Write this down!

To all my lovely blog "followers" - just a quick post to let you know that I will no longer be publishing blog posts on this blogger site. Instead, I will be moving my blog to Word Press. The new link for the blog will be:
http://motherhoodataleofsurvival.wordpress.com

If you like what you've been reading, please follow me on my new site and continue to follow along with my parenting adventures!

A moment of weakness

 

The ear-splitting sound of my baby's screams resonate through the house, each one sending a knife through my heart. I've been trying to console her for the past 45 minutes with no success, and my husband comes to take over as he senses my growing frustration and overwhelming feelings starting to take their hold on me. I feel an emotional pain that is unexplainable to anyone who is not a parent.
I am a horrible mother.
I blame myself for my babies distress. It has to be something I ate - was that tea that I'd had early decaffeinated? No amount of bouncing, rocking, soothing words or back rubbing seems to work. However, within 5 minutes with her Father, her cries settle, and soon she is peacefully sleeping on his chest. I feel a surge of mixed emotions; relief that we are free from her pained cries for a peaceful minute, and resentful that my husband can so easily accomplish what I was unable to.
I don't understand - surely my 5 week old daughter is far too young to hate her mother. I was confident that I would have until she was at least thirteen years old before we entered that phase of her life. Am I simply an incompetent parent? Do I simply lack the "maternal" instinct that everyone speaks of?
All I want is to rid my daughter of her pain and distress. I would happily take whatever burden she may be dealing with and make it my own, if it meant she could be comfortable for even a minute.

You think the restrictions are crippling when you are pregnant? Well, they don't go away when you give birth and make the decision to breastfeed your baby. You must consider how everything you eat might affect your baby once they ingest it through your milk. Caffeine must still be enjoyed in limited amounts, if at all, and don't even get me started on the issues surrounding dairy products.
In a moment of weakness I curse the whole notion of breastfeeding and think of how much easier my life would be if I exchanged it for a bottle and formula; that way the burden could be removed from my shoulders and split equally between my husband and myself. But almost as soon as that thought has left my mind I am flooded with guilt, making me feel increasingly worse about myself and my questionable capabilities as a mother.
Could Brooklyn simply be stubborn, wanting to sleep in our arms rather than her bed? Is my sweet, innocent baby capable of manipulation? Surely she can't be.
As she awakens and begins another round of torment, I begin to sob. I do not know what her cries mean, nor do I know what thoughts are running through her perfectly shaped head. I do not know how much longer I can listen to her agonizing cries.
I lay motionless on our bed, completely shattered with emotions as my husband paces the hallways attempting to calm our daughter.
This is just a phase, and we will get past it. Right........?

"You are human and mortal; we are the sum of our weak moments and our strong"

Mercedes Lackey

Ready for Take-off

Chris and I do a lot of travelling. We like to try and go on one big vacation per year, like Hawaii, or Vegas, and throughout the year we try to visit our families in the lower mainland. Because we live so far away, and have for the past 5 years, that means we do a lot of flying. I have no issues with flying - my fear of heights and motion sickness don't seem to apply when it comes to planes, thankfully.
When my Mom called and asked if I would like to fly down to Vancouver for my older sister's baby shower in August, I thought nothing of it. I figured as I was off of work on maternity leave and had nothing on my agenda, why not go? I agreed and asked my Mom to book me a flight.
I guess what I didn't really think a lot about was the fact that I now have a little human-being attached to my hip (or more accurately, my boob).
My flight to Vancouver was on a Wednesday, and due to Chris's busy summer work schedule, he was not able to fly down until the Friday evening. When I finally realized what this meant (yes, I would be taking my newborn baby on her first flight, by myself) my anxiety kicked in.
In the grand scheme of things I am a pretty laid back individual. I like to think I'm easy going, but also am well aware of the fact that I can become quite stressed out, and have struggled to deal with that stress in the past.
As I considered what this trip meant, I began to fear the worst; my baby would scream non-stop the entire flight, the person next to me would be insensitive about my breastfeeding in public and make a scene, Brooklyn would have a diaper blowout all over my lap, or better yet, she'd vomit all over my neighbour.
My level of stress grew exponentially the days leading up to the flight, until the day of, where I was the definition of a loose cannon. Funnily enough, my baby had ALSO become a loose cannon that week, spending 1-2 hours in the evening crying and even demonstrating her intense screaming power, before we would be able to calm her down enough to get her to sleep.
Racking our brains, we attributed these new 'meltdowns' to gas and colic. I cut dairy out of my diet and ensured that I was not ingesting any caffeinated beverages to try and help the problem.
The morning of my flight I finished my last minute packing (how does a 4 week old baby take up half of a large suitcase for a 5 day trip?) and tried to calm my nerves. I even got Chris to pick up Rescue Remedy, a natural product that is supposed to ease stress and calm you down. I don't really think it helped me much - but if it did I would be terrified to see myself without it.
Chris took us to the airport and I could hardly say a word, in fear that I would burst into tears. My throat felt swollen and I couldn't stop chewing my fingernails. When he left us at the security check gate, Brooklyn sleeping soundly in the baby Bjorn carrier, I couldn't stop the tears. Getting on this plane was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to run away, back to the safety of my home where I could nurse, and deal with my baby's meltdowns in privacy.

We loaded onto the plane at the pre-boarding call (one nice perk of flying with an infant) and I got settled into my seat. The person sitting next to me was a young woman, and she really didn't acknowledge us much at all - a good sign I figured. I unloaded Brooklyn from her carrier and set her up on the nursing pillow on my lap, prepared to nurse her during take-off to help alleviate the pressure buildup in her ears.
As the plane started down the runway Brooklyn remained dead to the world in slumber, and would not stir. I figured I would let her rest, and simply 'pop her on the boob' when she woke up and got cranky. Take off came and went and Brooklyn slept on.
I was able to relax slightly - 50% of the battle had been won, now we just needed to survive the landing and the rest would be manageable. Halfway through the flight Brooklyn woke up (barely) and had a little snack, before passing out again. Landing neared, and again I positioned Brooklyn in the nursing position, ready to go. But yet again, she amazed me, and slept soundly through the entire landing. She didn't wake when I buckled her back into her carrier and unloaded from the plane, nor did she wake when we met Nana (my Mom) at the luggage carousel. I finally woke her up to change her wet diaper and feed her before we started the drive home.

So, you could chalk the flight up to 100% success right? Well, not quite.....part way through the flight I was getting pretty warm where Brooklyn was laying against me, and felt damp with her sweat. When I repositioned her, I discovered that I had been leaking some milk. I guess 'some' would be an understatement; the milk from my right breast had soaked through the nursing pad, through my bra and all the way down my shirt. I think that's what you would call bad luck. Fortunately enough, my tank top was black and disguised the dampness quite well. I just had to walk around smelling sickly sweet and knowing I was soaked in my own breast milk. Honestly, I was hardly phased. How do you know you're a Mother? You can walk around covered in milk and decide that it's not really that important to change, because nobody can see it.

I was feeling pretty smug by the time we got to the car; thinking of how all of that stress and worry had been for nothing. As I climbed into the car with Brooklyn in my arms, I managed to clunk her head against the back of the driver's seat. As she wailed (out of shock more than pain, as she really only bumped the seat), all of my pent up emotions and lack of sleep came to the surface, and I broke down, crying twice as hard and three times as long as my baby girl.
Would I still consider the day a success? Sure. We managed to make it through our first solo flight with minimal speed bumps, and my child doesn't have brain damage. I still feel like the worst human being in the world thinking about it today.

Oddly enough, the day after our feared travel date, Brooklyn went to sleep without a peep at 11pm and slept for 6 hours straight. Go figure. Monster Mom = monster baby. Dually noted Brooklyn.

So what did I learn from this experience? Again, I really do not have control over anything. I was prepared as I could be, and really, just had to roll with whatever punches Brooklyn threw at me. As long as I did not forget my boobs (pretty much impossible I figure) I would be OK.

The return flight (which Chris and I took together), mimicked the initial flight, with Brooklyn sleeping through take-off and landing and waking briefly to eat halfway through - and I was prepared with extra nursing pads this time!
 To say I was proud of my baby would be an understatement! Will I fly with her again? Yes of course, it's unavoidable where we live. Will I stress myself out leading up to the event? No. It helps no one (if anything, it made it worse for Brooklyn) and accomplishes nothing.
Take two deep breaths, and just enjoy the ride.

Brooklyn napping on her Dad.

" To him who is in fear, everything rustles" - Sophocles

The measure of a man

As a young girl I grew up as most young girls do, idolizing their fathers. To me, my Dad was the strongest, tallest, bravest man alive. I would argue this point to my death if anyone tried to tell me differently. In reality, my Dad is on the shorter side of average, and although he is quite physically fit (being a police officer, this is pretty much mandatory), he is no Chuck Liddell (sorry Dad). I am still convinced he is the bravest man alive, as not only does he protect me, and my family loyally, he also protects the city of Vancouver and it's citizens from the crime and scum that roam the streets.
As I grew and matured into a teenager (although my parents would probably argue that my maturity and 'street smarts' significantly declined during my teens), I fell in love with the typical Hollywood "man." Toned and tanned; tall, and handsome. Husky, dark eyes that you could get lost in; better known as Paul Walker (who I STILL have a massive celebrity crush on). I had finally developed an interest in the opposite sex - before high school I was convinced I would never marry, and simply adopt children if I felt the need to be a mother - and began to date.

At 16, my checklist of requirements for a boyfriend was really quite short, and quite superficial. Boys were graded based on their outward appearance, and really their insides (aka personality, morals, goals and dreams) came second, as a sort of bonus.
I dated a handful of boys throughout my high school years; some of them were absolute trash, while others I thought I did quite well with.
When I moved away from home to attend University, I began to wonder what I was accomplishing with these relationships. Where were they going? How would they fit into my future dreams and plans?
It was then that I began to realize that looks and muscles could only get you so far. A tanned, chiseled 6-pack looks great (and feel amazing too), but wouldn't provide me with the love and dedication my parents made sure I knew I was worthy of.

I was 18 when I decided that 'boys' were a waste of my time. The only person worth spending my time and effort on building a relationship was a real man; although the only man I knew was my father. What defines a man? I was lost for an answer...
Instead, I turned all my efforts to my studies and my social life (6-pack abs were replaced my 6-packs of Lucky Lager - hey, I was a girl on a budget) and left the opposite sex out of the picture.
Naturally, when I wanted it the least, a man walked into my life. One that made me question what the hell I had been doing wasting my time in my past relationships. One that made me question myself, who I was, and if I liked what I was becoming.
A man that was not afraid of my flaws, rather, he embraced them with open arms and shared his own. Who had such strong family ties, that the unfamiliarity of it frightened me. A man who put his heart on the line for me, expecting nothing in return.
Needless to say, I fell madly in love with this man; and for once, what first stole my heart away was his mind and soul (although ladies, let me tell you, I got a pretty sweet package deal - tall, dark, and handsome with a body to boot. Jackpot).
I knew that this time it was different. Everything came so naturally with him; he brought out the best in me, qualities I didn't even know I possessed. When I was near him I wanted to be a better person. I embraced his deep devotion to his family and wanted this for myself. I was motivated to repair damaged relationships in my life, and to right my past wrongs.
Although life threw many hurdles in our way, I knew there was nothing I would not do for him.

As I sit back and think about this man, who I now lovingly call my husband, I count my many blessings. Now that we have brought a child into this world, this man's qualities and strengths run even deeper than I even thought possible. Not only does he change his fair share of diapers, he also happily chats to our daughter as he does so. He only missed one prenatal appointment, and openly asked his own questions of the Doctor, showing how much he cared about the health of me and the baby. He still looks at me with love in his eyes, even after witnessing me at my weakest, most vulnerable moments during labour; not to mention after watching the birth of our child - and let's be honest, as 'beautiful' as the birth of a child is, it can be emotionally damaging to all witnesses. He eagerly takes over 'baby duty' when Brooklyn is gassy and just needs to be walked up and down the hallways. I believe I can now say I know how to define a man:
A man is someone who takes you for who you are, and does not want to change you. He loves you on your good days, but more importantly, on your bad ones. He is there for you through any and all emotional setbacks in life, despite how relevant they are in the 'big picture.'
A man is able to bring out the best in you, and shine light on your strengths as opposed to your weaknesses. A man is someone you can bear your heart and soul to, without having to worry about him abusing that intimacy. A man is someone you can trust, always and forever.

Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for blessing me with this amazing person in my life, my soul mate. He is my rock, the foundation for which I am able to build myself from. He is the father of my baby and I couldn't think of a person more worthy of that title.
So ladies, it is with my deepest regrets that I extend my apologies. I have found the perfect man and sunk my hooks deep into him. I really don't think there is anyone out there like him, so you'll have to settle for a little less than perfect. Perfection has been achieved, and he is mine, all mine.
I love you Chris; more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.

Sink your teeth into this

I was one of the lucky ones; pregnancy was very kind to me, all things considered. Until the very end, and in one department only....dental.
I've had moderately good teeth my entire life; experiencing a few cavities due to my own poor oral hygiene practices. I HATE teeth and everything involved with them. Hate brushing them, flossing them, and despise trips to the dentist. Fluoride? Yuck!

As a child, I had a lot of crowding issues with my teeth, which placed me in an expander in elementary school to do exactly what it suggests, expand the spaces between my teeth. Every night my mother would have to take a little key and turn it to expand my teeth just a little bit more. Yes, it was as uncomfortable as it sounded, and you can imagine how I became increasingly bitter about anything related to my teeth. After a couple years of the expander, it was removed and replaced with a full set of braces, which I rocked for three years (as hard as you can rock braces).
I now have retainers that I am supposed to be wearing nightly to ensure my nicely straight teeth stay in their required positions (honestly, I don't even know where the thing is).
In the past year I started to grind my teeth at night (I've always clenched my teeth, especially when I'm stressed, so this progression didn't really shock me), and I now have to wear a night guard when I sleep to prevent me from grinding my teeth down to nubs. Looking to 'get some' before bed? These things are "shuper shexy!" Not to mention they've taken my drooling problem to a WHOLE new level of grossness.

When I found out I was pregnant I went in for my 6 month check-up and clean, and the hygienist cautioned me that I would probably notice an increase in gingivitis with pregnancy (which is very normal) and just to continue flossing etc.
So I did just that; I carried on as normal. I guess the problem with that was, normal for me is brushing my teeth once a day (gag away), and I rarely floss (perhaps after a piece corn on the cob or a tough steak, I could be bothered).

My next cleaning fell just a month before Brooklyn arrived. As the hygienist scaled my teeth and examined them she came across a dreaded cavity...between my two front teeth! The dentist mentioned that cavities are more common during pregnancy, but my hygienist tactfully remarked that daily flossing probably most likely would've prevented this problem. Because of the pregnancy I was unable to get radiographs done to check my other teeth for cavities, and to determine the depth of this cavity. We scheduled my filling appointment for 2 weeks after my due date, and I left the office, quite sullen.
So I begrudgingly dragged my shameful ass to the dentist this past Monday to get my cavities filled. Besides the fact that I hate the dentist, and their annoying little drills and bibs, this would also be the first time I was away from Brooklyn for more than 15 minutes since her birth. Rest assured, she was left in the capable hands of her Daddy, with a belly full of milk and a clean diaper.
By the time I arrived at the dentist (it's about 10 minutes from our home) I was headed for emotional derailment and just wanted to return home to my daughter. Halfway through the procedure I thought I might burst into tears I missed her so much, which was only made worse when the dentist announced that I had FOUR other teeth (pairs side by side) that were displaying some decay on my radiographs, and due to the deceptive depth of this cavity, he wanted to fix all those teeth rather than monitor them. This means that I get to go back into my favorite place in the world in 3 weeks to get several more fillings done. By the time I got home I was bitchy, emotionally unstable and upon Brooklyn's first 'coo' my milk letdown and proceeded to soak through my shirt in a matter of seconds. Icing on the cake of awesomeness that was my day....

Looking back I wish I had been warned more thoroughly about the possible effects of pregnancy on my teeth, but truly that's just me passing the blame. I am well aware of what constitutes good oral health, and I have just chosen not to do everything in my power to keep my teeth healthy and cavity free. You can bet your ass that I started flossing nightly after the discovery of the first cavity, and will continue to until the day I die. It is especially important to me now that I have a daughter who will be watching everything I do and following my lead. Do I want my little girl's mouth riddled with cavities like mine? Not a chance.
Learn from my mistakes and laziness. Floss your damn teeth! 2 minutes a night could save you a lot of time, pain and money!