Rewind

“Congratulations! You’re going to be a mom!”

Pause. Rewind. Play.

“You’re going to be a mom!”

…come again?

Rewind. Play.

“You’re going to be a mom!”

Pause.

... let’s just be sure I heard you right, Doc. Once more with feeling.

Rewind. Play.

“You’re going to be a-“

Yeah, I heard you right.

Oh boy, let’s just take a deep breath and think this over. Currently I’m staring at a small screen that’s just slightly bigger than a smartphone, completely enamored by the small blob that bears a striking resemblance to a chicken nugget. I’m so caught up with wrapping my head around the news that I don’t notice the lab tech reaching for a small tin square with one hand while grabbing for a wand with her other. Of course I asked what it was, and the poor girl had probably heard it plenty enough and seen her fair share of expecting mother’s faces to calmly open the little package and roll a fucking condom on the wand, never breaking eye contact.

“It’s going to give us a clearer image of the fetus. Now, this may feel a little uncomfortable-“

Fast forward. Fast forward.

Pause.

Families and eventually friends have been told, emotions of all kinds brought to light over the news. Most good. Some bad. A few that are surprisingly cautious and wary. The first month or two are kind to everyone, especially me… but I wonder when I’ll start to show?

Fast forward.

Pause.

The answer is three months. I’m already starting to notice a little bump around the middle, turning this way and that in front of the mirror. I’m ‘glowing’ as some say, but that might just be the lack of sleep I get on top of the bouts of nausea throughout the day. I hope it doesn’t turn into full on morning sickness.

Fast forward.

Pause.

I’m now waking up on the dot at five in the damn morning to vomit. Baby items are being looked for far and wide, skinny jeans are put to rest in favor of stretchy sweats and billowy shirts. Gone are the sweet snack cakes I love so dearly, replaced with nothing but fruits and veggies. Gone are the hamburgers, the chicken tenders, the pork chops, and tacos. I am starting to believe I am carrying the next Richard Simmons. I think I want to rewind and go back to when this pregnancy thing was nice to me.

Fast forward.

Pause.

Wait, that wasn’t right. I want to go back, not forward. Now I can’t see my damn feet without leaning forward! I have to lift this extra twenty pounds around my middle to take a piss. My memory is going to shit and  I feel like I’m carrying around a butterball turkey in my stomach at this point. My boobs are now preventing me from wearing those cute shirts that I just bought, my memory is going to shit, and don’t get me started on my back. This whole ‘growing big like a whale and not eating anything sweet’ thing sucks, I’m going back to the start if I can remember where the hell that rewind button is...

Fast forward.

Pause.

No, no, no! Why am I up at two in the damn morning?! Why does my stomach hurt so much? Oh shit, something is wrong with the baby. I need to call the doctor. I need to call mom. I should have gotten the anesthesiologist’s number because holy shit does this hurt. What do I do? What the hell is going on? Is… is it time already? But I haven’t even gotten to enjoy this ride! It’s gone by too fast! I want a damn refund because—

Fast forward.

The nurse who is standing at the foot of the bed is looking to see if the head is breached. There’s a comment about there being ‘a lot of hair’ and everyone in the room laughs. The grandmother’s to be laugh. The aunts laugh. The father to be laughs. Everyone… but me. Oh don’t mind me, lady! I just have a fucking needle shoved in my back, can’t move my legs of my own volition, and currently have my best friend sitting front row to watch the show. (Seriously, out of all the places in the room you could have gone, you get the spot that has a direct view of the mess?) The nurse tries to backpedal and say it’s the baby’s head that has all the hair, but that’s just the same as trying to put a damn band-aid on a damn crack in the road and call it good. If I could feel my legs I would get out of this bed and-

Fast forward.

There’s the head doctor sitting between my legs, reminding me of a little league coach catching a ball the pitcher throws their way. It’s almost funny to laugh at, current circumstances be damned. She gives the order to push and for a fraction of a second I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m… I’m scared. I’m not fucking ready for this. Hell, I've never been ready for this. I've been putting on a front for the past nine months, pretending to be excited and happy about becoming a mom when I'm really scared. No, I'm fucking terrified. I can't do this, I want to go back to the start. I want to-

“Push!”

Fast forward.

The first week goes by smoothly. She’s so damn tiny that I’m always afraid that I’ll drop her or hold her wrong if I’m not actively paying attention all the time. I’m getting used to the awkwardness that comes with breast feeding and diaper changes and swaddling, although I’m sure I birthed a fucking magician with how quickly and seamlessly she is able to get out of the confined blanket just after I wrap her up. She’s quiet, alert, and has this curious gleam to her blue eyes, and she’s perfect just the way she is-

Fast forward.

Wait, what? When did this happen? When did she start crawling? When did I miss this? I can’t look away for a second without her scooting along on the floor, eager to explore new areas she couldn’t before. No longer is she glued to my hip. I don’t think I like this. She’s getting too big too-

Fast forward.

Hold on, now she’s walking? When the hell?! I feel like I just barely blinked and she’s getting around so easily and without me. She’s growing up too quickly. I want to go back to the days where she could fit in the nook of my arm. I want to go back to the days where she looked to me for everything. I want to go back!

…where’s the damn rewind?

Fast forward.

Dammit, stop! She’s getting her teeth and getting her first haircut and actually fucking speaking. Where is the little baby I was just holding? Where did the toothless grins and milk drunk expressions go? Where did that little bundle of warmth and love go to? When did she turn into this mobile, laughing little girl? Where the hell is that rewind button? It was just here I swear it was. I just want to go back-

Fast forward.

I refuse to believe she’s already three. There’s no way in hell this child is getting that old. I need to find that rewind button, now. She’s just a little baby! I can’t let her go to daycare by herself! What if she needs me! What if I’m not there for her? What if I’m not there for the next milestone? What if I’m-

Fast forward.

Just fucking stop already! She’s getting too big too damn fast, and I can’t keep up with this. I need that rewind button, please! I was just holding the sleeping newborn in my arms just yesterday, so when the hell did she become this big? This assertive and decisive of things? This… independent? When did she decide she didn’t need mommy to tuck her in at night? When did she want to take the initiative to bathe herself? Where did she learn to say ‘I can do it’? Where the hell did that rewind button disappear to? 

 Where did my baby go?

Dirty Little Secrets

There are some dirty secrets about having a kid that no one shares with you. From the mother of one or more kids who has experience under her belt to the nurse who first informs you that ‘Congrats! Now you have an excuse for shoving all that food in your face and packing on the weight!’ they all withhold pieces of information that, while seemingly unimportant at the time, would have been nice to know about before and even after childbirth.

What are these secrets I keep bitching about? Well, let’s break this down into two separate categories: the ‘not-so secret’ secrets, and the actual secrets. Sounds easy to remember, right?

Not-So Secrets

·         You will more than likely piss or shit yourself during the joyous few moments of actually pushing a kid out. You may think you won’t- and you may be one of those few who are lucky enough to somehow not- but there’s a big chance you will. This is apparently normal and the nurses on hand have seen it enough times to become desensitized, so this gives you a false sense of relaxation knowing you’ve resorted to your five year old tendency of wetting the bed. Only this time you have an excuse. Good for you.

·         There will be blood. What the hell do you expect? You’re pushing out a human fucking being from a small hole that at most has only had to deal with bits of your uterus falling out once a month. You are going to tear and it’s going to suck later on down the road during those frequent bathroom breaks. Thankfully, the staff has come prepared and gives you this seasons new design of mesh panties, antiseptic spray (with pain reliever thank fuck) and a small plastic bottle that you use to clean your torn and extremely sore self after every little piss. This is going to be tedious on one hand, a constant cycle of ‘piss-spritz-pat dry-antiseptic’. Rinse and repeat for the next couple of weeks or until you think you’re capable of taking a leak without causing damage.

·         On the same note, you’re going to want to invest in some pads. None of those dainty pieces of shit that you might be accustomed to, oh no. You’re going to want to get the long, overstuffed granny pads to go right along with those granny mesh panties. Remember the ones you got from the school nurse or the school machine? Those are about to become your best friend until you stop bleeding out of your ripped hole. You’re going to look like you’re packing something in your pants, but who the fuck cares? You just pushed out a kid. And don’t even think about reaching for those tampons. Just think of those as nuclear waste or some shit and push them to the back of the cabinet.

·         You’re still going to be eating for two. Breastfeeding is one of the most natural and wonderful bonding experiences a mom can have with a newborn. It’s also one of the most draining a new mom deals with- literally. Whether you pump it out by the baby bottle or let the little sucker get it direct from the source, you’re going to be burning those calories left and right. So use the excuse that you’re eating for two when you reach for that second mini-snack or something. Just remember baby isn’t going to be magically draining that baby fat away, so re-learn some self-control the closer you get to weaning.

I’m sure I skimmed over a few things, but it’s been three years since I’ve gone through any of this so bear with me.  Now that we got past the first stage, let’s move on to the one everyone has been waiting for.

Actual Secrets

·         Those nice nurses from before are about to make you squirm. Minutes after pushing out a kid, you’re going to be left exhausted beyond all reason and look like you just got back from a night at the bar with your friends. You may even look like you got the shit knocked out of you, which in a sense you sort of did. All you’re going to want is to rest for a bit and try to wrap your head around the fact that you just pushed out a fucking watermelon from a lemon-sized hole. Those nurses are going to come in- or at least one of them- and congratulate you on your successful endeavor of childbirth.

And then they’re going to practically use your poor deflated stomach as an example of how to properly knead dough.  

It’s going to knock the wind out of you and it’s going to make you want to punch the nearest thing (husbands and boyfriends are advised to keep their distance at this time for safety concerns) and you’re going to be faintly reminded of how period pains felt before you became a baby making machine for nine months. Once done, the nurse will leave and come back every other hour or so to knead your uterus back into shape. Just think of it as a deep tissue massage that you never want again.

·         Your ass is going to be traumatized for about a week or more. This is going to be expected as you have fucking birthed a kid from a hole that is just a thin perineum away. Trips to the bathroom for anything other than the tedious task of taking a piss will be out of the question. That bowl of beans you had for lunch? It’s not going anywhere. That fruit salad you scarfed down? Sorry buddy, that’s going to settle down in your gut for a bit. Your ass is going to be so scared of letting anything slip out, you won’t even be able to pass gas. It sucks and no amount of laxatives or anything will help alleviate some of that discomfort, but once you’re finally able to coax your poor ass that no, there won’t be anything as big as a baby coming out of your body, that next trip to the toilet is going to be the best fucking feeling you will experience in years. There will be an angelic choir in the distance singing Halle-fucking-lujah as you take your first dump in a week or more.

·         There is going to be A LOT of blood. We touched base on this in the previous segment, but there’s just not enough time in the world to explain how much there is. You’re going to feel like you’re getting slammed with your first period in months- which you technically are I suppose- but the pain that it brings is going to be horrendous. Not to mention that providing your little bundle of joy with that homemade mommy-baby booby milk is going to help speed up the process of shrinking your uterus back to normal size. (Having PTSD flashbacks to the nurses making fucking pretzels of your sagging stomach is a normal thing.) The ‘flow’ is going to get lighter as the days go on, so think of it as just another period or something.

Now there is a fine line between the normal allotted amount of blood that is passed and the amount that raises suspicions that ‘Hey I think something might be fucking wrong with my lady bits’, and should be closely monitored. The first day in the hospital the nurses are going to monitor how much pee you’re able to pass without a catheter and how much of it is bloody. All of which is just so much fun.

Again, I’m probably skipping over some things that went on but again, it’s been about three years since I popped my Little Monster out and I have no intentions of going through that shit any time in the foreseeable future. So my questions to any mom reading are:

What little secrets did you learn after childbirth that no one seemed to tell you about? Do those that go through c-sections experience something similar or different in the first days of giving birth? 

Parenting a Little Monster 101: Potty Training

It's one of the most trying times for most first time parents to go through. Some are blessed with fast learning kids who easily use the toilet after a few times. Others- myself included- may want to pull their hair out during the ordeal. There's tears from both parent and child (more so from the prior) and by the end of the day there's a puddle of piss in the floor you don't find until you take a step in it with your socks on.

Yes, I'm talking about potty training.

It's not something I thought I would ever have so much trouble with at the notion of raising a child. I was in a naive state of mind thinking that 'well if I have a kid we'll just take it nice and easy' and picture an almost 50's housewife scenario that included all Stepford wives' smile and the such. Nowadays I sit on the edge of the tub with my hair a fucking mess wondering where the hell I went wrong with this part of child rearing as my 2 year old swings her legs off the side of the toilet.

After weeks of getting practically nowhere with things, I decided to just let Little Monster roam around the house butt naked. At first, she wasn't sure what to do. She even pointed to the training pants with a look my way as if to say 'what the fuck I need something to cover my ass Cap'. After convincing her to leave the sanctity of the bathroom, she immediately lifted her shirt over her head and raced off to show her dad that mommy was, in fact, out of her damn mind. A brief and frustrating conversation with him later, I set an alarm for every 15 minutes and gave Little Monster cup after cup of juice.

I was starting to think that maybe I had lost my mind as I watched Little Monster run around the living room, seeming to enjoy this new liberation from training pants. Her dad kept casting uneasy glances towards kid as if expecting her to either piss herself or shit on the floor like an untrained pup... but then the fucking clouds parted and a miracle happened. Little Monster came to a full stop and started to shift around awkwardly, her hand tugging at her shirt and her little brows furrowed. And then she said a single word that made any doubt for my mental state disappear:

"Poop."

I usher her to the bathroom quickly, almost feeling like a fucking escort or bodyguard for a big wig. Maybe we were finally about to get somewhere with this mess. Maybe I had unlocked some sort of potty training secret like the Indiana Jones of parenting. It was a fucking miracle indeed that we made it to the toilet just in time for her to let it out, and as unusual as it is to say, I was incredibly proud of that dump. Potty training was going to be a breeze! What the hell was I so frustrated about? Several more successful trips to the potty afterwards and I was getting more and more confident that Little Monster may even be fully trained by Mother's Day (note to self: figure out when that is) when her dad stepped in.

"Going as frequent as she is can't be good for her."

"It's working." She was doing fine; there were no accidents since I let her run around the house with her ass bared, but he wouldn't let up.

"At least put some training underwear on her." He just couldn't stand letting her run around without anything on below the waist. Hell, we were at home and no one was around. Let her be free! Let her have fun and shit! It's not hurting anything! But he was persistent and wouldn't listen to me (nothing surprising there honestly) so I put her in a pair. She seemed to take to them fairly well, but wouldn't you fucking know it?

She pisses herself not five minutes after I put them on her.

One short bath and a fresh pair of training underwear later (again, her dad just did not want to listen to me about letting her go naked) we sat her down and told her to say something if she needs to go to the potty. That's something I've had to constantly remind myself during this mess: always take the time to explain to the kid that it's time to grow up and be a big kid, and always TRY to maintain a calm and collective head about it.

See what I did there? It's a task that's easier said than done, and I'll shamelessly admit that I have on occasion had to leave the room because I was just at my wits end with potty training (amongst other things).

Little Monster went about doing her thing, consisting of creating chaos and mayhem in her path. Only this time around, she would stop every so often and look down at her feet to see a dark wet mess spreading beneath her. Of course she would piss herself the instant I put her in underwear. Of course I wouldn't notice it until it was too late to take her to the toilet. Of fucking course I wouldn't find a piss spot until I stepped in it with my sock wearing foot. By the end of the evening, I handed her dad a pull up and had to have him put her to bed.

Maybe potty training isn't meant to be something that's easy. Maybe it's something that tests a parents patience and endurance and willpower. Maybe it's just something that's preparing us for what lies ahead with school and puberty and relationships and shit. Maybe I've yet to really crack the code to potty training a stubborn little shit. There's a lot of 'maybes' and 'what ifs' when it comes to parenting, and I think we're just scratching the surface with this speed bump of a challenge.

First Post via Kindle

Well this is different. Not sure why I bought this app (and for that matter why is it that WordPress is free but I have to dish out .99 for blogger?) but I'm hoping that with this impulse buy I'll be able to post more often for all of my 1 follower to skim through.

Happy trails folks.

First Post

I sit here after several attempts of writing something clever or witty only to continuously hitting the backspace key because I have no idea what to write about. My first blog post on a more professional site and all it equates to is me scratching my head staring at the screen wondering 'What in the hell do I do now?'

Honestly? I think I'm just going to bullshit it. I mean, that's generally what I'm best at when it comes to most things: writing, work, social events, etc. There's no better way to go about anything than to go with an approach you're either familiar with or well versed at. Granted, most will want to try to be adventurous with their decisions, but me?

Fuck it.

I'm just not sure what to do with this blog, and that's probably not going to change in the near foreseeable future. Maybe it will be something to do with life hacks or parenting or some other typical bullshit. Who knows? For now, it's just up in the air, and I think I like it that way.