The TRUTH About Motherhood

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Some Things Truly Do Change You Forever
Today is October 1st, the first day of National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Today also marks 5 months since we lost our baby. It’s been 5 months since my miscarriage. It’s the anniversary of the worst day of my life.

This was the first time we ever saw our third baby
We had already been blessed with two beautiful children and I was waiting for the day that the little heart beating blip would turn into a goo covered bundle being laid on my chest. I looked forward to it. My brain ran wild with thoughts of my girls playing with their newborn brother or sister, fawning over his every breath and cry and whimper. I could already see Bella mothering him and sitting by my side as I nursed him begging me to hold him. Gabi would be over the moon. All she’s ever wanted was to big be a big sister. She would have adored that baby like you couldn’t imagine and the Big Guy, he would have fallen so deeply in love with that baby that he would have been his forever, just like he has done with each of our babies. I wanted that baby so much, for so many reasons.
In the past five months, my heart has broken a million different times at the most random occasions but lately it’s gotten harder. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I keep bumping into women at school, at church, in the store who are pregnant and look to be as far along as I should be. Every time I see one, my heart is reminded of what will never be and it hurts. I know that I am not the first one to suffer this devastating loss and I know that those around me don’t feel this gaping hole that is where my heart used to be but I do.
My girls have moved on from asking about our baby in heaven and the Big Guy never talks about it but he listens when I need to. He knows that the first day of every month, I’m not myself and a little part of me wants to crawl into bed and die just like I did on the day that I found out. I am not purposely lingering in my loss but it’s always there. It haunts me. I think it might always haunt me. I will never forget, any of it. My miscarriage changed me forever, I know that now.
I am past the anger of my miscarriage now, on most days. Now, it’s just a quiet lingering pain of loss. I am happy for those around me who are pregnant and having babies. I am excited at the prospect of my sisters and sisters-in-law and friends to tell me their joyous news. I can’t wait to hold them close and kiss their tiny foreheads but still I am sorry that I will never get to hold my third baby. I will miss that. I am sad knowing that just for a little while I had a little miracle living inside me that I will never get to meet.So today, on the first day of the month and the first day of National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, I sit here looking at the ultrasound photos and sob for my beautiful baby in heaven.
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I first shared this post on my friend, Jill’s site Scary Mommy on August 23,2012. She gave me a place to share the events of that day when I was too afraid to share it here. I didn’t want to be that mom who couldn’t stop talking about this one moment but I feel that today is the perfect time to share the details of that day. I can’t promise I won’t talk about it again. I have a feeling that my due date is going to be a pretty painful day for me. Thank you for all of your support and love.
For National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, I am sharing my story with you
It was a sunny Monday morning. I had just dropped my 4 year-old off at preschool. I had approximately 2 hours to get to my OBs office and have her check me and tell me nothing was wrong. As I lay there alone on the cold, hard table in the ultrasound room, I expected nothing to be wrong. I had some spotting, as I had with both of my previous pregnancies. Both times previously, everything was fine. I had overreacted. I was 10 weeks and 4 days pregnant with our third child. I just needed the ultrasound and the confirmation that everything was okay and I could continue on with my full day of errands. I wasn’t scared at all. That’s why my husband wasn’t with me. I was wrong.
The ultrasound tech made idle chit chat, apologizing for the wand of the vaginal ultrasound and any pressure that I might be feeling. Then her face went white. I knew. But it had to be a mistake. She continued on in silence. Then the words came, as if in slow motion from across the world, “I’m so sorry, I can’t find your baby’s heartbeat.”
I was in shock. All I could think was, she must have done something wrong. There is a heartbeat; she just doesn’t know what she is doing. I lay there for a couple more minutes, paralyzed and horrified. Embarrassed and humiliated, I wanted to disappear. I wanted to die. I wanted to be dead with no heartbeat, just like my baby inside me. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t cry.
I was interrupted from my internal psychotic break by the ultrasound tech taking my hand softly and telling me, once again, how very sorry she was for my loss and that she would take me downstairs to see my obstetrician “the back way”. I know it was so I wouldn’t have to walk through the waiting room filled with beautiful round bellies full of life. I knew. But it felt like, I was being taken down the back stairs because I was not worthy.
My body had failed my baby and me. There was malfunction and all I could do was take one step at a time and try not falling to the ground and crying forever. It felt surreal like I was watching this happen to someone else. I was outside of my body as I found myself in the Ob waiting room downstairs, not sure if I should politely smile or cry at the other expecting mothers. I was jealous. I was pissed. I was hurt. I felt like my initial reaction of surprise to this pregnancy had somehow made me unworthy to hold my baby. I could not speak. I saw my doctor. She explained the situation. I could barely hear her through my own thoughts. My head was so congested from holding in my pain. I was afraid to open mouth because all of the emotion would come pouring out and drown us all.
I was physically aching. My legs were shaking, my mind was racing, my head was spinning and I was alone; more alone than I have ever been in my life. I needed to hear my husband’s voice. He had to be told. I was the only one who could make that call. He knew I was at the doctor’s office. We’d been here before. We worried for nothing. It was always fine. Not this time.
I dialed the number through my blurry vision, I heard his jovial voice on the other end, “How’s our baby?” I was silent. “Is everything ok?” his concern was palpable. I started to speak, but it didn’t sound like me. It couldn’t be me speaking those words. I opened my mouth and the words came out like a death sentence, “ We had a M…………” and then I began to sob in an uncontrollable and animalistic way in which I have never experienced before. I could not finish the word. It was choking me. I could not say it out loud because then it would be real and then my baby would be dead. The promise of our baby would be broken. Life would be different. I would be different. It would all be less. I would never get to hold my baby in my arms because my baby was gone.
How do you survive a miscarriage? You don’t. You are changed forever. On the day that you lose a child, you lose part of who you were and become someone new; different. Your destiny is changed. You will never be the same. Eventually, you learn to breathe again, you get up of the floor, you stop crying and you somehow carry on.

Our babies who have gone on to heaven may not be here in our arms but they are always in our hearts. During National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, please remember what we can never forget.
October, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month
2012/10/15
Who am I?
Letting go, who am I without them?
Letting go. Who am I now? Have you ever asked yourself this question? I think I have asked it of myself a thousand times since I’ve gone to college but today, I asked myself the question and I have no idea. How do I define myself?
I’ve spent the last 8 years of my life, either pregnant or holding a little one in my arms or my lap. For the last 8 years, I have been a mommy to the point that I have, quite literally, forgotten my life before them. It all seems like some story that I read about someone else. Above all else, I define myself as a mommy. It’s not just what I do. It is who I am. I am Bella and Gabi’s mommy. And I am blessed. I sometimes take that for granted.
I catch glimpses of the person I used to be in my daughters from time to time; in their fiery spirit and outrageous sense of humor and style. I see all the potential that I used to have and all the freedom of the future. I took that for granted too.
This morning, as I sat here alone with my thoughts, for the first time since school has started. Alone in our new home where we have started our new life surrounded by unfamiliarity, I felt profoundly alone. I miss my children.
They are only gone for 7 hours a day but with so much changing in our lives, I long for the comfortable familiarity in their little kitty cat voices, the shuffle of their feet beneath my own as we walk through the house, their laughter at the silliest of notions that carries through the air like the sweet smell of bread baking.
I miss their too-tight, never-gonna-le-me-go hugs and their delightfully slobbery kisses. I even miss the sibling rivalry fueled by pure love and devotion that just recently drove me to near insanity.
I miss the sweet smell of tops of heads, as their tiny, waif-like bodies cuddle beneath my arm and draw themselves nearer to me than I even knew possible. I miss the not knowing where I ended and they began.
I thought the small instances of letting go would be easier.
I used to think that all the time was too much. That event he best mommy needs at least a few minutes to herself but when my arms are empty and the house is quiet, I’d give back every golden minute of silence for just a sliver of their crazy. I am lonely. I miss my children. I am a mother with no children to feel the empty space and time.
Who am I? I am still a mommy. I worry every morning that I send them out the door that I will miss something. But that is part of letting go and growing up. It sucks big balls and I hate it with a passion but I am sure this means that I am evolving. No one stays the same, ever.
I used to be a girl full of spirit and dreams and potential and then I became a Mommy and all my dreams and hopes, all of my passion was focused on raising my daughters. It still is but now I have 7 hours a day to remember who I am. This is the time for me to have it all.
I am blessed. I have the pleasure and honor of being mommy to these two amazing little girls. I am married to my best friend and I finally have the time to appreciate it all and realize my own dreams as well, without feeling like I am ignoring my family or shirking my mommy duties. I should be ecstatic for the time to breathe finally but I am too busy feeling the pains of letting go, while trying to hold on.
It’s time to figure out who I am again and show my daughters that they can be everything they want to be in life, maybe just not all at the same time but right now, I miss my daughters and I am counting the minutes until pick up so I can see their adorable little faces as they light up when they see me…as I know mine will be when I see them. Letting go is so bittersweet.
Letting go is the hardest part of growing up.
2012/09/20
Moving & Trying Not to Die is Hard
I’ve been moving and trying not to die. I’ve disappeared off the face of the earth once again. Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I told you all awhile back that our house sold and that we were closing on a house. It’s all been a cluster, as everything we ever do always is. Long story short, there were foundation issues. So on to the next house. We found another house, made an offer and closed last Friday. We are ecstatic, except for the fact that I have a tradition that I’d love to quit.
This is so sad but true. Just one more verse to what seems like the longest summer and saddest country song ever. I thought “and my dog died” was the end. I mean, isn’t that the punch line? But no, there is more. We do everything the hard way around here, apparently. On the day of closing, I woke up so sick that I, quite seriously, thought I would cry. Mind you, this was after a week of a raging case of the stomach flu.
It felt like I had swallowed razor blades. I had gotten no sleep and the pressure and pain in my head was only second to the unrelenting snot that was blocking every possible air passage that I have. I couldn’t breathe people. Just to add an element of surprise, I began randomly vomiting pure foaming snot. Yes, beautiful visual. Think morning sickness with quadruplets and a tequila hangover. It was not pretty folks.
This is not conducive to moving weekend. Did I mention that the last time we moved, I had to do it in the rain, by myself (my husband was out of town) and in the rain? I did.
Moving is hazardous to my health
This time, thank God, I hired long distance movers that will provide professional moving services on Friday, but we didn’t close until 6 pm on Friday night and by the time we got the truck (because it was the last truck available in the history of the universe) it was almost 8 pm and pouring rain. The truck had to be back by 9 am. You can guess what happened next? Yes, we moved in the rain (again) into the wee hours of the night.
By this point, I couldn’t breathe and I look like a drowned rat. My eyes were sore; my head was aching. I was sure that I had west Nile, the Ebola virus or the freaking bubonic plague. You all know that I seem to catch the most outrageous diseases; whooping cough, herpangina and scarlet fever…all kids diseases, and I have caught them all as an adult since having children. So, it would be perfectly normal for me to assume that I had caught the plague from one of my carrier children via the elementary school aka cootie central. Damn it.
I just knew I was going to die. There was one point Saturday where I was so dizzy and my fever was so high that I swore I saw Jesus, right there in my living room. I’d assumed he’d come to take me and put me out of my misery. No such luck, it was just the appliance deliveryman. Too bad there was nowhere to deliver the appliances, as the kitchen has to be redone. But they are beautiful and shiny, stainless steel. I just wanted to lie against the appliances to cool down before I had a febrile seizure. But I couldn’t because on Saturday, I had to unload two pallets of wood flooring into the house. Never mind, that I was so sick that I could pass out at any moment and my eyes were rolling back into my head. Who cares if I were hacking and yakking on everything in sight? The house has no flooring right now so that took priority.
Just let me say it, moving is hard
I received no sympathy from anyone while moving, until Sunday when I could barely get mobile. Then I was told to stay home (because home is still my in laws because we couldn’t move into a house with no functioning kitchen or floors with small children) but it was said with the definite look of “you should stay home if you are too much of a pussy to work. No problem, we will all work at YOUR house while you sleep in a plague-induced coma”. So, I did what any self –respecting woman would do, I got up, rubbed some dirt on it and took my daughter to the Nutcracker auditions, then picked up lunch for everyone helping with the moving and worked until I literally couldn’t breathe anymore. So for those who’s thinking of moving to a new house or thinking of an office relocation (kontorflytting Oslo), you should leave the tedious workload of packing and moving to the professionals, if you are having trouble storing your stuff in your new home, learn more about One Stop Self Storage.
Monday, I woke up determined to go to the doctor, the emergency room, anywhere that could prevent my untimely demise. My plan was to go get meds and then sleep until pick up. No such luck. The Big Guy woke up and said he too was sick. I made him go to the doctor. We’re both sick. He has Strep throat (but you’d think he was dying) and I have acute sinusitis with a side of ear infections because I am special. His comment to me on our half-dead ride home, “Man, you really were sick. I don’t feel like moving, just sleeping.”
“Yeah, me too asshole. All three days that I had to move in the rain while trying not to vomit on myself from the snot in my belly and the excruciating pain in my head.”
Next time we move, he’s paying professional movers or doing it himself. It’s too hard on my health. But as soon as these antibiotics kick in, I’m moving into my new old house and finally, after 3 years, we will be a normal family again. The kids are ecstatic.
What’s your worst moving story?
2012/09/12
My Daughter Thinks I’m Ugly

Talk about your body image being crushed. My daughter thinks I’m ugly. She told me that I’m prettier on the “inside” than I am on the outside. She even qualified it by saying, “Mommy, I’ve lived on the inside, so I should know.” She told me this last week.
I won’t lie; I wasn’t looking particularly pretty on that day. If I remember correctly, I was wearing yoga pants, a tank top and my hair was pulled back in a disheveled ponytail. You know, the same thing I wore yesterday and the day before and probably today. Isn’t that the standard new Mommy uniform? It is in my house. Or maybe I’m just too tired to care lately. It’s been a hectic summer with lots of changes and little sleep.
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2012/08/28
Will All the Politicians Kindly Back the Eff out of My Uterus?
What constitutes a rape? Apparently, some politicians are confused about this term.
During an interview the congressman and U.S. Senate candidate, Todd Akin, was asked whether abortion should be allowed in the case of rape.
Akin’s response was that it was his understanding from doctors that it’s rare for someone to become pregnant from rape. He said, “The female body has ways to try and shut that whole thing down.”
He went on to say that punishment should be on the rapist and not the child.
How about the punishment be on the rapist and NOT on the victim of his rape? How about that Mr. Akin?
‘But I believe deeply in the protection of all life and I do not believe that harming another innocent victim is the right course of action.’
“Governor Romney and Congressman Ryan disagree with Mr. Akin’s statement,” the campaign said. “A Romney-Ryan administration would not oppose abortion in instances of rape.”
You know what I hear? Blah, blah, blah let’s backpedal ourselves away from this one as fast as we can. Are we changing our way of thinking? Hell no! Are we stupid enough to say we support this now? Hell no! We’ll put those bitches in their place after we are elected.
What gives a politician the right to pass judgment and decide when a woman can or cannot get an abortion? It’s legal. We don’t need your fucking permission. Good for you that you don’t openly oppose it but it’s not your business to oppose. I think it’s ridiculous that a bunch of old, fat, white men get the power to determine what all the women of the country get to do with their bodies.
When did it become government’s business to differentiate whether or not a rape is “legitimate” or not? “Forcible” or not? What the fuck does that even mean? Rape is rape, you asshole.
The definition of rape:
A criminal offense defined in most states as forcible sexual relations with a person against that person’s will.
That means someone had sex with a woman (I know it happens to men too but for the sake of this argument, I am going to refer to the victim as a woman) and she didn’t consent. She could have screamed bloody murder and yelled no as loud as her voice would allow. She could have fought and scratched and gouged his eyes out. Or she could have been on a date with a cute boy that she liked and said no but her date decided to go on any ways. She could be married and told her drunk husband no and he forcibly had sex with her. She could have been at a frat party for the first time, drank too much and been left behind by her friends, passed out and been taken advantage of. Or she could have been with her boyfriend of 5 years and said she didn’t want to have sex and he tied her up and did it anyways. She could have been in her home, minding her own business when an intruder broke in, grabbed her walking up the stairs, walking to the university library or on her way to class and forcibly had sexual relations with her. She could be a little girl who has a perverted uncle. If a man forces a woman to have sex against her will…that is rape.
Rape is not love. Rape is not sex. Rape is not something that she asked for. Rape is not something that she deserves. Rape is a weak person doing an angry thing to hurt an innocent person. I don’t give a shit if she was dancing on tables, walking around with her vagina hanging out of the bottom of her skirt, her breasts exposed and she was flirting with you. If we say no, it means no and if you have sex with us anyways, you have just committed rape.
Apparently, the male politicians in this country have taken it upon themselves to declare war on women’s reproductive rights.
Do they really believe that women can will their bodies to not be pregnant or be pregnant? What are we sorcerers? This isn’t a movie. Take a damn biology class boys. If that were a true statement, then we would not have so many women who desperately want children but can’t have them and we certainly wouldn’t have the multitudes of women who are destroyed by the loss of their babies. But apparently if it’s a “Legitimate” rape our body knows to shut it down. Fuck you Mr. Akin!
I know Romney and Ryan are distancing themselves from Akin but the problem is that his opinion is not the minority in the Republican house. He just happens to be the moron who said it out loud in an interview. The government, democrat and republicans alike, have made it their mission to tell us women what we can and cannot do with our bodies.
Now, they are going so far to try to tell women whether or not the rape they survived was actually rape at all.
Need I remind you of the trans-vaginal ultrasounds in the case of all abortions, Georgia State Representative Terry England comparing women to farm animals and trying to pass legislation that is a baby dies in utero women should have to carry it to term or let it pass on its own, NYC’s Mayor Bloomberg mandating that women get a “talking to” before they can choose formula over breastfeeding because obviously we need the guidance of a man to teach us what is best for us.
Let me tell you what, I don’t even go to a male gynecologist because I believe that unless your legs have been in those cold stirrups and you’ve had the experience of a speculum being shoved uncomfortably into your cervix then you have no idea what that feels like. I don’t care how many damn books you’ve read about giving birth or how many babies you’ve delivered, if you have not pushed a 15-inch head from your uterus through the birth canal and out of your vagina then you don’t know what it feels like. Stop pretending you do. I don’t know what it feels like to be kicked in the balls and I don’t pretend to. I would never pass legislation that required men to suck it up, rub some dirt on it and carry on. Why? Because I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about because I don’t have a penis and balls.
It seems the United States government is making it’s disdain for abortions and those women who get them, for whatever reason, very clear. I am in no way pro-abortion. I could never get one myself, especially since having children but I am pro-choice. Every woman has the right to choose what is best for her and her body. We are not animals. We are not children. We don’t need your advice. We don’t need your punishment and we certainly do not need your permission.
Where does this stop? Today it’s abortions in the case of rape, next they will take D & C’s and D & E’s off the table. These are medically necessary extractions of fetal tissue from women who have lost their pregnancies but what’s to stop some random male politician who isn’t a doctor from deeming it unethical or immoral? Then what happens? Then women start dying in droves because contrary to Akin we can not dictate what our uterus will do with a pregnancy.
Women, this is your call to action. We have to vote to preserve our rights over our own bodies. We deserve the right to choose what happens with our own reproduction. Stand up and vote in November. Get up early before you take the kids to school. Do it while they are there. Do it on your lunch hour. Hire a babysitter. Do whatever you need to but vote because the alternative is to give your reproductive rights over to the Akin’s of the world. To not vote is to allow rape to be quantified.

Rape is Rape

Also, I am guest posting at Scary Mommy today and would love if you would go check out Some Things Change Your Forever. You will understand why women’s reproductive rights are so very close to my heart.
Photo
2012/08/23
Control ~ Master of My Own Destiny
Out of Control House
I am a control freak. I have always been a control. Type-A personality doesn’t even begin to describe the control freak I am. I feel the need to control every single aspect of my life and when something is out of place, I seek out control like a heat seeking missile. (more…)
2012/07/11
Throat Punch Thursday~ 10-year-old Girl gives Birth Edition
10-year-old Girl Gives Birth, say what?
What is the world coming to when a 10-year-old girl gives birth? Where have all the adults gone in this scenario? Why was no one taking care of this little 10-year old-girl? She is supposed to be playing with baby dolls, hanging out with friends and awaiting puberty. A 10-year -old girl should not be giving birth to a baby; she is practically a baby herself. There are so many deserving recipients of today’s Throat Punch Thursday but I was particularly taken aback by this story, probably because I have daughters of my own.

The headline, “10-year-old Girl Gives Birth in Colombia” is one that begs to be read and further investigated. According to Primer Impacto, a 10-year old girl who lives in Colombia, reportedly arrived at a hospital in the past week bleeding and in a great pain.This visit to the emergency room was her first prenatal care visit. The baby, which was full-term, required a Caesarean section in the birth, doctors told Primer Impacto. Perhaps this was because she is a child and her pelvic area is still growing not meant to be large enough to pass a baby through her vaginal canal, like a grown woman’s might be. Doctors said that she did barely understood what was happening in the moment she was giving birth. The baby was born a 5 pound 6 ounce baby girl that was 14.5 inches long. The mother ,herself, is only 4 foot 7 inches tall. It scares me even more that the baby was a girl because what does that mean? Perhaps, in 10 more years, we will read about her giving birth or worse, maybe by then it will not be shocking but expected for children to be having sex and giving birth.
The 10-year-old who gave birth is a member of the Wayuu tribe, an indigenous group in the La Guajira Peninsula in northern Colombia and Venezuela, which reports say has kept quiet about the pregnancy and about the identity of the baby’s father.
Colombian authorities told Primer Impacto that they are considering various ways to address the girl’s pregnancy, and any charges against the father.
Authorities said that the tribe follows its own laws, and that law enforcement and elected officials are trying to balance how to handle whomever impregnated the girl with showing respect for the tribe’s sovereignty.
Respect for the tribe’s sovereignty? Where was the respect for this child and her innocence? Where was the respect for her body? Where was the respect for her childhood? Screw the tribe’s sovereignty, apparently they can’t keep their monsters on leashes.
10-year-old Girl gives birth, no one protected her
My throat punch does not go to a 10-year-old girl who gives birth.My Throat Punch goes to the very much deserving 15-year-old animal who had sex with a child and got her pregnant. It goes to the parents who did not keep close enough watch over their baby girl or protect her from the monsters of the world. My throat punch goes to the Wayuu tribe who have protected the identity of the animal who raped this child and impregnated her and who have decided that it was consensual sex. How can a child give consent on something she does not even understand? WTF? It also goes to the Wayuu tribe who probably will not prosecute this man. A hefty throat Punch also goes to our society who tries to rationalize co-ed sleepovers, children having sex at 11 and 12 years old, kids thinking that oral sex is not sex and therefore its fine to do, and giving condoms to elementary school aged children. If I hear one more lazy parent tell me that we need to provide children with condoms so that they don’t get STD’s or worse, get pregnant ( because lazy parents certainly don’t want to be bothered or burdened with grand kids) I just might scream. We need to protect our children, we need to talk to our children, we need to parent our children! **I am not talking to you parents who do it all right and explain sex, birth control and the consequences. I know there is only so much that we can do. We teach them but we can not be with them 24 hours a day. We have to parent and keep an open dialogue. If they don’t listen or heed our parenting, that is something different entirely. I’m talking about the parents who bypass the hard part of long talks and aggravation and go straight for passing out condoms.
Why do we need to accept this as status quo? Why do we just need to let this happen? Giving condoms? You are helping it happen. Being too lazy to parent your children? You are helping this happen. I’m here to tell you that kids having sex at 11 and 12 is not normal. Teach your kids to have some control. Teach your kids some consequences. Parent your kids and teach them some morals. Protect your kids from the pedophiles and perverts that lurk. Teach your children that if someone tried to have sex with them when they are children, there is something wrong with that person…not that child. Let them know they can talk to you. We have to take responsibility for the state of our society. We are not helping our children by teaching them that it’s fine to be sexually active as long as they wear a condom. That is teaching them that they can do anything they want without consequence.
This little girl is just a product of our society. She is a child who was taken advantage of and not protected, when she should have been. The problem is not 10-year-old girls giving birth. The problem is animals allowing 10-year-olds to be objectified sexually and other animals acting upon that objectification.

Hope you will link up your Throat Punch Thursday posts with me. I wanted to extend a personal invite to all of you to link up any posts in which you air a grievance, call out any asshatery,or just dole out a well deserved throat punch to one of societies shortcomings or political douche canoes. If not this week, I do it EVERY single Thursday and would love for any or all of you to join in! All you have to do is grab the Throat Punch Thursday button ( listed under the “about” tab at the top of the page), put it in your blog post and link up!
What do you think about a 10-year-old girl gives birth?
10-year-old Girl gives Birth, not the first or the last

2012/04/12
Throat Punch Thursday ~ Trayvon Martin & the Racist Vigilante Edition
Trayvon Martin this one’s for you
This week’s Throat Punch is being given out in honor of Trayvon Martin. As a mother, my heart aches for Trayvon Martin’s parents. As a human, I am outraged. As a minority, I am fighting mad. This week’s Throat Punch is awarded to George Zimmerman the vigilante bigot who thought it was appropriate to shoot a boy in cold blood for the simple fact that the color of his skin was brown. I know that bigots are afraid of anyone different, especially when the packaging is a darker shade or two than their own skin. This is not the first time this has happened nor do I suspect this will be the last.
Trayvon Martin was a Good Kid
Trayvon Martin, from all accounts, was a good kid who happened to come across a not so good adult with a trigger happy finger. I can’t imagine the pain and anger that Trayvon Martin’s parents feel at the death of their son nor do I ever want to know it. Isn’t every parent’s biggest fear that their child is going to come into harms way? A rogue drunken driver, a stray bullet, a crazed assailant, cancer, abduction, stranger danger, choking on a raisin, getting hit by a car, wrecking while texting? There are so many ways that we worry about our children getting into harms way, every day. We don’t expect simply walking home from the store to be a particularly dangerous scenario. Walking home from the store should not be deadly, should it?
What is this world coming to that we can tolerate this sort of behavior? How can we stomach it as a people? Zimmerman says that it was self- defense. Evidence proves otherwise. Just because he was a racist who felt threatened by the color of a boy’s skin is not a legitimate reason for shooting Trayvon Martin dead and robbing his parents of their son forever. There will never be any little Trayvon Martin’s running to his mother’s lap. She will not see her son graduate from school. She will not get to dance the Mother/ son dance at Trayvon’s wedding. She will not get to see the man her son was supposed to become. She will never get to know that man. He will not be there in her old age to hold her hand and comfort her at the end. Now, his parents are left with a giant void in their chest where their heart used to be. The great joy they once knew upon seeing that baby Trayvon Martin be born has been replaced by pain and hatred. Hatred for George Zimmerman.
Nothing can make this right. Apparently, the big debate now is whether or not George Zimmerman used a racial slur when addressing Trayvon Martin. Truly, the fact remains, whether he used a slur or not, that he is a bigot and shot Trayvon Martin in cold blood for no other reason that he felt threatened. Zimmerman was threatened for the simple fact that he had a predisposed notion to feel afraid of black men. This is racism, whether there is a slur attached or not. The sentiment is the same. The result the same. Trayvon Martin is still dead.
Trayvon Martin may you Rest in Peace
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2012/03/22
How to Write a Media Kit for your Blog
What Do You want Your Media Kit to Say about You?
How to write Media Kit for your Blog ~ We all want to know where to begin when writing our media kit but it’s one of those secrets of the trade that no one wants to share. On the rare occasion that someone actually gives you feedback, it’s cryptic and vague. I am here to decode it for you.I figured since I already spilled the beans on how to write a Mommy blog and how to navigate Twitter, the next logical step is how to write a media kit for your blog. Above is a screenshot of my current media kit. There are two pages in total. This is page one.I came up with my media kit by doing lots of research on the internet, consulting other ( more experienced) bloggers to look it over and having those people who actually receive sponsorship proposals to give me their honest feedback. I hope this post is helpful to you. If it is, don’t be stingy pass it on to your fellow bloggers and leave me a comment with any questions or suggestions that you might have.
- Contact information. For the love of God, make it easy for companies to contact you via your media kit, your blog, etc. If you don’t, do not be surprised when no one contacts you. You can’t pitch companies to work with you or to sponsor you to conferences if you are not even professional enough to make yourself easily accessible on your blog and media kit. They want to know that if they need to reach you, they can. Make it easy. Be accessible.
- Your blog the Brand. Your blog is a representation of you. Your media kit should reflect your blog’s brand. What message are you trying to send? I would advise using the same color scheme and graphics that emphasize your brand. If someone is familiar with your blog, there should be no mistaking that your media kit is for your blog. I even include a screen shot of my blog within my media kit. Same color scheme, same theme across the board…blog, media kit, business cards, Facebook landing page, Twitter background.
- The Right Pitch. An elevator pitch is a short, concise explanation of what you do. What is your blog about? The TRUTH about Motherhood is a brutally honest, laugh out loud funny, raw account of navigating this new lifestyle that we Mommies find ourselves drowning in after having children. It’s what happens after the “They all live happily ever after” takes place.
Your Media Kit is Your Online Introduction
- What’s Your niche? What’s a Niche? Where do you fit into the grand scheme of your niche? Ask not what the company can do for you but what your blog can do for the company. After you’ve stated your elevator pitch, you can now give an explanation of your blog’s niche (Mommy Blog) , why you are an important part of that niche ( I’ve spent the past three years blogging, building my brand and growing my community), and why you are a good fit with a potential vendor or PR representative ( because I am well respected and known. I am trusted and people know me via my blog. I’m more than a nameless face behind a computer. I have laughed and cried with my community. We’ve consoled one another,cheered one another on and helped one another through difficult wins and losses. We are friends). This is the place to sell your brand. What makes you a better fit than the next blogger? What can you do that is unique?
- Statistics. When discussing traffic statistics, include the following; total monthly page views, uniques, feed subscribers, new visitors, pages per visit and time on site. I also include my social media reach. This includes my Twitter followers, Klout score ( though after they reconfigured the algorithm, Klout has killed everyone’s score), Facebook Friends/ Fans, Google Page rank and Alexa Traffic. Definitely include your social media reach because even if you only have 300 blog followers but you have 10,000 Twitter followers or 3000 Facebook fans, your reach is far wider than you might think. If you have it, provide a link to your portfolio so potential partners can see that you are diverse and that you reach is even greater. Don’t hide your light under a bushel. Be loud and proud but not obnoxious.
- Just how influential are you, really? If you don’t feel like your statistics are as high as you would like them to be, focus on your influence and how you reach a specific audience. Include your demographics, especially if your key demographic reflects that of the company you are trying to work with. Your influence isn’t just online. Do you have a large circle of people who you influence in real life? Are you active at your child’s school? Church? The Junior League? Any social groups? Also include awards you’ve received that are relevant to your influence. This exemplifies your reach. Mention it.
- Advertising Guidelines and Pricing. I don’t put cost information in my media kit but rather have them contact me directly for more information. If you are going to provide specifics, I recommend; What sizes of advertising will you offer (e.g., 125×125, 120×600)? How much does each size ad cost for a week? A month? A year? Will you give discounts for clients who book advertising over several months time? I also provide a laundry list of different ways that we can work together; i.e.
If this was helpful, please share it and since GFC is abandoning us Wordpress blogs in March please consider subscribing via RSS or email.Give the company no excuse to not work with you. Make yourself available and irresistible. If you only have one chance to make a first impression and everyone judges a book by it’s cover, let your media kit be the right cover on the book of your blog.
Let Your Media Kit Make a Statement
2012/02/14
Navigating the Play Date Arena ~Breaking Up is Hard to Do
Breaking Up is hard to do even with your play date~ We’ve all been there. That’s the moment in a relationship when you know it’s not going anywhere, and its certainly not moving forward, that’s the moment that you know its over. (more…)
2012/01/11