Motherhood Broke Me

I remember the exact moment that I decided I wanted to become a mom. My then boyfriend – now husband, and I were laying in bed. I rolled over to my side, taking away the comforter from my mouth so that I could talk to him.

“I want to try to have a baby.” I spat out. My eyes waited for his response. I blamed my desire to start a family because he was older than me. I figured if I had the notion of wanting to be a mom at twenty then he must surely have the desire at twenty-four. Our three year anniversary was approaching. We’d been living together for over two years. I didn’t question my decision on starting a family at a young age because being a parent with him felt natural. But, at that moment, I didn’t see the darkness that was waiting.

He agreed. And we started trying right away. It was our little secret. We weren’t going to tell our family that we were actively trying to get pregnant before marriage. They were still adjusting to the fact that I was living with him. Plus, I read online that it took months for couples to get pregnant.
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Two months later, I was pregnant. Pregnancy was spectacular. I glowed. I rocked the belly. I never had morning sickness. My family was happy and supportive. And, I became a wife. My husband and I didn’t argue over nursery themes, baby gadgets, or names. That year was magical. Everything pointed towards bliss.

Birth. It was hard. It was unpleasant. It was exhausting. It was rewarding. My son was here. I had no idea that when I held his body against my breast, smelling his scent, months to come, I would regret being his mom.

At first, I wouldn’t sleep. I was afraid that if I did while my son was asleep, that he would never wake up. I would miss his struggle to breathe, and his death would be on my hands. My exhaustion brought paranoia. He couldn’t wear anything without washing it. I was confident that a toxic residue would eat at his flesh. The fear of his death morphed into my mortality. Was this bruise an indication that I had HIV? The pain in my calves, as I walked up and down the stairs, was a clot breaking and making its way into my lungs.
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Daytime would blind the fear of death. It was a low simmer of fear that haunted my thoughts. I masked the paranoia with playdates, adventures, and get-togethers. As the sun set and friends returned home, loneliness crept in. I would lay awake, in total darkness, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t want to be a mom anymore. My mind was tired. I was a pathetic mother. I was weak.  I was drowning, and it felt easier to succumb to the water.

My hidden fate was unraveling in front of others. My mask was breaking. My anger was growing. His neediness became annoying. His cries elevated my desire to run. My end was near. My husband heard the screams that vibrated throughout the house. I laid in a fetal position, on the raspy carpet in front of our bed. The screams escaped with no fight. Motherhood broke me.

I wish I could write about what happened those days after my breakdown. I remember feeling lethargic as if I was underwater fighting against the current to breathe. Days later, I was sitting on the couch of a psychiatrist.  My husband sat right beside me.  His weight shifted my body to the left. I grabbed his hand. The psychiatrist was a small framed woman. Her desk was a shrine of paperwork for the people she fought to help. I exhaled.

She asked, “How are you?”

My eyes closed. My chest vibrated against the labored breathing. My husband’s hand tighten around mine.

“I can’t do this anymore,” broke through my lips.

I needed the support of my husband but was ashamed to share my thoughts. My head dropped in defeat. My shoulders rolled forward with the tears that fell from my eyes. I didn’t know that being his mom would bring sadness. I didn’t know that being his mom would alter my whole being. I didn’t know that being his mom would suffocate me. I didn’t know that being his mom would bring fear. I didn’t know that being his mom would make me an outcast. I didn’t know that being his mom would destroy my happiness.

I answered her questions with anguished sobs. I was too tired to decipher my thoughts.  But, she had the code. It was Postpartum Depression. Her petite body twisted towards her desk, placing the paperwork she had in her hands, onto it. Her chair scraped against the carpet as she stood up. She sat to my right and put her small hand on my shoulder. It radiated energy. She calmly explained Postpartum Depression while rubbing my shoulder. Every movement of her hand uncovered the truth. The truth that I wasn’t a failure. The truth that I wasn’t an embarrassment. The truth that I wasn’t alone. The truth that I could fall and there would be a safety net.

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Self Care in Chaos

Every little mess in the house is bothering me.

It’s maddening. I’m pissed that I’m getting pissed about something as trivial as scattered toys, shoes, book bags, and blankets. But, I look at the mess and I have a visceral reaction.

I cannot escape the chaos for one second. I sweep the floors and turn around and see dust gathering on the TV stand. I walk into the bathroom, to wipe of the toothpaste that’s dried on the counter and notice the residue in the tub. I’m tired of cleaning.

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This isn’t a new emotional roller coaster. I’ve been on this ride many times. And now, I’d like to get off.

So, I’m going to bitch about it. I’m going to put it into perspective. And I’m going to change the ride. I will have a breakdown and cry. Because that’s how I purge my emotions. And after that, I’m going to find my happiness by doing things that I enjoy.

Sure, the chaos will still be there but my energy will be clear. At least, I hope.

The Unmastered Parent

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Today. Honestly, I don’t like you. And I know that I should be appreciative but you’re kind of like that annoying hum of a fly that I can’t capture to quiet. Yeah, I’m well aware that you could be a wasp that stings me in the ass but the noise is maddening. I’m trying to find the precious moment of holding my daughter as she sleeps her first sickness away in my arms. But, all I feel is the heat trying to escape. There’s no point to dress or shower. She’s having a hard time holding things down. The boys aren’t fighting. That should bring much relief. But it’s not. They’re sick. Today, I’m not strong enough for you. I’m trying to put aside my own pain but each step becomes harder and weighed down with exhaustion as the time ticks. This is a juggling act that I still haven’t mastered. So, Today, I’m trying to understand the purpose of you. But, right now, I’m going to flip you off.

12 Days of Christmas: MOM Edition

On the first day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, a surprise classroom party.

On the second day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the third day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

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On the fourth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

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On the seventh day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, attitude about cleaning,
endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, screams meeting Santa,
attitude about cleaning,
endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, zero alone time,
screams meeting Santa,
attitude about cleaning,
endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

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On the tenth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, a splitting migraine,
zero alone time,
screams meeting Santa,
attitude about cleaning,
endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, a broken iPad charger,
a splitting migraine,
zero alone time,
screams meeting Santa,
attitude about cleaning,
endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my children gave to me, a never ending virus,
a broken iPad charger,
a splitting migraine,
zero alone time,
screams meeting Santa,
attitude about cleaning,
endless questions to avoid bedtime,
something sticky on the TV,
fights about dinner,
several broken ornaments,
pee around the toilet
and a surprise classroom party.

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Winter Car Seat Safety

Sara Green

The time has come or is slowly approaching that we must bundle up our children to face the cold outside.

While it’s important to keep our children wrapped up and warm to bear the cold, it’s very important to properly keep them secure in their car seats.

Bulky coats are not safe to wear while buckled in a car seat.

The reason why bulky coats are not safe is due to the fact that it prevents the harness from properly fitting. The harness becomes to loose and can prevent from protecting our children properly during a crash and can even lead to ejection.

To test to see if a winter coat is not safe to be worn, please do the following:

  1. Place child in car seat while wearing the coat. Adjust the harness until you can no longer pinch the material.
  2. Remove the child from the car seat and do…

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Hush, Hush Annoying One

Parenting a child who is vastly different from you is exhausting.

The days of sitting outside for hours, listening to my thoughts are gone.
The days of taking a bubble bath with the candles lit are no where to be found.
The days of watching a movie in silence are in the past.
The days of painting my toenails and singing along with one song from start to finish disappeared like Ja Rule’s raps.
The days of buying groceries without interruptions are only dreams that haunt me at night.

My son. He is mine but not like me. He requires attention. A lot. His mind races with words that fall out of his mouth without a filter. He is up at the ass crack of down and fights like a champion when the sun goes to bed. His hands are always on the move. His lips are even faster.

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To Scream or Not To Scream?

I may or may not want to scream into a pillow.

No. I take that back. I do want to scream into a pillow.

Today, has been one of those days that my children can’t seem to function effectively without requesting something every two minutes. I really want a second alone. I really want space. It is getting close to their bedtimes and I have this unnerving sense that it will not go down when scheduled.

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These boys have sensors that detect that mommy’s personal bubble is slowly releasing fumes and must insist to hurry along the process.Read More »