Healing

Recently my entire household was sick.

I was recovering from a car wreck,  a c-section,  and gallbladder surgery with body wracking coughs that tore into the slice through my abdomen.

Steven was sick as well and being a man he obviously had the much worse version. Coughing and unable to do anything around the house he "barely had the strength to wake up". This attitude has since been rectified.

Lindzy could barely squeak out words, coughed so much she would throw up, and constantly complained of head and tummy aches.

Reyna had reflux so at first I assumed her constant throwing up was a result of that. Then she turned into super fussy baby and coughed until she also lost her voice.  There is nothing more pitiful than a newborn trying to cry with no voice. Then she got stuffed up to the point of not being able to breathe.

We all spent a lot of time in the bathroom with the shower going.

It all came together one evening while Reyna threw up and choked on it all night, struggling to breathe. She was propped on pillows and my arm in our bed, coughing so much she woke up Lindzy, one of the heaviest sleepers in existence.

Lindzy walked in wanting to cuddle, as sick children do, but Reyna was in the middle of another choking vomit/cry scratches bout and I barely looked at her while I explained we had no room and asked her to sleep on the couch beside us.

After much back patting, soothing noises cooed through my hardly existing voice, and lots of re-situating Reyna had finally fallen asleep.  5:00 am.

I started to close my eyes when I heard sniffing coming from the couch.  "Are you ok? " I whispered, legitimately terrified of waking Reyna up. Tears coating her hardly understandable voice she whispered "no" back. She was cuddled to her blankets crying as silently as possible because my six year old was mature and awesome enough to realize her baby sister needed me.

My heart broke.

I'm sure there are still pieces floating around my body it hurt so much to hear her bravery. I scooted over as best I could manage without shifting Reyna, kicked at Steven to move his legs (heaviest sleeper bar none hadn't even stirred), and invited her into my one free arm.

Her face was wet.

I spent the night unable to move, in the middle of my sick babies, our dog sleeping directly underneath my c-section incision on top of me, and alternating between hating Steven for his envious sleeping ability and loving my life.

I raised an amazing little girl.

World Views

My nephew was visiting the other day and wanted to play some Fantastic Pets on our x-box kinect. (Thank you husband's brother for letting us have it!) I was making some sauteed onions and mushrooms for Steven, the husband, while Reyna, the baby, was showering with him. I was also cleaning and walking back and forth when I noticed my nephew was just sitting in the rocking chair near my daughters closet staring at the kinect.

He got up, walked to the bed, then back to the chair and sat there dejected. It was a little entertaining and I was unsure what he was doing so I just kept watching as I walked back and froth.

Probably a good five minutes later he yelled to me, teary eyed confusion with his voice slightly quivering. "I just want to get on Lindzy's bed RoRo, but it keeps saying 'you're too close, step back'". I tried desperately not to laugh as I explained that was only for the game, that he could get on the bed if he wanted.

As funny as it is - and it is funny - kids are so influenced by everything around them. They are extremely trusting. They believe everything adults say whether they should or not.

I recently read something about why kids believe adults, that for their entire life the adults are correct. The sky is blue, that's a tree, that's a car, I'm your mother, father, grandmother, etc. Kids grow up KNOWING that everything you say is true even when they want to argue about it.

It went on to say that we can change how a child views themselves based completely on that. If we tell them they're stupid or fat, smart or amazing, they are going to grow up believing that because... we're always correct.

Even if all we say are things about ourselves they are listening and they are going to be influenced. Kids hear you saying "I look so fat in this" "I'm so ugly" and they are going to put it onto themselves as well. We don't mean to, no one goes around planning to make their children hate themselves (I would hope not at least. If you do then this blog is certainly not aimed at you. Why don't you try looking up "I'm a shitty parent" on google instead.)

They believe the things we say, so parents need to keep that in mind when speaking to them, to each other, and most importantly about themselves. I don't want my daughters growing up to think that fat is bad because I have body image issues. I don't want them growing up to think their fat or ugly because they hear me saying the same things about myself.

Kids are the most important thing in a parents life, we need to be careful we don't ruin them. It's easier to keep building on someone's high self esteem than it is to repair it from careless words.

Beauty

Every woman is beautiful.

I used to think that a person had to look a certain way - namely thin - to be beautiful. It's what we see everywhere right? I've since discovered a tiny slice of confidence in myself that comes and goes. Therapists have always told me to be confident, to own what I have, to repeat in the mirror "I am beautiful" and eventually the confidence will come.

Bullshit. Seriously. It's bullshit. I tried for a while, repeating that mantra and telling myself I loved myself every day in the mirror before bed and in the morning and every single time I happened to pass by one of those dreaded inventions. It made it worse!

"Look at your nose, your nose is huge. Your stomach is disgusting. You have terrible skin. Nothing about you is beautiful. You're kidding yourself." The voices wouldn't stop in retaliation to those words that were supposed to be helping me build up confidence in me. I finally quit.

Everyday women are bombarded with pictures of beautiful women, but they're all fake women. They're all completely made up, photo shopped, botoxed, and sculpted by knives yet we strive to be THAT beautiful. Why? Because we think that's the only kind of beauty there is.

I've started taking pictures of myself when I feel down. I always thought it would be stupid. Putting on make up and having a mini photo shoot in my bathroom or bedroom to help boost my self-esteem? Ridiculous. But It works. And before anyone says that's because my self esteem must be a good level or that I'm already kind of pretty just read some of those other posts by me. I'm pretty sure there isn't anyone in the world with a lower self esteem than me.

Seriously, taking pictures helps you find things about yourself that are beautiful even if it's simply big lips, good makeup skills, photography skills, how well you can find and play with the light, or smile just a certain way. Sometimes little things are what matter in the quest to feel beautiful. So take out a camera and shoot yourself with that instead of the negative words sitting on the edge of your tongue.

Incision what?

C-sections hurt.

I say that and you're going to think "obviously" but look at how people treat c-sections mothers.

"Oh I tore down there during pregnancy, that was really bad!"

"Walk around!"

"You should be able to do everything still."

I just had a gaping wound cut into my stomach, doctors searched around in my organs, pulled on them, pulled some out, and then yanked a living being out of me. It's so much worse than people make it out to be. I went into it thinking it wasn't a huge deal, I actually wanted one originally because I was terrified my baby would be huge (daddy was 11 pounds).

I am still experiencing pain four months later, the nerve damage that feels like a sun burn when anything touches it, and pain when I cough or sneeze too hard or bend the wrong way, or baby kicks it, or this and that etc. I've been told that basically doesn't end. Yet we're treated like it's not a BIG THING.

When I came home I could barely walk, it hurt to even sit on my couch let alone get up from a laying position to feed and change my newborn all night long. Granted some of my pain could have been the car wreck 2 days prior to being sliced open, it's still a crazy feat.

My husband is not one for helping. Pretty terrible really. So I was still cleaning, cooking, doing all the normal bills and normal things SAHM's do while recovering from a cs and developing an amazing cold. It didn't help my recovery time, neither did having emergency gallbladder surgery barely a month later.

I've since mostly healed, the scars are sensitive and as I mentioned before I still have the pain from my cs but it's not as bad as it was. 

CS mama's deserve much more credit than they are given.

Scars

My body is riddled with scars. A mess of straight lines, circles, puckered, and nearly invisible stories mar almost every inch of my skin. Some hold deep meaning - the c-section scar spanning nearly hip to hip across my lower stomach - and some are merely an embarrassment.

I am a cutter. I use the present tense because even though I would love to be able to claim it's defeat and my victory, I can't. While pregnant with my first almost 8 years ago I swore to stop. Swore I wouldn't be crazy for my children and I even managed to quit that along with every other addiction for the duration of my pregnancy. I felt accomplished, proud.

Shortly after though, I started again. I wish I could claim my children as the reason I stopped, wish even more I could stop for them, but it seems to be impossible.

Everyone has this vision of cutters being emo teenagers with no reason to quit. People see mothers as beings with infinite patience, calm, and zero addiction issues and that picture does nothing but hurt women who don't fit the pinhole.

In what world would I ever fit a pinhole?

Us mothers who don't are forced to feel wrong, like less than the ideal mother, as it we're failing because "our children should be enough." But, it's simply not true. I struggle everyday to resist the temptation to part my skin with something sharp. Literally anything. Does it mean I love my kids any less? No. Am I afraid of pushing that addiction onto them? Every damn day.

I'm just like every other mother in any part of the world. Afraid for my children, loving my children more than I love myself, and fighting to keep my head above life. 

Mother

I am in an abusive relationship. I get punched, smacked, yelled at. I’m not allowed to go out with my friends or do the things I used to love like reading while lounging in a bathtub full of bubbles with candles on the edge. I don’t get to make my own plans; I’m expected to do everything my partner wants whenever my partner wants it.

My partner is a little 3 month old girl who demands quite a lot of my attention and every single part of my heart. "Having a child is having your heart go walking around outside your body." Completely true, it's also this agonizing ride of terror and thrill all at the same time.

I spend my days getting swatted in the face while simultaneously getting my hair jerked on and stomach kicked at. (That was extremely fun while healing from a C-section and then gallbladder surgery.) I smell like puke and breast milk even though I'm not breast feeding anymore - what's up with that anyway - and most days I don't change from my pajamas. Seriously, how does my husband stand me?

When he gets home it's all I can do to keep from shoving the terror that I know and love onto him and go escape to the bathroom for like a second of relaxation. And yes, I'm aware how horrible it is to know that my relaxation consists of sitting in the toilet with my phone. But, what I enjoy even more, is watching him hold her; them both smiling so big it takes over their entire face. Something about watching her father love her settles the craziness I've gotten during the day.

Now I am certainly not one of those completely selfless mothers who never takes time for themselves, mostly. I do take a shower every now and again where I'm not listening to a screaming baby or my 6 year old asking for food as her dad sits on the couch in front of the computer or holding the baby in there with me cuz "it's just faster."

Those showers generally involved me sitting on the floor freaking out for a few minutes so that I can gather myself enough to go back out and be a good mom again. Sometimes that's all a person can do.