I know that you all are checking your page nightly and thinking, I wonder what Mommy had to say today? Only to find that there’s nothing new on my blog.
Truth children, is that I just don’t have time to make daily posts. Babies come first and the fingers can’t always hit the keyboard.
But wait! There’s hope!
Check me out on my Facebook Page- MommySaidTheFWord
I am able to update that much more frequently.
Let the hilarity ensue! See you there!
Lately, I feel like my whole life revolves around my boobs. I spend a good 90% of my time walking around the house with a boob hanging out and a baby attached to it. I can’t walk past the baby or my husband without one of them staring at my boobs like it’s time for a treat. For one of them, it is. For the other, he can get over it.
I knew that breastfeeding was going to be demanding but I didn’t realize that it was going to change my entire sense of self. My boobs used to be one of the few parts of my body I was proud of. I walked around with my tig ol’ bittys and my hour-glass figure and I felt like I was hot shit. I got attention, most of it the wrong kind, but I felt great about myself. As I got older, the hourglass turned into more of an apple but I still rocked a tight sweater like nobodies business.
These days, my shirts are all loose necked nursing tees with leak stains complementing the spit up spots. My boobs have jumped from DD to GG’s and they weigh about 15lbs each. It hurts. My nipples are sore and the areola are the size of gourmet salami slices. I can put on a tight sweater but then I have to worry about it restricting my milk production. I have to watch what I wear and what I eat. I have to make time each day to attach myself to this horrible contraption that is supposed to pump the extra milk so they don’t hurt so badly but I am absolutely convinced that it’s an instrument of torture. My hot shit attitude has been exchanged with a hot mess.
I wasn’t able to breastfeed my other kids so being able to breast feed Sy is a totally new experience for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to comfort him in a way that no one else can. But it’s still a way that NO ONE else can. He is always on me, attached to me or being passed to me because he might be hungry. He won’t go to sleep unless I lay down next to him and let him nurse to sleep. Then he won’t stay asleep unless he’s laying nose to nipple with me. He’s actually doing that right now. I swear to God that I am going to create a teddy bear with a big silicone boob attached to it just so he will have something to snuggle with other than me. My boobs have become his security blanket and I fear that I am completely screwed.
I take comfort in knowing that while they may not be spectacular to the outside world, they are still amazing to one little nursling. I am proud that I can provide for my child. I am proud to be a mother, tig ol’ bittys or not. It is only a short time that we will be able to share these special moments and I hope to enjoy each and every one of them, at least until he has teeth.
I am 29 years old with two kids. I don’t know what I am doing and the word “should” is used far too much in my vocabulary.
I should get up before the sun so I can make a hot breakfast for my kid before shipping her off to school. I should be able to complete the small list of chores that I have on my fridge, neatly organized into short lists of daily tasks that should take no more than 15 minutes to ensure a house that sparkles in the frickin sun shine. I should have my 2 month old down for a nap by 11am, where he should nap for at least two hours so I can get in the shower and have time to write my blog posts, which I feel I should have up daily. I should get Special K’s homework done by 3:30 so that she can do her chores by 4:00 and have the optimum 1.5 hours to play outside before it gets dark at 5:30. I should have dinner on the table by 7:00. Dinner should include one well cooked protein, a starch which evenly rotates between a potato, rice or pasta, and a vegetable.
The list goes on and I recognize that I have developed OCD when it comes to my household.
The truth is, I am lucky if I can snap my kid out of her sleepy stupor to eat a granola bar before she hustles out the door to meet the school bus. My house is not clean. I don’t have 15 minutes to pee and maybe brush my hair, let alone clean the house. Pinterest and their chore charts can bite my ass. This post is only being written because Sy is passed out on my lap. Getting K (or any other member of my family) to do things on my cock-a-mamy schedule is like herding cats into a lake. It’s not going to happen. Most nights, dinner ends up either under cooked or grossly over cooked. Bed time consists of the phrase “go to bed” being recited over 30 times before she finally wrangles a cat and heads up stairs.
At this point, I am starting to understand that it is not the final outcome that matters most but rather the intention with which things are approached. My kids don’t care if dinner is a carefully rotated menu. They do care if mommy is losing her freaking mind trying to stick to a schedule that no one else acknowledges. My husband doesn’t give a shit if his plate is the first on the table. Most nights he catches me mid-breakdown and so politely reminds me to stop worrying about getting his plate and to just get my self taken care of and sit the fuck down so I can give the baby a boob so he will stop screaming. Hell, my husband can’t even get himself out of bed at 6:00 for a 7:00 dinner so why should I worry about getting things on the table on time?
So, having gotten of track, I will come back around to say that I am forgiving myself for the little things. I will no longer try to press myself into the mold that I saw on television growing up. It’s ok if I can breastfeed my son. It’s ok if I can’t. Cloth diapers or disposable… doesn’t matter as long as his ass is covered. I am a good mom, a good wife and a good person. What matters most is that I love my family. I forgive myself.
I have no idea how many days I am behind on my photo challenge. For what it’s worth, I apologize. I was on Day 12- Photo of something you love. A picture of my kids would be to obvious so I found this one. It about sums up my whole life right now.
I’m struggling y’all. I don’t know if it’s post partum depression getting to me or what but the last few days have just been a real battle to keep myself positive. I’m frustrated, exhausted and I’m getting fed up with little things around the house. Maybe it’s just cabin fever from being stuck at home for so long. It just feels like every day is the same and the nasty weather isn’t helping either.
Sy has not been sleeping because of his acid reflux, he’s not keeping anything down at all and he screams.. oh, my God does he scream. Hours on end with nothing to relieve him. I took him to the doctor yesterday and she said that he could have a number of different issues so we need to take him in for an ultrasound this afternoon.
I am terrified that something is seriously wrong with him. I can’t stand to see him in this much pain, all the time and it kills me that I don’t know what to do to help him. He won’t sleep unless he’s on me and even then it’s only for 10 minutes at a time. Since he’s not sleeping I’m not getting anything done around the house, while is driving me nuts. I’m not a total neat freak but I can’t stand it when other people don’t clean up after themselves. I am somewhat understanding with K, since she is only 7 and she is still learning, but the child is actually better than her father. The man is driving me nuts. At least K puts her dirty stuff in the proper places. The living room floor is not his personal laundry bin, his desk is not where his dirty dishes go and when the dishes actually make it to the sink could ya please bother to rinse them off? Is that asking to much?
I know I should just calmly bring it up to him before it becomes a big deal in my own head but as much as it pisses me off I feel guilty about not being able to keep the house clean like I should be. I mean, I’m not working so I feel like I should be able to take proper care of the kids and the house. It’s my job now and if I were my boss, I would fire me.
Now, before you get all uppity at me for not giving myself enough credit, I do, I just want to be a good wife and I guess that my June Cleaver complex really comes into play in this area. Maybe I do need to just take a break and realize that I am doing my best in all areas and that’s all that I can be expected to do. After all, I am worth over $100,000…
It’s been a rough few days kids. Sy has terrible reflux so he’s been screaming and vomiting, non-stop for three days. It seems like my entire house is covered in baby puke. I can’t stand seeing him in this much pain. We are sleeping/nursing sitting up, which means Mommy isn’t sleeping at all.
If anyone out there has any suggestions on how to help him out until I can get to the doctor on Wednesday, they are greatly appreciated!
On a positive note, Hubs has agreed to stay with the kids tonight so that Mommy can have her first night out since Syfy was born. I’ve reconnected with a few old friends and they’ve invited me to a burlesque show. Whoot!
Hopefully I’ll be able to chip away the layers of baby gunk and slather on some makeup so that I will look 1/2 way decent for the evening. I’m actually quite nervous about leaving the kids with Hubs. He’s a great father but I’m ready to pull my hair out so I hesitate to wish that on him.
Well, just wanted to say a quick hey, hi there, hello! to let you know what’s up and why I haven’t been holding up my end of the post a day bargain. Can we forgo the 30 lashes I’ve earned and just consider the screaming baby enough punishment?
You know what I’m talking about- The circuit between your childs bedroom, the kitchen and the bathroom…
The circuit that starts with putting your little down for a nap.
Hesitate by the bedroom door, praying you don’t hear any sounds that would indicate that the beast has woken in your absence.
Rush down stairs, dreaming of peeing alone and maybe making a sandwich
Pass through laundry room on the way to the kitchen. Stop and switch the clothes in the washer to the dryer, throw in new clothes.
Arrive in kitchen, become disgusted with your husband because his morning dishes are still in the sink.
Open dishwasher to put in dirty dishes, realize that Child #1 did not do her chore last night and the clean dishes are still in there.
Remove clean dishes and put them away, insert dirty dishes.
Washer starts making that horrible noise again so you give it a good thud to wack it into rotation.
Congratulate yourself on being so handy, realize you still have to pee.
Head to bathroom, trip over the cat, land on lego, curse your life.
While in the bathroom, when you should be enjoying your only personal time for the day, you make a to do list for the afternoon.
Finish in bathroom, head back to kitchen. Forget why you came into this room- Oh yeah…
Open fridge, remove coffee creamer for a new cup of coffee..
What are we having for dinner?
Remove chicken breast, place in bowl, pour in assorted dressings and marinades, place back in refrigerator.
Little is stirring on the monitor, creep back up stairs to wait outside the door.
Realize you never made a sandwich…
How many times a day? It should be an Olympic sport.
*I wrote this post instead of making a sandwich… SMH