Identity Crisis

I feel as though I've lost myself. As every mom has told me, life before baby is a big blur. I've dealt with depression since I was fourteen; so postpardom depression has been a realistic threat with life after pregnancy. So far, I've felt proud not giving into any thoughts of unwanted sadness.

The proud thoughts are slowly dissipating. The "high on baby" feeling starting disappearing once I returned to work. 

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love and adore my LittleMan and motherhood. But what about life outside of baby? I am now 24/7 a mom, caretaker of a new life who cannot take care of themselves alone. 

The high is going away. But I don't want it to. The only time I feel as though I don't have to be SuperMom is when I'm taking a shower (when I get one). So no wonder I've wanted to start smoking cigarettes again. It's difficult. If I'm smoking, there's no way LittleMan can be near me, secondhand smoke and all. But I don't want to be a smoker again. So what do I do?

I've lost myself, my sense of self. I am a mother. I work to provide for my son, with help from HobbyHubby. I take care of my son. My life is my son. I love it; but what else? 

I've tried to start painting again but it's difficult to find unerrupted time. 

So the next step is date nights. Physical intimacy has been an issue. Shit hurts, it's uncomfortable. I had a second degree tear from birthing a 9 pound baby, could've been worse (my friend is mother superior compared to me). So we hang out, maybe drink some with friends. It's nice, but the whole time I'm missing LittleMan. 

I want him all the time and want space too. I'm finding a balance.

His pediatrician has helped me realize how great everything is. I'm a breast feeding champ. Let me reiterate, IM A FUCKING BREASTFEEDING CHAMP! He's growing tremendously. Gained 3 pounds and grew 3 inches by his 2 month appointment.

My dad, someone I've subconsciously always needed approval from, has repeatedly told me how proud he is of me and how I'm a great mom. It makes me want to cry when he says these things. It lifts me up like nothing else.

Cody also repeatedly thanks me for feeding Ansel, for taking care of him, helping with diaper changes (Cody doesn't like the poopy ones, but I don't know what father would), cooking dinner, paying bills on time (well trying to).

So why do I feel lost? Maybe I just need a slap in the face. I love my son, I love being a mother, I love my family, I'm in love with HobbyHubby (and welcome the thought of marriage, as we are not yet wed), I'm in love with Ansel. For the first time in my post adolescent life, I do not think of harming myself, I look for and avoid dangerous situations (potential car accidents, suspicious persons, etc, stranger danger). I never want to die, I never want to leave LittleMan. 

So what are these empty feelings? Where do they come from?

I guess the only thing I can do is stay busy, keep loving my family and myself. Find old and new hobbies. Stay healthy, keep breastfeeding. I do love breastfeeding. And if I get sad, get help. I'm not ashamed of seeking help, I know better than that.

Oh Snap, Baby Clothes

Whoever designs baby clothes needs to retire or be exiled from planet earth. Yes, they are absolutely adorable, especially the girls' clothes. Bows, hearts, "pretty like mommy", little muddy puppies, silly monkeys, "handsome like daddy", cartooned farm equipment, and so on. The cuteness goes on and on. 

But where is the ease of changing your baby's clothes? Onsies are my favorite for LittleMan. They're the easiest thing to put him in. A boat neck top that's easy to it over his head and fast and only three snaps to put together. 

However, what's with all the snaps on other clothes? It doesn't make it any easier or faster to change him. I've counted at least twelve snaps on one of his pajama coverall outfits. TWELVE! How is that easy? You can get arthritis or carpel tunnel from all those buttons. And forget about quiet nighttime diaper changes. When you pull apart each button, it shakes the baby and makes a loud noise, waking him up. 

Zippers are key. LittleMan has a pajama coverall that zips all the way up. Genius! It's easy. Just put his limbs in the appropriate places and zip up. No twelve button snaps to give you arthritis and the zipper won't jerk the outfit and wake him up. Why are zippers not as popular as snaps?! I understand you want to make it difficult for the baby to undo their clothes themselves, but that's where one snap comes in handy; there is a flap of fabric that reaches over the zippers slider and snaps down. 

More zippers now! Make it easier for mom and dads everywhere. 

Today We Begin A New Journey

On Halloween this year Cody noticed that LittleMan had a swollen mass on the side of his neck. We thought it could be a swollen lymph node (the size of a golf ball) and called his doctor. The next day at his appointment she informed me that he was not sick at all, it was congenital muscular torticollis, a shortened/pulled muscle in his neck that happened while he was in the womb.

 So, LittleMan holds his head crooked. Could you imagine viewing the world crooked? Well I guess he doesn't mind since that's what he's used to. He couldn't really see for awhile after birth, anyways, to understand what's considered normal. But when the torticollis is "fixed" (that is if physical therapy can fix him or if he responds to it) is his world going to turn upside down? Or, I suppose to him, it would then be crooked. 

Today we began physical therapy. It terrified me. So I can rip his skin if I pull too much? Yes. So I have to push down on his face to stretch the muscle? Yes. If you don't "air out" the short side, he can grow mildew and fungus on his skin? Yes. WTF?

The therapist showed me a few stretches to do after every diaper change (I guess that way you can't forget) and directions on the aspects of everyday infant life, like sleep, play, and feeding. I was so overwhelmed that I honestly keep confusing myself at every task. Hold which shoulder down and turn his neck which way? 

A 45 minute appointment once a week for at least the first five weeks. Every two to three weeks once he shows significant improvement. He tilts at a 25 degree angle. Under 5 degrees is the long term goal. If not corrected, he could have mobility issues his whole life; his neck, turning his head, his shoulder and arm... Scoliosis... Thank you insurance, but man the copay is going to get expensive. 

I know that after a few days of practice it will be easier. But until then, the easier, I will stay confused, a little panicked, and emotional. Of course I'll wait to be a wreck when I am out of his sight. I don't want to make him a nervous wreck. 

Family Group Message

WARNING- some indecency and profanity

A few members of my family and I are in a continuing group message, sending each other funny pictures, videos, and memes. Here's a taste of what the convo looks like. Enjoy.

Dad-

Me- I want to start doing that

Dad-

Me- where's her lipstick?

Dad-

Becca- I went to public school, therefore I don't get it...

Paul-

SANK YOU like thank you but sank you Pearl Harbor Becca. Get it, get it? The Japanese sunk our battleships at Pearl Harbor

Becca- ohhhhh, had nothing to do with being public schooled, just me being super slow

Paul- super slow AND super pretty

Dad-

Me- were you holding out and needed to send them all at once?

Dad- when I check Facebook I find these gems

Paul-

Dad-

Becca- oh my

Dad-

Me- yep

Dad-

Dad- tomorrow is world toilet day

Paul-

Dad- now that's funny

The wisdom of Jack

Becca- heh heh

Paul-

Dad- good one Paul

Paul- we find some gems

Becca- http://youtu.be/ZlATOHGj9EY

OMG watch this now http://youtu.be/wva3qypGPvA

Dad- 

Me- bahaha

Paul- 

Dad-

Me- girls don't fart, they fluff

Dad- well way to go Fluffy... Ever heard a unicorn laugh? Sounds just like farting

Stranger Danger

It's inevitable with a baby, you will be stopped by perfect strangers in order for them to force you to show off your little one. Of course being a new mom, I want everyone to look, see what I've produced, see how awesome he is. However, it's somewhat inconvenient when strangers come up to someone with a baby and stop them from walking in or out of a store to ask a million questions about the little tyke. I don't think it's "nice" when I'm trying to get out of a store because I know I have roughly 15 minutes before LittleMan wakes up and realizes he's hungry or needs to pee and someone stops to ask me meaningless questions about us when they'll never see us again. Maybe I'm just a cold-hearted bitch. I understand that when the family is out in public, some people (mostly older women) will stop to look at our baby. I look at others babies and children and smile from afar all the time, kids are cute. Why can't everyone just do this? Sometimes I feel as though these strangers are just trying to take my child. Why else would you ask about his gender, age, immunizations, sleep patterns, diapering, and breast or bottle feeding? Favorite restaurant, video game, ammo, or grill? I understand newly pregnant first moms trying to figure out what everyone else is doing, but these are not the strangers asking the questions. Maybe the strangers want to see what everyone's doing with their babies in order to quietly judge their parenting skills. They'll have thoughts such as "you don't use baby powder? Are you an idiot? His legs will fall off if you don't" or "what do you mean you don't bathe him in the kitchen sink? That's where you're supposed to wash babies".

What if these onlookers upon the questionnaire didn't like what they heard? What if someone asked me how old my little guy was and I replied "I don't know, I found him this morning" or "beats me, who cares". How would they respond? Would it stop the nationwide epidemic of nosey people? Or land me in jail because they're not sure if I've kidnapped the baby or I'm just the wicked witch of the east (Get it? East coast?). I'm tired of the creepy individuals that act like they might try to eat him up because he's so cute, literally. Or like I mentioned above, the ones who are obviously trying to steal him.

Here's just a few instances where Cody or I felt completely uncomfortable, aggravated, or weirded out.

Publix employee with lipstick on her teeth and a Santa hat on stops me literally half way through our exit of the automatic door. Mind you I was a little irritable at the moment which by no means was her doing, but I kept a smile on my face as to not seem rude.

Publix- oh, you have one too (referring to the woman and toddler in front of me that she apparently had finally stopped talking to)

Me- yep

Publix- how old? 

Me- 6 weeks

Publix- name?

Me- Ansel

Publix- Hansel? (hesitating and a little confused)

Me- yep, why not? (trying to smile and slowly inch the buggy forward to leave)

Publix- boy or girl?

Me- boy (well his names Hansel and not Gretel, right?) 

Publix- oh how cute, well thank you for coming to see us and we shall see you soon. 

(Ok, that was really nice)

Cody and I at the Target guest services desk trying to do an exchange. All of a sudden I turn to look out of my peripheral to see Ansel in his car seat on top of the cart and a woman is literally 2 inches in front of him staring. I hesitantly smile at her. Cody sees this and turns to see the woman.

Cody- woah, you came out of nowhere.

Woman- (just smiles at us and Ansel)

Cody- ok then

Woman- (still silently smiling at us)

Me- hi

Woman- (I think her mouth is frozen, but now I won't let her break eye contact with me in order to hopefully creep her out as I move to herd her away)

Again at Target, I am pushing Ansel and the cart away from the registers when I hear the women who was in line behind me with her husband run up to my left side (like I've stolen something and she's security) in what I'd like to call my blind spot. 

Woman- so much hair (what most say when they see him)

Me- yep

Woman- our daughter had hair like that when she was born and he reminded us of her. She's grown now and... (Ok) ...he's precious.

Me- thank you

Yesterday walking through downtown Thomasville with my sister, Ansel strapped in a harness against my chest, and an older gentleman we walk up towards begins:

Man- whatcha got? (Moving to my side, a little in my bubble, and leaning down towards my chest, pretty much staring at it.)

Me- a boy

Man- I love babies. How old?

Me- (I never stop moving in a circle around him) 6 weeks 

Man- who has the dark hair in the family?

Me- (my hair is currently almost colored black and I doubt he realizes it's fake) the...

Sister- the father (now she's getting annoyed and by now we walking away and having him talk to our backs)

Man- (says a bunch of stuff)... I love babies

Me- trying to steal my child

Sister- "whatcha got?" HIV

I Have to Work?

I absolutely, 100%, hated being pregnant. Ok, maybe not completely. It was amazing having so much love build from within for a tiny human my body was creating and having that tiny human turn my insides into a pinball machine. But, I really hated being pregnant. Having fibromyalgia is nothing compared to having fibromyalgia while pregnant and not being able to medicate. I had a very difficult time with body aches and pains, swelling, all day morning sickness, carpel tunnel, and depression, as most pregnant women do. I felt like I had the flu times one thousand. I couldn't stand for long periods of time without getting out of breathe or feeling like I was going to die. By the 41st week, I was begging my doctor to get him out. 

The day I had Ansel, I felt like I had been reborn with a new, tired, but all new body (and I'm maintaining medication free). No more wanting to chop my legs off or screaming for a "just in case" trash bag because I was too fat to run for it myself. No more cankles. No more worrying if my water was going to break while walking down the aisle in my sisters wedding three days after my due date. Oh, that was a truly interesting day.

Now, to quote a client of mine, I'm "high on baby". I never want to leave him. Can I superglue him to my chest? Is that child abuse? I mean, at some point won't he have an I hate mommy phase? And we can get past that while being in such close proximity, right? I have two parts of my mind trying to weigh the option of being a stay at home mom or a working mom.

The Working Mom. If I go back to work, LittleMan will hate me. Plain and simple. As soon as I try to leave for work, he will start spitting fire and casting lightning bolts out of the sky, unleash fifty million flying monkeys, and put banana peels under my shoes when I walk. My son will try to kill me. Not only will he win, because I will die inside when I get back in my car to leave, but he will feel abandoned for the rest of his life. He will never find a bride (or groom, you never know) because every date he ever goes on will start as follows: 

The Date- So tell me a little about yourself. What do you do? What kind of music do you listen to?

LittleMan- My mom abandoned me when I was 5 weeks old

The surprised Date- Oh, what happened?

LittleMan- She went back to work

The confused Date- Oh... Ok. And she never came back?

LittleMan- No, my mother or father picked me up from my grandma's every evening. (Pause) I tried to kill her by banana peel.

The terrified Date- Oh

The Stay at Home Mom. HobbyHubby will hate me. Not only will I be able to stay in my pajamas all day, I won't have to deal with the general public when I don't feel like it. I can sit back and watch the world through social media sites, completely alienate Ansel and myself, become hermits, or better yet start a colony like something out of the movie Mad Max (if you don't recognize that movie title, shame on you). He will be so jealous when he comes home from work, LittleMan and I have painted our faces like Pan's Lost Boys, and have captured a squirrel and successfully taught it to fetch. 

Financially, I must go back to work. At least I am returning to a career I'm very passionate about with a great team of coworkers and an amazing clientele. Maybe I can win the lottery or convince Oprah to give me alotta cash money so LittleMan and SuperMom can play all day. Here's to wishful thinking.

New Meaning of the Term Diaper Change

Having a baby boy comes with one warning label that "old" moms stress to new moms: getting peed on.

LittleMan, Ansel my 1 month old, has mastered the art. As a precaution, I always lay a washcloth over his "area" as to point the pee down and not up. However, LittleMan believes he is a ninja and his penis will find a small window of opportunity to lash out; start the stream. His best performance by far was a stealth mission: I was changing his diaper in the nursery, as I've done a hundred times, when all of a sudden I felt something warm hit my knee, my knee? A stream of pee came over the side of the changing table like a sprinkler, ran down my leg and puddled onto the floor. He managed to stay completely dry in the process. Thanks for the bath LittleMan, but now I need a real shower. (I changed my clothes, wiping myself down with a baby wipe, the mom shower)

However. The point of this post is about more than pee. I would've preferred there to only be that familiar bodily fluid in this instance. LittleMan has inherited my stomach issues; I do not want to label them reflux or GERD as our pediatrician has not diagnosed him of such. Bowel movements and constant gas are his curse. We tried gas drops and have turned to gripe water (godsend). Next is completely changing my diet to bland mush.

One fateful afternoon, with Ansel trying his best to  get some stomach relief, I went to change his diaper. With the diaper a little wet, I began the routine process. I pulled up his legs and butt by his ankles, WHAM! Like a geyser, projectile poop came flying out of him, landing across the end of the changing table and hitting the side of the dresser near by, running down it. PROJECTILE POOP. By the look on his face of astonishment and content, I wasn't sure if I should cry because of the mess or applaud him. How does such a tiny human produce so much projectile poop? I didn't know babies could do that. But he wasn't finished. Almost as soon as we both had processed what just happened, the washcloth over his area, his clothes, and the changing pad cover got wet. Thank God it rained under the washcloth. I couldn't help but start laughing. We now put a washcloth under him too, just in case.

Now, when I said he got my stomach issues, I meant it. LittleMan's ninja, I was a banana. When I was a newborn, I had jaundice and had to sleep naked in an incubator at home for awhile. One day my grandfather picked me up out of the bed and I projectile pooped all over the wall of the incubator and room. My mother hinted to it being like the vomit scene in The Exorcist. From then on, my nickname was "Squirt".

LittleMan got Cody's handsome outsides and my sensitive insides. Cody's good looks and my bowels. Great.