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 :)
One woman's thoughts on the life she never thought she'd have...
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
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.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thinking about weight loss surgery? Here are some places to start learning:
Dr. Champion, Marietta
Obesity Help information and forum
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.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thinking about weight loss surgery? Here are some places to start learning:
Dr. Champion, Marietta
Obesity Help information and forum
Friday, December 3, 2010
The sting of being single
The other night I was blessed with the opportunity to have dinner with several family members. Little did I know before hand that the meal was to be both incredibly enjoyable as well as massively depressing!
First of all, it was cold out. While I'll pretty much take McGee anywhere I go, taking him out in the cold is particularly annoying as there is so much prep work involved with keeping him warm. So of course the parking lot is packed, which necessitates my walking half a mile in the cold with my heavy child asleep in his car seat... covered with my jacket, clearly. By the time I got through the doors I was freezing cold, my back was killing me, my hair was a mess, and I was ready for a nap.
As dinner progressed, there were subtle reminders that I was in a different boat than my beloved family members: once McGee awoke, I was that sterotypical flustered mom - you know the one; stressed, trying to get rid of the sling holding the car seat and get her kid into the high chair, all the while keeping him from crying, knocking things over. Yeah, that was me. I worked the whole meal to not only keep my son from disrupting the diners around us, but to attempt to catch snipets of the conversations going on at our table... not an easy task. It really did make me wish for a dedicated partner... someone who, out of love for me, would drop what he's doing and make it all a little easier.
The worst of the downer moments came while watching one of the couples with whom I sat be... well... shmoopey. They're shmoopey, and it makes the "single" in Single Mom even more apparent when I am around them. The woman in the couple did not, in fact, freeze en route to eat. She was deposited at the entrance while her loving partner parked the car and braved the cold. While eating, she got a chill and faster than one can say "doted upon" his jacket was wrapped around her shoulders. It was almost enough to make me ill, though because I love her so much, it also made me happy for her... I hate moments of mixed emotions!
Now, having complained about being single, I would like to point out that I believe wholeheartedly that it is better to be alone than with the wrong person. I prefer my current state of being to the alternative... but I do wish I were doing this in a partnership. I admire loving spouses who cater to and dote upon their loved ones. And I freakin' want one of my own... just, you know, the RIGHT one this time ;)
There was a moment towards the end of the meal that sort of reminded me to be thankful for what I have - after the jacket swapping took place, I realized that I was cold. It then occurred to me that both this man and myself had given up our jackets to our very favorite people. And somehow, knowing that my son adores me completely took the sting out of being single, if only just a little.
First of all, it was cold out. While I'll pretty much take McGee anywhere I go, taking him out in the cold is particularly annoying as there is so much prep work involved with keeping him warm. So of course the parking lot is packed, which necessitates my walking half a mile in the cold with my heavy child asleep in his car seat... covered with my jacket, clearly. By the time I got through the doors I was freezing cold, my back was killing me, my hair was a mess, and I was ready for a nap.
As dinner progressed, there were subtle reminders that I was in a different boat than my beloved family members: once McGee awoke, I was that sterotypical flustered mom - you know the one; stressed, trying to get rid of the sling holding the car seat and get her kid into the high chair, all the while keeping him from crying, knocking things over. Yeah, that was me. I worked the whole meal to not only keep my son from disrupting the diners around us, but to attempt to catch snipets of the conversations going on at our table... not an easy task. It really did make me wish for a dedicated partner... someone who, out of love for me, would drop what he's doing and make it all a little easier.
The worst of the downer moments came while watching one of the couples with whom I sat be... well... shmoopey. They're shmoopey, and it makes the "single" in Single Mom even more apparent when I am around them. The woman in the couple did not, in fact, freeze en route to eat. She was deposited at the entrance while her loving partner parked the car and braved the cold. While eating, she got a chill and faster than one can say "doted upon" his jacket was wrapped around her shoulders. It was almost enough to make me ill, though because I love her so much, it also made me happy for her... I hate moments of mixed emotions!
Now, having complained about being single, I would like to point out that I believe wholeheartedly that it is better to be alone than with the wrong person. I prefer my current state of being to the alternative... but I do wish I were doing this in a partnership. I admire loving spouses who cater to and dote upon their loved ones. And I freakin' want one of my own... just, you know, the RIGHT one this time ;)
There was a moment towards the end of the meal that sort of reminded me to be thankful for what I have - after the jacket swapping took place, I realized that I was cold. It then occurred to me that both this man and myself had given up our jackets to our very favorite people. And somehow, knowing that my son adores me completely took the sting out of being single, if only just a little.
Single Mom, Ranting.... a primer.
I've been considering joining the blogosphere for some time. After all, who among us hasn't seen the posts of our friends and not thought, "Ooh! I could do that!" I see Momma McFarland's handiwork, or the delightful musings of Queen Christine, and I can't help but wonder if maybe I too should write it all down, as it were. And why not?
Well, there are two main reasons I have not, thus far, joined in (even though, apparently, all the cool kids are doing it). First, to blog is to openly admit to one's narcissism. The simple act of writing about my life, and letting people know where to read it, then expecting those people to show a modicum of interest... well, these actions are all indicative of a belief that other people genuinely care to know what I think! And as you all know (there are readers, right?!) I prefer to hide my vanity as much as possible...
The second reason is far more pragmatic: I don't have time! While my to-do list on any given day is fairly short, it seems to take hours to complete even the simplest of tasks now that I am a mom. So, if there are folks reading this, please forgive infrequent posting.
So, now that I have arrived, here's what you should know: I am a 20-something momma to an almost 1 year old boy... we'll call him McGee. Though I completed an undergraduate degree before the arrival of my son, I am slowly muddling my way towards a future at this point by trying to get in to a PA program. In the meantime, I help out around my family's judo dojo, I am studying for the GRE, and I am learning how to be a mom. That last task has proven the most difficult for me, by far.
The point of this blog is for me to have a place to rant about the many joys and trials associated with being a single mother. While there are other single mom's blogging in this world, I feel it's worth adding my voice to the throng, as I am not what one would call "maternal" by nature... in fact, I'm kind of a dude on the inside. A confirmed tomboy since birth, I navigate the world of femininity precariously, picking and choosing which aspects I deem acceptable for myself. I am an activist, a feminist, a mommy, a Christian, an athlete at times, a woman by choice... I am crude and crass, yet loving and kind. I'm McGee's mom. I'm Valarie! Pleased to meet you :)
Well, there are two main reasons I have not, thus far, joined in (even though, apparently, all the cool kids are doing it). First, to blog is to openly admit to one's narcissism. The simple act of writing about my life, and letting people know where to read it, then expecting those people to show a modicum of interest... well, these actions are all indicative of a belief that other people genuinely care to know what I think! And as you all know (there are readers, right?!) I prefer to hide my vanity as much as possible...
The second reason is far more pragmatic: I don't have time! While my to-do list on any given day is fairly short, it seems to take hours to complete even the simplest of tasks now that I am a mom. So, if there are folks reading this, please forgive infrequent posting.
So, now that I have arrived, here's what you should know: I am a 20-something momma to an almost 1 year old boy... we'll call him McGee. Though I completed an undergraduate degree before the arrival of my son, I am slowly muddling my way towards a future at this point by trying to get in to a PA program. In the meantime, I help out around my family's judo dojo, I am studying for the GRE, and I am learning how to be a mom. That last task has proven the most difficult for me, by far.
The point of this blog is for me to have a place to rant about the many joys and trials associated with being a single mother. While there are other single mom's blogging in this world, I feel it's worth adding my voice to the throng, as I am not what one would call "maternal" by nature... in fact, I'm kind of a dude on the inside. A confirmed tomboy since birth, I navigate the world of femininity precariously, picking and choosing which aspects I deem acceptable for myself. I am an activist, a feminist, a mommy, a Christian, an athlete at times, a woman by choice... I am crude and crass, yet loving and kind. I'm McGee's mom. I'm Valarie! Pleased to meet you :)
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