Ouch

Being a parent is hard AF. 

It’s not even the disciplining, or the sleeplessness, or the trying to keep them occupied with Pinterest-worthy activities, or the laundry/lunch making/ constant mess cleaning that’s the hardest part; the LOVE is the hardest part.  We love our parents and we love our siblings, and our partners and our friends, but the love we feel for our kids is one that is so big, it could completely crush us at any minute. 

Yesterday, I got crushed.  Just fucking smashed to useless bits, and I’m still picking up the pieces.  

I’m an anxious person naturally, we all know this, I’ve survived umpteen panic attacks, but yesterday was by far the most anxious I’ve ever felt.  Really, the actual trauma only lasted 15 minutes in the tiny, make-shift Emerge room, but it’s something written on my heart for the rest of time.  I know that it could have been worse, I know that shit like this is basically a right of passage for kids, and I know that there are parents (fucking bless their souls) who have to deal with terrifying medical incidents with their kids on a regular basis...but it was enough to break me.  I can admit that!

I proclaimed that I was dealing with some sort of parental-PTSD, today; I cried when Boden woke me up this morning, I cried when he came back and sat in bed and we discussed what happened (he thought it hurt so much because they were cutting his head..he didn’t realize they were sewing it, but is pleased it’s blue thread), I even cried when I sat at my little work desk again, because that’s where I was when the principal called me, yesterday morning.  Just thinking about it, whenever someone kindly checks in or asks what happened, I cry.  And I can’t stop thinking about it.  I am empathetic to a fault, really, and his face when I rushed into the office at school...so fucking stoic, and trembling while I told him that it was ok to let his tears out.  That face just fucking kills me, and it’s all I can see, today.  And all I can hear are those screams, to stop and to be let go, while he’s stuck, swaddled on a bed and some stranger is hurting him.  

That’s the other part, lol; those mama bear instincts that hit you out of nowhere.  It was exhausting, swallowing all the things I wanted to scream at that doctor!  ‘Why does it still hurt so much?! What the fuck is taking to long?!’  He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do, and I wanted to punch him in the fucking face.  

I passed out, twice.  Which I hate myself for, so that’s another thing I’m dealing with.  I stood right by his face, telling him just to look at mommy, and that he was ok, and it was almost over...then I don’t know if it was all the blood, or all of MY anxiety that had been MOUNTING during the 3 hours we were in the waiting room, finally coming to a head, but the room started to spin.  The first time I sat on the floor and sobbed silently for a second, and I could hear Boden asking where I was.  Which of course made it worse.  Then I got up in time for the next stitch, and less then a minute later I knew I was going to fall over.  Nolan said that was the worst part, lol, the way I changed color.  

I’m not even a squeamish person, I don’t mind blood and guts and gross stuff...if it was any other human being on the planet, I would have been fine standing there holding their hand, and even watching it all.  But it was my kid, the one I made.  And he was scared, and he was hurting, and it broke me.  Maybe all parents have to see their children suffer, at some point, to better understand the depths of our love for them.  Maybe I’m just a huge fucking baby, being very over dramatic.  But, it’s how I feel, so go fuck yourself. 

When he was all done, and unwrapped, they sat him up, and demanded I sit with him before I threw up everywhere.  I got an ice pack for my sudden sweats, and we both got popsicles, and then he was fine.  At what point do they/we stop being so goddamn resilient?

A friend pointed out that what I’m feeling is less PTSD (though it was of course a traumatic experience), and more the fact that as parents we naturally swallow all of our own fears and emotions when our children are in need, and today mine are finally coming out.  And they should come out!

We took the day off from school, and he was pretty excited about that.  It was a big day, and we needed to recover a little.  Also, I’m now slightly more terrified of him being away from me, of course.  I hate that he hurt himself and didn’t have his mommy there with him for the first 15-20 minutes.  It’s unavoidable, I KNOW, but I hate that part.  

I am thankful, though, that he has SUCH caring teachers.  I’m thankful my dad hadn’t left for work yet, and could come to the school with me.  I’m thankful it wasn’t any worse.  And I’m thankful for the hospital staff that bought coloring books over, and the ladies who switched waiting room seats with us, so I could plug his iPad in.  I’m thankful for the remarkably calm doctors who did their jobs, even though I know that they know, that in that room we hated their guts.  And I’m very thankful Boden has a daddy who is far more mentally stable then his mother, and could be there for the both of us.  

And I’m thankful it’s all over now. 

But Seriously

I told a friend that I was taking me and my morning sickness out for ‘breakfast’ this morning, and of course she excitedly asked if I was pregnant. Lol, we’re not close friends, clearly, but it reminded me of a bone I have to pick with all of you. You, being society in general.

How come we still feel it’s appropriate to comment on a woman’s postpartum body, or their postpartum life?

I’m nearly 4 years postpartum, but it still irks me.

A week ago we attended my Mother In Law’s funeral. (Insert deep breaths here) Attending a funeral always comes with polite pleasantries with people you know of but don’t know, and between all of the sweetest comments and memories being shared I was shocked by how many times my body and my life as a mom were brought up.

I was told, ‘If I had a kid that cute I’d have 5 more!’ and ‘If I didn’t have to go back to work, I’d have at least one more kid!’ and my personal favorite, ‘If my body looked like that after being pregnant, I’d have 3 more!’ I understand that all of these things slip through mouths meant as a compliment, so I’ve learned to smile or giggle and nod instead of screaming ‘I'VE BEEN SICK FOR 12 YEARS AND I DON’T HAVE A UTERUS ANYMORE SO FUCK OFF PLEASE!’  But.  Friends.  We need to raise our level of consciousness and think for just one extra second before saying such things.

And because I’m currently on my own with a latte I didn’t make myself, breathing outside air deeply, I’m going to take a sec to address these few things..

1 - How cute YOU think a child is literally has nothing to do with how big a family is going to grow to be!

Is society still this shallow, that instead of commenting on how well behaved our toddler is being while stuck in the midst of a boring visitation full of crying adults, we’re talking about how attractive he is? And we’re talking about it as if it’s really a deciding factor? I can admit that I throw that ‘they’d make beautiful babies together’ line around, but never to someone’s face, and never in the sense that they SHOULD make babies because they’d be beautiful.

Our A+ genetics have absolutely nothing to do with why Boden is an only child. And as much as I chose to only have one, I didn’t really get the choice, and being reminded of that at any time, never mind at a time I’m already over emotional, will always sting. We have no idea why one family is teeny and another is huge.

A tip - Please feel free to remind me that, ‘shit your kid is cute!’ anytime you want, but unless you’re genuinely asking about our choices as a family, it’s safest to just avoid commenting on his non-existent siblings.

2 - I feel so goddamn lucky to have spent these last nearly-4 years at home with Boden. So goddamn lucky. Even on the days that I have to lock myself in the bathroom, or the days I cry because I know I can’t yell at him, or the days I cry because I’m just so freaking exhausted and unmotivated, I go to bed feeling so lucky. And I know that it’s a privilege, that not everyone can afford to stay home once Mat Leave ends (and don’t get me started on the lack of Mat Leave that my American friends get). But it’s way too easy to assume that finances are the only reason a mother chooses to stay home instead of returning to work.

We are VERY comfy as a family, but I am well aware of how much comfier we’d be if I’d gone back to work 3 years ago. And there have been so many days that I wish I was at work instead of at home, or more so that I wish I could work instead of being at home.

As soon as it was done growing and nourishing a new human, my body turned on me, again. When I wasn’t feeding or changing or waking up 39 times a night with my baby, I was in the bathroom sick and crying. You know, I actually tried, and failed to work after Boden turned 1.  I took my most favorite kid (next to my own) all day while her parents worked, for a few months. But I was too sick. I loved her with my whole heart and I loved her and Boden together, and I don’t think any other job would have made me happier, but I just couldn’t.


Since giving birth I’ve undergone and recovered from 3 surgeries because of my Endometriosis. That alone doesn’t leave much time to be gainfully employed.
I am lucky, and I think all moms (or dads) who stay home with their kids are lucky, but again, please don’t assume that’s the whole story.

A tip - It’s very ok to say, ‘It’s so nice you get to spend these days with him.’ Or! For bonus points, ‘Being a stay-at-home mom is such a hard job, and you’re doing SO good!’ You can make a comment or a compliment without making an assumption.

3 - Don’t get me wrong, I know that so many women struggle to lose the baby weight, and my lack of a waist can be envied and seen as lucky. I get that. But unless we are best friends who discuss such personal things, I don’t get why anyone comments on it.

Postpartum recovery does likely play a part in a woman’s decision to have more kids. Some women love being pregnant, and some women’s bodies respond much faster and easier then others after giving birth. Honestly, if I hadn’t been SO sick while pregnant, and I hadn’t had such a traumatic labor and delivery, I would have considered trying for another one before my Hysterectomy a little heavier. Women are allowed to consider 1000 different things when choosing whether or not to have kids, but no one else is allowed to comment on those things. Especially the way she looks. How do we not KNOW this by now?

Some of it is luck, in my case. Luck/ genetics. My mom had 3 of us, and she’s got a smokin bod, and I definitely think that plays a part. But what was the main reason I was so skinny so soon after gaining 40+ lbs while pregnant? It was the puking and the shitting and the nausea that left me with a minimal appetite. It was a disease. And none of that has ever felt lucky. Ever. I promise that I’d rather be 10lbs heavier right now, then as nauseous as I am this morning, and I’ve always struggled with the fact that that’s so hard for so many people to understand.

A tip - Whether it’s luck or genetics or illness or the fact that a mom has worked her fucking ass off at the gym every morning, it’s just wrong to equate her body with how many kids she should have.

You can tell a mom, ‘You look amazing,’ even if she knows she actually looks tired and hasn’t changed her shirt in 3 days! You can (and should!) compliment a mother without bringing her weight into the conversation! You can make her feel good about herself without making the woman next to her feel like she shouldn’t have more kids just because she hasn’t lost all the baby weight!

Or just talk about the weather, instead!

Hysterversary

A year ago I'd be getting wheeled into the recovery wing after having spent a few hours having my uterus, cervix, tubes and an ovary removed along with a pile of Endometriosis!  A year ago I won a fight I'd picked for myself!  Even before having our son I made it clear that I wanted a Hysterectomy, and while I obviously appreciate the initial hesitation from my surgeon, after giving birth I spent 2 years (plus another bandaid surgery) convincing doctors that it was MY body and THIS was what I both wanted and needed.  

I have spent the last year recovering, regaining my life, being a far better mother and wife and daughter, and rediscovering my social life and what it's like just to be a productive human being.  It's pretty remarkable, the things you can accomplish (most of which are baby steps) when you're not on the verge of puking or passing out on a regular basis!  I have loved my world since finding my husband and starting my own family, but this past year I've fallen in love with my life again.  It's no longer a spectacularly exhausting chore being me.  

Things aren't perfect still, but I feel like a dick whenever I feel the need to whine because my every-day is so much better then it ever has been!  After the initial 12 weeks of allowing my insane hormones to settle and my remaining abdominal organs to settle into their new (roomier) homes, I had to get used to feeling NORMAL again!  For 3 of the 4 weeks every month, I wake up and I don't have to run for the toilet immediately.  I don't have to take Gravol on top of pain killers every 3-4 hours.  I can make and keep plans, leave the house without an Ativan, chase my kid around the house without wanting to cry and needing a nap more then once a day.  It's so amazing.  Feeling sick is no longer my norm, and I have a feeling that's why it now really knocks my socks off when I do get sick. 

Once a month my one ovary ovulates, and it hits me like a truck.  The constant nausea, the insane fatigue, constant bathroom breaks and the awesome breakouts come back with a vengeance.  I also now experience mind-numbing ovulation pain (because it's likely pissed there's no one to share the load with anymore) and mood swings.  As bad as the physical 'that time of the month' symptoms are, the emotional rollercoaster upsets me the most.  For 7-10 days I jump from depressed to ANGRY to way-too-happy at the drop of a hat; I need at least one real cry and I notice (with my helpless toddler) that my level of patience drops to zero.  It's also the only time I deal with any obvious anxiety, which is annoying, but also impressive.  (I haven't had to refill my Ativan prescription in over 8 months?!)

I saw my OB-GYN/surgeon this week for a mega 'followup' and my main issue was the monthly symptoms.  I get that every woman feels like a pile of shit when it's period week, but I felt like shit for 10 solid years.  The average female will experience period symptoms for approximately 492 weeks between their first period and Menopause (Christ), but I've dealt with over 520 and I'm only 32.  That's enough for me, thanks.  So I said I wanted my last ovary out, which again is met with great hesitation from medical professionals.  

Zero functional ovaries means Menopause which means Hormone Replacement Therapy.  To me, HRT at least seems regulated but of course comes with the possibility of 100 new side effects, especially considering it could be another 30 years before I'd reach natural Menopause.  So this year I will be working a new prescription (Cyclomen) into my daily routine in order to prevent ovulation, which should eliminate the monthly symptoms while still allowing natural Estrogen to be produced. Of course some of the possible side effects of this drug are the side effects I'm trying to get away from...but what's one more year of frigging experimenting my body!? (🤷🏻‍♀️)

I will still be going in for another surgery before the new year starts, though.  During my LAVH my original episiotomy was repaired, and by repaired I mean my main concern was actually made worse, but for now I shal spare social media those details (and spare my husband the possible semi-embarrassment).  I have to have an impressive cyst removed from under the scar tissue down there, and then a specialized surgeon will also come in to ACTUALLY (please, God) fix my girl stuff.  

It's entirely possible that this time next year I will feel even better then I do right now, and that makes me a little emotional.  Good-emotional.  Not fighting every single day makes me good-emotional. My toddler using his July Birthday wish for 'a better tummy for mommy' makes me so good-emotional that I could just die.  He is the best, and being able to be my best for him (most days) is the whole reason I chose to march down this particular path.  I had to fight way too damn hard for my right to make major decisions for my own body, and the following recovery was much harder then I'd imagined, but it has already been so, so worth it.