The TRUTH About Motherhood

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Preschoolers on Twitter
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She just realized that she Tweeted her Home address to a Pedophile
Twitter and the Preschooler~ The French have once again outdone us in the parenting realm. They are so progressive. Apparently, first they go all Bringing Up Bébé on our asses and try to prove that they can get results as good as that of the Tiger Mom Amy Chua without all the beatings and chaining to the piano. Now, they’ve gone and started the bébé’s out in social media before they are even out of diapers. Bravo! Awesome that their kids can tweet “ Ma mère suce”(My Mom sucks) while simultaneously screaming from the toilet for you to come wipe their ass.
Bébes on Twitter
The French are so evolved and cosmopolitan, it’s no wonder all of their women are thin and perfect. They’ve got it all figured out. While we are here obsessing over our love-handles and trying to diet and get healthy, they just eat and smoke whatever they desire and still look amazing in their designer clothing they bought at the neighborhood trunk show. Us poor Americans with our très stupide purse parties and Tupperware, no wonder our kids throw tantrums and talk back. We can’t even get a handle on our socialization skills. Fucking Americans buying our clothes at Target and attachment parenting.
We have no control over our children. We are so busy helicoptering and loving our children that we just don’t know how to Ferberize and mind meld them at the necessary levels to be allowed to use them as accessories. Wait? Why did we have these kids again? Oh yeah, the tax write off of course.
Twitter for the under 5 set
Sorry, I’m off on a tangent. The point is this; there is a French preschool near Bordeaux, France where the 29 preschool students are posting daily tweets. They only post one tweet a day and it is a group project so that all the kids can help decide what to post. Then two of the children are selected to type the actual group composed tweet. It’s supposed to be an exercise in learning the alphabet. What happened? Is our antiquated alphabet flashcards not doing the trick anymore?
The tweets are fairly innocuous tweets like “We gathered snow to see how it turns into water.” Cute right?
I don’t think so. I live on Twitter and I LOVE twitter. I want to have Twitter’s babies but I’m also a saucy foul-mouthed hooligan. Letting preschoolers on Twitter is like dropping a 7 year old off in a bar and then being surprised when they are cursing, smell like smoke, drunk and screaming ” woohoo, that’s my jam!”
Why not wait until they are old enough to have the reasoning skills to handle Twitter. Can’t we just let our preschoolers be kids for a little while longer? What’s the rush?
Preschoolers can’t read or write. It’s sort of like knowing how to insert a tampon without actually having a vagina. Why?
The class Twitter account has 89 followers, most of them parents, the rest of them pedophiles ( probably). If the preschoolers insist on maintaining this account, at least read this post about how to responsibly use Twitter.
What do you think about preschoolers having a twitter account? Is this the natural progression of social media? Would you want your preschooler on Twitter? Would you allow it? Would you be comfortable with your 4 year old composing tweets and sharing thoughts on Twitter?
Twitter a Pedo’s Paradise
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2012/02/22
A Thousand Years
It seems like it’s been A Thousand Years since I first found out that I was going to be a mother for the third time. It’s been 3 months today since that test showed two lines. I was surprised and exhilarated and scared all in that moment. But mostly I was unexpectedly blessed beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve always wanted three children but it just didn’t seem to be in the cards and then it was and now it’s not. Mother’s Day was yesterday. This was my 7th Mother’s day. Every year, I thank God for blessing me with my beautiful children.Now, I know to thank God for my children every second of every day. I’ve always known that some women were not so lucky to be sitting, holding their children in their lap on Mother’s day but I never honestly knew their pain. The lingering emptiness and void that remains long after a baby is gone.
I have been waiting for you for a thousand years
I’ve always felt like I don’t deserve my children. I have days when I am grouchy and sometimes I am less patient than my girls deserve. I lose my temper and say “No” to a lot of requests to what seems to me to be frivolous requests. I rush them and hush them. But what if they weren’t there to ask? Then what? I’d give my life to be sure that they are here so why not give in to frivolous requests? Because maybe those requests are not so frivolous after all. I am now painfully aware how very important every moment of every day is with my children. I had to learn this lesson the hard way.
Yesterday, I had lots of love sent my way. I thought I would be okay. It’s been two weeks since I saw that life changing ultrasound. I’ll NEVER be over it. I will never forget the baby that I was looking forward to introducing to my family this Thanksgiving. I feel like I loved that baby for a thousand years and I know I will love him for a thousand more. As far as I am concerned, I am the mommy of three babies. I just never got the privilege of holding my third baby in my arms. I feel robbed and cheated and sad. But a little part of me, feels grateful that I ever got the chance to feel that incredible love that a mommy can only feel for the baby growing inside her. It’s been a hard two weeks, the hardest of my entire life. I am learning to live in my new normal.
I have loved You for a Thousand Years
I feel like a ticking time bomb of emotions. The song that was playing that morning as we drove to the hospital, the very same song that I sang to my belly in the car the week before, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, every time I hear it I bitter-sweetly smile at what might have been and cry at what I had to lose to truly appreciate what I had. I have new perspective. Mother’s Day to me is a day to give thanks for all the beautiful mother’s in my life.A day to appreciate the power of a mother’s love.
My mother who loves me so much that she stepped back to allow me to feel my pain at my request, knowing that, as a mother, all she wanted to do was run to me and comfort me. My sister, who lost her own angel, 10 years ago. I never understood the solitude in her pain and I now wish that I could just wrap her in love and make everything alright for her. She is so brave and beautiful. I admire her for her heart. My baby sister, who just celebrated her first Mother’s day but loves me so much that she held me as I cried and felt my pain so that the force of it did not kill me. To all my friends who have never felt this loss but love me so much that they surrounded me with love, prayer and understanding and to all of the beautiful friends and strangers who I am joined to forever in our loss., my heart goes out to all of you because I know how hard it is to lose something that means so very much. Please hold those babies you can in your arms every day and be thankful they are there and hold the ones that are not, in your heart where they will live and be a part of you forever.
I’ll Love you for a thousand More
Today is a new beginning. Today, I am rising from beneath the rubble of my heart. I am summoning all of my strength and I will get up out of bed, love my children with all that I am, live my life and be thankful for all the wonderful people and opportunities that I have been given. I am counting my blessings, wiping my tears away and coming back to life. I am no longer who I once was and things that seemed so important last month have no importance at all today. My priority is my family; my husband who has been my rock and my beautiful daughters who light up my life and show me how very precious life is and how very blessed I am to have them.
Positive, how long I’ve waited for this
An unnatural calm has over taken me
I am happy but afraid to be excited
Afraid my joy will be sort lived and snatched away
My whole life this was the moment I was meant for
But maybe it’s not to be, maybe it’s the cruelest joke
To give such a precious git & take it away just as quickly
I feel a sick feeling in my stomach which accompanies the thought of losing you
I pray to God to spare me this misery
To let us be together until the sunset of my life!
The above quote was written July of 2004 when I was spotting with my first pregnancy.
2012/05/14
Everything, I Never Knew, I Always Wanted
Naming Your Baby is Giving them a Sense of Self
Naming your baby is a big decision. The minute we knew we were having a baby girl, we knew exactly that we would name her Bella. It had nothing to do with a Grandmother who had passed away; if that were the case our firstborn would have been named Daisy Militine. I did not name her after my best friends, as my mother had done me; if that were the case our firstborn would have been named Julia Nicole. There was no long drawn out ceremony of pouring over baby name books for months on end.There was a movie.
The Big Guy and I watched Fools Rush In together in the fall of 2007. We met and began dating on September 29^th while we were both in our last year at Purdue. We watched the movie together over the Thanksgiving break. This movie will always hold a very special place in our hearts because it was the catalyst for the Big Guy to propose to me. The Big Guy saw our relationship reflected in the main characters (minus the unplanned pregnancy). He came into my life like a whirlwind and unexpectedly swept me off of my feet. He was everything, I never knew, I always wanted. He proposed 2 months later.
Naming Your Baby is their Trademark for Life
Why did we name our daughter after a character in a movie? Because that character in that innocuous, comedic love story changed our lives in the biggest way possible. We knew that the birth of our baby would change our lives in ways that we could never have imagined. None of it would have been possible if we had not sat on his parents’ couch late one Saturday night and watched that video. Naming our daughter after a movie that changed the course of our history seemed like the right thing to do. She is a constant reminder of how lucky we are to have found one another at a time when neither of us was looking.
I spoke to my baby in utero addressing her as Bella for months before she was born. The moment I held her in my arms, it was like finally meeting someone I had known my entire life. She completed us. She made us a family and not just a couple. She was our Bella. She is beautiful, smart, funny and witty and everything a parent could ever hope for in a child. Just like her Daddy and her sister after her, she was (and is) everything, I never knew, I always wanted.
It was easy for us to decide on our baby’s name. How did you decide on your baby’s name? Or do you have a great story on how your parents decided on your name? Tell me for a chance to win a year’s supply of cards from Cardstore.com!
In celebration of the 8 women who are pregnant, Cardstore.com has expanded their offering of birth announcements!
Official Sweepstakes Rules. This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Cardstore. The opinions and text about naming your baby are all mine.
Naming a Baby is Giving them A Tagline in the World
2012/07/03
Happiness is a Sight to Behold

Sight or Sound, which would you choose? When I was young, and we’d play that game, would you rather, and I was asked, “Would you rather lose your sight or your hearing?” My answer was always, hands down; I’d rather lose my sight. Why you ask? I absolutely loved music. I know there is a soundtrack to everyone’s life but I need to hear mine. Music and my soundtrack make the movie of my life worth watching, or it did. Then I gave birth to my daughters.
Now, I cannot imagine not being able to see my children’s faces as they grow from newborns to grown women. I don’t want to miss a moment of it. Every ounce of enthusiasm that I put into music has been focused on photographing my girls. I want to remember it all and I want references for years to come.
I cannot imagine not being able to see their little faces when they do something for the first time or getting their knowing looks when they are scared, overwhelmed or sad. Those looks are ones that only a parent can decipher. How could I stand it if I missed a cue to swoop in and rescue them; to make it all better? I certainly can’t imagine a world where I couldn’t have seen their tiny, squished little faces when they were first born. Honestly, the thought of missing that moment is unthinkable.
I couldn’t be happy knowing that I was missing the most important moments of their lives; satisfaction when they dance on stage in the ballet, pride when they graduate or achieve a long sought after goal, happiness when they see their groom for the first time as they walk down the aisle or the overwhelming gratitude that will fill their hearts when they first set eyes on their own babies at birth. I can live without hearing these moments, though I prefer not to. I don’t know if I could survive not seeing them happen.
My sight is what commits the moments of their life to my memory like the memory that I have of when the girls were 5 and 3 and we went into the city for the day to see The Emperor’s New Clothes at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater. I remember getting the girls dressed that morning and driving into the city. It was a beautiful June day and I could see the excitement in the girls’ faces as their eyes widened, as the skyscrapers got larger and larger as we approached them. The girls wore matching dresses and were talking a mile a minute on the drive. Their elation was palpable and contagious. The Big Guy and I smiled the entire drive into the city.
Father & Daughters, Sight of true love
We arrived at Navy Pier. The girls became even more excited when the Ferris wheel and all the people and hustle at Navy pier came into sight. It was their first trip to Navy Pier. My sister, her husband and my nephew met us to watch the show. It all felt so comfortable and normal and it was so nice to be sharing it with my sister. We watched the show. Well everyone else watched the theater production as I watched the girls’ faces as they smiled and giggled at the characters on stage. They were enthralled by the production and I was captivated by them.
The day went on and the memories just compiled; blue skies, the warm sun on our backs as we walked along the boardwalk. The belly aching laughter, lunch with my sister’s family in a familiar jaunt, the smell of the lake reaching up to meet the sweet smells of Garrets popcorn that permeated every square inch of the pier that day made it the perfect day.
I love sharing the places of my childhood with my children and seeing the wonder and excitement in their eyes that I share of the city I love. This was a day that I was grateful for my vision because without it, I would not have been able to see the looks on their faces. The happiness, the wonder and the magic would have been lost.
I received compensation to participate in a SocialMoms and Transitions Optical blogging program. The opinions and ideas expressed here are my own. To read more posts on this topic, click here.
If you are at the Taste of Chicago this year, stop by the Transitions both and have your vision checked for free so that you don’t miss out on the most cherished sights of your life.
What are the most cherished sights in your life?
2012/07/10
Anatomy of a Mommy Blogger

Mommy Blogger Means Mommy who Blogs
When did Mommy Blogger become a bad word? The other day, I was accused by one of my readers at another site I write for ( not you ladies, you rock), who apparently doesn’t know me like you all do, of sitting around in my robe all day and thinking up these “ridiculous” articles. I wish! I believe the article was one in which I compared “real” (meaning those of us who are not celebrities. Not meaning to imply that Beyoncé is not a “real” mom because obviously if she has a baby and is taking care of it, she is “real” not imaginary.) Well, apparently Beyoncé reads that website because someone certainly attacked me for that remark and the only person who I can think of that should get that defensive about Beyoncé would be Beyoncé herself or her mama.
Then it hit me, this is what people think of mommy bloggers. They think we sit around in our pajamas all day, eating bon bons and pecking away at the keyboard while we ignore our kids and live in perpetual squalor. It is no wonder, women writers are so afraid of that title. I assure you that I do not fit any of the stereotypes that people think of when they think of “mommy blogger”. In fact, I’m pretty sure most mommy bloggers don’t.
This illusion of a mommy blogger is not feasible if you think about it because by the very definition of “mommy blogger” we have children, have given birth and/or are pregnant. This does not allow much time for sitting on our asses and eating bon bons though I wish it did. I have never eaten or seen a bon bon in my life because I have kids. Bon bons would never last in my house. As soon as I would try to put one in my mouth some little person would be in my ear asking for a bite and just as suddenly in my mouth snatching it away.
If anything, a Mommy blogger should be defined as a wonder woman like creature who has given birth, is raising children, has the balls and presumably some talent to write about it openly. I also happen to live like a functioning yet severely affected ADHD patient.
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A Mommy Blogger is a Multitasker Extraordinare
I sit down to write during naps.Five minutes in someone usually yells out for me. I walk past a toy in the hallway and pick it up. Then I walk into the bedroom to be told that little Suzy needs a drink of water. I grab her hamper and carry the clothes to the laundry room and start the washer. While the washer is filling, I walk to the cupboard to grab a cup. I fill the cup and then I wash the few dishes that are in the sink. I load the washer, walk back to the child’s bedroom and hand her the water. She asks for a tissue. I walk into the bathroom to grab a tissue. Clean the sink and make it free of toothpaste. I pick up the wet towels from this morning. I walk back across the hall, hand Suzy a tissue, give her a kiss and walk towards the laundry room. Out the corner of my eye, I see that the living room coffee table is covered in puzzles and coloring books and the cushions need to be fluffed. I take the laundry to the laundry room. As I walk through the kitchen towards the living room, I see that there are crumbs from breakfast on the table. I grab the sponge and begin to wipe the table. My phone dings. I have a text message from my husband. I call the insurance company to ask about a statement. While I listen to musak, I fluff pillows and put away puzzles. The living room is tidy. I take the pillow the girls drug from my bedroom back to my bed. Musak continues. I notice I still need to fix my bed. I fluff the comforter and realize there are loveys in my bed. More musak. I finish fluffing my pillows and straightening my bed then I walk across the hall to put the lovey on my youngest daughters shelf. Musak is still playing. She stirs and I have to stop what I am doing and soothe her back to sleep. Tip toeing out of the room, the musak suddenly stops and a very loud insurance agent yells, “Mary Jane Magilicutty, How may I help you?” Startled, I run out of the room. 20 minutes later, I am done being transferred, pressing one and explaining to this agent the extent of my stress incontinence. I am about to lose my mind. I walk to my desk to continue writing my article that I started an hour ago when the kids first went down for their nap. Shit! I forgot I need a cup of coffee. I walk to the coffee maker and begin the process of making a cup. I can’t find the creamer. I go in search of the creamer. It’s at the very back of the refrigerator behind the apple juice, organic milk and leftovers. I finally get to it and the apple juice, whose lid was apparently not closed, falls out of the refrigerator and spills on the ground. 20 minutes and a lot of cussing later I am headed back to my desk with tepid coffee after mopping up the juice. I walk over to my desk, sit down and type one sentence and a little one walks up to me and tells me they are awake. Breathe. Wait. Repeat. That, my friends, is the day in the life of a Mommy blogger.
This is my day, every day. I work in 5-minute increments and then I stay up until the wee hours of the night to make up the difference. Bon bons? I can barely sneak in a minute to eat a piece of stale cold toast. So don’t tell me that Beyoncé does more than me before 8 am because I am still asleep and then I sit in my robe all day. Hey fuck you! I run circles around Beyoncé. She has a team of people to do what she does. I am a team of one for most of the day. It’s just short people, who I can barely understand, and me. Being a Mommy blogger means I not only do all the Mommy duties of my day, I throw in researching, writing and thinking up interesting things to say.Well, things to say. Do you have any idea how hard that is when I have a raging case of Mommy brain, 2 little ones in my ear talking about everything that has ever happened to them and anyone they know and trying to remember birthdays, anniversaries, appointments, meetings and deadlines?
It’s hard but I do it because I LOVE it. I love my girls, I love my husband, I love my job and I want it all. Am I exhausted? Yes. Do I say some things that are irreverent? Yes, I am too tired to over think it. Do I make mistakes? Hell, yeah. Do I feel mental? Yes. So throat punch to anyone who thinks mommy bloggers sit around in their robes all day. Now, pass the fucking bon bons, I’m hungry, exhausted and I have a deadline and I’ve only got 5 minutes before the kids wake up again.
What do you think when you hear the word Mommy blogger?
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2012/07/12
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
Throat Punch Thursday ~ When Plagiarism Affects More than Just your Traffic
Plagiarism can be deadly

Plagiarism strikes again. I can’t even believe that this has happened. When I got the pingback to my blog and I saw where my post ended up, my stomach dropped. One of my worst nightmares realized.Not the fact that assholes were copying form websites ( thought that does chap my ass) but the fact of where they copied it to. I was horrified and quite literally, sick to my stomach. I had become one of the things I hate the most in the world, a proponent for the very thing that almost destroyed my life; the disease that cold have killed me.
I sit at my computer and I type away pouring out my heart and soul. I never really stop to think about how what I am writing can be twisted and construed. I don’t write in respect to reviews. I write raw and uncensored. I know the whole story and sometimes, I forget that some of my readers ( depending where I am writing) only have a glimpse into my life. They have no idea about who I am and my thoughts, beliefs. They get a snippet, a writer’s soundbite and they form, usually, not too flattering and often strong opinions about me. It does hurt, especially when they are condemning me and I can’t even respond but that is the price I pay for being a blogger. I open my story up to others, I have to take the criticism with the flattery but I will not stand silently for someone using plagiarism to twist my story into something that supports the slow suicide of many of today’s teens.
My blog paints a family portrait, giving only a brief synopsis of what is going on in my life. I share because, for me, writing is catharsis. This is how I process all the madness without needing an asylum. You know that moment when you are so engaged in the moment that you write completely with your heart, no thought or censor needed? Those are the best posts because connections are made with your readers but they are also the posts that plagiarist prey upon.. Readers are smart, they can usually see through all the rainbows and sunshine in a heartbeat. They are not falling for the smoke up their asses. It might feel warm and fuzzy in the beginning but soon, it’s just saccharin and sticky and who wants that? So, I tell the truth like many of you do. Then something really fucked up happens and it makes me reconsider everything.
Plagiarism in the wrong hands can do a lot of damage
I can’t talk vaguely about this because it makes no sense so I will be completely honest without linking to these idiots. Most of you are very aware that I have struggled with eating disorders in my past. I am now an advocate for healthy living and I share my story, embarrassing as it may be to me, to help others know they are not alone and that recovery may be ongoing but it is possible. The other day I wrote a post about body dysmorphic disorder and then I found it on a ProAna site. For those of you who are unaware, ProAna is Pro Anorexic. It is a site that says that it doesn’t encourage eating disorders but believe me, they do. They have the live and let die stance on anorexia. They are a resource for those who need a support forum to kill themselves with eating disorders. It’s a group who understands and embraces the anorexic and her disorder. They my not chant “Starve, starve, starve” but they certainly tell you how to do it, how to hide it and rationalize it. These sites disgust me and I think they should be outlawed.
So, when they took my post about my own story of living with body dysmorphic disorder and plagiarized it on their site, I can only believe they are using it as a tool to advocate for anorexia to cure unsatisfactory feelings about their bodies. A site like this would not be using it as a tool to deter women from eating disorders. They just don’t do that. The thought that any of my writing could contribute to another another girl going down this path completely makes me sick.
This weeks throat punch most definitely goes to the ProAna site that used my post about living with Body Dysmorphic disorder and twisted into a tool to convince others that eating disorders are justified.Don’t worry, I got legal involved unfortunately, these shiesty fuckers have comments closed and are very sneaky. It’s not exactly the sort of site that you want to put your name all over, if you know what I mean? Bastards! Be warned there are worse things that plagiarist can do than JUST steal your content, they can twist your words into a weapon to hurt others.
What is the time your words have been taken out of context or twisted into something else and used in a way that you never meant it to be? Have you been the victim of plagiarism?
Plagiarism can do harm you never even considered

photo credit: Rega Photography via photopin cc
2012/10/18
Why I Won’t get an Elective Hysterectomy to cure my Uterine Fibroids
As a woman, after a certain age, that age is 30, seems like for every gynecological issue the final solution for everything is a hysterectomy. You’re spotting. Let’s give you a hysterectomy. Cramping. Hysterectomy. Heavy periods. Hysterectomy. Uterine fibroids or endometriosis? Hysterectomy. You stub your toe? Bump it, let’s throw out your uterus.
It’s not just me. I have loads of friends who have suddenly been recommended to get an “elective” hysterectomy. I don’t mean elective like getting your teeth whitened or vaginal rejuvenation. They mean, “well, you’re done having babies. You don’t need that thing anymore. Crampy? Tired of periods? Why not try floating ovaries on for size?” So does that mean since I won’t be breastfeeding anytime soon, we should just cut those off too?
I feel like it’s jumping the gun a little to offer to remove my parts just because things don’t run exactly as they used to. I mean, I’ve been pregnant three times and each time I was, it was like there was a little Oprah here in my uterus going, “And you get a uterine fibroid and you get a uterine fibroid and YOU GET A UTERINE FIBROID!” Heaven forbid you find out that you have endometriosis, they may not even ask. They’ll just go ahead and schedule you an appointment. As early as possible, it’s best to already educate yourself with the Treatment for uterine fibroids.
READ ALSO: The Gynecological Misadventures of a Millenial- ish Mom
There were two births and a D&C, things are not what they used to be. But, every 28 days, menstruation happens and every 14 days ovulation happens. My fatal mistake was that at my last appointment, I went in there complaining about my “heavy” periods. You know because I was getting tired of 5 days of heavy bleeding. Next thing you know, ” How about a hysterectomy, Debi? You have uterine fibroids that aren’t growing. You said yourself that you’re not going to have any more babies. Why not just get the “procedure”?
So the gynecology expert did my exam and lo and behold, my irritable cervix decided to have some breakthrough bleeding right during the exam. How damn rude. My doctor, knowing that I am a complete freak about these things sprung a surprise biopsy on me. Ironically, not the kind of surprise you want. It was like a painful pop quiz for my cervix. Remember, that deep cervix who is a major priss? She does not like to be poked and prodded. She needs a little tenderness.
I went from waiting for biopsy results, Mama’s first cancer scare, to biopsy-induced bleeding. My doctor said the heavy bleeding was most likely from the fibroids that are not growing but are pressing on my uterus and when I menstruate are causing heavy periods. These were my options. Can you guess the first one? A hysterectomy. Absolutely nothing wrong with me but since those pesky periods were annoying, let’s just take out that uterus of yours. Nope. Pass. Next, up, we can go in and surgically burn them to make them smaller. Lastly, we can just put you on some low dose progesterone birth control pills. Yes, I said. I will take option C. Also, why was the least invasive option given last?
READ ALSO: How to Explain Where Babies Come From
The catch was that I couldn’t start my birth control pills until I started my next regularly scheduled period. Which never came. Three months later, walking around feeling 13 months pregnant because I was so bloated I called my doctor and gave her the scoop. She said these things can happen. My uterus and cervix got all freaked out from the biopsy and like an anorexic’s body goes into starvation mode and tries to hoard calories, my uterus and ovaries were holding on to my eggs and lining like they were the last in the world.
Finally, I had a period. Oh and if I thought the “heavy” periods of before were bothersome, let me tell you what 3 months of built-up uterine lining exiting your body feels like. It was painful and “heavy” can not even come close to describing what happened to me. I was afraid to leave my house. It was like having spastic bowels but in your vagina.
I stuck it out for 3 months but basically, it felt like I was hemorrhaging all month long and remember the severe anemia I had? It’s back with a vengeance because my gynecologist made the connection, the uterine fibroids are causing the heavy bleeding which is causing the anemia. Iron and I are in it for the long haul.
I started getting depressed, remember the old nurse who asked me if I was perimenopausal at that last visit? Yeah, I just called her old because she called me perimenopausal. Well, I started thinking maybe I was and if I was, there is no way I will survive menopause. No effing way I can go 3 months without a period and feel like a Thanksgiving day parade balloon or bleed out for weeks at a time. My anemia got so bad I was having blurry vision and feeling fainty.
I quit the birth control and just like when I got the biopsy, my angry cervix and uterus got together and mutinied on me and had some weird rando 5 day period like experience and this past Saturday ( while I was on vacation because my period has wanderlust) I get my period…28 days later. Is it just me or do you see why they named that zombie movie what they did?
Anyways, the day I got my biopsy, I had spoken to my bestie (who is also a doctor) and she told me that she was having a hysterectomy and getting herself some of those fancy newfangled floating ovaries and I should do the same because periods are for losers. I felt kind of peer pressured, like in high school when some cool kid offered you a blunt at a house party and you didn’t puff and you just gave but you second-guessed that decision for the rest of high school. Maybe floating ovaries are for me? But then, if I let them take my uterus the terrorists win and by the terrorists, I mean that fucking 60-something-year-old nurse who asked me if I was perimenopausal. I got really offended, and now, I just want to keep having my 28-day cycle forever and hear my gynecologist tell me that I have the uterus of a 25 -year-old.
I guess the moral of the story is don’t complain about a 5-day “heavy” period because it could be way worse, by like 3 months. And also, even though I know all the cool kids are doing it, I’m not sure floating ovaries are for me…yet. What about you?
Has your gynecologist offered you vaginal rejuvenation with a side of hysterectomy?
2018/04/09