Pregnancy Number Dos

I should start by being upfront about the fact that I HATE being pregnant. I truly believe that those women who tell you they could stay pregnant forever have some sort of mental disorder. If I could get the baby without the 9 month waiting period (my husband has reminded me several times that this is called adoption or surrogacy) – sign me up!  It is not that I am ungrateful for the chance to grow life because I feel blessed everyday to take the journey to motherhood that many are not able to but that doesn’t mean I have to love the experience of getting that beautiful life into this world.

There are a lot of things they don’t warn you about with the second pregnancy and this is in no way a comprehensive list…

Exhaustion: Sure, you were tired the first time around. But if you thought you were exhausted and impatient the first time try doing it while chasing after a toddler. Dragging them out the house screaming feels like a whole new level of torture when you are growing a life inside your womb. Wiping their butt for the tenth time in an hour when you feel like your back cannot stand for you to bend down one more time will make you want to scream at your child for pooping (your crazy mom is showing). It will make the first pregnancy look like a walk in the park.

Healthy Living: So you tracked the amount of protein you ate, made sure that you drank the recommended amount of water, and regularly went to the chiropractor the first time around…all I have to say here is HA! Forget regularly remembering to take the prenatal vitamins – you are too distracted in the morning shuffling a toddler out the door and at night your head hits the pillow and you forget your own name. Better set that phone alarm and get a good app to help you keep up.

Classes: This time around if someone asks me about child birth classes or a birth plan I have to look at them with a blank stare as if I don’t know what those words mean and hope that they do not press the issue. There is no pregnancy yoga the second time around either (even though your back could use it). Classes are for beginner schmucks anyway right? *Grits teeth*

Guilt: They also don’t mention the immense amount of guilt. One minute you are holding your sweet toddler and suddenly you are wondering if you have destroyed their life by having another baby. Will they feel forgotten or left out? What could you do to combat that? Will they hate the baby? Will this traumatize them for life and lead to so many unforeseen issues that they will forever blame on your having a second child? And the list goes on…

Bladder Control: Since I know you all want to know about bladder control – forget it, it is nonexistent. For those of you who are oblivious, you pee ALOT when you are pregnant the first time around. Then, after pushing something the size of a watermelon out, you pee every time you sneeze, jump on a trampoline, or if the weather man calls for a slight chance of rain. But if you think that is bad just wait until the second time around when you have to pee every 30 minutes even though you are only half-way through your pregnancy because this time your precious peanut has their butt shoved against your bladder which you no longer control because of the aforementioned watermelon.

The Fear: Everyone says the second child gets the shaft so you would think your fear is nonexistent because you don’t have time for it, but it is there and very overwhelming on an already hormonal, emotional pregnant woman. You fear for their health, you fear that you will screw them up because you can’t possibly be a great parent to two kids at once (I am barely surviving one!), you fear that you will not love them as much as your first, you will lay awake at night with all the fears inside your head…just like the first time around. But here is the kicker – that is what means you have what it takes. You definitely have your work cut out for you, but that fear will drive you to be the best parent you can (even in the moments where your partner is unavailable and you are outnumbered).

While I am overwhelmed with love for this babe and can’t wait to see his sweet face, I wish I could just skip this part and meet the next love of my life. For now I will just hunker down with my snacks and try to curve the level of crankiness I feel for the sake of my angelic husband who has only threatened to move me in with his grandma once so far (in my defense, the air conditioner went out on a 95 degree day and that would have made me cranky without the extra furnace who has taken up residence in my womb).

Not today, but someday, when my two boys are playing chase through the house after I have told them not to run at least twenty times, my heart will soar at the sound of their laughter and the knowledge that they will always have each other and I will know that it is all worth it.

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Surviving Miscarriage

Miscarriage. The word no expectant mother ever wants to hear. That simple word doesn’t do justice to the void, the emptiness, the pain that follows it. Webster uses the synonym “failure” for the word miscarriage. Failure… as if you could have done something differently – as if eating more protein, getting more rest, or avoiding stress would have saved your baby. It wouldn’t have.

What do you do after a miscarriage? The stigma surrounding the word tells you that you keep your mouth shut. That you carry your grief silently. It is, in my opinion, one of the biggest losses a person can experience yet there is no closure, no comfort, no acceptable time period for grieving. You pull up your boot straps and carry on, at least that is what we are taught.

Four years ago I thought there was a chance God had decided that I wasn’t worthy of taking the motherhood journey. After three losses, three crushed dreams, three silent grieving periods, I began to accept the possibility that it just wasn’t in the cards. The plan I had for my life, the vision of who I was, the mom I always wanted to be, slowly began to disappear. I survived by holding onto whatever small tattered remains I could of that dream. I held tightly to the belief in my heart that I was meant to be a mom. When the day finally came, the joy I felt was insurmountable. The day I held my son I finally understood for the first time why it had never worked out before. I wasn’t just meant to be a mom, I was meant to be HIS mom and the stars had to align just right for that to happen. I told myself after that day that it would never matter if I got to be a mother to anyone else as long as I had him.

I didn’t realize at the time that in the years to come my heart would long to hear him play with someone else. That I would come to the realization that there was room for more than just one in our lives. So when I became pregnant again, I felt relief that I could give our family the gift of another child. When we lost that pregnancy, I survived by reminding myself of the promise I had made so many years ago when my son came. The promise that it was okay if I never got to be a mom to another child because I had him. I reminded myself daily of how lucky I was and that some women don’t ever get that.

That’s what we do to survive. We hold onto the things we have and we work everyday to let go of the things that aren’t meant for us.

Most recently, we were excited to learn (at a viability ultrasound – also a terrible term) that not only did we have a “viable” pregnancy – we had a beautiful, strong heartbeat. We waited until we had heard more than once to share with family and friends. Although our pregnancy hasn’t been flawless and we still have a few tough things ahead of us, I know without a doubt that we are infinitely blessed to get to experience this a second time.

I want every other woman that experiences pregnancy loss or infertility to know that she is not alone. You will survive the loss, the grief, the waiting, and the pain and you don’t ever have to do it alone. Hold onto the knowledge that someday when you hold your child for the first time, you will finally understand why it never worked out before. The child you are meant to mother will find there way to you. In the meantime though, cry, scream, but most of all, talk. Talk to your friends and your family and know that you are not alone.

Healing

Broken…that’s the word I use to describe myself. Unwhole, pieces, shattered, just broken. For years that has been the perception in my mind. My “broken” heart, my “broken” childhood, my “broken” family, and on, and on. In the last six months I have been on an amazing journey of self-discovery (or having a quarter-life crisis, whatever you want to call it) though and the best thing I have discovered is that I am not, in the least, broken. I am HEALING and what a miraculous difference there is between the two.

This is not an ending, it is a beautiful beginning. I am becoming the woman I was always, somewhere deep inside, meant to be. I am discovering or remembering all the pieces of myself that I had forgotten or never even knew existed. I am selfishly taking time to get to know who I am. I am spending time with the person who needs it the most. I am investing in my soul and already seeing the returns of that investment. My soul is on fire and what a beautiful thing that has been to watch.

I forgot that I love scary movies and haunted houses. I sat down and made a bucket list and learned I wanted to ride a motorcycle and that I wanted to learn to play the guitar. I want to see the ocean and feel the sand under my feet. I want to climb a mountain. I actually really like tattoos. Fitness matters a lot more than I thought it did to me. I forgot how much I love quotes, I could spend hours just pinning them. I forgot how eclectic my music taste could be if I give it that chance. I love photography and may even want to take a class in it. I am a terrible cooker and will never fit the mold for a perfect housewife. I want to go skydiving and feel myself free-falling.

In the last six months I have started meeting, getting to know, and falling in love with the most amazing woman and she has been right under my nose all along. It’s a beautiful relationship. So I will will no longer use the word broken. I will say I am healing. I am a survivor. I am a warrior. I am me and me is just right.

Letting Go

I finally understood what true love meant…love meant that you care for another person’s happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be.” – Dear John, Nicholas Sparks

Letting go is one of the hardest things to face in life. We are trained from a young age to hold tightly to anything and everything that matters. We carry that into adulthood and we continue to cling to the things that matter most to us. Sometimes we cling so tightly that we cannot even admit to ourselves when it is time to let go. We hold tightly to relationships, friendships, and ponytails even knowing in our hearts that they are no longer serving our own emotional wellbeing. (You all know a bad ponytail can be make or break you). We continue to give whole pieces of ourselves to relationships even when we are only receiving halves or less in return.

Why do we do that to ourselves? It’s unfortunate to think that we subject ourselves to so many things that no longer serve our own inner peace. I’ve heard it said that letting go of the past isn’t the hard part. It is letting go of the future we had envisioned that is the real struggle. I believe there is some truth to that. The past can’t be rewritten but we look to the future as a blank slate and when we come to the realization that we can’t write that story the way we envisioned it I think we begin to feel a sense of lost control. It is hard to know we are not the only ones in charge of how the story unfolds.

There comes a moment when we realize we have no choice but to let go of the future we had dreamed of so that we can somehow begin to create a new future. If we can muster up the strength and courage to let go of what is hurting our heart and soul we will find a path that heals us and allows us to start rebuilding. I challenge you to consider that if your soul is tired and restless that it might be time to consider letting go of some of the things holding you back in your life, even the things you are most terrified to let go of because you know it will hurt. It is time to start writing a new chapter. The process will undoubtedly be slow and painful, but I promise it will be worth it. I know letting go seems so difficult, impossible even – but it is not nearly as difficult as holding on. Today is the day my friend. Whatever it is that is keeping you from your inner peace, let go.

Seventeen

“It’s the oldest story in the world. One day, you’re 17 and you’re planning for someday. And then quietly, without you ever really noticing, someday is today. And then someday is yesterday. And this is your life.” – One Tree Hill, Nathan Scott

I can remember seventeen like it was yesterday. Can’t we all? Maybe it’s that time you snuck out to meet your boyfriend or that first sip of alcohol you choked on. Maybe it’s that cigarette you got caught smoking behind the school. It’s a little bit of freedom meets rebellion meets carelessness but it’s beautiful in a way isn’t it? I can remember that stubborn, proud, headstrong teenage girl who knew everything about life, love, and the world around her. She was a pistol who was ready to take on anything and anyone who stood in her way. She naively believed that she had a plan, that she could control how that plan unfolded, and that life would never surprise her. (Insert laugh here)

Lately I have been seeing life unfold through the eyes of an adult. I have watched friends have children, friends lose children, go through divorces, find their second loves. I have watched blended families become a real thing, I have watched women find themselves after years of losing themselves in their marriages, I have watched them struggle to help their children understand what it means to have two homes. I have come to realize that there is no plan. There is no control. Life and love have a way of knocking us down when we least expect it. We grow, we change, the plan changes, and the future is absolutely unknown.

We associate those struggles as being a negative thing. They come with a stigma attached to them but surprisingly I have also come to learn that is in those struggles, those moments of chaos, that people undergo an awakening of the soul. It is when they truly discover who they are and what they are made of. It is when they find their own power and become the truest version of themselves. It is no doubt a painful process of growth, but what comes out on the other side is truly miraculous. It is empowering to watch. It is a reminder of the resiliency and stubbornness of the human heart, and the world loves a stubborn heart.

So maybe, just maybe that seventeen year old didn’t have it entirely wrong. Maybe the simplicity of it is what seems so daunting. Find what it is that makes you happy, what it is that you love and follow it. Do not let the logistics, budgeting, planning, or backlash stand in your way. Life is fleeting and humbling, it requires that you live everyday to it’s fullest and if you find that you are not doing that, you owe it to yourself to change the story. The only one you have to answer to in the end is yourself and I truly hope that you like the chapters you have to look back on when the time comes. This is it, today, now is the time to live your life. Find what it is that fills your soul and hold onto it as tightly as you possibly can. Do not live your life wishing that you had lived it differently. There just isn’t enough time for that.

Today is the day to start rewriting the ending.

The Hardest Part

What is the hardest part of being a parent? My favorite question (insert sarcasm). Being a parent is the only job in the world where two days of experience suddenly makes you an expert. I have done something along the way to convince my childless friends that my 2 1/2 years of experience (and I use that term loosely) qualifies me to give them my professional opinion. As if me saying “Yes, the terrible two’s are the worst part” makes it the ultimate truth and somehow negates the fact that I have yet to see the three’s or four’s or tweens or anything in-between.

I am a hopeless romantic and having a child was no different. I romanticized the crap out of bringing a baby into this world. Romeo and Juliet didn’t hold a candle to the beauty of the parenthood story in my head. While reality turned out to be better and worse in many ways, I always find myself wishing people had been more honest. That I had heard more truths and less stereotypical responses with half-smiles. I think I would have been better prepared. Having been asked this myself though I can now say I understand why they took the easy road. I understand why they smiled and said “Oh the lack of sleep is tough but it’s the most rewarding thing you will ever do” or “Think of how much fun it will be” or “This is the best time in your life”. They did it because the truth, the words that really hit it home, are inadequate.

How do you tell them the hardest part is all of it? How do you explain to someone that the best and worst days of their lives will be had in parenthood? How do you tell them that the it will both breathe life into them and crush their soul? How do you explain that they will never look at any piece of the world the same? That all the bad becomes so much worse and that they will lay awake at night wondering what kind of world their child will grow up in? That the good becomes so much clearer and that they will hope everyday that their child holds onto their innocence long enough to be a kind human being and bring more good to the world?

How do you quantify what it means to have a piece of your heart beating outside your own body? That every fall, every scratch, every tear will take a little piece of you? How do you explain that every time their child is sick they will lay awake just to make sure they hear them breathing? How do you tell them that will give up so much of themselves somedays that there will be nothing left? How do you tell them that everything they thought they knew will become irrelevant when they have a child – that they will be learning everything all over just when they thought they had finally figured it out?

How do you share the hopes, the dreams, the fears? How do you tell them you can’t even see a child diagnosed with an illness without looking away because it hurts to even consider the possibility? How do you say that you worry about if you will like your future daughter-in-law (which seems so silly when they are 2 1/2)? How do you tell them the difference between dreaming for them and with them?

How do you adequately explain to someone the gut-wrenching, all-encompassing, forever evolving journey of parenthood? You don’t. You simply can’t. So you just smile and say “Oh the lack of sleep is tough but it’s the most rewarding thing you will ever do” and you hope that when they take their journey they will understand your stereotypical answer and your half-smile.

The Woman I Used To Be

She was vibrant, charismatic, carefree. She was well-rested, well-dressed, and well-read. She smiled and laughed, the kind that reaches all the way to your eyes. She was a summer day, windows down, radio blaring. She was messy. She was a little reckless. She was fun.

She was everything I am not.

My memories of her have continued to fade and it recently occurred to me that I am not sure I recognize her at all. I am simply just not the woman I used to be. That woman could have a night out and not worry about what time her tiny human alarm clock would go off. She could spend an hour doing her hair and makeup without concerns of making everyone late for work or daycare. She had time to plan meals, date nights, and girls time because her days were not filled with budgeting, errands, and to-do lists a mile long. She did not know what true exhaustion felt like because she had never weathered the storm of a sick toddler in the middle of the night. That woman was able to float blissfully unaware through her days. She didn’t know the heaviness that is felt with the responsibility of having someone depend on you 24/7.

I am certain that my husband noticed her slipping away long before I did. Maybe it was in a joke he told where I forgot to laugh. Maybe it was in the moment he wanted to stay up late and I didn’t. Maybe it was in the lost ‘just checking in’ text messages, the calls on your way home from work, or the sweet voicemails. Maybe it was the moment he needed support and I had none to offer. The funny thing with something like that is it doesn’t happen all at once – it happens slowly, piece by piece, so that you can’t even see it until there are too many pieces missing.

So my love I ask you to be patient with the woman I am. When you look into my tired eyes try to look past the woman on the surface. Although there was beauty in that woman and that time in her life, there is also more beauty in this woman and this time in her life than we could have imagined. Occasionally on a date or after a few too many glasses of wine when you catch a small glimpse of the carefree woman you fell in love with, cherish that moment for what it is. Know that our children will not always be little and it will not always feel like the weight of the world rest on our shoulders. Someday our sweet littles will grow and our home will quiet. It is there in the peace and bittersweet memories that you will find the woman I used to be waiting for you.

Thoughts of a Bad Mom

Here are a few internal thoughts that will let you know if you are doing this motherhood gig right. If you have ever thought any of these things, you are on track!

Do I really have to share my ice cream? I mean sugar leads to diabetes so really I am doing them a favor. *eats the whole container while hiding in the kitchen pantry

If I eat these cheerios off their tray will they notice? Should I really be stealing cereal from a two year old? Come on, we all know honey nut is where it is at.

How long can I hide here before they find me? I only have 15 years, 7 months, 1 week, 2 days, 11 hours, 43 minutes, and 10 seconds before they are of age. I think I can survive in this closet that long.

Can I just give him the dog treat? Pick your battles mama, how bad can they really be? Say woof!

So sorry honey, we can’t listen to the gummy bear song anymore. Oh, well because the gummy bear died. He’s dead. *after I hunted him down and slowly ate him from limb to limb

No, I don’t know what happened to your Halloween candy. *buries wrappers at the bottom of the trash can

1,2, clean up the poo 3,4, kids make you poor 5,6, so many fits 7,8, how many plates can one mom make 9,10 never sleep again

Always ask yourself – years of therapy down the road – is it worth it? If the answer is yes, throw that third plate of dinner you made the toddler on the floor and proceed to open the front door and let said toddler escape. Count the hours it takes for a return. If the answer is no, go make the fourth plate to include pickles, ketchup, Doritos, cheerios, and olives. Basically all 5 food groups there.

A little whiskey on the gums never hurt anyone – my grandparents did it. *5 am = hungover toddler > teething

“Do you have any recommendations for a babysitter?” “Well I bounce back and forth between Paw Patrol and Daniel the Tiger.”

Golden rule – never repeat the internal thoughts to DHS.

The Table of Ages

How often do we find ourselves surrounded by groups of strong, intelligent, and extraordinary women? You might think the answer is not often, but I would beg to disagree. The reality is it happens everyday in our lives during ordinary moments, we are often just too busy to notice. We spend so much time focusing inward that we often overlook the occurrence whether it is a few drinks with the girls to a quick conversation when a co-worker opens their soul for just a minute and shows a glimmer of what’s inside.

Recently I had the honor of sitting around just such a table. I listened as jokes, life struggles, and accomplishments were exchanged over brussel sprouts and beer. You all know the table I am talking about and have probably found yourself there a time or two. This time was different though, perhaps I was different as I had recently undertaken several changes in my own life. I wasn’t just going through the motions of another social gathering, I was listening, really listening to each woman when she spoke and I was amazed when I found myself entranced as these women shared their stories. Some were of heartache, others of accomplishing goals, and some were full life stories – the kind that make you want to wrap the person sharing in a bear hug and tell them how beautiful they are for just having survived.

The real reason I believe this table tugged at my heart and felt so special, so unique was because it was representative of decades of life – from divorce, disappointment, love, laughter, pride, motherhood, loss. Gathered around this table were women in their 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s. That’s a lot of life for one table to hold. How often do you find that age gap gathered in one sitting? Call it divine intervention but these women had all crossed paths with a beautiful soul who attracts the best beings into her life and here they were sharing their hearts with friends, some old and some brand new. All brought together in this one moment because of the paths crossed and traveled.

What I found in listening to these women was that strength, courage, resiliency – those traits are not something you are born with they are only forged through trials and tribulations. These women didn’t know me and maybe they never really will, but my perspective is forever changed because of them.

Slow down and take time to reflect on the amazing women in your network. Take a moment to thank them for just having survived, because even if it is unbeknownst to you, they have a beautiful story just waiting to be told. I guarantee you it is worth hearing and it will forever change the way you view them. It may forever change the way you view yourself.

In a recent conversation that led to this blog a friend asked me why I don’t like to share, really share the pieces of my life or more importantly the impact those pieces have on me, and I responded by saying “I don’t want people to look at me like I am broken.” To which she surprised me by saying “Do you feel broken?” At the time, I couldn’t answer her because deep down I knew the truth – that is the first word that comes to my mind when I think about who I am. And though I may be broken, I am so much more than that. I am passionate, and resilient, and stronger than even I realize sometimes.

Sometimes the broken pieces are the most beautiful pieces. Find someone and give them a chance to show you their beauty.

What Having It All Really Means

It’a an age old cliche, wanting to have it all. Having it all means different things to many people at various points in their lives, but for most women in today’s society it means the house, the partner, the kids, and the job. It means chasing those dreams, climbing that ladder, looking for the next raise, and always having the latest and greatest. As if that’s not enough, the other word for mom, guilt, keeps us working to achieve the perfect, but unattainable, work/life balance.

While most women (myself included) are eternally grateful for the Susan B. Anthony’s and Ida B. Wells’ of the world and every other activist who fought and suffered for our right to have it all, I have to be honest: having it all is exhausting. It kicks my ass at least four times a day (are you allowed to use that language in a blog? Ahhh, blame it on the wine).

It’s the reason I took up wine as my evening hobby. It’s the reason I feel like a small child dressed me everyday instead of the other way around. It’s the reason there is not enough time in the day and why I can’t possibly go out with that group of girlfriends for drinks.

Having it all means walking into a meeting with spit up on your blazer, finding diapers in your purse, and constantly having Cheerios thrown all over the back seat of that nice car. Having it all means sleep depravation, trading in showers for 20 minutes to catch a few Z’s (hello dry shampoo – don’t judge me, I know you hide your chocolate), and bags under your eyes. Having it all means dropping your toddler off on their toughest days and leaving someone else to repair their little soul. It means hoping someone else can love them enough in your absence and crying all the way to work because there is no one to repair your soul (hello waterproof mascara).

But here is the thing we seem to have forgotten: the only person expecting us to have it all is staring at us in the mirror. So mama, please stop killing yourself to have it all. If you stop holding me to that expectation, I won’t hold you to it either. You have everything you need.

What having it all really means is late night cuddles, mama hold my hand, just one more story please. It means watching little humans grow into amazing adults and knowing you are (at least partially) responsible for that. It’s crying a little on the inside but swelling with pride on the outside when they finally learn to do it themselves. It’s messy, and beautiful, and bittersweet all at the same time.

Having it all really means a full heart and unconditional love. I promise, that really is all you need mama.