Me, MomSelf and I

Life's journey is full of twists and turns and sometimes we get lost. This is my journey to rediscover myself.

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Death, Birth, and Rainbows: All Love

My second son was born 7 days after my father died from a 14-month bout with throat cancer.  Part of the reason I wanted to get pregnant again was because I knew he was dying.  At the time, it seemed like the only way I could keep him alive.  It was during my pregnancy that I started therapy.  I figured I had a pretty good set up for postpartum depression, and I wanted to prepare for its inevitability. I was so convinced it would happen, I actually saw 2 therapists. One would listen and give me practical advice and the other would make me work to come up with my own answers.  I valued both.

As we were planning the funeral, we had to schedule the burial and the only day available was my due date. And the military cemetery was an hour away.  So I decided I couldn’t go. It rained all that day, which was appropriate, because my dad loved the rain, thunderstorms especially. Sure enough, that morning, as my mother and sister were driven to the burial site, I started having contractions.  They return literally in the nick of time.  My son was born at 7:17 pm and just minutes before he made his debut in this world, a bright, beautiful rainbow appeared outside our window.

As my son has grown, he has been fixated on pictures of my dad.  Since he began talking, one of his most repeated phrases is “Grandpa died.”  For the longest, I wondered, why does he keep saying that? It hurts me every time I have to explain to him that, yes, Grandpa died, but even though he’s not here, he loves you and your brother and sister anyway.  But what I now believe is that he says it over and over because he knows.  He met my dad in that space and time in the universe between life and death, and he is trying to tell me, Grandpa died, but his love hasn’t. Because it lives through him. He is Grandpa’s love.

So this year, as he turns 2 and we acknowledge another year since my dad passed, I will have a new perspective, a dual celebration.  I will celebrate my son’s birthday and the abundance of love that my dad still showers me with, through my baby.

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He Weans Me, He Weans Me Not

I’ve spent the last 7 years breastfeeding.  It sounds so absurd saying it out loud, but that’s the truth.  When I first became pregnant, I read as many pregnancy, motherhood, parenting books I could. Of course they all said “breast was best.”   I remember being in such admiration of my best friend in high school interact with her mother.  They had a closeness that I longed for, and I attributed it to their breastfed relationship-one that I lacked as a formula baby. Since then, I knew if I ever had kids, breastfeeding was the only way I’d go.  Plus, I’ve always been well endowed in the boobage area, so I figured a) I’d have no problems doing it (wrong!), and b) they must serve a purpose beyond being oogled by men since I was about 12.

From the moment my firstborn was placed on my chest, I became a breastfeeding mom.  And knowing I was the sole provider of this powerful, antibody-rich superfood, I was hooked!  Not to mention the euphoric high of possessing this tool that could instantly calm a cranky baby, I felt like a goddess.  Okay, so that was all ego.  But the deeper joy was this unique closeness I shared-that bond I longed for many moons ago-was now a reality with me and my son.  And he had no intentions of giving it up.  When I became pregnant with his sister 2 years later, the doctor told me I really needed to wean him for a variety of reasons.  I reluctantly (and half-heartedly) began to distract him when it was “that time.” But the truth is, he continued to nurse pretty much up until she was born.  Again, I experienced that joy with the bond I was able to form with my daughter.  She too, had no interest in weaning.  And she was 3 when her baby brother was born.  So here he is a week away from turning 2 and there are days now when he can take my milk or leave it.  I’ve never experienced this before and I don’t know how to handle it.

I now have a medical condition that requires me to take drugs that are not breastfeeding compatible.  So it’s necessary for us to cease that function of our relationship.  And I agonized over how I was going to do it. But it turns out, he’s apparently going to handle that for me.  He was my bonus baby from the get-do, and has always been what I needed him to be at the right time.  See, he was growing inside me while my father was dying of cancer.  And I wondered how I could bring such an important life into the world as I was losing one of the most important ones in my life.  And he knew that, so he made sure it was an easy pregnancy.  Then when my dad died, he gave me 1 week to grieve before he made his appearance.

So he knows for my health we have to stop the nursing.  Therefore, he has begun to wean himself.  And I am both grateful and incredibly sad.  How have I created such an intuitively caring human being, who wasn’t even planned?  And even though it’s been 7 years, how is this part of my life over already?

I feel so fortunate to have had this experience, when I know there are some women who never get the chance.  I just hope we find another way to express our closeness. I also know I will miss it forever.

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Why another mommyblog/Why am I here?

Who is Me, MomSelf, and I, the Unconventional Traditionalist?

So, why another “mommy blog”? Does the world really need another one of those, you may ask? Of course the world doesn’t need another mom blog.  But I do need to write one.  I’ve put if off for far too long and now, it’s my turn. So read it, don’t read it.  But I’m going to write it regardless.  If you enjoy it, Yay! Share it with your friends.  If you don’t, just stop. Don’t bother commenting to tell me how much it sucks.  Save yourself some clicks. I’m my own worst critic, so I’ve already determined it a failure and me a loser for writing it.

But this is how bad I need to write it.  I just crawled out of bed at 11:52 because I had this idea and since I called off work tomorrow, I don’t mind staying up late to put my ideas in a word document.

See, I had a therapy session last week.  And out of it came the mantra I was supposed to say over and over for several days. The mantra is: I will release the fear that something bad will happen so I can connect with my higher purpose.  Sounds like some mumbo jumbo tom foolery, right? Well, let’s explore.  See I was in therapy with this nervous feeling in my stomach that I’d had for maybe that whole day (maybe 2 days) and I couldn’t figure out why it was there or what it meant.  Things were fine with me and my husband, and other than a little virus, my kids were great, and I didn’t even have a horrible week at work. (Okay, that might be a stretch, because pretty much every week is horrible. But maybe this one wasn’t any more horrible than the others.)  And I thought I should be on cloud nine because I had a 5-day holiday weekend ahead of me.  What I didn’t realize until that therapy session, was that since my second year of marriage, when we had a particularly disastrous holiday weekend, where I thought only 1 of 2 times in 10 years of marriage that we might not make it, I had secretly been dreading long holiday weekends, subconsciously thinking something bad would happen. And somehow that had transferred to my life in general.  I’ve always been a pretty optimistic person.  My husband always jokes that while he’s looking at reality, I’m dreamily staring into La-La Land, thinking about rainbows and lollipops.

But here I found myself with butterflies in my stomach, with a mini vacation looming, sitting in my therapist office saying the mantra: I will release the fear that something bad will happen so I can connect with my higher purpose. My focus on my fear was getting in the way of everything: me taking chances on new things (like blogging), me trying to walk away from things I didn’t want anymore (like my job), me becoming the person I wanted to be.  I left therapy that day just kind of taking it all in.  The next day was the 4th of July.  The following day, I had to take my son to the doctor for a nasty skin infection called impetigo. And the first thing I thought was, Ah, yes, the bad thing I was waiting on.  Here it is!  My son’s fingers were blistered up and gross, they even started bleeding.  It broke my heart.  The next day I got sick.  And it just kept getting worse and worse.  We had a little trip planned for one of my husband’s events and on the way there, I was so sick we had to pull over at a rest stop so I could change clothes.  (It got pretty bad.)  I couldn’t eat anything, and I couldn’t do anything but sleep. When we got back home, I went to the doctor immediately.  He diagnosed me with severe tonsilitis, a severe sinus infection and possibly strep throat-at the same time.  I felt horrible and I said, now this, this is my bad thing!  It ended up being so bad that I had to call off work for the entire week. But the whole time I was sick, I kept saying my mantra: I will release the fear that something bad will happen so that I can connect with my higher purpose.

Here’s what happened. I took the kids to school and came every day. But when I came home, I did nothing.  Normally, I’m never home by myself, and when I plan to take a day off, it’s so I can clean, de-clutter and organize the closets (which NEVER HAPPENS. But that’s always the plan.)  This time, I was home, but I couldn’t clean if I wanted to, I had nothing in me.  The most I could do was make a cup of tea and that required breaks in between the pouring of the water, the mixing of the honey and lemon-to the point that by the time I was done making it, I had to reheat it in the microwave.  But, I had time to think.  And not about work, which is what normally consumes me.  I thought about me and what I want.  And I wanted this blog.  See all week I was releasing the fear that something bad would happen, because it did. But I chose not to dwell on it.  I chose to rest my body, use my mantra and connect with my higher purpose. And that’s why I crawled out of bed and am writing this, my first real blog post past midnight, because right now, this is what I’m supposed to be doing.