Good parent/bad parent: the modern parenting facade

I am no angel but lately I have been asking myself a lot about the American parent dichotomy. This “perfect on the outside, shit on the inside” facade that we are all barely holding together.Where are my truthers? 

Where are my unknown friends who have sat sobbing on the kitchen floor at midnight, with dinner burnt, your boobs hanging out, and your baby screaming? 

Where are the women who forgot for 6 or more weeks what it was like to live with sex, sleep, and any rationale control of your hormones?

Where are the woman who love their children fiercely, but occasionally have thought “could I give you back for an hour?”

Where are these truthers hiding? I can’t hear you among the pleas of my peers for acceptance, approval.

14 weeks of parenting has afforded me very little time behind this maniacal wheel, but what I do know is that “you know nothing.” 

Jon Snow be damned, I am giving it my best shot.

As I sit here, snowed in by Jonas, mounds of laundry piling up, struggling to breast feed and hoping the snow lasts till June so I never have to leave, I am reminded of the times I do get right. Half of them are by chance while the other half is hard work. Regardless, the triumph of these moments is all the greater because of the shitty odds of the battle going in, and the masterful f***-ups that somehow got you here.

Truth: I feel like I do more work than my husband.

Truth: he feels like he does more work than me.

Truth: we both are often working to what feels like our limits and sleep is not what it used to be. 

Truth: today I own my my duality. I am a good parent. I am a bad parent. 

P.s. Nap-time, you are a cock tease. I am beginning to loathe you as much as those perfect princesses with their Einstein infants, Martha Stewart magic, and white girl angst. 


The day(s) of death and life: my very Lyme Homebirth part 2.

(Read the first part of the birth story here)

*** Warning ***

*this post contains graphic information and is not for the faint of heart.

Part 1: Right After the Birth.  (end of my birth story blogs)

I had been warned that passing clots was not abnormal after labor.  I was expecting it.

But this felt different.

Sam can you call the midwife and tell her I just passed some substantial clots? I asked.

I am feeling a little light headed.

Sam checked in with her.  I had delivered our healthy 6lb 2 oz baby girl about 4 hours earlier and the midwife had left our home about 30 min before.

She’s in Elkins; do you want her to come back? he asks

I am not feeling quiet as hot as I had a few minutes earlier.  I was fine.  My heart wasn’t racing quiet like it had been.  I was just nervous.

No, tell her I am doing better and just going to crawl back in bed, drink fluids and rest.  I reply.

We enjoy the next 20 min as we wait in anticipation for the rest of our family, who are on their way, to join us!  It was a gorgeous day.  Warm and balmy, it was like summer but in the middle of October. Suddenly, I was hot all over.  My head was swimming; I was sick to my stomach.  Then I felt a loss of blood that felt similar to her shoulders exiting my body only a few hours earlier.

Something was wrong. That was too much blood.

I asked Sam to come around and help me to the bathroom, thankful I was laying on a chuck pad.  I thought I could get up and walk with it underneath me.  I quickly realized that wouldn’t work, and asked Sam to bring the trash can. Placing the plastic trash can between my legs, I tried to walk to the bathroom.

This is the last thing I remember.


Sam is yelling in my face as I feel the cool breeze hitting my skin.  I am slipping back and forth.  He has my shoulders.  He looks terrified.  I have never seen him so scared.

What’s wrong? I manage to get out

YOU ARE! he screams in my face  YOU ARE WHAT’S WRONG!!!

In this moment, somehow seeing Arden though she lay 25 feet away through a wall, I willed myself to consciousness.  Sam and I spent a minute or so discussing options.  It felt like an eternity.  I wanted him to drive me to the hospital.  He called the midwife and she suggested cutting the placenta and eating it, calling 911, etc.  she was too far away at this point.  He knew he couldn’t carry me and take care of our infant so he called his dad to have him come help carry me to the car.

Sam asked me if I could stand.  I thought for sure I could.  I was sliding but didn’t realize it was from the blood that was running out of the sides of the toilet, covered my feet, and stained the tile.   Somehow, I made it to the bed, raised my feet and began massaging my uterus, hoping it would clamp down and the bleeding would stop.  Suddenly my husband came in.

There is an ambulance, down the street.  It was taking someone home.  It was just sitting there.  They are on their way.

 Apparently at this point, Sam’s dad had arrived and was having a panic attack on our front porch, called Sam’s mom, and then my mom arrived.  No one realized that Arden was there.  She lay there perfectly calm in her swing bed, swaddled, awake, calmly taking it all in.  At this point, the EMTs come into our bedroom.  They have a stretcher and are trying to get it in the door.  It won’t open all the way because of a thin black dresser behind the door.  I think “oh god…of all the things…why is my lingerie dresser behind the door…they are going to move it.  they are going to see.  what if one of my students is working today.”  

Thankfully they got it in the door without moving the little black dresser, but my one thought was quickly replaced with sheer wonder at how these two men were going to get me and this gurney out of the house and down the stairs.  It seemed an impossible task!  I completely judged a book by itscover while I lay there, slowly bleeding out.  They were two of the most wonderful men I have ever met in my life.  They are/were my angels.  They helped to save me.  But they were almost as wide as they were tall and the task of getting a 155lb woman out of a house and down the stairs seemed daunting, to say the least.

I remember each excruciating step because with each hit of gurney wheel, I felt myself loosing more blood.  I felt bad for my husbands robe.  I knew that was a goner at this point. Finally, in the back of the ambulance, they radio the local hospital to check and see if they have blood (they did) and they begin the short trek to the ER.

PART 2:  The ED Purgatory

At some point, it was decided that my mom would go with me to the hospital and that Sam and his parents would stay at our home with Arden while Sam checked in with the midwife who was frantically calling. When we got into the ED, the doctor immediately began to question why the baby wasn’t there.  He wanted to see the baby.  For some reason I got very scared and was worried they would try to take Arden away from us.  They take some labs ( I don’t remember this) and my vitals.

 My blood pressure was almost 200. My WBC was 41.  Something was wrong.  I offered the answer, lyme, for the elevated WBC and the ED doctor stated that he knew all about Lyme and that wasn’t it.

The next two hours I remember very little about.  Apparently they let my husband bring Arden there so I could nurse her.  When they arrived no one was massaging my uterus.  My mother-in-law asked for pitocin and they stated they “didn’t know what it was.”  The only persons of true help with the EMT personnel who took exceptional care of me and checked on me, got a zofran script to help stop the vomiting (which was increasing the bleeding).

During this time, my husband was talking to the midwife who had turned around and gone to the hospital closest to us with a labor and delivery surgeon and prepped them of my case.  The ED I was at was notified of this and then the mystery begins.  I was told the ED doctor and the surgeon on call got into an argument and my bed was cancelled.  Regardless, I laid in an ED for almost 2 hours, bleeding, with almost no care while two ego maniacs battled something out. Before being wheeled out, the doctor made a point to come in and tell me what an idiot I was for having a home-birth before hitting on my mom and strolling cocksure out of the room.

Part 3: The Transfer

This was my first time in an ambulance.  I really didn’t want to take one because I wasn’t sure if insurance would cover it or not.  Turns out, I didn’t have a choice.  I had lost three-fifths of my blood volume.

As we wound around the curvy roads of West Virginia, the nausea came back with a vengeance and the vomiting began.  Not even Zofran was helping now.  Things really became a blur.  I remember little but that sunset and those firey orange trees.  Those two things I remember, as we sped up I-79.

Part 4:  From Bad to Worse

I remember very clearly how bright the room and how many people there were.  I thought surely all these people aren’t here for me.  it is like goddamn stadium lighting in here.  i have never had so many people looking at my vagina.  oh my god those lights are so bright. A man in blue scrubs and a face masks talks to me about when I last ate and drank.  I realize it has something to do with intubation and asphyxation.  He seems surprised. Next I think I am telling people the story of story of the recent hostage situation at the school at which I taught.

You lost three-fifths of your blood volume so we are going to be starting some transfusions.

damn those lights were bright.  

The rest of this is pieced together based on what I have been told.

It is now almost 8 hours since I have delivered my daughter and they take me into surgery.  Apparently there was some sort of complication with the placenta and the uterus.  I had some blood clotting issues to say the least.  My labs, however, were what was terrifying.

I had HELLP.   It was a bad.

An hour or so later, out of surgery, I was back in the room with my husband and a couple other family members (maybe sister and mom or mother in law).

All of the sudden, I can’t breathe.  I am crashing.  I can’t breathe.  I am trying to tell the nurses, the doctors, someone.  There 9 goddamn people standing around my bed.

 I can’t breathe why can’t you hear me! Help me!

Apparently, I was getting some of it out as I terrified my waiting husband and family.  I was in bad shape.

  • I had been experiencing seizures as a result of the blood loss.
  • At the second hemorrhage, I seized, passed out, hit my head on the wooden window sill in-front of our toilet and received a concussion.
  • My Liver Enzymes were almost 600.
  • My platelets were at 4.
  • My blood pressure was still through the roof.
  • I needed more blood transfusions.
  • They started a magnesium drip to prevent any more seizures.

I woke up the next morning with 5 IV ports in me, monitors everywhere.  My skin was literally black from all the bruises where I had been poked, drawn, and transfused.  I was a mess.  Everything was blury and bowing towards the middle.  My husband looked terrible.  I  knew something must have happened.

I sat up and tried to hold my perfect little 6lb daughter, but I couldn’t.  Something didn’t feel right.  I called the nurse and asked if it could be anesthesia.

Next thing I knew, two guys showed up to take me to CT scan to check on my concussion.  Going down the hallway, I saw my dad talking to someone, but didn’t know who.  (It was my best friend) When I returned to the room, I couldn’t sit up.  Everything was dark.  Something was wrong.

Next thing I knew, I was paralyzed.  I started vomiting.  I was on my back.  I was terrified.  I couldn’t move.

At this point, my sister who is an ICU nurse, jumped up, turned on the suction machine and began suctioning me.  My mom called the nurse while they tried to turn me on my side.

Over the next hour, my heart began to slow, I couldn’t catch  a breath. I heard someone talking about magnesium toxicity and what it would do to the body.

That! That’s it!!!  My muscles can’t move.  I can’t move them!  Stop the magnesium!  my brain is trying to  yell

An hour and a half hour later, thanks to an amazingly quick thinking nurse, I was still paralyzed but quickly coming round once she turned off the magnesium drip.  I had become toxic as result of my liver not working and the magnesium had slowly paralyzed my muscles.

It has been 28 hours since I had given birth to my daughter.  Just 24 since the hemorrhage began.

In all of this, the hospital apparently tried to force my husband to take our daughter to the ER.  He was terrified as he watched me quickly go from bad to worse once I was admitted and told them so.  After some time, his family and mine talked him into admitting her.  My sister and brother-in-law, who thankfully worked in the children’s hospital, worked with the charge nurse to have her directly admitted so she wasn’t exposed to anything in the ER.

She was perfect.  She scored a 10 on her APGAR (a 9 after birth).  I was terrified of being treated like an imbecile for how our birth occurred but our midwife worked with the hospital to show the care we took for protocol, pre-natal care, testing, etc. and we were treated with EXTREME respect.

Five days later, we went home after the first snow the season, a family of three together, barely, but forever.

Picture from bruising 10 days after leaving the hospital.

Lactation support and ideas 

After giving birth to my daughter, I experienced a hemorrhage that, unfortunately, has left my milk supply a little on the low side.

Supplements I have tried:

  • fenugreek
  • blessed thistle

Food and Drinks I have tried:

  • lactation cookies
    • Recipe 1  (easy to make, can be a little salty)
    • Recipe 2 (a little flat but tasty)
    • Assessment: both worked well and I would recommend either.  When my sister made the first recipe her’s were much better than my original batch, but baking is not my specialty, it is hers.
  • lactation teas
    • Yogi – 2/5 stars.  I didn’t notice a huge difference with this tea.  I ordered it originally because of it’s price.
    • Mother’s Milk – 4/5 stars.  A little pricey but it definitely helps support the nursing supply.
    • Welda – 4/5 stars.  This one only gets a 4 out of 5 stars because it is so expensive.  It is by far the best nursing tea I tried and I noticed immediately results. As far as results go, it receives a 5 out of 5 stars.

Ideas not yet tried:

  • Placenta Encapsulation – I originally didn’t do this because we were unsure if I had passed Lyme through the placenta to Arden.  As it turns out, I didn’t!!!  I have recently begun considering that as a option to help support my nursing supply.
    • has anyone had any experience with this for their own nursing supply?
  • Other ideas? I am open to suggestions!!!


This whole living in the moment thing…

I was supposed to go back to work this week but Martin Luther King Jr., winter storm Jonas, and forgotten doctors appointments have conspired against me … or for me as the case may be.

Tuesday morning, she almost said “mama” and that was supposed to be my first day back.

My dad, generously, had promised to be here to spend the whole day with her on my first day, so that I didn’t have to take her to day care AND be away for 8 hours simultaneously.

I am lucky.  She would have been with my dad.

But, instead, she was with me when she tried to form the word over and over again, not quite able to force the sound out from behind those perfect pursed lips.

I am TRULY lucky.

The money I could have earned that day would have been AMAZING, especially considering our refrigerator chose this week to stop working, but the reward of seeing her try to form her first words was worth more.

Today I am thankful for coolers, back up refrigerators, neighbors, slow cookers, first words, living in the moment and snow days.

Currently listening to Jon Bellion “ooh” courtesy of my amazing little brother who is teaching me to follow my dreams.

The best worst day of my life: my very Lyme homebirth, part one.

I want to write about this in a way that capture the feeling of these two days, but the emotion is still too raw to share. I can merely recount what happened, from my perspective, over these days.

10/15/15 2:30a

Sharp pressure woke me up. Contractions were nothing new, but this was intense. I was nauseous and tired.

I drank castor oil the night before. My water had broken. I  walked more than 5 hours. I had thrown up anything I ate or drank in the last 12 hours and finally I was 1 stinking centimeter dilated after all that.

Exhausted, I grabbed a pillow, repositioning myself in the child’s pose, hoping to cope and distract myself, I put something on the IPad to watch. I have no recollection of what.

An hour later, the pain and pressure were getting intense. I woke Sam up, I don’t know if it was from moaning or because I woke him up.

Trying a few different positions to cope with pain was nothing new. I had passed multiple kidney stones (sans medication) in the last month and been sicker than I had been in the history of my disease for the last ten.

6:30 am

In the bathtub, listening to Sam talk about being in an ocean (or a ball pit 😂😂😂 ) I remember little but the sound and feel of the water. Sam says I was making noise, lots of noise. At this point Sam called the midwife to let her know that we thought we were in labor. She asked Sam to time the contractions and call her back, she was getting ready and on her way. She had left just 5 hours early to make the 2 hour drive back to her home. I had only been 1 cm only a few hours earlier, after having contractions for days and other labor signs.


I feel a need to push. It is more primal than anything I have felt before in my life. There was no way I could have done anything in that moment other than push. I felt suddenly like I needed to get out of my bathtub. Sam moved me to the couch, worried the baby would hit her head on the floor 😂😂😂😂.

At this point I should say that I have the most incredible, supportive, rock of a man in the world. He was out of his mind with fear and still calm as a cucumber and ready to deliver our daughter on his own.

He called the midwife back and she was on her way, about an hour out. I remember specifically Sam telling me that she was an hour away. This is one detail that rings clear for me. At this point, I willed my body to slow down for the first time the entire pregnancy. I breathed, I pushed, I tried not to.


The midwife arrived.

There had been a few different plans, including delivering at a local hospital, throughout the course of the pregnancy. I would be lying if I said I didn’t WANT a home birth. Sam and I are deeply private people (says the woman with a blog) and have always done things as quietly and simply together as possible. I had fears of interventions among other things. I should have known not to let my fears ever drive a situation or decision. It seemed my body was giving me the labor I wanted when it had so surely denied me the healthy pregnancy experience I craved.

9:05 am

The midwife, Sam and a nurse move me into the birth tub. I remember thinking there is no way I can lift my leg up to my hip to crawl in there. Somehow I did.

Down on all fours, head on Sam’s chest, he sat on the piano stool in front me. The cardinals were pecking at the feeder in the window though we couldn’t see them through the tapestry hung up, diffusing the morning light.

9:26 am

I feel true pain for the first time as Arden crowns. The midwife applies counter pressure and I feel a small tear happen.


A moment later, I am flipping over, taking my screaming daughter out of the midwife’s hands. A warm wet towel is placed on top of both of us. She is beautiful. She is bluish pink, pooping, peeing, squalling, perfect baby girl. Sam was in the moment enough to snap 3 or 4 of the most incredible pictures.

It was truly the happiest moment of my life. The most distinct memory is that of her crying and Sam laughing and how incredibly similar and joyful the two sounded.

The joy, adrenaline, and rush of labor were truly euphoric. Calm and warm, holding my child, I delivered the placenta easily and it seemed fully intact. The cord blood drawl began. (Because I have Lyme and co infections I had been on 2400mg of omnicef and 500mg of Zithromax a day for the duration of the pregnancy. The goal was not to pass it through the placenta to Arden. It had felt like an impossible task most days. When I couldn’t keep the meds down, a shot was what awaited me.) after the samples were collected and packaged, the midwife cut the cord, wrapped Arden up, assessed her, weighed her and gave her to Sam to hold while I was examined, showered, and crawled in bed.

Arden on my chest, Sam beside me. The midwife and nurse cleaned up the house, started laundry, checked in on us, took vitals, packaged the blood and placenta samples for Arden’s Lyme test and left about 4 hours after delivery. This time was a blur and really feels like about 60 min. We had called family and told them to come to the house though we didn’t tell them the baby had come. I remember texting my brother, who is a musician in Houston and my best friend to let them know the baby was here.


As we laid together, a family of three. We were high on the joy of birth. It had been an intense but beautiful and powerful experience. It had seemed all to perfect, too quick. We looked at each other and said “why would anyone do this any other way or place?” It was in that moment that God decided to answer us and hemorrhage number one began.

To be continued. (Read Part 2 Here)

A whole new view

The first time I saw this shirt, it was on my husband.  We were in a Wendy’s parking lot in Morgantown, WV because he had gotten lost. I was so nervous. It was our first date.

I stumbled out of bed this morning, planning on packing up the baby and heading out for doctor appointments and a chance to see my sisters.  I have never been good at seeing what is right in front of me. I can see the whole picture, everything that needs done, but ask me to see what is right in front of my face and I miss it more often than not. 

In my morning haze, I had thrown on clothes as I stumbled towards the kitchen to let the dog outside. Sam had Arden and was reading to her. I never saw what I put on. 

Today, with a snow storm barrelling towards us, I managed to see what was in front of me and we stayed home. After a brief “relapse” into my frantic big-picture-gotta-get-stuff-done mentality, I sat down rock Arden to sleep, I looked down at her beautiful smiling face and saw the shirt. 

For one moment I was 23 and worried about what I had on, whether I should hug him, shake his hand, or just say “hey.”  I saw the shirt in my living room as he awkwardly spit cherry pits into a bowl.  I saw the shirt as he came back for a second kiss after having already left. He “couldn’t wait a week for another.”  I saw the shirt with our daughter’s hands softly resting on it and I realized that for all my big picture scheming, I never saw this. 

Almost 8 years later, I am surprised at how well the shirt has held up. But today I am most surprised that I saw what was in front of me.   The first time I saw this shirt I almost missed the moment for all the worries and anxieties of a first date. 

Today, I am trying a new view.

Screw it; hand me the can of sauce. 

I am trying to cook again.  I used to be amazing.  For a year my husband and I moved to the woods, had a garden (indoor and out), cooked everything from scratch, lived so clean. It was an incredible learning experience; we lived without power for 2 weeks during the winter, survived hurricane Sandy, and 5 emergency runs to the hospital over an hour away.  Turns out the the wonderful cabin in the woods had some mold.

Yesterday, I found an awesome recipe for pasta sauce.  Fresh basil, garlic, puréed tomatoes and capers rounded off a list of ingredients that made my mouth water. I had every intention of making the whole thing start to finish, but the call of the can was just too damn strong. 

Right now, I am still in a sleep shirt, watching reality tv, while Arden naps in my arms and dinner cooks in the crock pot. 

Should I feel bad? Maybe. But right now I don’t. Should I be learning a language to teach my child? Probably.  But right now, Tim Gunn is just so comforting.  Am I going to be the parent who’s child’s first words are “make it work”?  At least it’s   better than my original fear of it being di** or f***.  

Three months into this parenting thing, I am, in some  ways, the woman I want my daughter to become, but in many more ways I am not. Somedays, I will drive myself crazy obsessing over my failings and end up painting pastel a bunch of s*** to make my life look better….but it won’t be today.   Today I refuse to be that beautiful cabin in the woods, decaying underneath.  I acknowledge the fact that I have room to improve.

One day I will be back to cooking from scratch while speaking French to Arden and wearing Christian Siriano.   

Today I am visible mold. I’m canned spaghetti sauce, trash tv, and pjs.

My very Lyme Pregnancy, part 1: the good news

When I was first re-diagnosed with lyme in 2011, I remember feeling this crushing sense of thinking I would never have a child. Five years later, as I hold my daughter, I am amazed that I have made it this far.

My Lyme journey began with that tell-tale sign of a bullseye rash in 2002. My doctor gave me 100mg of doxycycline for one week. I took it as prescribed but didn’t take the diagnosis seriously, even though Lyme had recently killed the nephew of an acquaintance in Colorado. Besides that there wasn’t Lyme on the east coast. I knew that, my doctor new that, everyone knew that. Duh.

Over the next few years, my health began to rapidly decline. Eventually I found myself in the hospital, without insurance, sicker than I had ever been in my life, with doctors confounded, and a positive Lyme test.

Fast forward a few years to January 2015. Work was incredibly stressful and I was facing some issues with students (I was teaching 10th grade English) as well as battling my own disease. While my period was late, that wasn’t abnormal. Hormones had been drastically affected by the Lyme itself and the added stress of 160+ papers, parents, and life made a late period seem normal.

February 4, 2015 I woke up famished with super sore breasts, downed a sleeve of crackers, and thought something is not quiet right. The night before, my husband and I had gone grocery shopping and on our 30 minute drive home, the song “Closing Time” came on the radio. We talked wishfully about what life would be like when we had a child.

My husband was in the shower, preparing for the work day as I slipped into the bathroom to take a pregnancy test. I had a pregnancy scare a couple months prior while I was dealing with a bout of shingles 😁, so the left over pregnancy tests were fresh in my memory. The first one read positive; it couldn’t be. I did a second test to confirm before opening the shower door and just blurting out to Sam “I am pregnant!”

As tears and water rolled down his face, I shook with excitement! I felt good! I could do this! I had recently read about pregnant Lyme patients experiencing symptom reversal during pregnancy and I was so excited at the thought of feeling really healthy and having a great pregnancy! Still, apprehensive about the increased risk for miscarriage, we tried to keep it quiet.

The next day was a snow day which enabled us to get a blood test to confirm our surprise! My gynecologist, who worked with my Lyme doctor (LLMD), had recently stopped delivering babies, so I sent out an email blast to the midwife organization in our state and started the search for a provider who would work with my LLMD. By February 8th, I had met and made a connection with a midwife and made an appointment with my LLMD.

So excited to tell our families, we decided to wait until after I had talked to my LLMD. February 10th, I went to the doctor who immediately knocked the wind out of me by his brutally honest assessment of the case.

While there was little that could be done in the next 9 months, our focus would be sustaining a pregnancy and not passing Lyme, Babesia, or Bartonella on to our child.

The next two weeks were filled with excitement, exhaustion, and slowly more and more morning sickness. Determined to make it through, I pushed and pushed until I made it to twelve weeks. At this point, I had already lost 30 pounds and was unable to keep down any necessary medication. With no positive changes to the morning sickness and the addition of daily herxing, (sometimes as many as 4 or 5 times a day) I decided to take FMLA and focus on the pregnancy.

This was my miracle, my time, and I was not going to let anyone take it away from me.

Little did I know, the battle had just begun…. To be continued.

Read Part 2 Here.

I let my doctor shame me (then my daughter almost rolled off the bed)

Frantic dashes to make up for lost time, OMG did she just roll over? What am I thinking? Why am I so angry? 
Before I go any further, I should say, I was warned. I was warned, but I thought I was stronger than postpartum depression. (Which is horribly named) This depression has less to do with the baby or hormones and has everything to do with the fact that this precious bundle of joy is here, exhausting us to the point of no return and magnifying the glaring inadequacies of our lives we have done so well to paste together until now. 

Enter stage right…a huge pile of mail, my husband’s impending trek back to work, and the end of maternity leave staring me baldly in the face. Everything seems like too much. 

The whole world should be stopping to mourn the fact that I won’t be with my daughter! I am devastated and can’t figure out why no one else sees this as the greatest issues on earth. Screw global warming.

While this is deeply personal, I feel it is too important not to share, and I do so with some embarrassment.

I lost my mind yesterday because I can’t do it all. At one point, feeling laundry was more important than just holding my little girl, I laid her on the bed and began to put clothes away. In the blink of an eye, she went back to belly and I almost missed all of this because I was so angry and consumed with what I “had” to do. 

A month ago I went to my doctor, overwhelmed, scared, discouraged. I had decided to talk to her about meds for depression. I have worked in mental health, I believe medical professionals and that meds can help. I also believe they are over prescribed, so I was tentative in my discussion with her. 

She went ahead and wrote a script but as she did stated that she “didn’t suppose this would dope my baby up too much.”

1 month later, I haven’t filled the script. I have tried meditation. I have tried convincing myself I can do what has to be done and let the other things go.  

I don’t want to dope my baby up. 

But I also don’t want to miss my daughter’s firsts because I am too afraid of what someone might think.  

Ok, I’ll admit it; I am jealous of my husband.

He looks so good in his jeans and they are never too tight. It is sexy when HE doesn’t shave.

And right now, he can sleep on a dime while I am awake thinking of everything that needs done before the baby wakes up.

While this may sound like I am whining, I am not. My husband Sam is the yin to my yang. I go from 0-90 in less than a second; he is slow starter, but his patience and humor underline the wisdom and calm he brings to my life.

It has been said that nothing changes your marriage like having a kid; I really didn’t believe it would for us. We had had a few rough years (by first world standards) and by 30 had lived through many hospitlazations, chronic illness, endless job searches, moves, living with parents, no money, borrowing money from family to pay rent, buy medicines, groceries, etc. To top it all off the baby was coming after shingles and year of morning sickness so bad I lost 54 lbs by the time I delivered, passed more than 10 kidney stones without medication, fought Lyme disease,and and faced more hospitalizations and daily herxing reactions than I care to remember.

Surely, after all of that, maintaining our marriage throughout parenting would be a breeze.

I can tell you right now, 11 weeks in, it isn’t. I have stooped lower and been more intentionally selfish in the last 11 weeks than I have been in my entire six years of marriage!

For example, the other night I pinched my peacefully sleeping husband because I was awake and nursing. I, a grown-a** college educated woman, pinched my sleeping husband because I wanted to go to sleep so badly. His waking up had nothing to do with my ability to sleep. I still had a baby to nurse. All those sleepless nights, days spent fighting an insane disease had not prepared me for taking care of a child 24/7, 365 days a year forever.

Don’t get me wrong, I love some middle of the night time I get with our first child. What I am trying to shine a light on is the fact that I THOUGHT life had prepared me to be stressed, sleepless, not feel good, etc. and in all that I EXPECTED to have the same relationship with my partner, my best friend, my confident but that *%^*%>% seems to sleep whenever he wants, shower for however long he wants, and just look so dang carefree and good in his jeans…
Life is not fair.