Middle School Compliments

Who knew middle schoolers could boost your confidence.

I really don’t have this working mom thing down at all….but apparently I am sexier than I remember.

Thank god for the little things.

I may have burnt every thing I have tried to cook for the last two weeks, my daughter and I may have a nasty cough that provided¬†us a day home today, but dang it…I am bringing sexy back!!!

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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 (no) judgement zone

Last Friday night I got drunk. I didn’t mean to. 

I meant to have 2 glasses of wine.

I forgot Zoloft interacted with alcohol.

More than 6 weeks after being prescribed a very low dose, I had finally started it, much to my husband’s relief. 

Saturday morning as he recounted the night before (and a pump and dump incident ūüėā), I am not sure he would say the same thing. 

Almost three weeks in, I have no blow ups. I am struggling at times still but I have been able to acknowledge my weakness and even live in the moment some. It has been a groundbreaking three weeks. 

Here is to 2016.

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!!!

 

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, pur√©ed 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.

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.