When Mother's Day isn't happy.

With the recent celebration of Mother's day here in the U.S., I've been reflecting a lot on my catapult into motherhood.  It's hard for me to comprehend that I've been a mother for almost five years.  On one hand, I can't remember how it feels not to be a mom and on the other hand, it all feels so new.  I still feel like a novice who is treading water in this role that feels like uncharted territory.

In my five years of motherhood, I've learned and adapted, and most of all, I've changed.  Like completely and drastically changed to the core.

Source

I just remember how easy motherhood was before I had my first baby.  Moms, you know what I mean.  I had this idea that it wasn't so hard (and why was every mom I know exhausted and complaining?!) to mother a child.

And then I had one.

For anyone in the throes of postpartum depression, Mother's Day can be a terrible day.  Rather than being a day to celebrate who you are as a central figure in your child's life, it can really feel like a time that highlights your failures and lack of enthusiasm for your role.  I understand; I've been there.  The beautiful images of flowers and pastels that we're inundated with from every department store didn't jive with the darkness I once associated with the holiday.

Things just didn't "click" instantaneously for me in the motherhood department.  I didn't feel an immediate bond with my baby, I didn't like having someone whose needs were so intertwined with my body, and I just felt that every move I made was wrong.  I felt hopeless, and for every well-meaning person who commented on how precious my little baby was, I just sank further into the feeling of inadequacy.  Why didn't I see how precious my little one was? Why couldn't I handle an infant?  Why was it so hard for me when people with far fewer blessings and a lot less support could handle mothering without batting an eye? Why couldn't I just be happy?  Why did I want to leave it all behind?  Was it worth sticking around for?

I guess I still don't know the answers to most of those questions, but I DO know that motherhood was worth sticking around for.  I do know now, after baby #2, that even without the depression, extreme sleep-deprivation makes me a crazy-woman who cries all the time, and there's no way around that! I know that babies are not my forte, but I love love love being the mom of a four year old.  I know that a different birth experience the second time around made me happy.  I know that it was worth doing all over again. I know that there is no such thing as a perfect mother.  I learned that even on the best of days, the emotional baggage that a mother carries can be terribly burdensome.  I've learned that sometimes putting the baby books down and following your instincts is the way to go.  I've learned that I don't regret any of the hard work and sacrifices, as I'm (slowly) seeing the effort pay off.  I've learned that post-partum depression made me a better person because I'm more empathetic of others in their struggles.  I've learned that sharing my failings and inadequacies is often far more important than talking about my successes.

To all of you moms who are in the midst of what can be a very hard time, try to put a smile on your face and keep on chugging forward--sometimes that's a step in the right direction.  You're not alone in your struggle.  Share your feelings with someone you trust.  Sharing your feelings with a doctor may be helpful, too.

Hang in there, my friend.  There are better days ahead.

She's been here since July, and I'm a bad blogger!

Hey there!

Umm, since it's November, I guess I should tell you that I'm not 4 months overdue with baby number two--she's been here since the end of July.  Little Bennett was 2 weeks late and came swiftly when she was finally ready.  Labor was just under four hours from the first contraction to the last push--pretty quick, huh?  She was born at home, just as we had planned and I couldn't have asked for a better birthing experience.  I'll spare you the details of the birth (unless you want them... I actually like reading about other births, especially when they're positive experiences) and just say that I gave birth on the floor, next to my bed, while my dog sat in the bed and watched from above.  Kinda humorous, I think.

Bennett weighed in at 8 lbs and was 19 inches long--not too huge for a late baby, thank goodness!

Here she is, 20 minutes after birth, being checked out by my midwife--on my couch.  I still can't believe we were blessed to have such a cool birth.

Here is Elliott, meeting her baby sister.  (Elliott slept through Bennett being born--Bennett was born shortly after midnight.)

Me holding Bennett--she's not even a full day old at this point, I think.

She's a few days old here...

And here she is now.  3 1/2 months old, and oh SO sweet.

Till next time,

Tristin

Waiting for Baby.

So, I'm a week overdue and finally getting less nervous and more excited about her arrival.  Bennett, like Elliott, was a desired pregnancy, but as soon as I found out I was actually expecting, I kind of freaked out.

I'll liken it to skydiving.  The first time I went skydiving nearly a decade ago, I was not afraid.  You would think you'd be scared about jumping out of a plane at 15,000 feet strapped to a barefoot Aussie named Simon (which, again, is the name we'd planned to use if we'd had a boy...) but I was not fazed.  In retrospect, I know the reason for my lack of healthy fear--I didn't know what to expect.

The second time I went skydiving, I was nervous from the moment I got in the plane because I already knew the stomach in your throat feeling I was about to have.  Also, this time I was strapped to the pot-belly of a redneck named Bubba.  I had a rough landing that resulted in an ankle injury and have never jumped from a plane since that fateful day.  Note to self: one should seriously question putting their life in the hands of a man named Bubba.  Keep that little pearl of wisdom tucked in your back pocket--I'm sure it'll be useful someday.

Now, it's not the labor that I'm afraid of.  As bad as that may be, it lasts for only a short time.  It's not the actual infant, either.  I've learned that they don't break, even though they look like they should.  I'm afraid of having another infant like Elliott--one that doesn't sleep, has a hard time nursing, and in general is a miserable baby.  Cool kid now, but daaaaang she did not like being a baby.



Elliott, at 8 weeks with our beloved Westie, Brian.

I also did not like being a mother for the first... say, 6 months or so.  Or maybe longer.  Heck, some days I'm still not thrilled at the prospect.  Truth is, I suffered from some pretty bad depression after Elliott was born.  I've been more and more open about that fact, and now I'm sharing it with you.  Prior to Elliott's birth, I'd never experienced "depression".  In fact, every time I saw a commercial for depression medications, I thought, "What a load of garbage--those people just need to cheer up".  Yeah.  I was one of those people.

And then I was humbled.  Boy, was I ever humbled.  Turns out all of those frowny-faced people in the commercials looked like they were eating popsicles at Disneyworld compared to how I felt.  I didn't think there would ever be a way out. 

Luckily, I have an amazing husband who supported me without questioning me or making me feel incompetent or crazy.  He was just there for me.  If I cried, he hugged me.  When I shared deep dark thoughts and feelings, he listened and sought ways to make things better for me.  He stayed up through the wee hours with me.  And it wasn't just my husband--my wonderful parents embraced me and were helpful, as were my in-laws.  There were others, too.  One in particular--a wonderful and worthy woman that I attend church with had "been there" before and she helped me feel normal and she has helped me realize that I can handle another child and that things can be different this time.


Elliott at 5 months, with her BFF.

Let's just say I'm approaching this new addition with a bit more apprehension than I did the first time around.  But along with that, I'm getting excited, too.  Newborns may be super-tough, but 6 month olds are pretty dern cute.  And you have to start somewhere, right?  I guess I'd love it if my kid entered the world as a three year old.  Then I may fear birth a lot more, but the kid?  No three year old can scare me.

To cheer the mood, I'll leave you with the quote of the day from Elliott:

"Mom, will you please play games with me?  You can be the winner." 

That girl sure does know how to get me off the couch.  A guaranteed win?  Why, thank you child.  I'll take it.

Kids say (and do) the darndest things.

In two months, I'll be the mom of a three year old.  How did this happen?!

In three months, I'll be the mother of two girls.  Pretty sure I know how that happened.

Our almost three-year-old with her almost three-year-old mentality never ceases to entertain us.  Elliott incessantly talks about her upcoming birthday party and specifies what she wants as a part of her special day.  Things that have been mentioned more than once as "I want that for my birdday" (misspelling is intentional as this is how she pronounces "birthday") are as follows:

1. Green
2. Hippopotomus
3. The song "The Greatest Love of All" by the late and great Whitney Houston

Let the party planning begin, right?!  Dang, that was NOT what I had in mind.  (If you're interested in MY party planning ideas, you can check out the Elliott is turning three, Come and celebrate with tea Pinboard on Pinterest.)

Elliott is majorly into pop music these days--specifically Bruno Mars.  If you ask her who her favorite musician is, without hesitation she will state "Bruno Mars".  I may need to nip this pop obsession in the bud--I still haven't gotten over the shock of hearing her try to beatbox to Jesus Loves Me during a song service at church.  (We worship without instruments, so believe you me, beatboxing children stand out like a sore thumb.)

In other musical entertainment news, she was recently singing along to some of her favorite tunes in the car (specifically they were tracks from NBC's the Sing Off) and she made a high pitched squeal when going into falsetto... and promptly stopped singing to say "Sorry guys.  I didn't mean to make that noise".  We're still laughing at that one.

Elliott's love of music is matched only by her love of dance.  Unfortunately, she inherited my dancing ability--or lack thereof.  What we lack in skill we make up for with unabashed enthusiasm, funny faces, complete obliviousness to the fact that we look like robots on crack, and plenty of pelvic thrusting.   The world is not ready for our dance parties, so we keep 'em in the safety of our living room, which, as long as my husband is not around, is a judgement-free zone.

Moms of gals out there--when is an ideal time to get your daughter's ears pierced?  I hear it's during infancy, though it's not something I cared enough to do at the time.  However, my little gal has really taken a liking to earrings.  Elliott is constantly asking if she can wear this pair or that pair of my earrings, to which I simply reply "You don't have holes in your ears so you can't wear earrings yet".  I guess I hope that she thinks holes will magically appear in her ears one day when she's ready for earrings.  She has different ideas, naturally, as you can tell by a conversation we had yesterday.

Elliott: Mom, I want earrings too.
Me: But Elliott, you don't have holes in your ears yet.
Elliott: Maybe Santa will cut holes in my ears.  With scissors.

Sheesh.  Remind me to lock up all of my scissors.  While most moms are concerned about the rite-of-passage self haircuts that so many toddlers manage to achieve, I'm concerned about my child slashing holes into her earlobes with my rusty coupon-cutting scissors.

In short, I'm rather enjoying this stage in Elliott's life.  I can't say I've enjoyed every moment like so many Moms seem to do (or at least they pretend better than I do).  I still remember Elliott's infancy as a thankless and frustrating time--and don't even get me started on the sleeplessness. Those beautiful Hallmark images of motherhood and warm embraces while light seeps through gorgeous open windows are truly few and far between here in our home--but laughter?  That's daily stuff around here, and I'll take it, thank you.

Til next time,
Tristin