The Weight Thing...


   It's really complicated actually. I have 2 female children and I am a feminist in every sense of the word. However, I find myself grabbing my stomach and thighs and being extremely critical of myself, in front of my daughters. As I write this, my oldest is resting on my shoulder (repeating the word "twinkle" over and over again, ugh) and her hand is on my belly. My soft and squishy belly. She doesn't care what I look like or if I lose weight. She doesn't think any less of me because my pre pregannacy body is long gone. My youngest is just staring at my tits completely unaware that my face even exists. Yet, I still can't help but feel self concious. I know it's insane. I know I'm being way too hard on myself and in the grand scheme of things, I look pretty decent for having a baby 3 months ago. I know that while I breastfeed, my body won't lose that extra belly fat. I know that dieting and exercsing too much this soon after I gave birth is not ideal. I KNOW that it doesn't matter what I look like as long as I'm healthy. I KNOW ALL OF THESE THINGS!!...So why can't I just accept the way I look with pride?

   I gained 30lbs during my first pregnacy. We went to Mexico 5 months after I had my first daughter and I looked pretty good. I was never down to my pre pregnancy weight and shape before I got pregnant again but I didn't think anything of it. I felt so confident in my bikini in Mexico. Like "LOOK AT ME WORLD!! I BIRTHED A HUMAN BEING! CHECK OUT MY BATTLE SCARS!!!". I felt sexy. I felt good. I figured that because I was (am?) an athlete, the weight would come off after my second pregnancy no problem. And then when I puked for 8 months straight, I thought to myself that "at least I'm not gaining any weight!". Looking back, I realize how crazy those thoughts were. I guess I was trying to find a silver lining in an otherwise exhausting and debilitating situation. I hate admitting it, but I was actually kind of excited that I didn't show until late into month five. I hated being sick, but I loved being small. I was even more excited that I hadn't gained any weight until month 9. I knew baby was fine and that's all that mattered, but did you see how small I was? The compliments about how great I looked and how petite I was while that pregnant were pretty flattering. It's awful really, thoughts like that. It's thoughts like that that have me feeling the way I do now...

   I work out twice a week. I try and eat healthy but I also love to snack. These things have never been a problem for me in the past. I've always been able to lose weight pretty quick. Except, now I can't. I don't know what happens to your body after baby #2, but it's as if it decides that it's just going to hold on to whatever fat you have. Kind of like a "you keep getting pregnant woman, I'm just going to wait for the next baby so there's not point in getting smaller". It's hard. It's fucking depressing. I hate the way I feel and I hate that I feel that way. I am a logical person and I am proud of why my body looks this way, but I just can't get over it. I go into a spiral of self pity and self loathing every time I have a cookie or more than one coffee. I have nightmares about not fitting into my wedding dress next summer and looking awful in it. I feel guilty for thinking these things because I have two beautiful daughters. I want them to always feel comfortable in their own bodies and be confident no matter what shape they're in.

   It's weird really. I look at other moms, my friends. I think they're all so stunning even though they claim they have 20lbs to lose. I look at pictures of their bodies before kids and after and I think about how much more beautiful they are now that they have had children. Ya, maybe they're bigger than they were before, but to me they're perfect. I don't see weight or stretch marks, deflated breasts or bags under their eyes. I don't see unwashed hair and spit up on their shirts; I see amazing mothers who are the most glorious human beings I could ever be around. Yet, I don't see those things in myself.

  I think I'm learning from this. I definitely see the problem and I know it's me. I'm working on it, I am. Im trying my hardest to just accept that it's ok if I never have a flat stomach again. It's ok if my arms are flabby and my one boob is bigger than the other. It's okay if I don't manage to look put together EVERY SINGLE TIME I leave the house. And it's definitely okay to see myself in the mirror and wish I looked different.

   To all the moms out there who have managed to get back into shape after having kids, good for you. I think you're amazing and a hard worker and I look up to you. And to all the moms that feel the way I do right now, we're amazing too. Maybe we'll get there one day, and maybe we wont. But it's okay to feel this way. Being a woman, a mother, is a strange thing. We're champions for each other, but hardest on ourselves.

   I promise to work on my self confidence if you do.

My Birth Story...Plug your ears...

How Baby A came into this world...

 April 15th, 2015

   3:30am - I wake up with uncomfortable pains in my stomach. At this point I've been getting random and annoying pains since Saturday. I really hope this is the real deal. I haven't slept in days and the day before at my prenatal appointment my midwife told me I was 3cm dilated; there's hope. 

   5:00am - I have yet to wake the hubby out. I'm still in denial that I'm in labour because even though I'm having contractions, they're all over the place. I'm breathing through them and to be honest they're really not that bad. The first time I gave birth it took me 30 hours to get to 4cm and I was practically dying until that point. 

   5:45am - Playing solitaire for the last 2 hours apparently wakes a person up eventually. The hubby is up and I've let him know I'm in labour. He's asking me if we should go to the hospital and I say no and that it's still pretty early. 

   8:00am - Somehow I managed to get some sleep. I wake up pretty pissed off though because my contractions are almost non existent. Looks like I need to sexually assault my hubs. He doesn't seem to complain (obviously). 

   9:30am - I'm dead to the world. Im exhausted and the contractions are back. Not any stronger but more frequent. I text my doula. She texts back the usual "rest, eat, let me know if they get closer and stronger." Ya ya ya. I figure I might as well start walking around to get something going...so I lay in bed playing bingo for the next 2 hours. 

   12:00pm - Hubby and I talk about if he should go to work. What if he leaves and all of a sudden my water breaks and I have a super fast labour? A woman in my birth club had to have her husband catch the baby because it happened so fast. Another woman delivered her baby in the car!!! Don't worry, I wouldn't be so lucky. Hubby goes to work and I decide that maybe I should pay attention to my other child. It doesn't go well because you know, I'm in labour and in quite a decent amount of pain. I have lunch with her but then I hand her off to the nanny again because that's what housewives do. I go and get my hair and makeup done and do an interview about the latest episode of my reality show I just filmed. I'm kidding. We're not the Kardashians. But I do have a nanny, and for that, I am eternally grateful, especially on this day when my uterus is literally having a full blown war with my placenta. 

   1:30pm - At this point I have to actually breathe deep through the pain. I start sweating every time I have a contraction and I'm not sure if it's because the heat in our house is still set to 24C or because I'm actually in a lot of pain. 

   3:30pm -  I tell the hubby that it's time to come home. This is no joke. Shit is getting real and I'm not sure if I can handle this alone anymore. I'm starting to get nervous because I'm anticipating what is going to happen next. Will my water break soon? Will the pain get worse and closer together soon? I'm not ready. The laundry isn't done. 

   5:00pm - I tell my doula that it's serious now. I'm in tons of pain. I'm going to go for a walk with the hubs and see what happens.

   6:00pm - Not good. Not good. Not good. The walk was short but I thought I was going to cry through the contractions I had while walking. They're 5 min apart and I'm starting to get scared. I'm scared of my own body. I'm scared of the shit storm brewing inside of me. I tell my doula and she says to call my midwife. I tell my midwife what's going on and she tells me she's going to come check me. Since my goal is to deliver at the hospital, she wants to check me now instead of 1am (understandably).

   7:00pm (ish?) - My midwife tells me I'm 6cm and that we should go to the hospital now. Again, for some reason, I feel like I'm not ready. Do we have everything? We should bring a pillow. We finally make our way into the car and have an obligatory stressed out argument. It's over the garage door opener. Hubby asks me to close the garage and I tell him to go fuck himself. I'm in labour, jesus christ. Swearing at him was probably unnecessary and he's kind of pissed because I'm being a psycho for no reason. Luckily, he's actually a sweetheart and holds my hand the entire way to the hospital. Good thing because I have 4 super strong contractions and the last one sends me over the edge. I have my first mental breakdown and start crying. So of course he starts crying. 

See, the thing is, when someone you love is scared and in a lot of pain, you get scared too. He wants to help me, but of course he can't. 

   8:00pm - We're in the hospital room at this point. The contractions are strong. I'm moaning through them like all the women you see in all of those weird birthing videos that you've watched for whatever reason. But seriously, why have you been watching birthing videos???? 

   9:00pm - The room now has the hubby, two midwives, a midwifery student, and one of my best friends. I can't believe she actually came to watch this. I figure she'll probably want to sew her vagina shut after this. I get checked and I'm only 7cm. My water hasn't broken and they decide that it's time to break it. Cue second mental breakdown. - For the record I have 3 mental breakdowns - I start crying because I know that once my water breaks things are going to change...for the worse. My friend, K, assures me that it'll go super fast once my water breaks and I'll get to meet my princess soon. Too bad she doesn't know how stubborn my cervix is. Then again, no one could have predicted what was about to happen to my body, more importantly, what was about to come out of my mouth. 

   Maybe 10:00pm? Maybe this isn't real life... -  I can't breathe. Holy shit. I'm not ok. NOTHING IS HELPING THESE CONTRACTIONS. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME RIGHT NOW? What did I do to deserve this...My contractions are about 3 min apart. I think. Maybe they've never gone away. Maybe this is just one giant contraction. Maybe this is how I'm going to die...

   Sometime around 11:00pm - I'm in the shower screaming bloody murder. No, like, I'm screaming. I can't get past 9.5 cm dilated. My midwife has attempted to move my cervix out of the way once already and it didn't work. I've had to push for the last hour and all I can think about is how my hemmorhoids (oh ya ladies, those happen) are going to be insane because my ass has been on fire this whole time. The urge to push feels like you have to take a massive shit, so basically use your imagination...or don't. I'm now in a down spin of emotion. The things coming out of my mouth include "PLEASE HELP ME!!!!", "GET HER OUT OF ME!!!", "WHY IS NO ONE HELPING ME???". Everyone begins to assure me that this baby is coming. I'm not so sure. "YOU'RE ALL LIARS!!! YOU KEEP SAYING SHE'S COMING AND SHE'S NOT!!!". I've become a little insane at this point. "INAUDIBLE SCREAMING!!!". Apparently a nurse had come in to ask if everything was ok. Probably because I've scared everyone on the floor. Somehow she heard me and I'm in room 21, which is about 100 feet away from the nurse's station, maybe more. Somehow...Did I mention I'm completely naked on all fours screaming all of these things at everyone? It's super cute, I wish someone took a picture. 

   11:36pm (I would assume) - The midwife decides it's time. They're going to push the last bit of my cervix out of the way and I'm going to push this baby out. This was by far the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I saw the white light. I thought I was going to die.

 Just imagine being in the worst pain of your life and someone shoves their hand inside of you and starts moving shit around in there. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! 

   11:37pm - I bear down. It's fucking time. If I don't do this now, I will die. I mean probably not, but according to K, she thought my head was about to start spinning like the exorcist. I give two really strong pushes...

   11:38pm - My midwife asks if I want to feel the head, I say no, K tells me to smarten up and that I actually do want to feel the head coming out of me, she's right. I touch my baby's head, it's all the way out. It's happening! One more push...POP, the shoulder comes out and then...BAM!!! Baby is on top of me. I pushed for exactly one minute. I pushed her out so fast her face is covered in red dots because her capillaries (or whatever) popped with the force of my uterus squeezing her out. I'm happy. Wait what? I'm happy!! It's over! I did it. Oh. My. God. I did it!!! Drug free, just like I wanted. I did it. She's so small. She's definitely smaller than my first baby. She smells so good. Am I crying? What day is it? Who won the baby pool? Am I ok? Who is all here? What do we name her? 

I did it...

   I won't lie. I really didn't think I could do it for a bit there. I kept saying I couldn't and then I started thinking it. The mind is a powerful thing. I made it to 7cm all by myself without screaming because I knew I could do it. I knew my body was made for this and that I owed it to my mother and her mother and her mother before her to do this. There is not shame in taking pain meds while in labour, but I'll tell you, there is something so satisfactory doing it on your own. Not to say it was all completely on my own. I could cry right now thinking about how amazing my support team was. My doula is an absolute angel who held my hands and sat in that shower with me while I cried. K is a friend who I've only grown closer with due to this experience. I'm so glad she got to be a part of this. I don't remember much, but I remember that she was there. She put wet cloths on my head. I heard her voice encouraging me and for that, I will always be thankful to her for. My midwives are amazing women. They're the definition of empowerment and I'm so glad that they chose the profession they did. My hubby...as much as he drives me insane and we argue and we dual...he is my rock. He is one of the strongest human beings I've ever met in my life and he was there right beside me through it all. He was the first person I looked to for help and he never let me down. I owe him so much. He is half of my children and has become my other half over the time we've been together. I don't define myself as a human being and woman by who I am with, but if I did, he would be the only definition I needed. 

   Birthing a child is hard. It doesn't matter how you do it, it's hard. There is so much pain after, but, so much love and happiness too. Being a mom is the greatest thing I've done in my life. I have grown as person because of my children. I am stronger, more humble, and in general, just better because I am a mom. I wouldn't trade each of my birth stories for anything. All the pain, all the blood, sweat, and tears, all of it, was so so so worth it. 

The Lazy mom post...(the stay at home mom reality)

   Well, here it is ladies and gentlemen...the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. Being a mom, takes some serious laziness. What's that you say? Blasphemy?!?! No no no, you understood me all wrong. Being a mom is exhausting and thankless, but it also takes a special kind of person to raise a child and also put laundry off for 5 days. I never realized how lazy I would all of a sudden become until I pushed a baby out of my vagina. I know what you're thinking though. You're thinking, "no, you're not lazy, you're just tired". I mean, ya,  I'm fucking dying over here trying to survive on coffee and leftover oatmeal from my kid's breakfast, but that isn't the reason I'm lazy. Plain and simple, I just DON'T GIVE A FUCK. But seriously, I don't. I look around me right now and my dog is laying beside me in a position that can only be described as acrobatic. There is so much shit (not real shit, although it wouldn't surprise me) all over my bedroom floor that the poor guy has to maneuver his body around to lay down. By the way, that's how much of a wench I am that he knows not to lay on top of the dirty clothes because you know, it pisses me off. Which reminds me, after I give birth, I should really ask my doctor to prescribe me something to keep me from being such a miserable cow...fucking dog smells so bad. I digress...

   Currently, my kitchen smells like the scallops I cooked (burned) last night. The dishes are poking out of the sink as if to remind me that the dishwasher is empty and that I'm a lazy piece of shit. The living room floor is covered in dog hair and toys and my daughter's room has clothes everywhere. For the record, I've been trying to organize her room for two weeks now but she's kind of an asshole and won't let me. I used to, and still do sometimes, get serious anxiety over going to bed knowing my house is messy. Now I just push the clothes off of my bed and pull the covers over my eyes and pretend that a magical fairy is going to come clean up my house in the middle of the night. I've even gone as far as to schedule what parts of the house I'll clean on certain days. Every time I do this though, a little piece of me just dies. I know that I could write down "clean master bedroom" as much as I want and that even when I finally do clean it, the next week, my calendar is once again going to have that same thing written down on any given day. 

   Women spend the majority of their pregnancies agonizing over every little detail about what it will be like once the baby is here. "I'm going to feed my child only organic food" a delusional mom might say. Or, "my house will never be cluttered in toys because I'll be able to entertain my child without the use of props and television" an even more delusional and border line psychotic mom would say. The truth is, once the baby comes, every plan, every decision, every idea of motherhood you ever had, flies out the window. Even the most organized person will find themselves winging it from time to time (if you don't, you seriously need to take a pill and calm the fuck down). There are no schedules or rules when  it comes to children. Some days I can do do the dishes in peace because my little angel is playing with her dollhouse in the living room. Then there's other days that I can't even pee because my child is practicing for her audition for Jackass. But it doesn't matter, because dishes done or not, she's still having a blast. This is why being a lazy mom is the better way to go; trust me ladies!!!

   I love that I'm a lazy mom. It means that I put my child's well being ahead of the stupid dishes, and laundry, and toilets, and oh my god the dog shit in the backyard...I don't need to have a pristine house every day of my life. I don't care anymore, I just don't. The simple energy it would take to even care is not worth it. I don't feel guilty anymore either. I used to feel like such a failure for not keeping the house in order, and myself in order, and bla bla bla bla bla. But I don't anymore. So what if my dishes sit in the sink for two days? So what if I haven't vacuumed in a week? And so fucking what if my dog can't find anywhere to lay down because I've been "organizing" my bedroom for the last three months. My child is fed, and healthy, and happy, and I am surprisingly a little bit more rested than usual. 

  If you come to my house and my cleaning lady hasn't been around for a while, expect a mess. Expect food, juice, and dog hair to be some of the few things you may encounter on the floor. Expect that there will be piles of laundry that aren't put away because ain't nobody got time for that! Expect that my child is exploring the world around her and creating a story in her mind with the 26 stuffed animals that are sprawled on the floor. Expect that I will be sitting back enjoying my 18th coffee and doing absolutely nothing other than watching my child grow. I will be taking in the beauty of my surroundings. That dirty floor is covered in the food that I barely got my child to eat, but guess what, she finally ate some fruit for the first time in two weeks. Those dishes are there because the hubby didn't do them, and that's ok, because instead of doing dishes we spent some quality time together. The piles of clothes are easy to put away, but they also make me sad. Part of me just doesn't want to put them in a bin and say goodbye because that would mean I would have to accept that my daughter has once again outgrown her clothes and that she is growing faster than I can handle. I may be a lazy mom and you may think that I do nothing every day while I'm at home, but in reality, I do so much more than you could every imagine. I think by now you've figured out that the word "lazy" isn't the right word to describe a stay at home mom, or any mom for that matter. I hope you have read this and understood that when you call a mom lazy and her house is a mess and her hair isn't brushed, you are so wrong. But it doesn't matter. I will be proud to be a lazy mom any day of the week until the day I die if it means I get to spend just one extra minute a day with my baby instead of vacuuming the stupid house. Lazy moms unite!!!