Speak Mom

Lullaby Love.

I have a “Top 5 Favorite Lullaby List”. Our little one may not be able to voice her opinion just yet, but that’s too bad - I mean, uhh, hopefully, she’ll come to appreciate these songs as “our” top 5 someday and possibly use a song or two from the same list for her future children, always remembering that they were our special songs. 

Anyway, here they are. And yes, they are in a particular order. 

#1. The Rain Song - Led Zeppelin 

Not only is Houses of the Holy one of my favorite Zeppelin albums overall, but The Rain Song has always been my all-time favorite Zeppelin song. As a kid, I would pop in my cassette (yes, I said cassette… remember those?!) and let the gorgeous sounds of Page, Plant, Bonham and JPJ lull me to sleep. I’ve since decided to pass along this special song to my baby girl in hopes that she, too, will find peace and beauty in the melodies and lyrics as I always have.

#2. Clair de Lune - Debussy

This is the song I chose to have playing over and over again while I was in labor with E. Something about this beautiful song reached deep inside of me and took me away to a place where I could imagine the end result of labor; holding my beautiful, peaceful, gentle baby - and really got me through some of the most incredible contractions with ease and gave me a really good understanding of just how strong my body was. 

#3. Somewhere Over the Rainbow - Jewel’s version or Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s ukelele version

What’s not to love about either version of a genuine classic?! The original version, sung by Judy Garland in Wizard of Oz is a song I have belted out many-a-times (to myself, of course. I know better than to subject innocent bystanders to my horrific singing.) and both Jewel and Israel have managed to put their own twists on it, without ruining the original one bit. 

#4. In My Life - The Beatles

So, I’ve been a Beatles fan since I could say “Ringo” (and he IS my favorite Beatle) and “In My Life” is a song that really connects with me as a mother more than it ever has in my life (haha, get it?!) before. This is because it puts into song what it means to have had a life before the biggest love walked in - a totally different life, where there was love, happiness and vibrancy before - but unlike anything that exists now… at THIS moment. My daughter is exactly that… the greatest love of my life, but that doesn’t mean I will ever forget the roads that have led me to this moment as her mother. If it weren’t for my past, I wouldn’t be the mother I am today. It’s ok… go grab a tissue. I won’t judge!

#5. My Little Girl - Jack Johnson

Really, anything by Jack Johnson rocks to settle down and mellow out to, but this song in particular came out right before E was born and when I first heard it after she arrived, I cried… hard. The lyrics are wonderful and the tune is perfect for a nice wind-down. My favorite lyrics from the song are as follows: “You don’t ever have to feel lonely/You will never lose any tears/You don’t have to feel any sadness/When you look back on the years/How can I look you in the eyes/And tell you such big lies/The best I can do is try to show you/How to love with no fear”.

So, what are YOUR favorite lullabies? We’re always looking to expand our list! 

Hoarders!: Motherhood Edition.

I confess!

I am a formula hoarder. Confused? You should be. I breastfeed my child. “So,” you ask, “why are you hoarding formula?” 

And THAT is quite a good question. I honestly do not have a good reason. In fact, my reason is completely irrational and I am almost afraid of typing it out for fear of severe judgement (be easy on me… please?!). 

I hoard formula just in case of extreme emergency. I’m talking nuclear, catastrophic, lost-in-the-woods-with-no-gas-left-in-the-car emergencies. I keep cans and bottles of formula in E’s room, in the car, in the diaper bag, at my parents’ house, etc.

I’m afraid of something crazy happening or my body possibly malfunctioning to the point where one day, I’ll wake up and the “factory” will be closed. I don’t know?! And this is what my fear is; that I just. don’t. know. Thus, the formula hoarding. 

I still have formula from the hospital in those little, eensy-weensy bottles that hold only two ounces of formula. How ridiculous is that!?! But I’m pretty sure I have three or four of them in my diaper bag and possibly ten or so in E’s dresser drawers. 

So, there. Some people hoard cats. I hoard formula. If someone decides to call one of those shows on me, at least there’s a bright side: free home makeover and free therapy! 

Oh shit. Did I really just say that? I think I just passed “crazyville” and am headed straight for the looney bin… wait, is there free food there? 

Flaming Lips.

I have a bad mouth. It’s actually not something I am proud of, but it’s the truth. I cuss like a drunken sailor and I can be crude. I understand this is not very “lady like”, but I am going to go ahead and do the expected - I’m going to blame my parents.

I grew up in a household where cursing was not taboo, it was not frowned upon and was mostly used as a sign of affection. When we weren’t cursing, it was a bad sign. It meant we were uncomfortable, nervous, or feeling uptight. The more f-bombs you heard in a sentence, the better you could feel about being around us.

I’m a mother now (and a professional) and I’m finding that I have a major issue with my toilet mouth. E is getting to the age (8 months) where she is starting to watch my lips and mimic some sounds. Although I would personally find it hilarious for her first word to be “shit” or “ass”, I’m not so sure the rest of the world would agree. It wouldn’t be too good for the little doll and I can almost guarantee minimal (if any) invites back to play dates. I can see it now…

*daydream sequence*…………..

Playgroup Mother, “EXCUSE ME! What did you just say?!??!” Child “This fuc#in truck is broken!” Playgroup Mother, “What?! Where did you learn such language?” (Me; cringing in the corner and slowly - and hopefully, unnoticeably -slouching in my chair…) Child, “SHE (pointing a small, stiff and cheese-puff-stained finger at my daughter) said it first!” Playgroup Mother turns to me and says, “I don’t believe these play dates will be working for us any longer.” Me (sheepishly, yet secretly withholding gut-busting laughter), “I am so sorry! Is there anything I can…” Mother, “NO. Thank you. We’ll be leaving now.” Me “…do?” (looks over at her happy, smiling, potty-mouth daughter with guilty feelings of failure for ruining her play date and any future play dates, for that matter.)

*aaaaand end daydream sequence*

And here the cycle begins again. One day, my daughter will be called out on her bad mouth and do exactly as I am doing now, blame her parents.

Oh my. What’s a mother-effing woman to do?!?!

I’m Looking for Me. Have You Seen Her?

So I have just spent the last hour sobbing. The kind of sobbing that emits boogers from your nose at lightning speeds. From this sobbing, I have come to a realization. And no, it is not that I need more tissues although, I certainly do. My realization is that IT IS SO DAMN HARD TO TRY AND BE PERFECT.

Amidst the turmoil of living with my in-laws, having a baby in the meantime, surviving my first year of marriage, losing my job, not finding a new one and now moving… I have lost my sense of “self”. My sense of “self” has had to become my sense of “everyone/everything else”. I am so largely consumed by every other aspect of my life that I am burying ME, alive. 

In losing myself, I have recognized that I am not doing such a great job of wearing my other hats. I lack the energy, light and awareness that it takes to really rev my engine and be the best that I can be. I spend so much time worrying about how to be perfect for everyone that I continue to let go of who I really am and let her fall deep into the abyss. What I didn’t understand until now is that; A: I will/can never be “perfect” and B: the closest I can get to my version of perfection requires me to be 100%, well, ME. 

If this is confusing you… don’t worry, it’s confusing me, as well. Sorry.

The next step I need to take is to figure out how to get “ME” back. I’m not too sure what measures to take just yet. I imagine it starts with putting my health and fitness somewhere at the top of my priority list. If I am not healthy and fit, I feel tired, cranky and miserable. This is more than likely where the downward spiral began. If I look good and feel good, I am unstoppable. I would also like to think that I gain an immeasurable confidence that in turn, would rub off on my daughter - and I want nothing more than for her to grow up loving herself and believing in herself. In my opinion, that is the greatest gift I could give to her away from love. 

The very next step beyond that is definitely finding something I can be GREAT at. This may sound a bit ridiculous, but I have no idea what I am great at anymore. I used to play sports, I was great at that. I used to go to school. I was great at that, too. I used to work in sales. Again… great. 

I understand that I am a GOOD Mommy, a GOOD wife, a GOOD daughter, but if I can’t find something to personally be GREAT at again, I will not posses the confidence to be great at anything else. I need to be proud of myself for something other than my obligations. 

Still following me here?

I would really like to be able to be present in every thing I do, every single day. It is just impossible to do that when my mind is reeling with “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve(s)”. I’ve been obsessing over what I could do better and not really DOING anything about it because the mere idea is so overwhelming. 

As you can see, this is going to be quite a long and arduous process, but I really need to start climbing that mountain today. That daunting first step is just always the most difficult, isn’t it? 

Lesser of Two Ear-vils.

I didn’t want to put her through surgery. Couldn’t bare the thought. However, the alternative was to not have the surgery done and risk hearing issues, chronic infections and a whole slew of horrors. So, we chose the lesser of two evils.

E had her surgery last Wednesday and let me tell you… I have never been more amazed by a person in my life. We woke her up earlier than usual, denied her of her “breakfast” and dragged her to a doctor’s office filled with screaming children and shockingly bright lighting. She was then taken back into a pre-op room where she was passed around amongst three funny-looking strangers who then took the liberty to poke and prod her while Mommy winced. She remained calm the entire time. In fact, she was smiling and giggling.

When it came time to go back to the OR, she was whisked up and out of my arms by our fabulous nurse (side note: You should take some time to appreciate the hard work and dedication of nurses. Do this because I told you so… oh and because they do the real dirty work and also manage to be the support of patients/families.) and off she went - still, with a smile on her face.

In less than ten minutes (and I am not exaggerating) we were called back to recovery. It was extremely painful to see E crying at the top of her lungs, eyes closed and blood in her ears and on her little hospital gown - BUT - I was able to nurse her right away and within ten minutes, her crying subsided and she was a perfect little snoozer.

When we got home, I was nervous of her reaction once the pain medication wore off and she realized something was different. I was sure she would wake up with the strength of five horses and scream directly at me with a tone that could only say, “How could you do this to me?!?!” This reaction never happened. She was 100% back to her smiley, happy-self as soon as she woke up. We had no issues with her eating, wetting diapers, etc. She was a super star!

Her recovery has been smooth sailing (knock on wood) and so far, she seems to be hearing a bit better as well as sleeping a bit better. I was/am so extremely proud of our little girl. Seven months old and a real tough cookie. Wonder where she gets that from… ;)

*Thank you to my readers who gave me some support regarding this issue. It was so very much appreciated & I will never forget it! My readers rock hard!

Liquid Gold.

I don’t normally post in a reactionary manner. I usually contemplate before spewing my words on the blog. This is not the case today…

I JUST SPILLED 3 OZ. OF BREAST MILK AND I WANT TO CRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOSH, I CANNOT BELIEVE I JUST DID THAT!

I have been having SO many issues stocking up on my breast milk and I finally, FINALLY got ahead a bit. I pumped 5 extra oz. this morning - I was on top of the breast milk world! There would be extra milk in the freezer for once. AND THEN, I did something so lazy it would end up costing me those precious 3 oz.; I stood the bottle up ON THE BED (why?!), left the room to get a cap and when I came back in, I found the bottle flopped over on it’s side.

At first, I could not look. I didn’t want to know what damage was done. Then, the lighting played some tricks on me and it seemed as if I was in the clear. As I got closer, I noticed a dark shadow around the bottle and that’s when I knew. I snatched up the bottle and that’s when I counted OUT LOUD… “1, 2… OH MY GOD!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”

I pumped 5 OUNCES and I am now left with TWO. T-W-O. I am practically in tears as I write this. Go ahead - you can think it- that cliche line my mother always used to say to me as a child, “No use crying over spilled milk”. But then you wouldn’t understand. Breast milk is an exception. Extra breast milk is rare. Extra breast milk is like liquid gold.

So, I will go ahead and mourn this loss with a box of tissues and some espresso.

Hello, I’m Creepy. Nice To Meet You?

Ok, so I’m not really creepy… but I do worry I come off that way when I am trying to meet other parents.

I’m a young mom (I’m 25) and I look much younger than I actually am (say, 18ish?). People are already confused enough when they see me out in public with my daughter. They tend to look at me, look at the ring finger (which I only have one small band on because my engagement ring still does not fit, which then causes further confusion), look at the baby and then turn away. I assume it’s because they assume that I am a teen mom. Obviously, not the case. Let’s see if I am right. Born in 1985, this is 2011 and not yet my birth month. Yep. Just as I suspected. I’m still 25.

Anyway, I am Mommy-Friendless in my current residence. All of my Mommy-Friends (and some of my very best friends) live 2+ hours away. I see them every month, usually, but I have no steady group to hang out with where I live on an every day basis. This is proving to be quite an issue. I’m lonely, I’m bored, my daughter has no playmates and did I mention that I’m lonely?

I have some really great friends around the area, but really none that are in the same “place” as me. As much as I love those friends - and there is no easy way of putting this - they just don’t get it. How could they? Their lives are not consumed by the same matters as mine anymore. I don’t - I CAN’T - care about some of the things that they still care about (ie: drinking, going out on weekends, traveling, etc.).

Then, there are the weekends that we are invited to friends’ houses for dinner or just to hang out… so nice of them to invite us, but that requires driving 30+ minutes (no friends live closer than that), schleping all of our baby entertainment, making sure there’s a place for E to sleep/nap, and throwing her already-nonexistent-schedule off, well, schedule. Then, when we get there, our focus is on the baby: conversations get interrupted, dinner consists of ten breaks for feeding and changing and we have to leave at a decent time to get back before little miss wants to go to bed. HOLY EXHAUSTION BATMAN!

This all being said… I AM DESPERATE FOR MOMMY-FRIENDS. I try to talk to some parents while dropping off or picking up at the daycare, but again - I get these looks like “Aww how sad, she’s such a young mom - I’ll just say hello and get the hell out of here before she sucks me into a conversation” or “Ok, creeper, stop asking me about my kid because I have no idea who you are and don’t care to get to know you”. So far, I have a zero success rate with this approach.

I try striking up conversation in line at the grocery store or Target (aka: home away from home) but again, I’m met with such awkward looks or abrupt conversation. I can’t tell if it’s because they think I’m the babysitter - so why on Earth would I want to have a conversation about spit up, ear infections or the best highchair toys on the market? -or if they are just so taken aback that a stranger would want to have a conversation these days. Regardless, zero success rate with this, as well.

If I don’t find someone soon that lives close, fully understands my crazy, baby-consumed life, could genuinely care less if I had to whip out a boob and nurse on the spot and is willing to hang out in sweatpants and carry around a diaper bag instead of a purse, I may go crazy. This is worse than what I imagine dating to be like…

*Sigh*

Ears For Fears.

Chronic ear infections + Developmental/Anatomical issue = Baby needs tubes put in.

Welcome to a first-time mom’s hell.

A lot of parents I know have already reassured me (several times) that the surgery is quick, easy and a no-brainer. I get that, I really do. BUT I would be lying if I said the thought of my little girl “going under” and having surgery at 7 months doesn’t scare the ever-livin-shit out of me. 

Obviously, my husband and I have decided to go ahead with the surgery because the benefits -by far- outweigh the risks. There was no question there. Our daughter has been in constant pain and has begun to show signs of minor hearing impairment. Her relief and developmental needs are #1 priority.

It tears me up every time I see her tug at her beautiful little ears. I feel so incredibly helpless and I desperately wish I could take that pain away for her. Unfortunately, I cannot -which- brings us to the surgery…

Something you should know about me… I am extremely paranoid about anesthesia. And I do mean extremely. I had to have ACL repair done a few years ago and I threw up before my surgery because of my fear. I mean stomach-emptying/wretch-ing type of throwing up. No one knows this (feel special you are the first) because I was petrified that if I spoke my fear aloud, it would cause something bad to happen. I know, I know. Psychoanalyze me if you wish, but don’t bother trying to play Freud with me. It would be a waste of time - for you and me, both. 

The doctor said the surgery will only be 10-15 minutes, but I can assure you that those 10-15 minutes will be the longest of my life. Yes, I may be coming off a bit dramatic, but I really can’t stomach the thought of my 7 month old going in for surgery. Yes, it’s a short surgery. Yes, it is an outpatient surgery. Yes, it’s a common surgery. None of these points ease my mind in the least. I will be a wreck that day. I will be frazzled.  I will carry my rosary beads with me like some religious fanatic on their way to having an audience with the Pope. I will clutch my husband’s hand in an alarmingly strong, vice-like grip. 

I can only hope that all of these things plus an ungodly amount of coffee can get me through… 

Public Pumpin’.

So I have just noticed - 6 months later - that my breastpump has a battery option and does not need to be plugged into the wall.

All those times that I had to pump in public restrooms and public places… I had plugged into the wall for ALL to see.

GO ME. 

Doctor’s Office and Diarrhea.

Ahhh, the doctor’s office… We have only been there, ohhh, 5 or 6 times in the last month between well visits and sick visits (boo).

Tuesday was a well-turned-sick visit. Our dear babe has been battling a double ear infection since Thanksgiving and had finished her 4th round of antibiotics, which did absolutely nothing for her. She also managed to pick up a lovely respiratory virus from daycare. In all of our misery, Mommy and baby up and went to the doctor’s office to discuss all of these issues.

It was quite the circus trying to get her ready to go. She was tired, cranky and not feeling well - as was I. It was freezing and flurrying outside and I spent the first hours of my morning cursing my husband for never having to go to the pediatrician with her. She screamed most of the ride down and, despite all of my pacifier gymnastics, she spit each one out after I was able to reach back and get her to take it. (Side note: I keep a plethora of pacifiers in the front seat with me in case she spits the first one out.)

We arrived at the doctor’s office a wee bit early and after coming inside from a 20 degree parking lot, the office -which is always heated to sauna status- felt like it was 1,000 degrees. There was virtually no one in the office however, and I figured we should just keep our coats and covers on because we would more-than-likely be called in right away. HA HA! Twenty minutes passed and it seemed that everyone who walked in after us was getting called in before us. E was becoming extremely fussy and I was practically melting. I figured it was time for me to give in and take her out of the car seat. There were moms and dads all over the office now looking at me as if I had nineteen heads. I felt their wide-eyed-but-blank expressions burning a hole through my forehead. Was I really torturing her by keeping her in her seat? Don’t they remember what a pain in the ass it is to take her out in the waiting room? I mean, C’mon! Your kid is sneezing all over the place and chucking his dinosaurs at the little girl coloring at the table, but you’re looking at me as if my parenting choices are out of whack?!

Anyway, I unbuckled my crying daughter and lifted her oh-so-gently out of her car seat and proceeded to give her a giant hug and that’s when I felt it - POOP! ALL over her clothes, the Bundle Me and now my arm and leg. I could have died of embarrassment and sheer terror. I just knew that as soon as we got into the bathroom to change her (and luckily, I had an extra change of clothes), the nurse would come looking for us.

Sure enough, as I was changing her in the bathroom (which never, ever seems to be big enough) the nurse came-a-knockin’. I needed a few more minutes, of course, so I politely let her know that we would “be a few”. Naturally, E was not too thrilled about anything that day so she was kicking and screaming her way through the change, which made it uber difficult to complete the task. It also seemed as if the bathroom was perfect for heightening her wails to “stereo” proportions.

THEN the nurse knocked on the door -not once, but TWICE- to see if we “were ok”! What did she think? -I was changing her out of an entire pooped-up outfit, with little room to work in and my coat still on! Of course we were ok, I just needed her to leave me the hell alone so I could finish cleaning up. I mean, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if we were just called back when we were supposed to be. I would have had her undressed and been able to hear the first signs of her explosion before it got out of hand.

In the end, E cried her way through the appointment and after finally arriving back to the car, I realized that on top of everything else, we had no gas…