Its been a while!

Hey guys!

I know its been a while since I've written - ohhh...just a year and a half or so. I'm here to explain myself!

After I wrote my last post, I took some time to reflect on life and on myself - I realized that I was in the beginning stages of postpartum depression. I *wish* I could say that I immediately saw my doctor to have that remedied but unfortunately that's not the case. I went on like that for two more months before I finally broke down, crying, and called my doctor. I realized that no one should have to live that way - the way where you cry, you yell, you're generally miserable, and you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel and you don't know how you're going to make it to the very next second of the day.

I was doing my children a great disservice. Those sweet boys, Channing and Finn, depended on me for everything - one of them being 18 months old, and the other just a newborn. I went through the motions - I nursed Finn, I changed his diaper, I gave them baths, I cooked meals for Channing, I changed Channing's diapers, I put them down for naps, I gave them kisses and hugs - but I was like a robot. I felt like a shell of a person that never felt so alone or anxious than in those months of my life. Sometimes I still struggle with the anxiety and loneliness - I was telling my husband the other day that often times I feel like everyone else's lives go on around me and without me while I'm stuck in one place.

So one day I just decided that I couldn't do that anymore. I made an emergency appointment with my doctor and took the boys with me so that I could see her. The best way I could explain it to her was that most people have a scale of coping, numbered 1-10. 1 being the most calm and 10 being out of control upset and that when I had something triggery happen for me, I skipped 1-10 and went straight to 11. There was no grey area for me, I was either completely calm (robot status) or I was off the charts freaking out, anxious to my very core. And once I'd calmed down, I dealt with overwhelming guilt for treating my family like that. She prescribed some medication for me, Prozac (safe with breastfeeding) and recommended some free groups that I could go to so I could speak with other people dealing with similar issues. I left that appointment still feeling off my rocker, but empowered.

Luckily for me, the first medication I tried worked for me. In 6 weeks (which felt like an eternity), I felt myself return to normal. I was balanced, my coping skills were much better, and my relationships with the people around me bounced back. I was, dare I say, HAPPY?!

So much has changed since Finn was 3 months old. I feel like I've grown immensely. I have hobbies now, I have friends, I've joined the local Moms Club, Channing has turned 2 and then 3 (I have a 3 year old?!), Finn turned a year old and is half way to 2, and our family world just keeps on spinning.

There are times that I still feel out of control, but the difference is that now I can identify that the flood gates are about to be breeched and I can reach out to those around me and ask for help. I am no longer ashamed to say, "Please help me, I'm struggling." And I am lucky enough to have a wonderful family to get me there.

At the encouragement of a friend, I plan to keep this blog updated - I will tell some back stories to catch you guys up and tell some new stories as they come along. And even if no one ever reads this, I am glad that I've come back to this place to write so that I can have a log of the best stories of my children's lives. That's why I started this blog, after all.

Peace and blessings,
Smart Mouthed Mama

Bringing home baby.

Two bright pink lines. 

For some, the initial reaction is shock, others it's joy, and still others fear. Some women try to get two pink lines for months or years with no success. It's usually not just one emotion that startles through your heart when the test comes back positive, but rather a bundle (see what I did there?) of various emotions. I've now had the privilege of going through this experience twice and of course, sitting here now with my one week old using my breast as a pillow and my 18 month old sitting on the little lap I have remaining, I wouldn't change a single thing. But here's where I am about to get painfully honest. 

I wasn't ready to have another child. When I got the second positive test, my heart sank. I couldn't breathe. I felt my head spin. And at last the tears came and fell down my cheeks at a startling rate. I managed to wipe them away before talking to anyone. I told my mother first...fearfully. How would she react? In a shaking voice, "Mom, um...I think I'm pregnant again."  

She looked at the test and hugged me. We immediately went to get a digital test to confirm. Sure enough, in big bold letters PREGNANT. I texted my husband, "I'm pregnant." And he was instantly overjoyed. I'm pretty sure he made a joke about already having all the baby stuff we needed anyway, so now was as good a time as any. I didn't laugh, for the record. 

And that night, laying in bed after putting my 11 month old to bed, the tears came again. I wept for my son and for the relationship I was sure I had destroyed by getting pregnant again. I wept for the time we would never spend again just the two of us. He was barely walking and still nursing on demand and here I was, giving him a sibling. What was wrong with me? I would consider myself a relatively responsible, intelligent adult woman - I clearly know how one conceives a child. But still, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? 

It only got harder. The effect on my relationship with my son was immediate and painfully obvious. My milk dried up by week 8 and so ended the beloved breastfeeding journey we had started only 12 short months earlier. I had been planning on letting him nurse until he decided to quit, surely sometime after 2 years old. But there I was, breastfeeding advocate, with a weaned, toddler-baby at just a year old. Again, my heart broke. When I went in for my dating ultrasound, a woman in the office (pretty sure she worked in billing) told my child, who thankfully couldn't understand, that his daddy and I didn't think this through before adding another child. That we had robbed him of his childhood because he would never remember time with us, without his would-be sibling. She ruined that day for me. The first day I heard my second child's heartbeat and saw his little shrimpy looking body on the ultrasound. Again, I wept on the way home. She was out of line, yes. But she had only spoken the words that were in my heart that I was too chicken to say aloud to anyone, even myself. 

Weeks turned into months. I went through the motions of preparing for a new baby. I took belly pictures. I planned a nursery. I speculated with girlfriends and family whether I would have another boy or if it would be a girl. And then the day came that we found out we were expecting a brother for my son. Another baby boy. Finding out that I was expecting another boy actually lifted my spirits initially. Once he started kicking, I laid my son's hand on my growing belly and taught him to say baby. I included him in the belly pictures. I tried to picture us as a family of four instead of a family of three. But my heart was still heavy. And as the end of my pregnancy approached, I would find myself wondering at bed time if it would be the last time I would put my son to bed as his mother only. I would cry softly into his hair as I rocked him to sleep and tell him that I was sorry for robbing him of memories with his only dad and I that he would never have now because he would have to share us with his brother. 

My due date came and I went into labor naturally. I delivered my new son naturally without pain medication. I got the water birth that I had so hoped for. My newborn son was finally placed in my arms and there again, just as with my older son, I cried and shouted "I can't believe I just did that!" I was instantly in love with this tiny human that I had met mere moments before. I started to believe that everything would be okay. But the moment of truth was still coming. How would my older son react? What would he think? Say? Do? Would he hate me? Would he hate his brother? 

He came the next day to the hospital with my mom. He smiled from the stroller at me sitting in the hospital bed. My husband picked him up and pointed in the direction of my younger son. My older son shouted, "BABY" with a huge grin from ear to ear. He wanted to pet him, wanted to keep looking at him. And he even gave me a hug and a kiss. 

Since we have been home, I can't keep him away from his brother. He always wants to hold him, lay on him, hug him, kiss him. He is absolutely crazy about him. Things have not been super between the two of us, but we are working on it. He seems to be very distant in my direction right now but slowly warms up a little more every day. Selfishly, I cry because he doesn't want me. But in reality, now that I have them both, I am just thankful that my older son loves the younger so much. He will forgive me in time, perhaps but he now has a forever friend that is only 18 months his junior that will hopefully be there for him for all time. As they get older, their age gap will seem even smaller and they will both have my head spinning and my heart full. I have also realized that all the while that I was weeping for my older son, I was doing my younger an injustice. I couldn't adjust to the idea of being a mother to two the entire time I was pregnant, when in reality, I was already the mother of two. 

I am so blessed to be the mother of these two amazing boys. Nothing in my life has ever completed me the way they do. They are my pride and joy. Here we are, one week in and totally winning at this family of four thing. I hope that I can do them justice in this life by being the best mother I can be. I pray that they grow up to be amazing, strong young men who treat people with respect and tolerance. I hope that they are so happy in their lives. I brought them both here, and I definitely feel as though I am the lucky one. 

This wasn't easy to write, I know it won't be easy to read. Ending on a good note, here are my wonderful little loves. 

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Becoming a mother opens you up to a world of judgment you never actually realized existed out there. Suddenly, there are a whole plethora of things that you do or like or participate in that are up for debate by anyone and everyone around you, regardless of your interest in others' opinions. Perfect strangers avail you of their opinion and its...annoying to say the least. Your parenting choices are the actions or decisions that are most frequently questioned and if you're not careful, you'll start questioning them yourself.

Yesterday, an old friend messaged me on Facebook. I haven't spoken to this "friend" since we were in school. I barely know him to the point that he might as well be a perfect stranger. This person has no children yet so that's what makes our conversation particularly interesting. So we get to chatting about miscellaneous things like what my husband does, what this friend does for work, and finally the conversation comes around to what I occupy my days with. I went on to explain to him that I chose to stay at home with my son after having him. I returned to work for about 6 months but ultimately decided that I wanted to be home with my son while I could. I am lucky that my husband has a job that affords us this lifestyle and he was very supportive of me quitting my job to stay home full time. I am HAPPY staying at home and I feel fulfilled by what I do. So here's the kicker...

This person says to me, "But I remember you being so smart. Make sure you do go back to work, a mind is a terrible thing to waste."

Uhm, what? I can only use my mind while working outside the home? My job is physically, mentally, and emotionally taxing. I work very, very, very hard every day, just like someone who works outside the home. Please, do me a favor - if you're a parent that works outside the home, pat yourself on the back. Now, if you're a parent who stays home with a child, or children, pat yourself on the back. WE ALL WORK HARD.


And to the person who thinks I can't be fulfilled while chasing around my 18 month old: screw you, sir.

Staying just a few more minutes...

My son is a terrible sleeper. As in...one of the worst sleeping children on record. He always has been a poor sleeper and while his patterns have changed over these 17 and a half months, the overall sleep in general still, well, sucks. There's just no other way to describe it.

We recently had to change his crib to a toddler bed. Oh, my husband and I wanted to wait. We wanted to push it out as long as possible. For one, no one likes seeing their baby grow up, and two, who wants a mobile toddler in the middle of the night? A sheer inevitability in our house, by the way, considering he's slept through the night less than 10 times in 17 months. Our only saving grace so far is that he can't open doors - so at least he's confined to his bedroom when he wakes up. Anyway, we had to change his bed because - you guessed it! He climbed right the hell out of his bed and I found him by his bedroom door one morning, beaming at me, ever so proud of his accomplishment. I have to say, I was a grab bag of emotions in that moment: proud that he figured it out and didn't hurt himself, terrified because I knew that it meant changing his bed, and sad that my baby was so much less of a baby all of the sudden. Literally, overnight.

So this brings me to my next big hurdle - sleep training. Lots of parents do it and swear by it. I'm sure, in fact, that most parents do it. We tried when my son was about 9 months old and failed...miserably. I am the worst when he starts crying. Unless he's throwing a fit, I give in every. single. time. Especially those pathetic night time, "Please don't leave me" cries. Ugh, like a freaking rusty knife through my heart. But here we were, toddler bed, 17 month old waking countless times a night, needing myself or my husband to sit by his bed for long periods of time, sometimes HOURS for him to fall back asleep. I decided one night earlier this week that I'd had enough. It was time to take control! Babies don't run houses, moms and dads do, amirite???

Wrong. Terribly, completely, incomprehensibly WRONG. My toddler runs this house, at least at night. I lasted 5 minutes, folks. A whole 300 seconds.

The method we were trying is a great method, in theory and probably in practice for parents who are more determined. We put him to bed, hugs and kisses, said goodnight, and left the room. Cue meltdown. We continued to return to his room without saying anything and simply placed him back in bed. He rapidly understood to stay in bed, only...he laid there, sobbing. After this entire process start to finish, at the culmination of these incredibly challenging 300 seconds, I decided something. My son is a terrible sleeper. Not news you say? Well, true. But in re-realizing (did I make that up?) that he is a terrible sleeper, I regained the strength I needed to sit by his bed while he falls asleep. Why? Because one day, in a day near or more likely far, he won't need me to sit by his bed anymore. He won't request mine or his father's presence in the middle of the night anymore. He won't even wake up in the middle of the night anymore. He will sleep right through and I'll go an entire 12 hours without seeing his face.

In this moment of realization, I put my big girl/mom panties on and went into his bedroom to calm his cries. I laid down in that uncomfortable ass teeny tiny bed he has and stroked his hair. I wiped the tears from his face and apologized to him. I apologized for not being strong enough in my convictions as his mother to do what I promised to do when he was born - which was to avoid any sleep training or night crying. I cried into his hair and told him that I loved him and made a vow to never, ever let that happen again. Each night since, I've stayed until he's fallen asleep. I pat his back or hum him a lullaby, or just sit there...but I stay until he is completely asleep. When he wakes in the middle of the night, daddy takes over and sits with him (last night for 2 hours) until he falls back asleep. It can still be frustrating. My husband and I are exhausted and we're expecting our second son in just a few weeks but we keep on. Not because its the right thing for everyone and every child, but because its the right thing for *our* child. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never do things the way other parents do because I'm not parenting their children, I'm parenting mine. We all tweak things to work for our own families...which makes us all great parents in our own right.

Tonight, I heard the marked sigh of my son slipping from consciousness and into slumber. I felt his breathing slow and his body relax as he fell into a deep sleep. Usually this is my cue to peel my big, pregnant butt off the floor and return to the living room to clean up from our day but tonight - tonight I just sat there with my hand on his back and listened to him breathe. I stayed for probably 10 minutes after he fell asleep. Why?

Because one day, he won't want me to anymore. I love you, my sweet son.

My heart keeps growing.

Last night I was laying in bed waiting for The Little to wake. I knew he was going to because, well, he always does when I first lay down to try to go to sleep. That's how we roll. I was already feeling frustrated due to lack of sleep for the past...9 months, due to always feeling on the go, due to knowing what every single night with my sweet son has in store. I have actually started dreading night time because we always wind up in the same place - he wakes up a million times and usually once a night *needs* to wake up and get up for about an hour or so before returning to sleep. Needless to say, my husband and I are definitely burning the candle at both ends. We are both tired, exhausted right to our very cores. I find myself getting frustrated with being frustrated with my baby because in my heart of hearts, I know he doesn't do this night time song and dance with us out of malice. Nevertheless, night time is when I feel the most vulnerable, like the worst parent, and like a flat out failure. In the quiet dark of our bedroom, my husband and I rock and "shhh" and practically beg our sweet baby to go back to sleep. And that's when I've shed the most tears since I began the journey of motherhood 9 short months ago. Sometimes they fall silently, while others are spent telling the Little that I'll give him anything, ANYTHING if he will just let Mama get some uninterrupted sleep.

This thought occurred to me last night during the last few silent moments before he started to stir. An epiphany of sorts. Knowing love for your child, and being a good parent to your child is thinking to yourself, "I'll try harder tomorrow" each night before you collapse into bed. Being a mother to my son is the hardest, most challenging, but most beautiful and rewarding blessing of my life. I am lucky to know him, lucky to have the chance to teach him, and lucky to be able to beg him to slip back into a calm slumber. He has left a mark on my heart with his tiny fingers. He is the only creature I miss when he finally does sleep. Sometimes I pick him up when he is napping during the day so that I can snuggle him and smell his hair. When we play during the day, I take time to remember what all of his features look like so that I will never forget that moment in time once its long gone. I kiss his fingers and his toes. And sometimes even during the day, the tears fall but for very different reasons. I weep because my heart is so full of love for this baby that my husband and I created is so big and so strong that I cannot bear to keep it inside. I weep because my husband is such an amazing father. I weep because our Maker allowed me (can you believe it?) to care for this tiny little creature. I'm crying now because I can't adequately express the love I have for him.

So he won't sleep again tonight. We will probably be up at least 4 times. A 3 AM party is likely imminent. And I will get frustrated that he won't sleep, knowing I won't be able to see straight the next day. But I will try harder tomorrow and I will be his best Mama possible because I love him so much.

Peace and blessings,
Smart Mouthed Mama

10 reasons why being a mom is the best job I never got paid for.

There are obviously more than 10 reasons why I love being a mom. But at some point I would just be rambling and you would be bored and might never read my blog again. And we can't have that, now can we?

Being a mother has changed me in so many aspects. Some are good, some are funny, sometimes I feel like I'm disappearing into the rabbit hole. But hey, you came here for a list of 10 things I LURVE about being a mama, so let's get crackin' on a countdown.

10. There is a tiny human that has 1/2 of my DNA running around in the world. Crawling, running, whatever. The point is, he has ever refining gross motor skills that propel him about.

9. One day there was nothing in my uterus, the next day he BEGAN. He kept growing and lived INSIDE MY BODY, dude. I grew him, that's whack.

8. He is just as handsome as his Daddy, just like I hoped.

7. When I go places, people "ooh" and "ahh" over how cute he is. It helps to remind me that even though he grates my nerves at 2am, at least he has some redeeming qualities. Like his aesthetics.

6. This kid is F-U-N-N-Y. Comic relief any time I need it. TYVM, universe.

5. My heart feels like its going to explode every day with love. And then little love seeds will get planted every where and solve world hunger n' shit.

4. I get to be part of the incredible duo of parents who teach another human about life. I will be there the first time he does so many things for the first time. Can you imagine what it must feel like to feel sand under your feet for the VERY FIRST TIME? *I* got to be there for that.

3. His skin is soft and he likes to hold my hand.

2. He has the best laugh.

1. I have a legacy. Someone to give better to than what I had, someone to pass my morals on to, someone who could possibly change the world.

Thanks for reading my sap-happy list of things. Most of these things other people wouldn't understand but maybe if you're a mama too, you get it. Thanks for reading.

Peace and Blessings,
Smart Mouthed Mama

Some advice about unsolicited advice...

For the women out there that are not yet parents or about to become parents - here's a blog for you.

Becoming a mother is the most joyous and perhaps most frustrating thing you will ever encounter. Forget the struggles with breastfeeding, the sleepless nights, the poopy diapers. I'm going further than that. I'm talking about the psychology of parenthood. From the moment you get that positive result on the Pee Stick, you want to shout it from the rooftops that you are entering this new, hallowed phase of life. You want to tell everyone you know that you are expecting your first bundle of joy. And as a FTM, you probably do immediately start announcing it. I did. Hell, I took the test at 6:00am on a Saturday morning and by 7:30am, I had already spilled the beans to a coworker. I was only 5.5 weeks along at the time - I wound up being pregnant for 41 weeks. Do the math - That's 35.5 weeks of unsolicited advice, ladies. 

Obviously, as a FTM, you are a noob; fresh meat, so to speak. You might have tons of questions, that's normal. You know what else is "normal"? Having a perfect stranger walk up to you in the baby section at Target, look from your belly to the registry scanner you're holding, and then to the item that you're scanning and say, 

"Oh honey, is this your first? I didn't get anything like that with my babies, you don't need that."

Oh yeah! And it only gets worse. People say, 

"You know your life is going to change drastically. Be prepared to never sleep again." 

Oh thank you so much, person who's opinion I did not ask for. Thanks for being such a ray of freakin' sunshine. Thank you for telling me something I couldn't have concluded on my own. The thing is, they don't mean it. They can't help it in fact. How do I know this? I have a few friends who are pregnant with their first babies and I have to actually tell myself to mind my own business when they post a status about being pregnant. Try to be patient while the solicitor blabs on about how their babies "blah blah blah".

Then there are the solicitors who know it alllllllll. They've done it all, they've seen it all, and they are obviously the super mom you can only aspire to be. They had the babies that slept through the night the day they were born, the babies that never cried, the babies came walking out of their mother's vagina with a PhD...I digress.    I'm going to let you in on a secret - all babies are individuals. *Gasp* That means they will all do things differently! So if yours is say...8 months old and still waking up 839475834958349 times a night (I might be referring to my own here) or 7.5 months old and not pulling themselves up on the furniture or 6 months old and not quite sitting up on their own without weebling and wobbling, that's okay! They'll get there. It's not about the destination as much as the journey. Let them be babies, they really do grow up so fast.

Being a mother should be downright delightful time of your life. Don't let someone take that away from you by making you feel inferior. There is a little thing called instinct, ya know. Before baby books, before Facebook, before you could Google things until you were convinced you were dying, there was a mother's instinct. Don't read the books and take them as gospel. Don't let your mama friends advice be the end all, be all. Take in as much information as you can during your pregnancy, filter through it, sprinkle in a touch of instinct, and be the best damn mama you can. I promise if you just trust yourself, you child will be happy, healthy, and know love. 

And by the way, congratulations, dear. This truly will be the most exciting time of your life. 

Peace and Blessings, 

Smart Mouthed Mama