I didn’t think I’d be this nervous before my babies started school. I guess it’s better me than them. Ella woke up this morning excited and ready to hit the ground running. I’m so proud of her. This is her third school in three years.

First grade

The First Day Of First Grade

This morning was slightly reminiscent of last year’s first day. But this year my little girl was more excited and less nervous. I watched her jump out of bed and her eyes were smiling. She woke up her sister and headed to the kitchen for the annual first day of school breakfast; this years was pancakes, bacon, fruit and milk. Gotta feed that little brain. I watched her flit around like a little caterpillar turning into a butterfly before my very eyes. It really is quite hard to actually see the letting go happen.

She was dressed and ready to hit the road in record time this morning. I was glad. I was afraid she was going to be overcome with trepidation being in a new school, in a new city with new kids and no one she knows. But we were sure to take her to the school a couple times over the summer and she met her teacher last week. She knew where her desk, hook and mailbox would be before she ever got to school this morning. I explained the lunch line and pick up. She knew she was going to be the first Star of the Week VIP, we spent the weekend working on her VIP poster board for class. She seemed fine. I was the nervous one.


first grade

The First Cut is the Deepest

Then we drove to school, after taking my usual 100 photos or so of her getting ready for her first day of school. I reminded her that I put lunch money in her pocket, in case there was a mix up with her lunch account. I reminded her that she was having grapes in her lunch today and that she needed to take little bites and not talk while eating ( *Laugh if you will at my helicoptering but this is the same child who I was almost robbed of by a raisin). I reminded her to raise her hand when they took a head count for lunch (this is her first year of all day school). Then we rode in silence.

As we walked into the school, I had to pass the Kindergarten Mom’s. They were all melting into their pools of snot and tears in the hallway. Oh how I remember that moment, it was just last year. It will be me again next year. It hurt my heart a bit. I knew in moments, my own hurt was coming down like a hammer. We walked her into her classroom. As I handed her the backpack and pointed her in the direction of her hook, I could see the trepidation rearing its head again. I know that look. It’s a mix of glazed over and about to cry. But she never does. My girl is a suck it up kind of girl. She is the bravest kid I know (until it comes to shots but that’s an entirely different post). She asked me to walk her to her desk, of course, I obliged. The Big Guy was already busy setting all of her supply list items on her desk and unveiling that Star of the Week poster that tells her story. Abbi was running amuck checking out all the other kids to make sure it was safe to leave her big sister. She doesn’t leave her sister with just anyone.

first grade

I was in my head. She was in hers. Her eyes were glassy. My eyes were glassy. She knew I would ONLY leave her in capable hands. She sucked it up and gave me her nervous smile. I gave her a thousand and one kisses and told her to have a great day. I told her that I was so excited for her and proud of her. The Big Guy gave her a goodbye kiss and exited left. Her little sister hugged her like she was going off to war and kissed her cheek harder than I thought possible. I watched before giving her one last kiss and hug and fleeing before I could begin to cry.I told her I loved her. She told me that she did too.The commotion was growing. I swallowed the lump in my throat and told her goodbye.She smiled her nervous, toothless smile. It took all my will, I walked away. As I exited the room, I looked back and saw that same first day familiar nervous look. It broke my heart. It always breaks my heart. Leaving her, has always and will probably always break my heart into a million tiny pieces. The letting go is the hardest part of growing up.

First Grade

It’s time to focus on the fact that my  youngest starts preschool in 3 weeks. Oh what a blubbering mess I will be on that day. For now, I will fixate on those damn grapes and count the minutes til pick up time. Once she tells me that she had a wonderful day and I know that she survived the grapes at lunch. I will be exponentially happier. But right now, this very moment, my heart still hurts from….

Leaving my First Born in First Grade

8 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestLinkedinStumbleuponEmail

This website uses cookies to improve your experience. We'll assume you're ok with this, but you can opt-out if you wish. Accept Read More