The other day my husband said to me "You have been different this pregnancy." Mission, accomplished. I told myself from the beginning this time around it would be different. Now, from the very beginning I didn't know that this would be my last pregnancy but that is something that has become more clear to me now and had an affect on me but, not from the start though, I just knew I wanted this pregnancy to be different. Not that there was anything wrong with my first time around, I just had a clearer outlook this time, knew what was important. I have watched so many of my family and friends struggle with seriously infertility or just frustrations in general with conceiving, or loss. It made me realize I may have really taken my experience for granted. My first go 'round I got off of my birth control "had fun with it" for two months, zilch, tracked for one month and got pregnant. I remember someone telling me "be careful who you tell they to," which now I get why she said that but, at the same time though everyone's journey is different and I shouldn't have to feel like it's rude or offensive that I got pregnant right away the first time that was my path. There is nothing I did that controlled that. So much of the process is out of our control, this is true for pregnancy, birth, and parenting. We should all be able to share our journeys without shame or judgement. The second time around I thought the same would hold true, so imagine my surprise when my perfect timeline blew up in my face and "8 months behind schedule" here I was with an empty uterus. It's frustrating to say the least, but nothing in comparison to what some of my nearest and dearest have been through. Things really got put into perspective. That disruption in my perfect plan gave me a chance to grow more gratuitous. You become a little jaded though. There was no big announcement today my husband, or to my family and friends. I woke up in a cold sweat on day 32 of my cycle, no period, entered the data into my app and there was a ? for when my next ovulation would be. FINE! I'll take a pregnancy test, after months of negatives what's one more. So, I drove to the 24 hours Walgreens and 6:30 in the morning and got the two pack. Pee, flush, wait. PREGNANT. Life went on. I didn't shout it from the roof tops. I called my OB made my initial appointment and went about my day with my daughter, popped my prenatal, outside to play. I eventually made an announcement on my site and page when we knew it was a baby girl, but I almost didn't do that. It's not that I didn't want to celebrate or that I wasn't elated. I was relieved. I didn't want to keep feeling like I was failing at this thing that we are supposed to be able to do so naturally, I didn't want it to consume me anymore, I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want the constant "how are you feeling, when are you due." I just wanted it for me. My blessing. My happiness. Mine. I didn't want to share it. I felt like I am pregnant, people get pregnant all of the time, it doesn't change my ability to, do my job or live my life. I didn't want people treating me like I was broken. And I didn't want them in on MY joy. Is that mean? Idk but I wanted something for me. Plus, I have learned so much in the passed three years that I was terrified that something would be wrong and I felt almost a guilt to be having a second child when I knew what it could really take to get pregnant. Like REALLY, what I went through was a smudge on the radar. Also, I already had a beautiful, healthy baby girl, some people had none, people who really wanted it, deserved it. It felt mean to flaunt it, unnecessary. I'm just pregnant, I'm not that special, I wanted it but I did not have complete control over it. I am just a vessel for this blessing. You don't have to tell everyone. Hell, you don't have to tell anyone (maybe your partner, but that none of my business.) However you want your experience to unfold is entirely up to you. This time I controlled the narrative. This time around I have so much more respect for the process. So much more grace for the honor. So much more patience. This is a gift. The ultimate gift. The nausea is a blessing, when I couldn't see or feel her yet that was my one sign that she was growing. This rib kicks, remind me she is there and getting strong. I am thankful for the exhaustion, she is taking all of the energy she needs to grow and develop. I won't get to do this again, there is no rush, I relish the journey. What an impossible miracle it is to create a life. The magnitude of this is not lost on me. How incredible to have this opportunity twice, I do enjoy sharing it, but I will never regret how long it was just her and I. I don't complain (well very little), I don't ask for special treatment but I know my limits. It's only 10 months, then I get to have the rest of my life with her, I would barely call it a sacrifice, it's a privilege. Blessing accepted, xoxo Shauna
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You know that feeling, when you are watching your favorite super hero movie. And there is that scene. Where it seems like, they will fall. This is it, the defeat, the fall from grace, the end. We know it's all for show right? It won't really happen. But, this lump creeps in your throat. A tear might even settle in the base of your eye. You keep watching. Our hero. The chosen one. The one who will save us all. If they can't triumph what hope is there for the rest of us? But, just wait until the next scene, just hold on, here comes the strength. Here comes the miracle. Here comes the sidekick. Something we missed. A possibility. You are frozen there watching, mind racing, searching for solutions, waiting for the time to run out, or the asteroid to hit, for the bridge to collapse, the building to topple, the world to end, you look down, and there is a time bomb strapped to your chest, you can't do anything, not a God damned thing but watch, and wait for the explosion. That's what it feels like. That's what it feels like to be told by an untouchable person, "The doctor called, and they said, I have breast cancer." "Don't tell me lightning doesn't strike twice." Everything that follows that sentence is like the teacher from Charlie Brown talking. the explanation, the classification, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma Triple Negative Breast Cancer, Stage One, Grade 3. That was MY SISTER'S diagnosis nearly three years ago, and MY MOM'S nearly three weeks ago. Don't tell me lightning doesn't strike twice. Don't tell me we come out stronger on the other side. Don't tell me everything is going to be ok. You DON'T know any of that and neither do I. "Telling people does not lessen the burden." Telling people doesn't lessen the blow. It doesn't lift the weight. It puts the weight of your pain and sorrow on us. We feel like we have to hold you up. We know you will have questions we don't have the answers to. Or questions like "are you scared, your sister and now your mom?' Please think to yourself, would you like to play a game a cancer roulette? Then kindly keep this question to yourself. The cancer is deemed "environmental" not genetic, aka a pretty shitty fuckin coincidence. My mom only has girls, us girls only have girls. So many sweet girls, so much worry to spread around. "Environmental" and "unfortunate coincidence," that doesn't work for me. I want answers I want more for my sister, my mom, myself, and I want more for these sweet baby girls. We all know as a parent you will do anything to keep your kids from harm, ANYTHING. But, there is nothing we can do. Sure, environmental could be diet based, could be location based, but, I am saying there is nothing we can do that without a shadow of a doubt that will protect us or our three sweet baby girls from lightening. For now we wait, we fight. We stand strong. We kneel and pray. We take down this ugly monster today. We face what we can see. We defeat the visible immediate threat. For now, We put on our capes. Do me a favor, self check, have a friend check, I don't care, someone needs their hands on those boobies, this is our best and sometimes our only, early defense. Click below for the proper way to squeeze your fun bags. I will post public updates as my family sees it appropriate. If you would like to be s part of the Caring Bridge Community for more personal and up to date information throughout my mom's treatment please contact me. Thank you for all of the love and well wishes thus far.
So guys, remember that post when I was like, asking for advice on how to survive a plane ride with a toddler? None of that mattered, all she wanted was the tablet and to watch Trolls while she was awake. But, that's not what really matters, something no one could prepare for happened. I solemnly swear this is the truth! I am not going to embellish because the story is already unfuckin' believable. Before I get down to the details, if you don't have kids, or even if you do we need a reference point for the stages of toddler poop: Turd - self explanatory, belongs in a toilet but kid refuses to put it there. Cream cheese - either they at something a little wrong, or, it was a turd and they decided that it was acceptable to continue normal activities with it in their diaper including sitting. Mashed potato - no outward signs that your kid has pooped are present because it slid right out and they continued about their business. Melted smoothie - specks of food are visible, overall liquid texture, likely will leak out the side of the diaper. Vinaigrette - smells God awful, acidic, your kid's stomach is fucked, mostly liquid, features small pieces of poo "shrapnel" So, the night before we were headed to leave on our big adventure. It began. Right before bath time, toddler squatting and screaming inconsolably until "vinaigrette" poo escaped her tiny little body, took 2 to hours get her down for the night, no bath before plane travel, not a good start. Then, her worried parents paced around the house continually checked the monitors and did a middle of the night diaper change only to discover.... A FIVE ALARM DIAPER RASH! Fuck. We are about to board a plane = two hours of sitting, followed by a one hour car ride, with a hot booty tot. Not good. I scraped the last of the triple paste from the bottle, slathered that booty, and hit a 24 hour Walgreens on the way to the airport. Jesus help us. Ok, we're on the road and everyone is so nervously excited!!! It's freakin 5am, I'm jazzed, game face on, all the toys and snacks are ready. Baby Phee here we come (oh and Britt and Erin, and Baby S). Just hanging in the back of the truck singing Trolls jams with my baby and then it happened. One second I forgot one minor detail, before we left at 4:30am, the hot butt baby slammed not one but two drinkable yogurts and I was too sleep deprived and distracted when she screamed for a second one that I just gave it to her instead of thinking that through. Big mistake. DAIRY PUKE, in the car seat that we are taking on the plane. What a cruel world we live in. And side note, why do kids ALWAYS put their hands right in the projectile puke path? Incase you wanted to know, wipes are good for cleaning a multitude of messes, Danimal barf removal from a car seat is not one of these. But, a mom on a mission, on a curb, in an airport unloading zone, is a woman with a way. So, I did the best I could, packed that stink bomb in the bag and off we went. Oh one good thing did happen, babygirl was going to be a lap rider because why wouldn't I take advantage of that while I could? She won't be two until next month, boom, money in the bank. Luckily, the flight was not full so we got to occupy the whole row, and I'm sure everyone else was grateful for this as well. Because...during boarding, a devilish child, I mean my sweet offspring, squatted down in front of her seat, and "melted smoothie" happened. Did you hear me, during BOARDING. People are coming down the aisle, there is no hope of getting this poo out until we are in the fucking air. Everyone strapped in, own seats, Princess Poppy is at the ready. As soon as the seatbelt light is off I'm up for the impossible task that is changing a giant toddler in an airplane bathroom. Time of take off 6:25 am. Time my poo clad toddler fell asleep on the plane. 6:35 am. Now, I had a choice to make here. Wake a sleeping, chapped assed, beast, then attempt to change said beast in a glorified port-a-john, and have both of us make it out alive. Or, let the beast rest, survive the flight, deal with what lies beneath when we get there. Third possibility which was out of my control is deal with it if and when she wakes up mid-flight. What time do you think Ursula woke up. If you guessed "right when the seatbelt like came on and we began descending," step on down and claim your prize! There we were trapped in a three seat, doo doo death trap, inside of a flying tin can. And now that she is awake she is miserable, refusing to sit, bouncing on my legs in sneakers, and screaming. My husband even asked the flight attendant if there was anyway we could just go change her quickly in a desperate plea. Denied. I think I blacked out for the rest of the flight. We made it. Somehow. Got to the nearest bathroom, screaming, wiping, second wardrobe change of a the day, and a ring pop later, we got our bags and sour car seat and made our way to Long Island with the sweet smell of upchuck in my nose in the back of a rental car. The weekend spent with family was rather uneventful in the best way possible, and in relation to the horrifying events of the aforementioned car, and plane ride. There was a really, really cute one month old baby who is my new Niece! How lucky am I!?!? Two crazy toddlers, my sisters (parents of the most perfect niece ever born) who we were so happy to see after not being in the same state since last Christmas. However, 3 kids under two and 4 adults in a cozy, two bedroom, rental for four days could really be a blog of its own... The plane ride back was far less eventful, I think the Lord knew I was too weak to handle much more. But, she did not sleep a wink and there was a "mashed potato" diaper. If you think I let her sit in that diaper after spending 3 days tending to a diaper rash that was one wrong wipe from broken skin and ended our beach trip early, you are a very silly person. "Center seat changing station for two please." You know what really seals the smell of sweet diaper changed victory away from other passengers? Puke bag. See how we came full circle here? Fold over twice, and bend the tabs like so. 'Til next time, I wish you all SAFE, bodily fluid free, travels. Bon voyage. AuthorJust a momma trying to figure it all out and survive this crazy life I love. Dear "Play Date Moms," I see you, piping hot Starbucks, one for your smiling girl friend with her baby in a sling, you sachet in with you baby bump while your toddler almost gets crushed by the closing door, but don't spill that latte girl. *hug, cheek kiss, "you didn't have to bring this you are too sweet"* I see you girl, chatting while your kid gets yelled at by the life guard. Swaying your infant and sipping your green tea while your toddler snatches something from my kid. I see you, fawning over your friend's new bundle of joy while your toddler shoves hers over and takes her toy. Then, you both beg them to play nice and do some activity that is right in your eyesight that they don't give a shit about, but you don't want to chase them, and they don't want to do the same thing. I see you, laughing, catching up, livin' it up in the shade of the sandbox while your kids asks me to help fill their pale. Oh, why is your kid asking me? Because I'm HERE with my kid. Helping, playing, getting dirty, laughing with her. Oh, I have a friend here too, she's right over there! "Hey girl!" She's es down on her hands and knees playing too. We can't finish a conversation because our kids run to two different ends of the park simultaneously. Friend, I'm here, but I'm not here for you girl. Sorry not sorry. I'm here get my kid out the house. I'm here so my kid can hang out with your kids and not grow up to be a dick because she's never had to share. (Yes your kids are test subjects for siblings.) I'm here, for her. To help her, to laugh with her, to play and get dirty with her. If I we want to "see" each other or actually finish and adult conversation, we can grab some drinks. Play dates are not social hour. Sorry to break it to you moms. And, I totally thought they would be, like sweet I'll get to "hang out" with my mom friends all the time and we'lI just lunch, and laugh and chat. No, no, no, I generally finish one to two thoughts at any given play date unless the children are confined to strollers. I don't tell my kid not to "interrupt me while adults are talking", surprise we are at a fucking zoo, a place for children to see animals and learn and observe and tell you all the things see. Listen to your kid don't shush them! These "kid" activities are for surprise, KIDS, your kids. Look up from your flat white and check if your kid is alive, or bullying someone else's kid. I didn't come here discipline or assist your kid I never met in my life, I wanna spend time with my kid and her little homies she is rollin' with or whoever she chooses to play with. I'm not your babysitter. I will ask your kid "where's your mom sweetie?" If they are being a terror or need your help. I have no shame, none. I will tell them "no she can't try that" when they scream that's mine about some toy that they aren't touching and how no claim to. I paid my money to get in here just like you and I want my kid to have the best experience, period. You can call me a helicopter mom if you want but, I bet you won't see my kid shoving yours down the slide. *oh yes I saw you little girl at the pool, some kids need to work up a little courage before they plummet into the water, paws to yourself, where is your mom?!* And if she does, I bet I will see it and correct it, and have her (she's two so this is a struggle) or I will apologize for her behavior and redirect. It's all love mommas but some of y'all need to hear this. If your pissed, maybe you've had one to many frappes. BRB. Gotta make sure my propellers are in working order.....
If you are offended by the word shit, you may want to head out now, because THIS is all about a shitty adventure I had. If you have followed me for any period of time you probably know I am pretty crafty. I love to try to make things on my own instead of buying them (within reason), or transforming old things to make them useful. So, naturally, our story begins in a craft store. A fabric store to be exact. I was looking for fabric to update my second hand glider to match babygirl's big girl room better. Anywho, I have no idea why the whole family went but there we were. We are three steps into the store and those fucking marketing geniuses captured my toddlers little eye with rainbow bouncy balls, fine whatever, I'm not buying this dumb ten dollar ball but, I am not above with "product testing" while we shop. Here I am so motivated, let's get in and out, we head to the fabric section. Two aisles in, what is that smell?! You got it, "what is a shit diaper, for 200 Alex." Before we get to the meat and potatoes of the story you need to know one detail, whenever I try to place my kid on to the public changing table she goes stiff. Stiff as a fucking board. No flex to her body, neck off of the mat, flat legs, no desire to help a mother out. Anyways there we were, me, her, rainbow bouncy ball, public restroom changing table, toddler in full shavasana. Of course the poop is completely smashed to her butt because the best time to make a huge pile, is IN the car seat on the way to a store. After a little coaxing and song singing we got the job done and thankfully no one was there to witness my dog and pony show, because of course, this changing table was outside the stalls. Great, not to bad moving on. Didn't find the fabric I wanted, put said expensive ball back and got out of the store after an unnecessary amount of family fun time in there and one smashed turd. Not too bad hey? Why not push our luck. The following week I needed materials because my kid needs a custom floral headband made for Easter. NEEDS. Also, I needed the paper and what not for those big flowers I made for above her bed. Craft store family fun trip number two. You already know they had those same rainbow balls and one made it into the bathroom with us once again, and got purchased this time but, that's not the good part. Let's get down to the juicy part, pun intended. Shopping around, again way longer than necessary even though I had a detailed list. She doesn't want to stay in the cart but, doesn't want other customers looking at her. Every time someone looked at her she ran to my husband or I and clawed at our legs till we picked her up. Back and forth between us and in and out of the cart and destroying things, naturally. About ready for check out, heading to the line when....the toddler I am holding feels damp, and smells funny. My flannel feels damp, weird, I smell funny.... I pull her away from me and what do we do mom's say it together "smell that butt!!!" Sweet Satan. Death. Liquid, #4, death. Diaper escapee death. Out of the diaper, out of the pants, through the flannel, onto the undershirt. Why me? Why? ....No big deal right? Take her in the bathroom and change her outfit. You wouldn't be caught in public without a spare outfit would you momma? You bet your ass I would, she used her spare outfit at daycare. The only thing in that baby go bag was a sad wet outfit she shat through earlier in the week at daycare that I forgot to take out. FUCK. There we were, my stiff body, corpse posing child, me, the public changing table, another god damned neon bouncy ball (that I actually paid for before we hit the bathroom this time), no change of clothes for either of us, and a shit covered couple of brown girls. Why??? I get her changed and cleaned as well and I can but i had to put her poo pants back on because it was cold out still and she couldn't be pants-less. We get to the car and I don't know why I didn't think of, the car seat! Fuck me right? They are a nightmare to clean and your allowed to basically use spit and tepid water to clean them which is going to do nothing to cleanse out toddler bodily fluids. Good thing my car is a disaster because there was a random pair of pants there waiting for me to put under her butt. My reward for my lack of preparation and taking a toddler into craft stores twice in under a weeks time, riding home in too cold of weather to roll down a window smelling like my outfit was just dipped in someone's asshole. What did we learn here? Do your errands alone! Don't carry your toddler! Always have a spare outfit! Bring a nose plug!... Motherhood is a dish best served with humor and sarcasm.
As we start to try to expand our family I can't help but feel a certain mommy guilt I never knew existed. It's one that's way, deep down. One that makes me feel selfish. One that makes me feel greedy. One that makes me feel like I think my wonderful, amazing, only child is not enough. Every month when I pull out that little plastic stick and hold it in the toilet bowl I feel a nervous, happiness, sadness, anxiety, as the pee trickles on to that weird little papery/plasticy test strip. Is this the time I will see the indication of an addition to our little happy family? Or will I have that wave of disappointment and relief all at once, again. I love my daughter so much that I start to feel selfish about making another. I love every moment with her. It's that love that makes me want our time of "just us" to never end, but also that intense love that wants to give her to joy of a sibling. Will she be excited? Will she feel cheated? You can really go nuts thinking about every little thing? Am I greedy? Someone else would be so happy with the blessing of one. I love her so much it's hurts sometimes. But, I do want more I have always wanted more. The wanting more, and the journey for more, can make you literally insane. Every month I just picture how I am going to surprise my husband with the news. Once, I even bought my daughter a "big sister" shirt because I was SURE I was pregnant. And, you wanna know something really shitty, when I realized I wasn't and I may not be while she was in that particular size and went to return it. The lady said, as she was scanning the tag on an adorable little long sleeved shirt from an expensive children's boutique with "Big Sister" written in gold script, "What, she isn't a big sister anymore?" Who the fuck says that? Idiot! And I started sobbing and screamed "No, she isn't because the tiny fetus I thought was growing inside of me is non existent, now swipe my card for the return you insensitive troll." Ok... I didn't do that but, I kind of wanted to! What the hell does she know? She didn't know what she was saying, ya know people get weird when they feel like they have to fill the silence. Let's all just stfu sometimes. Better yet.... Let's all do each other a fucking solid in this world and stop asking "are you pregnant?", "when are you going to get pregnant?" The state of my uterus and eggs are none of your business. "How bow dah?" This is not a casual conversation like "how 'bout dem Packers." The decision to start to expand a family is not something I have ever taken lightly and granted I am guilty of asking those questions in ignorance, but it's PERSONAL! Let's all try to do better! It's not a journey everyone wants to openly share with every stranger, co-worker, or sometimes even friends or family. It can hurt, it can be hard, it can be easy, sometimes we don't want to admit how hard or how easy or how God damn exhausting it is. The bottom line is you have no clue what is going on in someone's marriage, financial situation, health, or any area of their life that would impact their decision to conceive or NOT, now or ever. Or maybe they just don't want and little germ mongers running around their fucking house and guess what? That's OKAY too. It's none of your business. Sorry, it just isn't. I mean there are cues that would lead someone to believe that this conversation is ok, but most people don't read them, or don't give a crap. And again, I am 100% guilty of this I am not just throwing insults, I have LEARNED from uncomfortable conversation and experiences that I have had to apologize for my loose lips. side note: In the emotional state I currently reside in, a quote from that book up top almost brought me to tears at a fucking Barnes story time: . . . I wanted you more than you'll ever know,so I sent love to follow wherever you go. . . . *I'm not crying you're crying* Now, I am pretty open generally so I don't want people to not talk to me about pumping, nursing, raising a wild animal and remaining sane, wanting another, getting pregnant, ovulating, being a working mom, boogers, diapers, rashes, postpartum, the list goes on. But, to just ask someone's family planning in an off the cuff, mixed company, random situation is not really appropriate. Not in a time where some people's journey to becoming a parent can include 6 years $30,000 and a rainbow baby to get a single off spring, or two miscarriages, or bedrest, or a premature baby, or a baby with health challenges, or a spouse who doesn't want more, or a surprise pregnancy that sent their life off of the rails, or a successful or failed adoption, and you wanna turn around and say "don't you want kids?" Or "aren't you going to give them a sibling?" You may want to say goodbye to your siblings if you say one more dumb thing like that to the wrong person because it ain't gonna be pretty...
YOU don't know what someone else is going through or has gone through. You don't know if she just got bad news from her doctor, or got a negative pregnancy test, or a positive one, or is in her to two week wait after ovulation over analysis her every move and blaming herself if a pregnancy doesn't happen. YOU DONT KNOW. And, it isn't for you to know so you can sock away information on people like Gretchen Wieners. If you WANT to know and truly care, there are appropriate ways to have conversations, with people IF you think you even should have the honor of knowing their journey. What a blessing it is to know something so personal about someone. So private. To know their emotions and choices, to know what a family looks like to them, what they have been will to do to MAKE a family. What power you have to KNOW them better. What a gift. I LOVE to ask mommies about making their first babies, or more babies, how and why and when and how many, in my sweats, in my home, with coffee or tea or wine. Not accosting them over their bag lunch in a crowded break room. The frustration, the guilt, the relief, the excitement, the exhaustion, the tears, the stress, the blessing. It's different for everyone. So thank you mommas for sharing with me, I APPRECIATE you. I draw strength, energy, and support from you as we continue our journey. And I have your back too. Xoxo Shauna I used to be one of those people who thought my coworkers with kids got "special" treatment. Of course, this was before I had a little energy sucker of my own and realized that your life is not just yours now and your priorities shift drastically when you have a baby. I am not here to give you the "being a working parent is hard speech, but really, the shit is not easy. I am sure that everyone out there who works and doesn't have kids is so fucking sick of hearing working mom's especially, complain about having to work AND parent. I get it, I am sick of myself sometimes. The bottom line is we CHOSE this life, so maybe we should just suck it up?
When my husband and I decided to have a baby the conversation did not include any plans for either of us to change our career paths, which may be weird to some. But, we never thought that having a kid would really change our lives that much. We vowed never to be "those people" that wouldn't see our friends or would RSVP to an event and then cancel at the last minute. Then along came little miss E and rocked our world. What she did actually, was put things into perspective for us and show us how out of balance our lives really were. I have been lucky enough to never work a traditional 9-5 job which has been extremely helpful on the mommy front. However, my husband has done this for the last couple years and what we realized is there isn't much balance to a life like this at all. His only time with baby girl is dinner and bed time on most days and time on the weekends when we are tending to other things that got pushed to the side during the week. Alone time as a couple, ha ha yea right. We decided that this was just not worth it, it was fine when it was just the two of us (and pups), but a baby? They need much more, and we need much more time with them. If we wanted to truly feel that we are raising her, not daycare and grandparents we had to make a change. Off the hamster wheel. I started to work less hours and will be working even less in the new year, and my husband is making a career change. Holy shit! Horrifying. There is a lot of risk involved here, and how much reward? The sacrifice on our end has been huge. No working mom who truly enjoys her career wants to feel like she "has to give it up" and no hard working hubby/father wants to feel like he can't provide financially on the home front. Here is the real deal though. We are a team and there are two star players here. It is not my time right now. I had my time, I have built and amazing career for myself. Now, it is my turn to lift him up and play the supporting role. I am not implying by any means that "mom" is a supporting role, mom is the star okay "when your good to momma, momma's good to youuuuu." I am talking about the role of wife. Supporting my partner's goals and our ultimate goal to be great parents and have a happy, healthy, work life balance, AND a strong marriage, which seems so foreign to most I am sure. Do we want our kids to grow up seeing us moan and groan on our way to work and come back to stressed to enjoy them? I for one know that I can have a short fuse when I am over worked and exhausted and it trickles into home. This is not a fun way to live and it isn't sustainable. Kids are going to be kids and I want to have the energy and patience to let it roll off when my daughter throws my favorite makeup brush into the toilet (still cringing). I WANT to have a career and be a mom, and I have said before I do believe we truly can "have it all." But, what does that look like to you? What does it cost right now? You don't lose the weight over night. You don't build a successful career in a day. A happy marriage doesn't just happen. Having it all isn't going to come easy I'll let you know if it's worth it when we get there. Right now, I am going to enjoy the ride. I am gonna love the time with baby girl for as long as I have it. I am gonna enjoy the time at work when I get adult interaction and make it worth my time away from my sweet girl because otherwise what is the point? If you leave your babies every day to do something you hate what is the point? You owe it to yourself to do work that you love and still have time and energy to love on your little ones. I don't really like when people call being a mom a full time job, that's just me but hear me out. It is full time, but I wouldn't call it a job, it is my life. It is who I am now. My career is what I do. So, when it seems like people are chosing their "job" as a mom over work, it is not a choice. Work is work. Motherhood is our life. This is the first blog that I have started and stopped writing so many times in my head I can't count because I am like actually worried about offending someone. This is such a personal thing, sharing your children. Choosing how much of them to share and why. That's up to the parents and really it is not my business what anyone decides to do as long as you can sleep at night. I am not here to throw stones because Lord knows my house is made of single pane.
Disclaimer: LONG WINDED POST AHEAD... Maybe you don't care or haven't noticed but, I never post pictures with my baby's face showing, or in just a diaper, or shirtless, or naked on my social media accounts that are public. I have pretty strict rules with what to put out there for perceivably anyone to see. I have really been thinking a lot about this topic lately because a mom not much different than me, got her Instagram account closed for posting photos of her daughter that were deemed "inappropriate." They didn't specifically tell her what photos were reported, but she narrowed it down to one of her toddler in shorts and I tank, lifting her shirt to almost her chin, and gazing at her belly. Was it "inappropriate" idk, but I wouldn't have reported it. Someone felt the need to, and it really gets my mind racing. The way that we look at our children, adore their innocence, think that everything they say and do is so funny, is not the way they are received into the world. They are met with harsh judgement and to be honest there are some sick fucking people behind these phone/tablet/computer screens. That second part probably comes from us watching way too much Criminal Minds, which is also the reason I call my daughter pet names in public so that a stranger couldn't call to her and kidnap her. I know! Some of it is over the top but we worry that's what we do! So, why do we just put everything they do out there for everyone to see? To judge us? To judge them? I know it happens because I am a big fucking culprit. What a clean house...what a messy house...holy shit so many toys...did they not see their kid's diaper was full before they snapped the pic...that's not a very flattering angle....that just doesn't seem age appropriate...hmmm...interesting. We all do it, don't leave me hanging here. When Miss E was born we waited almost a month to post a photo of her on social media. Now, there were a few reasons for this: 1. My sisters live out of the state and I wanted them,and the rest of the family to "meet" her in person, not on social media. 2. I am NOT the type of person the put up my swollen face, baby covered in birthday frosting, ugly cry photos, and threats were made in the delivery room to insure my wishes were respected. (I commend women who are brave enough to share and have seen some gorgeously tasteful images) 3. It's so PERSONAL in the beginning, this adventure and joy belonged to my husband and I and we selfishly wanted to keep her guarded. So many of those first moments are so, so precious, why would you want prying eyes sneaking a peek? We wanted to live in our bubble for a while, I told next to no one when I went into labor, and I sent a family text when I got to my comfy hospital room like "surprise bitches, a baby happened", - I still get shit for this... PERSONALLY I don't like to over share on media platforms that are "public", and I won't show her face. My husband and I had a long discussion about this before the baby was born, about how we wanted this to be handled on our private channels. Which, that's a whole other thing, is anything truly private? Are we really in complete control of who is seeing what we share? Anyways, I strongly recommend talking to your significant other about this and getting on the same page because it isn't something that isn't going away and lines need to be drawn. Here are the rules we have: 1. Photos of the baby are only allowed to be posted by him or I. 2. No photos would be allowed to be posted by friends or family, which did result in some awkward conversations in the beginning, especially family who just wanted to share in our joy and show off the new addition. Now, it is a non-issue no one really gets upset. Most of our family and friends know that we have this rule and will occasionally ask if the can post some photo of our little cutie, to which we politely decline. I have asked people to take photos down of her as well. eek! If you want to do the same with your little, you have to stand your ground from birth, "we want to be in complete control of her social media exposure, I'm sorry, thank you for sharing that photo with us though it really is adorable." *rule number 2 is very important to stick to because if we say yes to one person then everyone will ask and use it as leverage or the flood gates would just open. (I am not so vain to think people just CONSTANTLY want to post photos of m gorgeous child, I just know that it is an off the cuff, non-issue for most people and they do it just so frequently its the norm to post whoever and whatever they are doing.) 3. Photos to be posted need to be cleared with the other parent. I am gonna be honest here, I really don't want pictures of my kids posted by whoever is babysitting them at the time covered in chocolate, with a full diaper, one shoe, and a snaggle too because "grandpa thought it was cute." No thank you. I am weird about it, and I will continue to be weird about it to protect MY kid. End rant. At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what I say and I know I can just keep on scrolling or unfriend or hit it to the left if I don't want to see a million pictures of your kid. And you can give me the big X if you don't care for what I am saying. It is just a conversation worth having, because the social media obsession and exposure it only going to grow. We can't even begin to imagine what the effects will be on out kids down the line because we didn't grow up with it this prominent. Think about these kids that are infamous "memes". Let's look at it this way, would you like there to be public, documentation of every stage of your life, good, bad, awkward, or ugly, immortalized online forever. I for one am glad this whole craze didn't really come into my life until like the end of highschool, and the reel that is out there is from those few years and shows up on my time hop makes me cringe and want to climb under a table. Because, once it is out there it is out there. I don't know if it is completely fair for us to make this decision for our children. I just don't know what the answer is. I mean there is s teen SUING her parents for not giving her a choice. Suing her own fucking parents. If that doesn't make you pause and think I don't know what will. PERSONAL image and online presence should be decided by you right? Shouldn't our kids some sort of chance to create themselves without the loom of their every waking move since birth already there for the world to see on social media? I want to share this amazing experience we call motherhood with my sister mommas, with dads, who aunties, with whoever will scroll and listen. But, there is a cost and I wont exploit my kid to gain popularity. Like. Comment. Share! (So I know you are here) Follow me on insta @_cryingoverspilledmilk You guys, the other day I was so jacked to start my bullet journal. I almost went to Walgreens for materials at like 8:30 at night, but decided to contain myself and wait until the following day and take my time scowering the shelves at office depot filled with, washi tape and felt tip pen yummy goodness! Great decision by me. Now, while I was there I couldn't find the notebooks with grid paper, which I needed because I wanted to be very methodical about my sectioning and page dividing. So, I searched around for probably too long, the baby had thrown enough things on the floor and was clutching an address book she decided to claim (btw, who the fuck is still buying address books?), and I thought it was best to ask for help. I find an employee, she looked to me to be in her 50s, I don't know if that is relevant you tell me when you hear the whole story. I told her what I was looking for and promptly showed me where to find this OCD journalist's dream notebook and then she said something that for some reason pissed off. I haven't been able to shake it. There were 2 color options and she said "Is it for a boy or a girl?." I have to assume that at this point she thinks that I am buying this notebook for an older child who is not featured on this episode of "how to survive office depot with a toddler." Um, why does that matter? If I (or said imaginary child) had a penis would I (he) be physically incapable of writing in a hot pink notebook? Would my vagina fall off if I chose the blue one? Where does this crap come from? It popped back in my head today because on GMA they were discussing the new commercial with one of the William's sisters where words flash on the screen and the word female disappears and replace by "greatest athlete of all time" (or something like that). I see this commercial and I am naturally like "yes bitch, woorrrrrkkkk." But, now that I have a daughter I think a little more into it. Like, why is this such a big deal? Why do we still have to get these "wins"? Why does she have to chose the pink notebook? Why does everyone ask if I dress her in tutus or put headbands on her?
Let me step back for one second, I am a HBBQ, as my friend Jena Sims so affectionally calls us. Has. Been. Beauty. Queen. SO, some of these questions would so happen to come with the territory: the former strutter of swimsuits and evening gowns in heels territory. When I found out that I was having a girl I think people expected me to shoot out a rock step rocking, runway twirling, glitter covered, perfect pretty little princess. I can count the times that I have put her in a tutu on one hand. Most of the toys and big tickets items that we own for her that are gender specific I did not buy. Listen I love Cinderella, Aurora and Snow as much as the next 90s kid but I don't want my kid thinking this shit is reality. I don't want to raise a "girly-girl" or even a "tom-boy" for that matter. I want my kid to be herself! If that means eating sand and smashing her face twice in one week playing rough fine! If that means mimicking me putting on my make up and picking bows to put in her hair, also fine. I had a conversation today with a mom of 6 girls. Count em SIX. All fucking girls. She told me, all but one of her girls chose to marry a man from an ALL boy family? Why? "My girls were just people, they learned to be people. They can cook AND mow the lawn." I would have to assume the same went for all of the chosen husbands. This really struck a cord with me. If you don't have a direct gender comparison what would happen? You do it all. You are just a people and you learn to do it all, I just want my kids to be PEOPLE. Boys can have dolls and girls can play with trucks. Get out of their way! They don't know any better they are allowed to have varied interests. Unless you tell them pink is for girls or blue is for boys, guess what? They don't know!!! What you do with your own kids is none of my business, but when you see my bad ass baby girl in your son's jujitsu class. Keep you fucking mouth shut. Because, I know some bad ass lesbians that will kick your ass:) As I have finished up nursing I notice I haven't had much of a reason to talk about my boobs anymore, and there hasn't been much of them to talk about. Insert crying Kimoji here. Like, I was an "on demand milk tapper" for 12 months and this is what I get? I mean I didn't really think I was gonna come out of this with just a smaller version of my once pretty amazing cha-chas (if I do say so myself). But, this? This is unfair.
For those of you who have had kids and nursed I know you are feeling my pain right about now. For those of you who have not nursed, I would love some feed back on if Gravity has done such a number on you or if you have escaped unscathed. If you were able to nurse and keep something attached to you body that resembles you former FUN bags in anyway, don't tell me I don't know if my heart can take it. Picture: you put and orange inside of a sock, and then you smashed the orange with a frying pan, now hold the sock at the top. You get my drift? Not the best right? I was sooooooooo excited to got to underwear drawer and pull out a slinky little bra with NO NURSING CLIPS! When the day finally came I was like a preteen getting her first training bra. The memories of my peppermint slathered, cold compress covered, milk drying boobs were fading away....ahhhhhh. Wait? What? Who put this bra in here? Why is it so big? Or who the fuck snuck in here and sprinkled some of shit Alice drank to make her shrink on my previously perfectly sized, 26 year old boobs? I am pissed. I look down and my girls are just floating around in there like Jared in his fat man pants on a Subway commercial. This is just not fair, plus there are very subtle stretch marks, (ya know from the whole orange in the sock effect.) I am telling you this because I didn't think that this was going to happen to me. I was the hot chick in the gym with the tiny waist that NEVER lost her boobs. It was like my super power! Now it's gone, sigh. So there you go members of the "itty bitty titty committee" branches of the world. You win ok? You win! Where do I get my membership card? Follow me on Insta for more shenanigans: _cryingoverspilledmilk |
AuthorShauna Hyler, mommy of two beautiful girls! Working, blogging, and adventuring with the hubby and my sweet girls. Categories
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