Save Your Pity

Sooooo.... one thing you should know about me is that I am severely ADD. It's bad, ya'll. One of the problems this poses is that I have a tendency to begin a great many things, but never finish them. For example, Blogger tells me I have 17 draft posts. That's right - 17 posts I sat down to write, and never finished. And I may never finish them. That's just me. But I will finish this one! Unless something distracts me.......... While I am capable of linear thought, I want to rant about Single Parent Pity. For my fellow lone parents, you'll know what I mean: the way folks tend to assume all single parents are miserable about their lot in life. To hear some talk, we all spend our nights sitting alone in our shabby hovels, crying into cheap beers, wishing we'd made different choices. If only we could either escape our children (who ruin our lives, don'tcha know?) or find that perfect someone who could *save*us* from our sorrow! There seems to be a misconception about the reality of going it solo with a kid... and while some may be genuinely unhappy with their lives, most of us are HAPPY! Take me, for example. I have a fabulous toddler. He adores me! No, seriously - I thought the unconditional love of a dog was the coolest thing ever, until I had McGee. Now I realize that this kid thinks I am Alpha and Omega, and all things made of sunshine and joy in his world. To him, I am a walking freakin' pony made of cupcakes. We live well, thanks to a family situation that enables me to be a stay-at-home while I finish grad school. I go out, I have hobbies, I get to workout a few days a week... he doesn't *limit* my life. He adds all sorts of experiences I never would have otherwise had! Then there's the marriage issue: some assume we're all sitting around waiting to be saved by marriage. Let me set the record straight on that one! While for a lot of us, finding the right partner is a goal, a priority even, we aren't laying in bed sobbing about our empty, spouse-less lives! In fact, seeing as we are responsible for the care of kids 24/7, we don't tend to have much time to sob in general, even if we were so inclined. For me, being in a happy, stable, lifetime relationship is certainly a goal... one of many in my life. But having a child doesn't make me want it more. In fact, it makes me more hesitant to hitch my wagon to that of another. In the past, it was only my happiness I had to think about... now? I have the overwhelming knowledge that anyone I bring into McGee's life, for better or for worse, I'm allowing to influence his future. Imagine my frustration when well-meaning people discover I am a single mother, and they give me that look... you know the one! The look of pity, the knowing look designed to tell me they *feel* my pain. They KNOW how unhappy I must be, all alone, desperate, miserable, encumbered by a screaming brat all the time... I'm happy, guys. My life is better than 99% of the world's. I'm never truly alone, because I am surrounded by people who love me. I live my life the way I want, working McGee into it where I can, and making arrangements for times I can't. Regardless of trials which I must face, or obstacles I must overcome, I am HAPPY. Save your look of pity for someone who needs it ;)

A Rant about the kid's consignment store

I have given a lot of McGee's old clothes and sundry stuff to friends who are having babies, but I still have oodles of random goodies just taking up space in my home. As I am about to move, I figured it would be best to go ahead and get rid of every last bit of it. Having purchased from Kid to Kid children's consignment store in the past, it occurred to me I ought to sell his things to them in exchange for store credit. How could this be a bad idea?! They could give me buying power in exchange for my stuff, and I could get all new useless stuff for my kid. Win - win, right?

I loaded up my car with clothes and gear, and some older toys, and headed to the store with high hopes. Upon arrival I was faced with having to put kiddo in a carrier and them schlep everything into the store. Now, I'm not saying I expect them to watch the parking lot just in case a woman is struggling to carry a ton of stuff... but I walked in with a huge load, and after telling them I had a lot more to bring in, not one of the employees offered to help. Two trips later, I was ready for their review of my things.

Going through the clothes was amusing - apparently, they only sell "complete outfits" in sizes 18mo or smaller. I have never purchased complete outfits for my son - I buy him jeans, some comfy pants, and every cute shirt I can afford. It took almost an hour for them to go through and decide to buy *literally* half of the clothes. And I'd like to point out that they liked the things I considered to be the lamest, yet passed on funky unique pieces. Okay - so that explains why I can never find cool kid clothes there.

With toys they have a policy not to accept anything without a tag stating the manufacturer. While I appreciate that they check every toy for recalls, I was irritated at the number of cool toys they turned down due to lack of labeling! We're talking standard Sassy brand toys, easily recognizable to anyone who has ever bred, and they wouldn't take them. Lame.

For the carseat, which came with two bases, they said I should come back with an owners manual... the one I threw away as soon as it was out of the box. I was told they wouldn't mind if I printed one off from online and came back. Really? You wouldn't mind if I deal with doing all of this again another day? Even though you're sitting in front of a computer right now... Gee, thanks.

They bought my bouncy seat, and a Graco swing. The swing was a burden, as I didn't have the toy mobile, so they informed me I had to remove the swinging arm designed to hold said mobile. Seriously- with a toddler strapped onto my chest, they had me on the floor trying to dismantle this huge swing while they watched. Customer service is dead at Kid to Kid.

By the time we were finished McGee was ready to nap, and squirming in his mei tai. My back was killing me, and my patience was running short. After all of this effort, I was ready to get a little bit of money to spend... and the grand total for 2 big pieces of gear and tons of clothes?

$35. Seriously. $35.

Guess where I'll never be going again?!

In related news: who wants a really cool carseat with two bases (you might want to look up an owners manual online;)

An end to my social life, such as it was

There were those who, upon finding out I was pregnant, warned me that the birth of my child would be (cue ominous music) THE END OF MY LIFE!

I have been pleasantly surprised by how little McGee has caused me to miss! In general, I take him wherever I want to go, and have managed to work him into my life in such a way that neither of us has to go without social interaction or entertainment. He's my constant companion, and I'm okay with that!

Having said that, however, it has become clear to me that my life is now OVER. Over, JD, over.

Since going back to an actual brick and mortar school this semester, I have found my time to be at a premium in a way I have never experienced. It seems every week I make plans with friends, only to have to cancel them when I realize there simply isn't enough time to go see people and still study a sufficient amount of time to do well.

Now, this amuses me, because in my previous educational pursuits, I never once felt the slightest compulsion to cancel an outing in favor of being responsible. I felt comfortable earning B's and C's in exchange for not having to put in even a small amount of effort, outside of a few random all-night study sessions which resulted in excellent test scores and zero long-term retention.

But everything is different now. My grades effect more than just me - I have to earn A's this time around, so I can get advanced degrees, and make a good life for McGee. I think about slacking off and going to play instead of working, and then I see his little face smiling at me - and I know what's really important now. Having someone I care about more than myself has helped me put my priorities in order in a way I never thought possible, and has made me a better woman in so many ways.

And so, my life has changed. And in a way, I feel like my life - the life I ought to have been living all along - BEGAN the day McGee was born :)

Shrinking

For years I suffered from an eating disorder / body dismorphic disorder known as "manorexia." Some of you will be familiar with anorexia, in which no matter how small one gets they see themselves as huge. Well, that's not me. I battled manorexia - a condition in which sufferers, no matter how huge their beer belly may become, no matter how out of shape they get, they honestly believe they are super hot and athletic.

I am unique, I would suspect, among ladies, in that most often women are overly critical of their bodies, as this is what society has conditioned us to do. But men! Men are taught to be in love with themselves, and regardless of their physical condition, they are taught they have the right to expect a physically flawless partner. I spent my teen-aged years surrounded by men, so perhaps I absorbed this way of viewing myself in the world.

This past summer I was at an all time high weight of 260-something pounds... and to be honest, I didn't realize! I FELT as though I was about 200lbs, and still fairly athletic. I am now in the 170's, and still feel pretty much the same: I feel moderately overweight, and fairly athletic... the same way I felt almost 90lbs ago.

Logically, I realize I am significantly smaller now, more flexible, and more capable physically than I was just a few short months ago. But it seems I now more closely resemble the (sadly) stereotypical female of our culture in that I see myself as bigger than the tape measurer tells me I am.

I'm actively working on this - not because I value my mental health particularly... rather, it is because I have always despised skinny women calling themselves fat! Lest I lose more and turn into an obnoxious skinny bitch with self-esteem issues, I am working on seeing ME, and not the version of me in my head.

Who's with me? Who's ready to love themselves as they truly are?!

One down...

Tomorrow McGee will be one year old. I can't fathom this, but here it is. The last year has flown by incredibly quickly! So, here are some of the biggest lessons I have learned during my first year as a mom:

*Being a mom is the best prep for Fear Factor. Ever. Those contestants ate live fish... big deal! Until you've had vomited breast milk in your mouth and down your shirt, don't talk to me about icky.

*Everything in this world is going to kill your child... according to most folk anyway. I have been warned of more dangers in the last twelve months than I can shake a Nerf-padded stick at!

*My mother is a saint. No matter how I may have felt about her mothering skills the day *before* I had my baby, I can tell you that *after* becoming a mother, I have a newfound respect for her and every choice she ever had to make. She's a saint, people.

*If you don't think your baby is the biggest/strongest/smartest/most coordinated infant ever made, those around you will think you're weird. Apparently, I'm supposed to have delusions of grandeur where my son is concerned, and when I say that he's "normal" or "average" it is assumed I am not a loving mother... guess what? He's fabulous (in a very normal sort of way!)

*Those 2-3 outfit changes a day I was told to expect? CRAZY TALK! I only swap out clothes if he gets poop on himself, vomits, and gets something sticky on his clothes. He's good in one outfit for a couple of days sometimes... because what my dad says is true: It really will dry and flake off... for the most part.

*There is nothing as scary in all the world as the sound of a baby struggling to breathe through heinous congestion.

*Nursing is the coolest thing ever for the lazy mom - instead of working oneself silly trying to pump milk, or make formula, I can just latch kiddo on and get back to sleep! No bottles to clean, no powder to spill, no temperature to consider... no muss, no fuss :)

*Everyone around me knows exactly how I ought be raising my child. Seriously, just ask them! They have everything figured out, from when to turn his car seat to what he should eat, to the lifestyle I should teach him, and everything in between.

*Babies are far less work and far more rewarding than a chihuahua in a purse.

*Children's TV shows are all evil, and will turn adult brains to mush. Your child doesn't really care when they're under a year old, so have whatever on in the background while they play... besides, why indoctrinate them with whatever values deemed necessary by The Wiggles, when all they need to know about being chaotic good they could learn from Malcolm Reynolds?!

*Play dates are not for kids. He doesn't need socialization... I do. Play dates keep the brains of stay-at-homes from atrophying.

Just a few lessons hard learned the last year :)

The "one day" that lasts a lifetime.

The summer I was pregnant with McGee, I was set to perform in a community production of "Birth" as part of a Birth On Labor Day event. I played a woman who was bullied into an unnecessary c-section, and one of my character's many poignant lines was, "Birth is just one day, right?" I recall being in rehearsals, listening to the words I was speaking, and musing to myself about how very lucky I was. I was lucky to know better than to put my faith into some random OB, I was lucky to know two "amazing midwives," and I was lucky to be planning a home birth. I KNEW I would be spared a fate such as that.

Cut to December, and I was laboring hard but happily at my family's judo dojo. My "midwife," who I had been suspecting of incompetence for a few months, arrived and confirmed my fears. She left me on my own to attend another birth (one deemed more likely to be successful) and my mother sat me down to discuss going to the local hospital. I was terrified, but still - I was educated and confident... I KNEW I would turn down potentially dangerous interventions in my normal, healthy labor, and I KNEW I would have a normal birth.

My 12 hours of labor at the dojo were wonderful. I've never felt closer to my mother and father than I did that day. I felt powerful and capable, and while it isn't akin to a relaxing massage, it was never so ouchy that I lost faith in myself. The 15 hours of labor at the hospitals, however, were demoralizing. I spent most of that time fighting for my rights, and fighting for the safety of my son. In the end, the people fighting for me gave out of energy one by one, as we had all been awake more than 24 hours, and I was the only person left to advocate for me. So I caved... I signed away my birth, my son's safety, and my bodily integrity so the OB on call could feel more comfortable about his liability insurance.

The recovery was long and hard. I cried, I got angry, and I tried to take care of my precious newborn while in both physical and emotional pain. I have adhesions behind my scar, and numb spots left over from the epidural I didn't want... but those things will one day heal. For me, the most painful part of that day is the complete unwillingness or inability of those closest to me to comprehend why I'm still crying and angry.

To some of my inner circle of loved ones, because my child lived through the ordeal, I should just be thankful and "let it go." Some of them think I am mourning the loss of some spiritual experience I had built up in my head, others feel like a section is no more dangerous than having a tooth pulled, and still others feel as though I should be thankful I was cut (as clearly, an OB would NEVER do that unless there was a viable medical reason to do so).

But there wasn't a viable reason; we were healthy. He wasn't too big to birth, our heart rates were perfect, my blood pressure only went up when I was being harassed, and I never felt as though I needed pain management. McGee and I were a fabulous team, and were getting the job done! So, yes... I mourn not having given him the healthiest start in life. I mourn being laid out on a table and treated like a criminal. I mourn that someone reached into my body without my true consent because I was threatened and coerced into signing a form. But most of all, I feel guilty for not protecting my son at all costs.

It is a part of me, permanently written on my mangled flesh and seared into my heart. I didn't start out as a mother feeling powerful and capable. I started feeling weak, and like a failure. I felt taken advantage of, and like a victim. I still do. While I can rationally discuss it now, it is still a raw wound. Just this week I cried after finding out that the only birth center attempting to open in my city will not care for VBAC moms. So this ONE day has taken away the possibility of future birth center births.

So that character's words haunt me... As I prepare to celebrate my darling child's first birthday, that day last December stands out as both the best and worst day of my life... but it wasn't just ONE day.

Small Victories

Since passing through the hell that was puberty in my early teens, I have had a love/hate relationship with my body. Not just the typical "I'm soooo fat" view, as plagues so many women. I have simultaneously adored and loathed it. At just fourteen years old I fell in love with my physique; my musculature and flexibility have been a source of pride, and judo offered me an outlet to showcase all my body could do. While feeling so strongly that I was amazing, I still fell prey to the knowledge that, according to our cultural standards, I was just too big.

As an adult I have weighed anywhere from 160lbs to 260+lbs, and the one thing consistent at all of the weights in between was my firm belief that I needed to be smaller. What is hilarious to me is that my hatred of how I look in clothing has been fairly undeviating whether I was a size 12 or 22!

In my quest for the elusive thinness I desire, I have tried every fad diet, starved myself for lengths of time, and even had a brief flirtation with bulimia... though I must admit, I wasn't very good at it. I was a champion binger, but when the time came to purge I would say, "I'm so comfortable on this couch! I'll puke later." And of course, later never came. I have had small successes over the years; losing some, gaining it back and then some, losing a portion of the new weight again. And through it all I have felt like my body is the cell in which the real me is imprisoned.

Shopping for clothing has been a hassle at best and traumatic at worst for as many years as I can remember. The year before I got pregnant, I had managed to lose some weight and needed new clothes, so I hit the stores with high hopes... only to once again find myself crying in a dressing room, feeling defeated. I had resigned myself to this as my fate. Until tonight.

After McGee was born I gained all of the weight I had previously lost back, and reached my all-time heaviest weight by June. For myriad reasons, I elected to have a Roux-en-Y gastric bypass in September. For the first time in my life, I am losing weight without misery! I eat what my doctor has asked me to eat, and I am never hungry. I workout as much as I can, and I am seeing consistent results. It is amazing.

My family will be sitting for a portrait in a week, so what to wear has been on my mind of late. Most of the clothing hanging in my closet is either only appropriate for the gym, or is baggy. So off to the mall I went this evening, McGee on my back in his Ergo carrier, all too aware of the tears I would soon be crying.

I passed my favorite store, White House / Black Market, and my inner masochist urged me to stop in. I grabbed a cute shirt and a pair of velvet pants and headed to the dressing room. Even as I was buttoning them, I knew I would hate how I looked when I turned to face the mirror. But I didn't. I loved how I looked! I stood there, dumbstruck with the realization that, for the first time, I felt beautiful in a dressing room! I tried on several outfits, and experienced the same results. I cried just a little, overwhelmed with joy.

I spent hours wandering around the mall, going from store to store trying on clothes (an activity which has never held joy for me in the least). Every garment I donned brought the same giddy reaction, and I reveled in being able to shop in straight sized stores for the first time in years. I feel like a whole new world has been opened up to me - a world in which I am good enough, a world where I have a love/love relationship with my body.
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