new mom – Hot Mess Mom

We meet again…

Photo Cred. Janean Gray Photography.

That baby. That boy. That husband. This life.

I have dreamed of it. All of it. Since I was little. A boy and a girl. A great neighborhood. A job I am passionate about. A husband that I adore and who adores me.

I have it all. I’ve had it all. And yet, I can’t seem to capture the happiness I should be blissfully entangled in. I know why. I’ve met her before. Our last encounter was horrible, unwelcome, and completely by surprise. Her name, Postpartum Depression.

She’s the worst. She used to tell me ugly lies. She used to make me cry for no reason. She used to make me feel worthless. That was the first time we met.

Now, I don’t cry. Ever. She makes me numb. She puts a filter on my sunshine. She used to make me feel less than, not good enough, anxious, like everything was wrong. I’ve become wise to her tricks. I have outsmarted her. I no longer think those things or feel those feelings. This time, her approach is different.

Now, she makes me tired. The kind of tired that is never relieved. The kind that is exhausted just thinking about the next day. She makes me feel nothing. Empty.

I feel happiness, most days even, but not to the extend that I should.
I feel sadness, sometimes, but not to the extent that I should.
I mostly feel nothing.
My babies, they bring me happiness. The kind that makes me laugh until I cry and the kind that makes me thank God endlessly for the sweetness he has placed in my life. Other than them, I feel nothing.

The first time we met, I was utterly and completely sad. I cried ALL. THE. TIME. I wanted so desperately to be pregnant again. The anticipation and excitement of a baby coming was over and I was distraught. I loved my boy. Blissfully so. He made me so very happy. But, I still cried. Every day. I was still sad. Every Day. Blissfully in love and yet so sad. Can those two things coexist? Yes. they can.

Those first few days after birth, you are asked to fill out the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale. It asks you a variety of questions. The fist few days after birth, I felt happy. Exhausted. But HAPPY! So…I passed that test. Each time I took it. I passed. For each child, each time I took that test, I passed. Postpartum depression? NOPE! Not this girl. Not the first month…or the second…or even the third…and then month four came and HELLO SADNESS!

I didn’t know what it was. Because, the media, and even the doctors make you think postpartum depression is being huddled in a corner, rocking back- and- forth, crying. You have thoughts of suicide, self-harm, and no attachment to your baby. Maybe even thoughts of harming your baby.

By that account, I absolutely did NOT have postpartum depression. Not. Even. Close. I cried, albeit, a lot. But not a scary crazy amount. I felt sad. But I also felt happy.
I never, not one time, thought about harming myself. I never contemplated suicide. And my baby, I was smitten. I was attached. I adored him. I never thought about harming him. Ever.

Which is why it took me until month six or seven to reach out for help. To understand that I did, in fact, have postpartum depression. That I did, in fact, need help. And… help I got. Within a few weeks of reaching out, I was SO normal again. No more crying. No more sadness. Praise GOD!

I have fought back, I have. I have worked out, ran, prayed, got out of the house, talked for hours to my husband, and here I am, still feeling nothing. I will continue to do all of those things, until my hormones even out and I am back to the girl I used to be. But it is exhausting. I know, by doing those things, it will eventually bring me back to where I need to be. I know, from experience, that this has an end. It has an expiration date. It happens. It isn’t embarrassing. In fact, it is quite common.

This time, I know how to handle her. I know her angle. I know what she plans to do. I know how to combat her. I am fighting. Every day. If she becomes too combative, I will seek help. Right now, I think I have a good handle on her.

This post is for the girl who is experiencing this and doesn’t know what to do. SEEK HELP. Talk to your doctor. You don’t have to be suicidal or even unable to get out of bed to have PPD. You don’t have to spend the first year of your sweet baby’s life with a filter over your eyes. You CAN be happy. Reach out to someone. Let them know how you feel. Let them know what is going on in your mind and your heart. Talk to your doctor if it is seriously affecting your life.

And…most of all, know that you are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not a bad mother. You did not cause this, your crazy baby making hormones did. This is not something to be embarrassed about. A lot of women suffer from this. A LOT. Society makes us think we have control over this, we don’t. Society tells you that you are a crazy lunatic. You aren’t.

Postpartum depression, She is a crazy hag. Get rid of her.

You will be happy again. You can be happy NOW.

{Long run gone wrong}

Friday was supposed to be my long run. 14 miles is what I had planned to do. 14 miles was so much easier before a baby. I started by making a trip to Starbucks to get a venti chai latte to really get me going.

After the chai, I was physically and mentally ready to complete fourteen miles on a treadmill. Yes, a treadmill. I absolutely hate running long runs on a treadmill. I don’t think I am mentally tough enough for it. I brought tons of toys upstairs to my room and sat my little man in front of them. I turned on the TV and said a silent prayer that he would be happy to play alone (what was I thinking?!).

It wasn’t long before I had to stop (2.5 miles in) to drag him out of the bathroom. He had crawled in there and was climbing on my scale. Then I jumped back on the treadmill and made it to 5 miles before having to jump off the treadmill and try to get him interested in a toy. I jumped back on and made it to 7 before he had a complete meltdown. Then I gave up. This was Friday. I had grand plans of running yesterday but I ended up watching movies with my boys in my pj’s before church.

Today, I had to work the booth at church for our 5k that we are having on March 29th! So excited for that! Now, I am back home in my sweats contemplating trying that 14 miles again…or just chilling until the Superbowl. I totally don’t care at all about the Superbowl but I feel like it would be UN-American of me to do my long run during the Superbowl.

Our gym has a daycare…but when I picked him up the last time he was laying on the floor chewing on a toy the size of a Barbie doll shoe. I can’t get that image out of my mind. He has also been wrapped in their community blanket multiple times. I’m really not “that mom” that freaks out about every germ. But a community blanket grosses me out. And…I’m not sure if they ever change his diaper. I have heard that some gyms don’t? I guess that’s something I should have asked about. I just assumed that they did.

I could have taken him in the BOB for a run outside but it’s fourteen degrees and the roads are covered with sleet and ice. I am so not THAT dedicated. Friday was a bust. Saturday was a bust. I am sure today will be a bust. I’m signing up for the marathon. I’m doing it one way or another. It may take me 6 hours. But I will finish it! I will! Even if I have to crawl…

{Quarter life crisis}

I have come to the very sad conclusion that I am in the middle of a quarter(ish) life crisis. I never really believed in those until, well…now. My actual quarter of life was last year, but I guess I am a late bloomer. When I was little, I always heard adults talking about how “time flies”. They would make comments about how they couldn’t believe how this child or that child had “grown up before their eyes”. I would just smile politely all the while thinking “whatever…” Now, I understand. Time flies. In school it was slow…it was painfully slow. College was also painfully slow. Then it was like I got put on a fifteen second roller coaster. We wanted to start a family…bam I am pregnant. Then just like that… bam our baby is here. Now, he is almost eight months old. EIGHT MONTHS OLD. Which means that in a few short months he will be one year old. Then, I might as well start packing up his stuff for college. I feel like it was yesterday I found out I was pregnant. But it wasn’t yesterday…it was, in fact, 16 months ago. I went to peak in on my little baby tonight, instead I found this not so little baby sleeping in the very top corner of his crib, as if he passed out while trying to escape. I knew he was growing up, but seeing him pulling up on everything today, really pushed me over the edge.

I also turned twenty-six this year. Yep…you read that correctly 26. FOUR years away from….you know…don’t make me say it. How is that possible? For some strange reason, twenty-five did not bother me. Twenty-six bothers me a lot. So much so, that I gave my father strict instructions that my birthday cake was to say 25, not 26. This past August, we celebrated my grandma’s 90th birthday.

That brought on a whole new wave of emotions. No, not the “oh, she sure is growing up” emotions like my little man…but the “how many more birthdays will I get to celebrate with her?” emotions. My husband will be 30 in August. For those of you past 30…don’t hate on me for this blog. I’m sure you had similar emotions as you were nearing this dreaded age. I just cannot understand how I am this old. I am totally and completely getting old. I am thinking adult thoughts, I am worrying about adult things, I am saying and doing things my mother did/does, I don’t even know what is considered “cool” anymore, and after owning an iPhone for almost four years I still don’t know how to use all of the features, and I have now started to use wrinkle creams. Because…I figure I better get a head start on it now!
Where does life go? Why did it seem so slow when I was younger? Why am I so nostalgic about everything? I can’t walk into my little guy’s nursery without flashbacks of us decorating it. I can’t drive by the hospital without thinking about the last time we were there. I can’t shake the feeling that I need to call my grandma at least once a week because if I don’t I might regret it later. I know what you are thinking…”that’s life honey…just enjoy each moment.” At least, that’s what my husband told me as I was sobbing into his chest earlier. That is hard for me to accept. Because, I am the girl who has always enjoyed every moment. I am the one who saves voice mails, cards, movie ticket stubs, and even boarding passes. I think I have taken a picture of my little man every single day of his life. I savor every second and document every moment. Still, life flies by. Is motherhood just a huge emotional ball of nostalgia and worry? If so, I don’t ever remember signing up for that.
I guess there is nothing I can do to slow it down. I will have to keep savoring and documenting. I will continue to hold on to each moment until my knuckles turn white. I will replay every sweet memory in my head and my dreams until a new one happens. I will continue to wish and pray that time would slow down even just a bit. If that doesn’t work, I guess I will have to just thank God that I have a life so blessed that I wish it would slow down.

– Court

{I’m better than you}

I feel as though this may be more of a rant so bear with me. When I found out I was pregnant I was so beyond excited. I couldn’t wait to be a mom. I worried about my little man from the minute I found out I was pregnant. I was constantly asking my doctor…and Google what was safe and what was not. From nail polish to hair dye to caffeine. After worrying about miscarriage or birth defects I had a new set of worries. I had to be induced. I had pregnancy induced hypertension. Well according to the internet and message boards… I was at a high risk for excruciating pain (worse than normal labor pain) and there was a good possibility that I would rupture my uterus. Then of course there is the awful, horrible, no good, very bad….epidural. Yes, I had one. Yes, I loved it. I had been told that it would delay my l labor and that I would eventually end up with a c-section. This is interesting because it actually sped my labor up! like…a lot. I ended up with a “natural” delivery…although, I’m apparently not worthy of the medal because I didn’t do it without drugs. Doing it with drugs makes me selfish, a baby, and it means that I don’t care about my baby. I loved my labor and delivery and I wouldn’t change a second of it. WHERE DOES THIS NONSENSE COME FROM?

I did not know that becoming a mom puts you under this unwanted scrutiny from others. Every decision is constantly questioned. I did not know that I would be receiving advice from everyone and their dog. I actually don’t understand why everyone cares so much?!? There is the circumcision vs. uncircumcised, breastfeeding vs. formula, disposable diapers vs. cloth, pacifier or no pacifier, homemade baby food vs. store-bought, bed sharing vs. crib sleeping, cry it out vs. no sleep at all, working mom vs. stay at home mom, oh…and you CANNOT forget the vaccines! Then a little further down the road there will be home-school vs. public school.

It’s as if with each decision I will be awarded a gold star if I make the right decision. If not, I could be at the mercy of other mom’s who think that I should be put away for child abuse for giving my child a pacifier. Why do we tear each other down? Why does using cloth diapers and not giving vaccines make you a better mom? I briefly worked for the Children’s Division…and I can ASSURE you that none of those things constitutes child abuse. Nice try though. If you use cloth diapers and don’t do vaccines…good for you, you get two gold stars! If you are a working mother, use disposable diapers, and formula feed…you also get two gold stars! Why do we feel that we are better moms because we chose to breastfeed? How does breastfeeding make us better moms? It doesn’t. I am not trying to get into an argument over the benefits of breastfeeding. I actually took that class…I know. I breastfeed…but I have given my child formula too. I actually couldn’t care less what you do with your child (as long as you aren’t abusing them). The bottom line is that it’s none of my business.

At the end of the day, we don’t need criticism from other moms. We don’t need a reason to question our mothering skills. Because we have beat you to it! We are already questioning every decision we make. We are already worrying that by working we are missing out on our children. Or…we are worrying that we won’t be able to give them the best because we aren’t working. We worry about vaccines, diapers, formula, pacifiers, choking, development, car-seats, bullying, our bond with our child, sleeping, SIDS, abuse from babysitters, accidents, car crashes, lotion and rashes, intelligence…I could go on forever. We need to empower and uplift each other. We need to encourage each other.

Whether or not you breastfeed or you use pacifiers is irrelevant. That is not what makes you a great mother. Loving your child, spending time with your child, kissing boo boos, reading books, going to after school events, working hard to provide for them, holding them when they cry, and being their biggest fan…THAT is what makes you a great mother.

– Court

{My Guy}

“Everyone has a love story, ours is my favorite” Let me take a minute and tell you about my guy. After almost six years of marriage, I really thought we had this marriage thing figured out. I didn’t understand how couples had relationship/marital problems. Our marriage had always been so easy. I heard somewhere “real marriage doesn’t begin until you have a baby”. This.Is.So.True.
Ohmygosh! Unlike a lot those lucky couples, we were not prepared to bring a baby home (mentally speaking). Our house was perfectly clean, nursery was picture perfect, diapers were stocked, and of course we had taken a four-week course entitled childbirth. We really thought we had this down. All that we lacked was that perfect quiet baby… ha! What we hadn’t taken, was a four-week course entitled how to survive. They really should add that one. seriously, …they should!
We sent my mom home with my dad…we didn’t need her because we so had this covered. Little did we know, we would be calling her to come back just a few days later.
My little man had his days and nights mixed up, wouldn’t sleep in his bassinet, cried a lot, had reflux, and I had the mastitis. I learned very quickly that we didn’t have this thing figured out….not even close. How were we supposed to survive? Didn’t this kid know we needed sleep? Oh, how you come to appreciate even twenty minutes of sleep. What this taught me, is how very much my husband loves me.
I was awful ( I might elaborate in a future blog…if I am feeling brave). I cried a lot, especially, that first night. The picture I had in my head, you know, the one of the sleeping beautiful newborn wrapped up in their bassinet? The one where the mom and dad are all snuggled up watching him? Where they talk about how in love they are? um…ours didn’t look like that. Mine looked like a crying mama, a crying baby, no sleep, haven’t showered in days, house a mess, and a rock of a husband. Yes, he was also a bit sleep deprived, but I didn’t see it.
He took our baby and fed him, rocked him, walked with him. He slept with him on his chest. He encouraged me daily. He told me how beautiful I was (in my haven’t showered in days, just gave birth, gigantic ta-tas body). He told me how great of a mom I was (even with a screaming baby), he kissed me and held me (when I wasn’t kissable or holdable). He went to every appointment (in fact, he hasn’t missed an appointment. yet! and that includes every single prenatal appointment). He let me sleep when he needed sleep desperately. He searched high and low for things to do to brighten my day…to make my day easier. He brightened my day when I was crying, and sad. He did it when I felt incomplete and worthless. He did it when I looked awful and felt awful. He did it when I needed it most. He loves me more than I can ever comprehend. How did I deserve this man? I don’t. I will never deserve him. I am so thankful for him.
That girls….that is a love story.

– Court

{Christmas Conflict}

It’s 5am so this blog may be more rambling than anything else (you can’t say I didn’t that warn you). I can’t sleep. I woke up thinking about Christmas and the never ending list that still needs to be taken care of. There are toys that still need to be bought, gifts to be sent, and cards that need addressed. It seems that every year I am equally as stressed about all of these things. Since I couldn’t sleep, I went downstairs and got on my Ipad. I wanted to make a list because that’s how I deal with all of the mess that goes on inside my head. During my list making, my little man woke up. I went to get him to feed him. My husband woke up and wanted to know what I was doing (he usually takes the night feedings…yes, I know, I’m spoiled). I told him I was already awake and explained my thoughts. He told me that I always have to find something to stress about, this is true. That leads me to the point of all my rambling. Why does Christmas bring so much stress? It is supposed to be a celebration of our savior’s birth. Yet, we have complicated it as only we can do. We have turned it into this commercialized mess.

I’m certain, that years down the road, my child is going to ask me why he received three presents instead of four. He will be so upset that I didn’t get him that rocking horse he so desperately wanted at six months of age. He will be scarred for life.
Why do we do this? Is it because we have become brainwashed by society? Is it because we feel like we can buy happiness? No, I don’t think that is the correct answer. I mean…I’m sure many believe that. I don’t. It is not my truth.

I’m going off base for a minute. My love language is words of affirmation. For those of you that have no idea what I’m talking about, pick up a copy of the five love languages, it will change your world. Anyway, my primary love language is not gift giving, but it runs a close second. Receiving gifts is not my thing, my thing is giving them. Before you start to think I am super materialistic, I am not. In fact, in a lot of ways, I am the opposite. I love giving gifts. I love seeing the reaction. I love seeing the person’s eyes light up. I love letting them know that they are thought of, and that they are very special to me.

This is why I go overboard with Christmas. This is why I stress so much. I want everyone to feel the joy and excitement of the day. And… to be completely honest, I do love being the person who got someone the “perfect gift”.

The conflict that I have, is that I also feel very selfish and materialistic when I think of all of those that don’t have. I think of those that struggle to just give one gift to their children. I start to think about how precious life is. I think about how none of these things really matter. I think about how I can’t even remember what I got for Christmas last year. I’m sure you probably can’t remember what you got either. Then, I hate myself for worrying so much about how many gifts my 6 month old will open. How ugly is that? It’s pretty ugly.

Sadly, I will probably always have this struggle. I will continue to buy gifts and worry about them being the right ones. I will worry if one my my family members got the gift they were so wanting. And…I will still lay awake some nights wondering why I am so blessed to have these problems. If you have the same problem as me, don’t beat yourself up. You genuinely want to bring joy to others. Remember, that whether or not your kid got one more gift really doesn’t matter (if it does matter, then we should be having a “come to Jesus meeting” with our children). Maybe, instead of giving that one more gift to your child, find a child that is in need and give it to them. If gift giving is your thing, don’t feel bad about it. Just make sure that you are also giving to those in need. And…that you are thanking God daily for the blessings that you have been given.

Happy gift giving 🙂

– Court
p.s.
sorry for the rambling. now I can sleep!

This is a “gift” that my nephew (5yrs at the time) gave his mom for her birthday. Proof that gift giving really comes from the heart 🙂

A {not so} glamourous life.

This is my first blog. And…my first time to admit this internal and very constant struggle I have. Should I continue on this journey of a stay-at-home mom or should I return to the career world? Usually, when I am upset, I can do one of three things or a combination of all of them, run, write, or eat. Sadly, more often than not, I revert to the last of my three escapes. Today, it’s freezing outside and we have nothing to eat, so writing it is! I never in a million years pictured myself at home in my exercise clothes, changing diapers, tackling the never-ending task that is laundry, and making my baby food. Yet, that is exactly where I find myself. I had grand plans for myself. Plans that looked something like college, career, marriage, kids. I have had all of those things but not in the traditional order.

I planned to “have it all”. The perfect job (where I can prove my worth and independence and one where I get paid vacations, holidays, and I am at home by 5:00 everyday) , the perfect home (where all the laundry is done, house is spotless, dinner is healthy and on the table every night), the best body (you know…that picture you have in your head…you have one, we all do) perfect marriage (date night every Friday) full of romance and of course amazing you know what, and last but not least the perfect children (3-4 the number has yet to be determined). The problem with this picture, this life, and this woman is she may not exist. This picture may not be attainable. Yet, I am constantly striving to be her. Oh how badly I want and need to be her.

I try to have the house perfect but that usually ends with me in the middle of baskets of laundry and a screaming baby who wants his mama’s attention. I try to run/train every day or at least sneak in one insanity DVD but some days…most days, that doesn’t happen. Supper is sometimes perfectly on the table and other days it’s on the table made by someone else. If I spend the day playing with the little man I am thinking about how I should be cleaning and cooking. If I spend the day cleaning and cooking I think about how I should be playing with my little man. It’s Christmas and all I have this thought about lately is how much better I would feel about myself if I had a job…a REAL job. Yes, I said it. Before you start your rant on how being a mom is the hardest job there is…I KNOW, I DO IT EVERYDAY! But for some strange reason I don’t feel as I have as much worth when I am in my “mom mode” complete with a t-shirt smeared with baby food and spit up and of course no makeup. My husband commonly refers to this persona as “sporty spice”. Because these days, all I wear is workout attire even though I rarely make it to the gym. Then there are those six years of school and two degrees I have…and you can’t forget those student loans. Those 6 years and two degrees are doing nothing for me now.

The point to this ramble? I’m not sure there is one. Except…why do we put so much pressure on ourselves? Why do we let society paint this unattainable picture in our head? If I was working I would be thinking about all the time I was missing with my precious boy. You know… “the grass is always greener”. I’m at home because I chose this. I wanted to stay home and be the best mom I could be to this precious baby. Now, I am second guessing myself. But tomorrow I may be totally at peace with it again. That is exactly how this internal battle goes. The one thing I go back to is, at the end of my life, I will never regret the time I spent with my sweet boy. I keep seeing this poem and it gets me every time…

If you are somewhere in this battle with me, just know you aren’t alone. If you are working, good for you! You are making your child’s future brighter by the opportunities you are providing. You are teaching your son/daughter that women are just as independent and capable as men are. You are teaching them to go for their dreams and that they can have a family and a career. You are an awesome mom! To the mom trying to keep her home clean, child alive, and somehow manage to be halfway presentable, you are a great mom! And…no mom is perfect. That picture you have in your head of the “perfect” wife/mom…isn’t real. Instead of worrying about laundry and dinner, cuddle your little one and be thankful that you are able to stay home

– Court

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