Day Care Dilemma

My husband and I recently made the decision to put our Mini Monster (aka our 20-month-old son) into nursery school. With responsibilities in both our jobs growing, the timing seemed right. My partner works a traditional 9-5 type job and, as most of you probably know, my schedule is a bit more… unconventional.

If you know what I mean

I have my part-time day job where I work with children facing developmental, behavioral, and/or cognitive delays. And I have my work-from-home job of writing both for my blog and other publications. Then there’s my 24/7 job: being a mom. Even though I love my somewhat hectic life, sometimes it can take its toll.

We all have our moments

Obviously the deciding factor in enrolling our child into nursery school wasn’t so that mommy could have the opportunity to pee alone. But it was definitely a nice perk. Honestly the main reason we wanted our son to go was for him to be more social. We don’t have too many friends with children his age, so this was a nice way to ease him out of his social freak outs.

*Reenactment of our son around other children before enrolling in nursery school

Yet the one thing I was consistently warned about still caught me by surprise: sniffles. I don’t care how healthy your kid is, how much sleep they get, or what spirits you pray to, it seems inevitable that your child will eventually catch a bug from someone at daycare/school. Like clockwork, my son got the tell-tale runny nose his first week in and it has yet to fully clear up despite my best efforts. I still try to prevent spreading germs as much as possible, though.

Dean knows what’s up

Since I’m still so new to this whole nursery school scene, what do you guys think? Are the “sniffles” something that just go away on their own? Or do you pull them out at a certain point to let their immune system recover? Let me know what you think, because I’m pretty sure we’re depleting the forests with our recent uptick in Kleenex usage!

Where Did My Baby Go?

It’s like I blinked and my tiny, squishy baby turned into a tall, independent man. You might think my son is 18 but he’s really only 18 months. But he might as well be a full-grown man because that’s how it feels to me. He doesn’t want to hold my hand or cuddle as much as he used to and his features are becoming more defined and less cherubic. I know that all of this growth and development stuff is totally normal in biological terms, but that doesn’t make it any easier on my heart. I still want to be there when he needs me – even if he thinks he doesn’t.

Toddler = Hulk

Obviously I know that it’s healthy for my son to be testing boundaries and asserting his will. Just like I know it’s probably creepy that sometimes I watch him sleep because he’s just so stinking cute it hurts. But maybe that’s what being a mom is. Logic doesn’t make sense and our senses don’t seem logical. I love that he’s getting more independent – the whole “able to hold his own neck up” thing is cool – but is it so wrong that I want him to stay a baby, too?

Why doesn’t Hallmark have a card for this?

My little man is almost done with swim class and is getting ready to start day care in just a few, short weeks. While I swell with pride when he learns something new and I have fun shopping for pint-sized backpacks and lunch boxes, part of me is scared, too. Daycare will be the first time he’s been away from me with people I don’t know. That’s not to say I don’t trust this place to take care of him, but there’s still a great, big unknown. What if he hurts himself while there? They don’t know our special boo-boo song! Will he survive without it?

But they don’t know the boo-boo song!!!

But at the end of the day, I know that this parenting gig is about him not me. I don’t want to be the hovering mom who deprives her son of learning how to be resilient on his own. I want to be the mom that lets him explore and make mistakes but isn’t ever too far away for a hug. So for now, I’ll stop worrying about life passing too quickly and focus on the here and now.

But I may watch him sleep for just one more second…

 

 

How to Survive a Four Hour Drive with a Toddler

Prior to becoming a mother, I told myself I wouldn’t be caught dead driving long distances with a child. I figured I could put off accepting any kind of out-of-town social event until the kid was say, oh I don’t know – how old are they when they stop misbehaving? Oh right. Never. My genius pre-motherhood plan lasted less than two years. Last week my husband, eighteen month old son, and I set off on a cross-state drive for a wedding and I’ve lived to tell about it!

If you want to survive a long, family car ride without needing to call someone for bail money (presumably for assaulting whoever woke your sleeping child), then read on:

1. Expect the Unexpected

Before our trip could even get off to a proper start, I somehow managed to dislodge the right side of my front bumper. I’m talented like that. I’m like ninety percent sure it wasn’t my fault, but let’s not squabble over details. There we were: in the predawn hours, dragging rubber and plastic down the highway, praying to the travel gods the baby would stay asleep while anxiously looking for a safe place to pull off .

“This looks safe, right, Honey?”

Despite neatly packing snacks, quietly transferring my sleeping son from the crib to the car, and carefully hanging fancy clothes without wrinkling them, I was not prepared for this. So what do you do when the proverbial fecal matter hits the fan? Aside from performing a ritual goat sacrifice, I strongly suggest you embrace the chaos. The more you try to fight against the craziness, the less calm you (and everyone around you) will be. Just try to roll with it – even if you’re screaming internally.

Just breathe in and out.

2. Breaks. SO. MANY. BREAKS.

Keeping in theme with the previous rule, you’ll need to adopt the mantra “F*** The Schedule!” When the mini vehicular catastrophe was finally remedied (thank you, zip ties!), we were a solid two hours behind schedule. I thought to myself, “That’s okay. We factored in a bonus hour for breaks, so we’re really only one hour behind. I can make that up with clever driving and no breaks. It’ll be fine!” Oh how innocent I was.

So young, so full of hope I was.

A funny thing happens when you try to drive long stretches without a break. Perhaps “funny” isn’t the right word. Pee. Yup that’s the word: PEE. Pee happens when you don’t take breaks and you have a toddler with the bladder the size of a thimble. Unfortunately my seizures left me with the inability to smell (True story! Ask me about it some time) which meant I was blissfully unaware of the urine soaked car seat and horrifyingly wet toddler until it was too late. Do yourself (and your upholstery) a favor, and take as many breaks as necessary. Those with functioning olfactory receptors will thank you.

WHY, GOD? WHY?!?!

 3. Baby = “Get Out of Jail Free” Card

Okay, this one may sound like I’m a horrible person – and maybe I am, who cares? – but one of the perks to having a baby is that it is the best excuse you’ll ever have! I’m not recommending you lie and say your baby is sick to get out of a party because, ya know, karma. But if you have a legit situation which has created some negative outcome, don’t be afraid to blame your exit strategy on the baby. Just don’t get drunk with power.

It’s deceptively easy to use the excuse too much.

The final key to being able to survive a long drive with your toddler is to not worry about what others may think. Merely showing up in one piece should be accomplishment enough, in my opinion. Yeah, we were late and probably smelled of baby pee, but we MADE IT! The ride back? Now that’s an entirely different story…

WebMD Gal Gone Wild!

I am beyond delighted to have the uproarious and talented Stephanie D. Lewis of Once Upon Your Prime as today’s guest author. Her post deals with a subject many chronically ill people deal with on a regular basis: the dangers of searching your symptoms on the internet. Prepare for a hilarious parody of the physician-kind and make sure to check out her bio at the end!

WARNING: If you have any post-baby bladder problems, grab a pad because this post can cause you to laugh hard enough that you may suffer a urinary accident!

The Doctor Is In But I’m Out . . . Of My Mind!

All my adult life I have dealt with a debilitating disorder – – it’s called, “Tell & Show Syndrome.” Someone will TELL me about a new rare disease and WHAM! – – all the signs of it SHOW up throughout my body.

To say I am highly suggestible is an understatement. I can read an article in a woman’s magazine entitled, “10 Symptoms You’re Too Bashful To Discuss With Your Male Doctor (But You Should Before It’s Too Late!)” ~ Immediately I have all 10 plus 4 bonus ones the author wasn’t imaginative enough to think of. Fear and panic overtakes all my shyness. Gimme that doctor right this minute! I might even consider going to second base with him for a second opinion.

I do have a regular physician I call several times a week, and I’m sure the nurses give him messages that go like this – –

“That hypochondriac lady (who resembles a highly fatigued Amy Winehouse, minus the tattoos) is on the phone again. Today she’s claiming that when she walks, it feels like thumbtacks/paperclips are poking her feet. Should we advise her to proceed directly to the local office supply store?”

Feeling rather unwelcomed there, I go to my beloved online medical information mecca – – “The Web MD.”

First of all, it never dawns on me that the word “Web” in their name is a subtle symbolic tip-off that I should stay far, far away. Let’s think about this, shall we? Who has webbed feet? Ducks! And what do ducks say? “QUACK!” Hello??

But this doesn’t deter me from typing, “thumbtacks sticking feet” into the symptom-checker box and obtaining a shocking diagnosis. Four shocking diagnoses, actually. One relates to my Brain, one relates to my Heart, another to my Lungs, and the final one to my Stomach. Interestingly, none of the diseases have anything to do with Feet. And all are extremely fatal.

Having gotten C +’s in my Deductive Reasoning classes in high school, I know it isn’t possible that I would be afflicted with ALL four of these maladies. That’s only logical, right? So which one can I safely eliminate?

Next I do what I always do at 2:00 in the morning – – I log onto a hospital patient message board and post about my situation, asking if someone “out there” has ever experienced a symptom like this but everything turned out to be completely fine? I stare for hours at my computer screen waiting for anyone to type a reassuring response. And then it dawns on me. .

The reason nobody can answer my question. . .

Everyone who had this same problem has ALREADY died.

Should I start writing my Obituary or my Last Will and Testament first? And what about guardians for my precious kids! Why, oh why couldn’t my ex-husband and I ever agree on whom to name as caretakers in the event of our deaths?? His sister puts ketchup on eggs, doesn’t believe in orthodontia, and Danielle Steele is her favorite author. So what? I shoulda let all that go.

“Please God,” I bargain, “I know last week I hated this world and said I’d rather be dead than go to the Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my expired driver’s license. But I promise to find gratitude and get a new lease on life – – just please don’t let me expire!”

There’s nothing left to do. Except find a brand new doctor who hasn’t heard about my “Boy Who Cried Wolf” past. My previous doctors have issued, “WARNING: Circus Side Show Freak” bulletins about me to the medical community at large, so this will be no easy task.

I finally show up on the doorstep of an office in a faraway town. I watch as their “The Doctor is in” sign lights up. I’ve always believed first impressions are important so here is how I fill out the paperwork on the clipboard.

 New Patient Form:

NAME: (circle one) Miss/Mrs./Ms.    I’m divorced so technically it’s “Ms.” But please call me “Miss” as in “Little Miss Menopause.” Although Mr. may be a distinct possibility these days – – can you check my testosterone level?      

AGE:  I just caught a glimpse of you at the reception desk….I could be your mother’s big sister.

REASON FOR TODAY’S VISIT?   Look at me! Isn’t it obvious? I just need the Dr. to confirm how much time I have.

WEIGHT:  Who cares at this point? Just order me a size 8 burial gown. And yes, I’m banking on the fact that loss of appetite will kick in soon with this particular disease.

PROFESSION:  Writer (Pssssst! Hot tip: Publish this New Patient form. Everyone knows a deceased author’s last work commands a high price.)

EVER SKIPPED A PERIOD?  Yes, but I’m working diligently on eliminating my run-on sentences.

WHOM CAN WE THANK FOR REFERRING YOU?  You mean blame?

PERSON TO CALL IN EMERGENCY: Um…my two ex-husbands will deny knowing me. Let’s see….My kids will just ask, “What’s for dinner?” Oh, don’t call the neighbors, they’ll tell you I should have died 7 times by now.  Hmmm, I think you might call Mabel, my hairdresser. But when you say, “Died” – – you better spell it. She’ll think you mean Clairol Nice n’ Easy Deep Burgundy Brown.

I’m interrupted by the Doctor, who calls me in. He listens to my heart and pronounces it steady and strong. I resist the urge to ask when he’s last had his stethoscope calibrated. I describe how I feel (this time likening it to my feet being stabbed with steak knives) but he cuts me off before I can get to the Web MD part.

DR: Have you ever heard of Transient Paresthesia?

ME: Oh no, Doctor! Not that! I don’t even ride a train or bus!

DR: Not “Transit.” Transient, meaning Short-Lived.

ME: Good Lord, you mean I’m gonna go even quicker than I thought?

DR: Where ya headed to?

ME: Aren’t I dying?

DR: We all are. But I think you’re gonna survive this one. Transient Paresthesia = Limbs falling asleep.

As I depart, I glance over my shoulder to see him sketching a big-haired woman with the caption, “BEWARE OF CREATIVE BLOGGER WITH TOO MUCH TIME ON HER HANDS….She needs to be cut off ASAP!!” He then posts it on the WEB MD website!

---

 About the Guest Author:

Stephanie D. Lewis is a regular contributor for The Huffington Post and her work has been featured on Scary Mommy, The Mid, XO Jane, and Bluntmoms. She pens a humor blog called, “Once Upon Your Prime” and her novel, “Lullabies & Alibis” is available on Amazon. A single mother of six, she declines a full-time nanny/housekeeper but needs a live-in psychiatrist. Follow her on Twitter @missmenopause

 

Time Out For Mommy!

So far this summer has been off to a roller-coaster of a start! We have grieved the loss of a loved one, celebrated the union of two wonderful people, and were surprised by the early arrival of my best friend’s daughter (to whom I have the honor of being godmother). With all the ups and downs, I’ve decided to take a brief break from the interwebs and invite some of the best and funniest writers I know to help me out in the mean time!

The lovely Bianca Jamotte was kind enough to share one of her hilarious pieces from MomCo with you today! Make sure to check out her bio below and let us know what you thought of this real momma’s confession!

Real Mommy Confessions: Finding the Comedy in the Chaos

I have spent much of my life learning to tame my temper. I take after my hotheaded French father, lots of opinions and volume. I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember and wished to be as calm and serene as my mom always seemed to be. By the time my husband and I started talking about having babies, I was ready! I had become the woman I wanted to be. I had learned how to express myself without yelling, how to be opinionated without being abrasive. I was going to be a wonderful, loving, gentle, mild-tempered Momma. And I was. For 15 months. Then we had my son and my daughter became a toddler.

What has saved me from losing my mind completely is finally getting honest. I am not calm or serene. My life isn’t always pretty. I tried to make it look that way for a long time, only sharing filtered pictures of smiling my babies on Facebook. Posting status updates about how #blessed I am, but the truth is my car is a mess and everything and everyone is always sticky. Some days I just want to crawl in a ball and cry (and sometimes I do,) but most of the time I try to laugh. I post pictures of my children throwing temper tantrums, and status updates of the hilariously creepy things my daughter says. I make it a point to find the humor in the chaos, and only lose my temper when I truly can’t find anything funny in the situation. I laugh, one of my friends drinks wine, another does cross fit and the mom who submitted this confession, believes in timeouts.

About the Guest Author:

Bianca Jamotte is a Mom, Actress, Award-winning Filmmaker as well as Brooklyn Business Owner and Creator of the independent Original Series, Real Mommy Confessions. Business owners, Bianca and her Husband (who also proudly serves as a FDNY), own and operate the delectable specialty Mac and Cheese Restaurant, Brooklyn MAC, as well as the award-winning Coffee Shop, Cup, which was given the title of ‘Best Espresso’ in Greenpoint. Her most exciting credential for which she is most proud, however, is her job as Mom, which brings on a daily host of challenges and accomplishments, often simultaneously. These include successfully keeping her 2-year old from nosediving off the sofa as well as negotiating with her willful 3.5-year old.

You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, and her site, Real Mommy Confessions.

To Break Or Not To Break

Over the past few months, I’ve had incredible writing opportunities come up and I’m still so blown away by the support you all have shown me and this page. As a mother to a feisty toddler, struggling when chronic illness and an emotionally exhausting job are added to the mix, it should come as no surprise that I felt overextended.

STAT!

Thankfully I found this amazingly inspiring post by a fellow writer. She puts into words all the thoughts and emotions I was feeling but couldn’t quite express. Hop on over and check out the insightful perspective she offers on the perks of taking a break!

Rejuvenate! Take a Blog Break

Why I Went Without Wi-Fi This Weekend

If you’re anything like me, you have a love/hate relationship with all things internet. On one hand, I need it for legitimate things like work emails and Googling “how many blueberries are too many for a toddler to eat.” On the other hand, I can’t keep up with my social “responsibilities” – making sure to like, comment on, and share every cute baby pic and event invite.

In short? Being plugged-in leaves me feeling burnt-out.

Sometimes it gets to be too much

As the aforementioned GIF states, I decided to quit! Just for a weekend, though. After all, the world needs to know exactly what my meals look like.

Since I had to get up early Saturday morning for a bridal shower three hours away, I decided on Friday night that I was going to keep my internet-ing to a minimum over the weekend. Guys, I’m serious. I really kept it to a minimum!

I didn’t even play Candy Crush.

Aside from snapping an Instagram pic while stuck in traffic, I wasn’t particularly connected on Saturday. It was actually pretty liberating! Instead of making sure I captured moments on camera, I lived them. I left the picture-taking to the experts. One perk of living in 2015? You can bet that someone will be taking and tagging pictures at whatever event you’re attending – so you’re free to unplug.

Thankfully you can also *untag* yourself, too

Maybe I’m an oddball here, but sometimes I feel a weird sense of obligation to scroll through my news feed. It’s one half FOMO (“fear of missing out,” in case you didn’t know) and one half politeness. I mean, I know the where the salad fork goes, how to address a letter to an employer, and when to wear white – but what’s the etiquette for socializing online?

I’m assuming this isn’t it?

I’m often nervous that my inconsistent work schedule prevents me from maintaining valuable relationships in “real life.” In a way, the internet helps me feel like I can stay in touch with just the click of a button. On the flip side, I worry that if I don’t interact enough online, my social life will reap the consequences.

Thankfully my weekend mini-sabbatical didn’t seem to have the negative impact I had feared.

sooo alooone

In the end, I don’t know how often I’m going to try and disconnect, but the idea isn’t as anxiety-inducing as it once was. I’ve come away feeling like I was more present and involved in real life social situations and less concerned about missed opportunities on social network sites.

So why not take a little weekend web vacation? But, ya know, like, comment on, and share this blog post first…

kthxbai 🙂

 

Trading in Juggling for Harmony

Work comes in many forms, and for some that means having responsibilities both at home and at a job. I only work part-time, but even that is enough to leave me Googling “how to balance work and motherhood” with bleary eyes at three in the morning while my little one thinks it’s play time. Sometimes I wonder if my late nights playing games on my phone while pregnant somehow predisposed him to being a night owl! Yet I’ve found that no matter how much I work, any time spent away from my son is heart-wrenching and requires a significant amount of planning.

This adorable kitty is holding on to its blanket the same way I hold on to my precious baby before work

One of the first things I had to do upon returning to work was get organized. I don’t mean I had to keep my desk clean; I had to relearn how to manage my time and develop a system. Just as “location, location, location!” is the motto of real estate agents, “routine, routine, routine!” should be the mantra of every working mother. From the minute my feet hit the floor to the minute I walk out the door, every second counts. It helps tremendously to get into the flow of a routine. I can’t tell you how many times I do things without needing to think (making a bottle, packing my work bag) solely because I’ve gotten so accustomed to it.

Most mornings my eyes aren’t even fully open

 

I thought I was off to a great start after adopting a routine, but I learned very quickly that planning required pre-planning. When I get ready to start the week, I need to have a game plan for all the upcoming meals, both mine and my son’s. If I don’t make sure I have all the necessary groceries by Sunday, then I’m cutting into my time for Monday morning. A simple checklist can save me hours of busy work and wasted trips to the store.

It’s very easy to get behind if you don’t prepare!

Once I’m (finally) off to work, it’s hard to change gears. Motherhood is a switch I can’t turn off, and that’s okay. I still find myself thinking about my son and worrying if I remembered to tell the sitter his eating schedule. This is why good communication is key. Whether it’s my husband, mother-in-law, or sitter, keeping an open line of communication with them gives me peace of mind. Times my son has been sick, I’ve asked whoever is watching him to check in periodically so I know he’s okay. But when it’s business as usual, it’s understood that they would only call if it’s an emergency. Having an established communication foundation is comforting when I’m away at work.

I may or may not have done this…

The drive home can have its own problems. They say in deep sea diving, divers must slowly transition when returning to the surface in order to avoid sickness due to changes in pressure. This seems to be a strangely accurate way to describe shifting between Work Mode and Mom Mode. I’ve found a significant improvement in my stress levels if I allow myself a few minutes to “decompress” when going between work and home. A surprisingly easy way I do this is to listen to one or two songs on the radio in the car and let myself breathe before exiting. It works wonders!

Feel free to jam out while you’re at it!

In the end, I’ve learned that there’s no “finish line” in life. Being a working mother doesn’t mean I have to play some impossible balancing act. It’s about discovering my rhythm and finding what works for me and my family. Once I let the pressure and expectations go, everything started to fall into place. Motherhood: it’s a work in progress.

Sometimes you just gotta take random selfies

This piece was originally published on Mamalode.

 

Mommy Wants A Nap

Do you ever have one of those days where you just want to hit pause? Let me rephrase, do you ever have a day where you don’t want to hit pause? Lately I feel like I’ve been trying to chase an unwieldy boulder careening downhill… while wearing a blindfold… and with one arm tied behind my back.

I’m not exactly your typical working mom. My “day job,” if you will, involves working with children facing developmental or behavioral challenges and that has me driving to schools and students’ homes. My other job – and yes I consider it to be a legit job – is writing and I can fortunately do that anywhere and at any time. Both jobs require using my brain and I can’t really go on auto-pilot. Well, I could, but the outcome probably wouldn’t be great.

“Just gonna check Facebook for a minute and – WHERE’S THE BABY?!”

Sometimes I wish I could just “check out” for a minute and not think about anything at all. I tend to be a tad neurotic and over analyze things, so when you couple that with being a working mom, you have the perfect recipe for a mushy brain by the end of the day. But that’s just the thing – there really isn’t an end of the day for most moms, working or otherwise. There’s usually not a beginning either, just a continuation of whatever chaos preceded the momentary silence. I could be a bit biased, however, since my toddler still isn’t sleeping through the night. No, that’s putting it mildly. He refuses to sleep through the night. He abhors bedtime. Perhaps my son was a Welsh poet in his previous life?

Renamed “Ode to a Toddler’s Bedtime”

Work becomes at best a hiccup and at worst a reprieve from the routine of the day. I don’t ever want to treat work as an escape from motherhood nor do I want to resent work from tearing me away from my son. It’s a conundrum and not just a maternal one. My husband similarly knows this back-and-forth game as well. He works a full-time, physically demanding job and usually has weekends off. He occasionally is jealous that I get, as one could call it, our son’s “best” hours. For the most part, I’m the one that has him during the fun, play time of the day while my husband is there just as Max is waking up or getting ready for bed. As the old saying goes, “The grass is always greener on the other side.” Or as parents say, “How come the baby never cries when he’s with you?”

This might have something to do with it.

I often think, “If I just had more ____, then I could breathe easier.” Whether it’s sleep, time, money, help, etc., I’ll convince myself that it would be the miracle cure to whatever happens to be stressing me out at the moment. Yet my biggest realization about motherhood is that I can’t control everything and micromanaging is rarely the answer. Yeah, sure, I had the realization, but that doesn’t mean I acted on it. Despite my repeat viewings of Frozen, my Type A Personality prohibits me from letting it go.

Grumpy Cat gets me on so many levels.

Like most working parents, I wear many hats in a 24 hour period. I’m an employee, a mother, writer, wife, sister, friend, and the list doesn’t end there. I’ve found it’s healthy to complain, sometimes I should say no, and asking for help is never a sign of weakness. There are huge life lessons I’ve learned and growing pains I’ve gone through in adding “mother” to my résumé. Yet with all the soul-searching, usually the answer to my problem isn’t some grand sentiment that you’d find in an”inspiring quotes” Google search. Sometimes the solution is quite simple: Mommy wants a nap. Who’s with me?

“So that’s 1, 2, 3, 4 ….. 957,015 in favor?”

Mother’s Day + Memories + Mirrors

With Mother’s Day quickly approaching, I’ve been looking back on the road that brought me to motherhood. It’s an interesting crossroad – not just for young or new mothers, but for mothers at any station in the journey – to look at how you’ve changed inside and out since becoming a mom. In a piece originally for xoJane, I wrote about reconciling the person I saw in the mirror with the woman I was inside and who society told me I should be. Below I share my perspective on the process and I look forward to hearing about how motherhood has changed the relationship you have with yourself and your body!

Lately, the media is in a tizzy over mothers and their bodies. From the Eva Mendes “Sweatpants-Gate” to Kelly Clarkson’s ongoing encounters with fat-shamers, our nation is seemingly obsessed with celebrities’ post-baby bodies. We hate and envy them when they’re impossibly fit and we mock and humiliate them when they’re not. Celebs like Kim Kardashian, Christina Aguilera, Pink, Kerry Washington, Mila Kunis, and even Princess Kate look ridiculously toned and thin on magazine covers with tips on how you, too, can be just like them. God forbid your body show any sign of having actually carried a child.

Stop giving me tips I didn’t ask for, Magazine!

 

As a mother myself, I feel like I’m constantly barraged by images and articles that draw a clear line in the sand. You can either be a woman or be a mother. You can’t be both. Whether I’m in the check-out line at the grocery store or scrolling through my newsfeed at home, I’m painfully aware of the separation. It’s either Cosmo or Parenting, there’s seemingly no middle ground. Why can’t I read about the latest beauty hacks while simultaneously wiping tiny, sticky fingerprints of the screen?

Let’s be honest, sometimes motherhood isn’t glamorous. Sometimes my hair stays in a messy bun for three days in a row. Let’s be even more honest. Sometimes I don’t like to look at myself in a full-length mirror. You see, I have a chronic illness that causes my connective tissue to be stretchy. That means that when my skin was pushed to its limit during pregnancy, it didn’t and most likely won’t ever go back to what it used to be. I’m not going to lie and say some cheesy line about how motherhood is magical and babies are miracles and I love my body. I still struggle with body image issues and feel sharp pangs of bitter jealousy when I see young women on the beach without so much as a single dimple of cellulite or even a tiny stretch mark.

Motherhood isn’t always cute

I’m told by my fellow mommy friends that I need to just give up on the idea of being the same woman I was before I had a child. Look, I’ve seen Frozen a million times; I do not need to be told to just, “let it go.” Why are other women so content to say goodbye to that part of themselves? It may not be a popular opinion, but I’m going to say it: There’s no such thing as a pre or post-baby body. There is just your body. You don’t need to forget about pre-baby you because pre-baby you is you! You may wear many hats as a mother – caregiver, nurse, provider, etc. – but you are still the same woman just with a little more experience.

After going through a high-risk pregnancy, I had a real wander-in-the-desert crisis of identity. On the inside I was still the same nerdy, pop-culture junkie with a loud laugh and too many opinions. The outside was a different story, though. I couldn’t reconcile the two for what seemed like an eternity. I felt like my skin-deep complaints were somehow betraying all the feminists who came before me and fought so hard to not be judged on looks alone. At a time when I was supposed to be feeling like a mighty goddess with the power of creating life, I was struggling to even identify as feminine. The change in perception came when I began thinking about the example I would be setting for my son as he grew. I realized I needed to be the one to teach him that women are neither defined by their body nor their ability to reproduce.

You tell ’em, Kate!

I think we should a take cue from moms like Kate Winslet, Jennifer Garner, Kristen Bell, and Drew Barrymore and make our own narrative about the female body. Rather than labeling it and dividing it, we need to tell a complete story. My story involves surviving a high-risk pregnancy only to relearn how to trust my own body again through the eyes of my baby boy. Your story may be and probably is different, and that’s fine, too. I’m full of my own flaws, but at least I am full.